The alarm that morning had started it all. The beep-beep-beep that had crashed through the air so many mornings in the past, but had started to rankle each time he heard it. The bed shifted as his companion rolled over, shut it off. Another roll back, and a kiss was planted on his temple, a greeting and an apology on her lips as she pushed the bedclothes off her body. Wakening further, he reached for her, but came away with nothing but air. Harrumphing under his breath, he sat up, watched as she dressed. It was imperative for her to be ready and out of the apartment within the next twenty minutes; she had sneaking out down to a tee by that point. Bright blue hair swung around her face before it was pulled back, nimble fingers raking through it and a binder securing it. Almond-shaped eyes looked at him, before narrowing in confusion. The distress and frustration he was feeling was poorly hidden that morning, and he refused to pretend otherwise, for once. When she inquired as to what was the matter, he inhaled deeply, getting out of the bed and striding over to her. When he told her, when he made his request of her staying, of leaving together in a few hours, it stung to see how fast she averted her gaze, canting her head in the negative.
Sam Wilson, it would seem, was not destined to have a good morning.
"It's been almost a year," he grumbled as he followed Kay out into the living room, the sun barely risen on that chilly, early April morning. Though the lyrics to the particular tune he was singing were varied, the chorus ultimately remained the same: he wished for their relationship to take on a more public aspect. However, she was not of the same mind. Excuses had flown from her left, right, and center for several weeks by that point, and he was tiring of it. He was tiring of her sneaking off at sunrise and assuming a persona where they were merely on friendly terms when they were beyond the walls of their apartments. "I don't think what I'm asking for is all that much."
"I'm sure you don't," she retorted, snatching up her coat from the chair she'd left it on. Cutting a look over her shoulder at him, she murmured plaintively, "I've told you why I don't want to take us public."
"You've hinted," he shot back morosely, lifting a shoulder at her. "Not the same thing."
The coat was dropped, along with her bag. Hands went to hips, and she glared at him. His eyebrows inclined, but he met her stare squarely. She may have been an agent, but he was a soldier and an Avenger. He refused to let himself be cowed by her.
"Fine, then I'll be straightforward: if people know, then they will be in our business constantly," she stated plainly. A hand scrubbed over her face, her dark eyes still holding fire even as her shoulders slumped. "I've been working for one private organization or another for almost ten years, Sam. I like people not knowing who I am. Being under a microscope, getting ridiculed just for holding your hand or even for not when we go out, I don't want to deal with that."
It was a valid point, and he acknowledged it, deep down, but to him, it was not enough of a deterrent. Not any longer. They been with each other, in their own way, for ten months. While there were no set rules at the beginning, save for keeping their liaison between themselves for awhile, their lives had altered too much to keep to that loose construct.
"It's still possible to have a private life, even in the public eye," Sam sighed. Ready examples flashed to mind, teammates and colleagues on both sides having full relationships despite the high-profile nature of their lives. It wasn't easy, he could see that much, but it was doable. "We can try, at least."
"It's still a lot of pressure, something neither of us really need," was her rebuttal, arms crossing over her chest as she took a step back. Her dark eyes cut to the floor, then back to him, a softness invading them as she drew a breath. "What we have has no pressure."
An eye roll was barely suppressed on his part, and both of them tensed visibly.
"That's not true. It's just an excuse to keep messing around and play pretend," he replied. His gaze narrowed in on her as a thought (not common, but it had occurred before) come to the forefront. "Is that all we are to you? A cheap thrill and joyride to take when you can steal away, and then you can pretend to be otherwise in the daylight?"
Her brow furrowed, her jaw hanging slack for a second or two. "No, but—"
"But what? You thought I would be okay with that indefinitely?" His hand slapped to his forehead, the other clenching into a fist at his side. He hated it, feeling that way, letting it get the better of him and shoving him off-center. It was weird, wrong, and made him feel about three different kinds of messed up. Exhaling slowly, he continued, "I'm not...I'm not that guy. I never have been."
Her gaze softened further at his pronouncement, and Kay stepped forward, coming into his personal space. Her palm rose to cup his cheek, the gentle caress of her fingers causing his eyes to close.
"No. I know you've never been that guy. I admire that about you," she confessed, the corner of her mouth curving. It was true; while she personally had problems opening up about her life, he wasn't that way. He was honest, loyal, and willing to put himself out there even when all he might get back would be a smack in the face. Swallowing, she left her hand fall to his shoulder, picking a little at the material of his shirt. "All I was thinking was that it could just be us, and no one else."
Sam took both her hands in his, thumbs sweeping over the knuckles as he gathered his thoughts.
"Kay, it hasn't been just us for awhile. Nat knew from the get-go, Holly figured it out two months later. The team's been busting my chops over us the last few months. You've met my mother, for God's sake. I've video-chatted with your dad. All that would change is admitting to this being more than a just a temporary thing."
Looking up from their entwined grips, he caught the small, miniscule flash of doubt in her eyes, and he felt the blood drain from his face.
"It is more than just a temporary thing to you...isn't it?" he asked, almost fearful of the answer. Maybe it was just a game to her, after all. Or maybe she thought there was no future with him, that what they had was the only thing she could hope for. That he wasn't worth the effort, in the end. Black eyes shot up to meet his, and her mouth opened on a silent gasp.
"I..." she breathed, and then stopped, her jaw tightening.
A sickening drop invaded his stomach, and he let her hands fall from his.
"Kay." The single, broken syllable of her name wrenched at her insides, and made her sick to hear it. Sadness permeated every pore of him in that moment, and he could do no more than step back from her.
"Sam," she responded, reaching out to touch him again. The flinch of his body away from her made her pause. Her hand dropped to her side, and when she looked up at him, tears were beginning to rim her eyes. "You know that I, I..."
A palm was raised, stemming her speech.
"If you can't answer that question, maybe we should hold off on everything else. Take a break from each other, or something. At least, until you know what you want," he pronounced, each word ground out against his will. Pain and hurt pounded through his veins, but the decision reached was not one he would easily back down from. He stood there, solid, unwavering. The clock in the kitchen ticked in the almost deafening silence that followed, neither party relenting for some time as they looked at one another. At least a full minute had gone by before Kay sniffed, her eyes latching onto the coat and bag she'd abandoned earlier.
"...Fine. I'll, uh, let you know," she conceded, scooping up her things and turning. As she walked away from him, he felt another terrible lurch in his gut, and he couldn't stop himself from following her to the entryway. As she struggled to get her shoes on, he felt the heaviness landing across his shoulders. It was happening, she was going to leave, and he didn't know if she would ever come back. When her shoes were on, he was unable to help himself. Going to her, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her in for a tight embrace. Small tremors racked her slim body as he held her, her arms gripping him so hard he almost couldn't breathe. He knew how strong she was, physically (he was one of six people who knew her true identity as an Inhuman), but the emotion was something else entirely. Pressing his nose into her bright hair, he took in a deep breath, as if to commit her scent to memory.
"Look, I love you, Kay." It wasn't the first time he'd said as much, but the sentiment still held true and strong, even when things looked as though they were falling apart around him. However, even though he truly cared for her, he was not about to waver on his stance. Reluctantly, he pulled back, looking down into her face as sorrow warped it further. "But I'm getting too old for the temporary crap, and I don't wanna play pretend anymore. Just think about it, okay?"
One nod, then two, and her grip slackened, her face falling as the distance between them grew.
"I will," she promised, rising up on her toes and giving him a final kiss on the lips. It was short, chaste, and bittersweet, her mouth removed from his almost before he could respond. Removing herself entirely from his embrace, she took up her things again, inhaling deeply as she opened the door. Pausing on the threshold, she glance back at him, her face stony. "I love you, too, Sam. Bye."
The door shut behind her with a light click, and Sam tipped his head back, blowing a puff of air out of his mouth as his shoulder came to rest against the wall. The punches to the stomach was nothing in comparison to the kicks to the heart he was feeling, though all were dominating him at the moment. Sniffing hard, he scrubbed at his eyes, each thump in his chest hurting as he picked his way over to the sofa, curling in on himself as he laid across it and vainly attempted to get another hour or two of rest. The redness that had cropped up in his eyes did not fade much when he woke up again three hours later, his routine dulled by the hard ache inside him. The question of whether or not he'd done the right thing circled over and over in his mind as he dressed, ate without tasting, and locked up his rooms before heading out to the offices. His internal alarm was telling him that he was cutting it close, that he would be late for the team-wide meeting, but he could not will himself to move faster. With hands tucked into pockets, he stared straight ahead as he walked, avidly avoiding looking at anything as he made his way to the private conference room they were summoned to.
Entering the space, he focused on the coffee carafe set up in the corner, making a beeline for it. His attention was so riveted to the source of caffeine and the sudden spring of needwanthave that he failed to notice or greet the other occupant of the room. A clearing throat finally jarred him out of his haze, his gaze snapping around in time to catch Natasha's raised eyebrows.
"Wow. You look..." she trailed off, her bright gaze sliding over his form before she frowned. He snorted, his mind filling in the blank with his own descriptors. Dumping more sugar than he normally took into his coffee, he missed his teammate's flash of curious sympathy. "Tough morning?"
Another snort, and he grabbed a stir stick, swishing it around a few times as he collected himself.
"You could say that," he mumbled back, shaking his head. Glancing around the nearly empty conference room, his brow furrowed. "How late am I?"
Natasha waved a hand, brushing off his concern.
"Don't worry; Captain Stickler isn't even here yet," she pointed out, the choice nickname for their leader barely making him grin. Taking stock of that, she continued, "There have been some time delays on the carrier and at the London base, so we've got a few." She gestured for him to take a seat next to her, her innocent smile not fooling him in the slightest. Gingerly, he lowered himself into the chair, and was barely settled before she crossed her arms. Looking at him intently, she inquired, "What's up?"
Sam took a healthy drink of his coffee, the hint of sugar barely registering on his tongue. "Something that may or may not require alcohol to talk about."
Her eyebrow spiked, though her tone remained smooth and even. "Still on the rocks with Kay?"
Eyes closed, and he took a steadying breath before answering, "No offense, but I don't want to discuss it right now."
As a trained counselor, Sam knew that it would be beneficial to actually talk about issues as they arose in life. He understood, all too well, the damage and risk that came with bottling things up and refusing to deal with them. However, given how fresh the pain was and the confusion he was still sorting through in his mind, he was nowhere near ready to share.
"Okay...break-up?"
"You gotta stop," he warned his friend, his sideways glance harsh. A thumb tapped at the table top before coming up with the forefinger to pinch the bridge of his nose. Maybe if he threw her some sort of bone, she would get the hint and lay off. "And for the record: not...not exactly."
Realizing too late that he had not thrown a bone, but instead fueled a fire, he groaned as Natasha's brow screwed up in thought.
"What does—"
"You know, we can always talk about you and Barnes, instead," he snapped over her, trying to disguise his frustration with a smirk. The shift in dynamic between the two ex-assassins was not terribly obvious to the public, but the team was another matter entirely. Sam had suspected something was up between them, and after the St. Patrick's Day party, it was clear that progress had finally been made in that regard. For the five days that Barnes was there, they were nearly inseparable (and while wheedling Steve had yielded few results, he did confirm that the two were some sort of item. Details, however, were something he was not at liberty to discuss, nor did he wish to, he had stated bluntly). A hot, sick flare sparked in his gut as he considered it, but he pushed through it. "How's that going, now that you've both stopped acting like blocks of ice and have grown a pair?"
Natasha blinked, and the glint in her eyes turned hard. Digging into her pocket, she withdrew a small, black leather wallet. Thumbing through it, she pulled out a single bill before pitching it towards him.
"Here's a twenty. Later, go get your alcohol and fix the attitude with it," she recommended, a sour look on her face as she stood up. As she walked over to the carafe herself, she called over her shoulder, "And we're fine. For the record."
A sharp stab of guilt washed through him, but he did not allow it to bother him too much. He had wanted her to stop, after all, and only used a tool that would get her off the subject. Mentally folding in on himself, he barely managed greetings for the other team members as they filed into the room, his gaze boring into the Styrofoam cup in hand, the coffee cooling the longer he went without sipping it. The look Steve shot him upon entering the room went unremarked, save for Natasha shaking her head and setting her jaw tightly. Maria Hill came in, her commanding presence drawing him out of his stupor as she bade the others to take their seats. Though the table had enough chairs supplied for all to sit comfortably, it seemed as though the aura he permeated around him was enough for the others to give him a wide berth. Hill head bent in low voiced conference with the captain as they both moved to turn on the equipment necessary for the meeting, eyes darting across the group and back as they did so. Shrugging it off, Sam sat up straighter, his fingers scrabbled towards the untouched bill and tucking it away as the high definition displays began to light up the far wall.
The face of Nick Fury filled one, calculation and calm filling his face as he discreetly adjusted his eye-patch. Representative Hawley filled another, the older woman looking neat and trim as always. With some rustling and adjusting on their end, the secondary team's camera blinked to life, with the one called Finesse crowing in delight as it fired up, the lens far too close to her nose and eyeball. When she back off, it was easy to see her comrades, all of them in a similar conference room set-up. The leader, Chapman, shook his head and smiled indulgently at her, his legs crossed and resting on the table top. Two laptops were also engaged, patched through to opposite ends of the country. Clint Barton, formerly Hawkeye, was there, arms crossed and an expression of faint amusement on his features as he nodded hellos to his former teammates. Lastly, the face of Tony Stark came into view on the second laptop, his dark irises dancing over each member but studiously avoiding even glancing in the captain's direction. All were connected through the private network, the first major meeting had between all branches and members of the Avengers since the initial restructuring of the organization nearly a year ago.
Given the antagonistic nature between certain members of the team, Maria took it upon herself to call the meeting to order. Though they'd all been forwarded a few informational papers, it was time to shed some light on the order of business for the coming days. Due to prompting made by the captain, the respective heads of each branch of the organization were to start looking into more extensive measures for each team. At most, there were only five or six members at a given time. While they were supplemented by a bevy of agents at each base and upon the helicarrier, it was deemed unwise to keep the registrar at that amount.
"So...you're talking about expanding the membership of our exclusive club, then?" Tony interjected, spiking an eyebrow and cutting to the chase. Hill nodded, a little perturbed that her opening speech was interrupted, but soldiering on despite that.
"Essentially, yes," she told him. The second eyebrow joined the first as she went on. "We've been looking at the numbers and the results from over the last ten months, and while we are making a great effort in aid and detainment, it is clear that there is a threat of stretching ourselves too thin. At minimum, there needs to be a rotating roster implemented to prevent this."
Fury dipped his chin, a lightning-fast look shot at Steve. The captain crossed his arms, blinking in response.
"Captain Rogers has implied that this is necessary, and I tend to agree with him," the field director stated simply, hands folding on the desk before him. "We aren't keen on losing any of you, least of all to something that is easily preventable."
"Wise decision," Hawley commented dryly, her smirk growing as she peered over the top of her reading glasses. Papers were in hand, and she was scanning them with great interest as they spoke.
"However, since this is an untested idea, we're gonna start small with the expansion," Fury iterated, another glance directed at the captain. Rogers visibly stiffened, but he kept his mouth shut. Lifting his head, he continued, "We've conferred, and a minimum of six sponsored applicants are needed for trials to commence."
"Sponsored?" Clint crowed from his end of the line, brow furrowing. It was a look similar to the one sported by Rhodey at the far end of the table. Sam, hearing that, concentrated hard on the presented information. A team expansion would help them all out in the long run, and so he wasn't about to nay-say it. The timing, though, seemed peculiar. Lighting upon an answer internally, he stared at Steve, the blond man returning it with blankness and placidity. Still, he said nothing, and so both men tuned back into the conference happening around them.
"Two team members will need to vouch for each applicant, no exceptions," Maria announced, a finger trailing over the tablet before her. "That includes all non-active or freelance members as well."
"Good to know my time kicking ass and taking names was worth something," the archer retorted, a snicker pouring out of his mouth. "Can't wait to pick my replacement."
A low hum came from Stark's camera, but he did not speak. Instead, his dark eyes lit up, and his fingers tapped along his bicep.
"Are there any other clear qualifications or disqualifications that need to be addressed?" the Vision wondered, electric blue eyes darting from screen to screen, watching the micro-expressions play out before him.
"Obviously, can't pick Johnny Everyday from around the corner, but some guidelines would be good," Chapman concurred on his end, a hand waving languidly in the air. To his left, Pietro's silvered head bobbed in agreement, before a wry twist slipped over his lips. Hill jabbed a thumb at the papers that had been set before them all, and to the digital forwards she'd sent out. Any candidates for expansion had to have training similar to or exceeding that of a standard agent, at least physically, to keep up. Specialties would be considered on a case-by-case basis, and would be encouraged. Each team had three weeks to assemble candidates, at the end of which they would be gathered at the base in New York. Trial battle simulations would take place over the course of two days, as further background and record checks would be made on each individual. The simulations would be reviewed by Hawley, Fury, and the captain, while the background checks would be conducted by Hill and two members of the board, supplemented by JJ. Psychological evaluations would follow, and by the end of the trials, determinations would be made on the candidates for placement or rejection. The goal was to have, at minimum, two more full-time members for each team by the beginning of May. Subsequent evaluations and recruitment would happen over time, but that would be the start of it.
Expansion. More people, more chances to break, to not field full responsibility all the time. A chance to be out of harm's way, out of the limelight more often. Wilson definitely liked the sound of that, a sort of cheer managing to break through the moroseness. In the end, it turned slightly sour; less time in the limelight, but there was a chance that he'd be alone when he was out of it. His melancholy did not abate as the remaining discussion of the meeting wrapped up, Hill demanding a list of prospective applicants in two weeks. As the screens powered down, and the rest of the team began to disperse (Wanda chattering animatedly about the future of the team with the Vision, who fielded her enthusiasm with a smile and good humor), Sam drew out of his inner musings. Steve was still there as well, a sort of satisfaction settling over his features as he exhaled quietly and rested his hands on the table. Getting out of his chair, the Falcon circled around to his team leader, a knowing glint in his eye as he turned his mind to other matters.
"This is what you've been planning, huh?" Sam asked, leaning against the table and smirking down at his friend. It had been hinted for several weeks that Steve had a few ideas up his sleeve for the team. All that remained were the details. Though he'd spoken very little during the discussion, the plan had his fingerprints all over it. Well, it was quite an idea, one that Wilson was willing to get behind.
"This is Plan A, or part of it, at least," the captain revealed, a ruthful grin tugging at his lips. Shrugging his shoulders, he leaned back a little in his chair, sighing under his breath. "Expansion was on the horizon, anyway; if anything, it just got bumped up a few months."
Wilson nodded at the sense of it, a portion of the sentence jumping out at him and snagging his attention.
"Just part of it?" he wondered. There was more to be done yet? What else did Steve have in store for them? He was determined to find out. "What's the second part?"
Blue eyes snapped up, an unyielding wall coming down over the irises and shielding his mind from his teammate.
"Not the right time," he intoned, his voice soft but sure. It had to happen in stages; anything done prematurely could make the enterprise fall apart. He couldn't risk that, not with so much riding on it. "We'll get to it when we get to it."
Wilson hummed, his shoulders sagging slightly in exhaustion. Well, he tried, at least; he didn't have the energy or the will to push it further.
"And if it doesn't work?"
The other man grimaced. It was a possibility, though an unwelcome one. "I've got back-up ideas waiting in the wings, just in case. One of them needs to happen by July, and one will."
Ah, Sam thought with a tempered grin, there it was. His hypothesis had been confirmed, and despite the ache and pain coursing through him, he did manage to feel a little satisfaction at being correct.
Aloud, he uttered, "Anything for your kid, right?"
The question was rhetorical. Wilson was incredibly aware of the captain's deep loyalty and care for those important to him. It would be that much greater, that much deeper for the child that was to come, for the woman he had bound himself to. In all likelihood, he would give his own life if it meant that Holly and the baby would be all the better for it. But that wasn't the idea behind the plan; it was so that he could live for them, with them, and give them more of himself and his time than he had before. At least, that was how it appeared to Sam's mind. Rotations would free him up, take him out of the public eye for longer stretches of time. There would be more defenders of the world, more responsibility on others than just on him. It was about being more of Steve Rogers, and a little less Captain America. The first steps were being taken, all of which were a product of his devotion and dedication.
"Yes," he confessed easily. Fingers tweaked the wedding ring around his finger, and a gentle, proud smile finally broke free. "Anything for my family."
Another stiff shot of envy surged through Sam's veins, though he was pleased for his friend's sake. He gritted his teeth, directing his eyes up towards the ceiling to disguise it. Steve, however, was not fooled. The other man's general malaise had hovered around him like a dark cloud, and was impossible to miss. There had been no time to ask before the meeting, but he could make time then. Training wouldn't happen until the afternoon, and paperwork could wait.
"You doing okay?" he inquired politely. Wilson shrugged, a streak of diffidence cutting over his irises. Still, he canted his head, the brokenness of his expression shoved down until he was left with something resembling placidity.
"Crazy morning," Sam murmured, dropping his gaze to the toe of his boot. For a moment, his fingers rooted around in his jeans pocket, a bill slipping out. His focus flitted to it, fastening on it as his thumb worked over the creases in the note. Watching him for a second or two, Steve inclined his eyebrow.
"Must be a fascinating twenty you got there."
The other man snorted lightly. "Sort of is."
Rogers nodded at that, rising from his chair. If Sam was unwilling to talk at the moment, he would not force him. Instead, he managed a wan smile for his friend, a finger tapping against the rectangular lump in his pocket. A reminder to call in case he needed him. Wilson inclined his chin, the message received. With a final glance, the captain scooped up his papers and exited the room. As his footsteps faded, the Falcon breathed in and out for a few moments, the churn of his mind locking him into place and staring into space for several long minutes. Deciding upon something, he pushed away from the table and strode down the hall.
"Heading out?" a smooth, feminine voice called out from the office he'd just passed. Biting back a groan, Sam looked through the open doorway. Romanoff glanced back, fingers poised over the keyboard of her computer. She was careful to keep her expression pleasant, and he felt all the worse for his behavior earlier. His problems were not caused by her. Granted, she was being nosy as hell, but he could have responded better. It was time to do damage control, the little that he could do, anyway.
"To pick up some liquor. And fix my attitude," he muttered after a few moments, her words from before making her brow quirk. Raking a hand over his hair, he met Natasha's bright gaze and shrugged. "Might get some crow to eat on the way."
The barest hint of a smile played across her lips, though she kept her expression neutral.
"I'd pay to see that," she said, standing up from her desk and walking towards him.
Waggling the bill in his hand, Sam gestured for her to come along. The pair of teammates walked side by side down the hall as he attempted a grin.
"You already did." Not exactly an apology, but it would do for the time being. With that, Natasha smirked, boarding the elevator with him and biding her time. No doubt she would ask again, he mused. He just hoped she would wait until he was in the right frame of mind to respond.
It definitely wouldn't be that day, though.
xXxXxXx
At the same time in Manhattan, Tony Stark was shutting down his computer, his brain running fast as he considered the options presented to him. The barest shuffle of a shoe on tile caught his attention, and he looked up, a wry grin decorating his lips.
"How much did you hear, kid?" he asked, calling out to the teenager lurking in the shadows. Though it was Saturday, the kid was not doing inventory that day. He had sent Peter off to the training floor to test out some of the equipment they'd been updating, but clearly he had finished early. Or never left to begin with. The young man poked his head from around a pillar, canisters in hand and street clothes on. What truly stood out was the bright red flush on his face at being caught out. Stark was willing to bet that he'd never left at that point, and smirked slightly.
"Enough," Peter confessed after a moment or two. An apology was on the tip of his tongue, but Stark just brushed it off. There was no harm in it, and the kid was unlikely to talk about what he heard. Laying the canisters down on the nearest table, he began to scratch at the back of his neck, his shoes suddenly becoming a fascinating sight. "You, you thinking about sponsoring anyone?"
A superfluous question, he knew, but he couldn't stop himself from asking. Mr. Stark knew so many people; he was bound to know of someone else that would be suited to the task of protecting the world. Granted, it was none of his business, but he still wanted to know.
"You know it," the billionaire responded affably. Parker nodded at that, smiling a little. Maybe he would be willing to tell him a bit about who he had in mind, after all. Whoever that person, he could be sure that they would be amazingly talented. The Avengers deserved no less for their roster. Tony's dark brown gaze focused solely on him for a few seconds, and then he dipped his chin decisively. "You'll blow them away, Pete. We could use someone like you."
It was at that point the young man started to do a credible impression of a gaping fish. Shock outlined his face as he gawped. He couldn't be serious, could he? Tony chuckled a little, nodding again in confirmation. Oh, he was serious.
Tony Stark wanted to sponsor him for team membership. No way.
"But I'm...I won't even be sixteen until June," Parker finally squeaked after a minute or two. He began to pace back and forth across the tiled floor, hands cupping the air and gesticulating the implications away. He barely had his learner's permit, and Tony thought that he could be an Avenger? "There's no way Captain Rogers will let me in to try, let alone you being able to find a second sponsor." Both he and Tony frowned, though his was more in disbelief (Tony's was definitely in distaste, but it fell away after a few moments). Eyes widened even more as he considered something else. "And my aunt...God, May will have a cow. Seriously."
Tony snorted at that, tilting his head to stare at the ceiling. "If she did, I'd be impressed. First human to spontaneously reproduce a creature of the bovine variety."
Despite his agitation, the teenager laughed a little at the picture forming in his head.
"I could get the pictures and send them to all the major newspapers," he mused under his breath. The good humor fell away all too quickly, and his pacing stopped. Facing the billionaire again, he sighed loudly. "But, still..."
A palm waved through the air, Tony cutting off his anxiety.
"We'll worry about her later. We've got the matter of finding a second sponsor to attend to first, and I know just the person," he said, retrieving his handheld from his pocket and swiping at the screen. Tapping it through to private call mode, he held up a finger to still the tide of questions sweeping out of Parker as he worked. A minute shift and click came from the other end of the line, and he grinned. "Rhodey, got a proposition for you. Come down to the city for a few days. It's about team expansion. Yeah, I got someone. I know, I work fast." He paused, the sudden shift in conversation making him pivot on his heel. With his back turned to him, Peter was able to let out the shaky breath he'd been holding, his hands raking violently through his hair to quell the shaking. Oblivious to the distressed state of his protege, Stark barked a laugh out. "Hey, it's a handy ability at times, believe me. Ask Miss October from 2008, she'll tell you. The guy I've got in mind, he's perfect, trust me."
A few more words were exchanged, with the genius securing a promise from his friend to be in the city to see the applicant, mission permitting. Smug satisfaction slid over his features as he ended the call and pocketed his device, and Peter knew that there was little chance for him to back out now.
And why would he want to? The little, rebellious part of his brain could not be hushed, the one that hungered for the opportunity to prove himself. Why shouldn't he have a chance at being part of something as grand and noble as the Avengers?
Because he knew better. Because he knew that, while the city itself was no walk in the park, defending the world was no sinecure. He was too young, too green and inexperienced, despite his forays in Queens. Peter's eyes squeezed shut as a hip connected with the edge of the lab table.
"This is never gonna work. There's still Aunt May; she's been watching me like a hawk since Uncle Ben died. And school, too. It won't work," he repeated, forcing himself to acknowledge that truth. The variables worked against him; favor was not on his side. Tony canted his head to the left, flicking a few fingers in the air.
"You'd be surprised how many ideas of mine have worked, with less to go on than what we've got. Besides, they never gave an age requirement." At that, the young man slumped onto a stool, his hands scrubbing at his face halfheartedly. Tony, clicking his tongue, strode around the steel table and came up beside him. He looked down at the kid, really looked at him. It was just the opportunity he'd been waiting for, just the excuse he needed to showcase the kid's talents. Peter, while young, was a good candidate. He was certainly better than most; he still had ideals, strong integrity, a greater sense of hope and belief in the world around him. In fact, his youth perhaps made him a more desirable applicant; he could be trained in, become a legacy of sorts to invest in for the future. Parker would do well, his potential was unlimited at that point. He had to put in his bid, had to put in a bid that would be worth the time. Peter would be far worthier than some, dark clouds gathering in his mind as he considered just who else could be brought in. Shaking his head to dispel the sudden anger, he clasped the teen's shoulder, drawing him out of his concerns. Carefully, quietly, he intoned, "C'mon, Pete. You want to do some good; this is a chance on a global scale to do so. At the very least, this will put you on the radar for the future."
A long stretch of silence passed, Peter's brain working furiously through all that he had heard and had been told. Weighing the decisions internally, sorting the pros and cons of the deception, of using it to get him somewhere to serve the greater good. Stark was biting the inside of his cheek as he waited, his breath held when the boy eventually inclined his head.
"...Okay," he finally agreed, hands wringing together in his lap. Inwardly, he resigned himself to his fate, resolved to put some faith and trust into Tony's plan. Maybe it could work out. They just had to get the details determined first. "So what do we do if we get Colonel Rhodes' approval? How do we bypass, I dunno, background and security checks? And everything else?"
"Leave all that to me," Tony told him. Those matters would be quick fixes, to his mind. Rhodey just needed to see him in action, and he would (most likely) have to hold himself accountable for the boy's conduct. Everything else, there were ideas being mocked up and consulted in the back of his mind. A few solutions came to the fore, and he smiled. Clapping the kid on the shoulder—he no longer shook under such embraces; the kid was as solid as stone—he remarked confidently, "You won't regret this, Parker."
"I hope not," Peter replied, mock acerbity in his voice. Risking a glance up, he let a glimmer of the exhilaration that was brewing deep within shine through. A tiny grin cropped onto his lips as he grabbed up the abandoned canister, a finger tracing along it. "This is kinda exciting. Getting a chance at working with you guys, with the Avengers...it'll be a real honor. Even if it's just simulations."
Stark wrinkled his nose, a groan rumbling in his chest.
"Do me a solid, and please don't regress to the hero worship," he pleaded, grabbing at a high definition display nearby and booting it up. Accessing the carefully coded design plans for Peter's equipment and suit, he implored the teen, "We just got you broken; I can't go through the potty training again."
Peter truly smiled then, and his heart began to thump even harder in anticipation and excitement as plans began to filter across the screen.
"No promises, Tony," he mumbled, dragging his own finger over a plan and enlarging it, the two prepared to work hard at the new project for the rest of the afternoon.
xXxXxXx
"You know, you might just snag a nomination for expansion."
Bucky scratched at the stubble on his chin, a low sigh echoing over the speaker of the phone. Although Natasha couldn't see it on her end, he knew better than to expect her to think he'd greet the idea cheerfully.
With the shift in their relationship, it meant that there would be an inevitable change in his life. Hers was now so entwined with his that there would be no simple way out. However, it had seemed she was just as willing, just as eager as he to be part of it. They were still figuring it out, but the five days he had in New York were enough time to allow him some idea of what they were doing. That they were together was of no doubt, from that morning after on. Labels were not applied, purely for safety's sake; with her working as an Avenger, and him working to eradicate his previous status as a HYDRA assassin, it was best not to give the outside world any idea of what was going on. Someone could get in their heads that they could be used as leverage against one another. Bucky nearly snarled when he thought of that. If someone ever did think to use Natalia in such a way, he would make sure they would regret it for the rest of their lives. And she would definitely do the same, were the situation reversed. Therefore, they'd kept their...affection...to themselves, the only others privy to it being Steve and Holly, and the team (Wanda's eyes had grown wide as saucers when she'd caught some of his thoughts, before muttering about how it was time for them to get their act together).
Those five days were like a dream. A weird, strange dream in which the woman he cared for had pinned him into submission on the training mat during sessions more often than not, but it was better than what usually visited him in the night. At least there was more to be had than cold fear and loneliness when she did that. As it was, he was back at work, just off a scouting mission in Greece. The tracker placed on the escaped doctor's van had pinged there, just outside of Athens, and Bucky was sent with his team to retrieve it. The doctor had long since vanished, but traces of metals and chemicals were present in the van, indicating she had transported goods during her escape. Tracking the particular ones, especially if there were picked up and sold in mass quantities in a certain area, could expose her. Fury had fallen on the opportunity to do so, his specialists summoned to deal with the task.
That left Bucky's evening wide open, and he had used it to his advantage. He had a girl, and he damn well was going to call her.
Which brought him to that moment, that minute in which pleasantries were exchanged, events of the day shared. Evidently, the organization was looking to take on more members. And she, clearly, thought he would be one of the best suited to the task.
"Unless there are more stable, more qualified applicants," he pointed out, flopping back onto his bed and wincing. Some bruising on his lower back bothered him, but it couldn't be helped at the moment. "Which we both know there are."
"If they were truly stable, they wouldn't be applying in the first place," she joked, her voice warm and light. He barely hummed at her statement, let alone laughed. A puff of air crackled in his ear, and a shift of cloth came after. Reckoning she was perched upon her own bed, he paused as she gathered her thoughts. "James, this is literally what you've been training for, working for. I mean, not the exact opportunity, but...you had to know the endgame Fury had in mind for you. Or even what Steve had hoped."
That time he did laugh, though it was dripping caustically.
"It didn't escape my notice. I just question the sense of it, if I do get a sponsor." He shrugged to himself, crooking an arm behind his head. "Whoever that person is."
"Favoritism prevents me from being that person, unfortunately," she confessed, and he tutted in mock sympathy. Chuckling a little, she continued, "Same goes with Steve, even if he were able to do so. Still, you may be surprised who might come a-callin'. You're not as low as you think, Medved'."
His mouth curved at the corner, the pet name thawing out the coldness settling over his heart. It faded away as he thought about it all.
"Maybe not. Do I deserve it, though?"
It was a question he often pose to himself, in spite of his therapist's assurances that he need not do so. Did he deserve the chances he'd gotten over the last year and a half? Odds were, he didn't; after everything he'd done, he reckoned he was more suited to being tortured and shot by a firing squad with extreme prejudice. Yet there he was, working for a branch of the Avengers, cracking down on people who were as he used to be, and discussing a future wherein he could do more. Bucky had his moment of quiet, of Natasha's airy breaths in his ear before she spoke up.
"Less than some, but more than others," she responded, driven to honesty. Visualizing her pushing her hair from one side to the other, he closed his eyes and listened to her. "You chose to seek a path to redemption. Well, this could be another turn, if you get nominated. Will you take it?"
It banked on an 'if.' Since she could not do it, nor Steve, it fall on the others to make the decision. Each one of them was just as aware as he of the predicament, just as aware of his position and the trajectory of his path.
"If it's offered," he replied. There was no sense in denying it. While he did think it would be a risk to even entertain the notion of letting him on any team, he wasn't going to say no if he was given the chance to do so. It would be another step forward, another step towards cleaning his record and helping eradicate some of the spots on his soul. While he was doing good work for Fury, it felt as though he was not being utilized to his full potential at times. Maybe if he worked directly with the team, that could change. The set of his face hardened, and his tone turned a touch darker. "And if it is, I won't hold back."
It would be another chance, a greater one than those that had come before. Well, some of the ones that had come before. It wold be foolish to not give it his all, if the offer was presented. Her hum of approval glided over the line, and the quirk of his lips returned.
"Besides, any chance to be closer to you, I'll take, sugar," he riposted swiftly, his heart thudding in his chest at the notion. It had been a little over a week since he'd last seen her, held her, and it ate away at him. Not that he'd let on to anyone but her, of course; he did have a reputation as a cold, stony agent. It would not do to lose that so quickly. Still, he could gladly welcome the idea of being nearer to Natasha in any capacity.
Her grin was downright audible over the phone. "Should I be planning a visit to the HR rep for the future?"
"Pick the date, and I'll meet you there," he promised. Details on the exact connotations were fuzzy (there were other important things to worry about in his life), but he could surmise that a trip to human resources regarding his relationship with Natasha would merit some interesting results. She laughed, truly laughed, the joy in her reverberating straight to him. She rarely showed amusement out in public, and it made him feel as though he accomplished something great by making her do so.
"You'd scare the hell outta the guy," she crooned, the mental image in her mind causing her to chuckle again. "I'll definitely let you know."
"Thanks, dollface," he supplied, laughing to himself at her sudden groan. That name, she did not like, but he couldn't help himself. Rolling over onto his side, another thought occurred to him, and he smirked to thin air. "Frankly, I think you'd scare him more than I could."
"Oh, you sweet-talker, you," she said, mocking praise in her voice. From there, the conversation drifted away, to her bemoaning the new bracers she had and how they were misfiring during team training. He responded with the news that his cybernetic arm was starting to twitch, an indication that something was wrong internally with the hardware. He would see to it in the morning, and she admonished him to do so, at the risk of facing her wrath if he failed to get it checked out before his next mission. ("Or the next time I talk to you, whichever comes first. My money's on the call, though, so you better get it taken care of.") A faux shiver shot down his back, and he reported it to her, with her telling him he should be afraid, indeed.
"Call me tomorrow," she demanded, gently, when he went to end the call. Reading between the lines, he could sense the sentiment she was not expressing. I miss you.
A rueful grin tugged at his mouth, and he passed a hand over his face, the pull in his chest difficult to ignore.
"Count on it," he pronounced carefully. I miss you, too.
A dull click came, and the line went dead. The phone was dropped onto the sheets beside him, and Bucky turned all the way over, face buried into his pillow and arms curling around it. It was poor substitute for the body he wished to be holding, for the warmth he was aching for, but it would have to do in the interim. That, and the memories of her closeness. He did not know how long he was curled up on his bed, half-dozing as the metal arm ticked and twitched beneath him, but it was long enough for him to be jarred out of it by a chime on his computer. The laptop had been opened in case Natasha was not available to take his call; he had planned on watching another movie on his list if she could not be reached. As such, it left his video chat program open and awake. Few people had the handle he used, and he doubted Nat would call him back so soon. The list in his head of potential contacts was rifled through as he rose, grumbling and ruffling his hair as he strode over. Fingers tapped away, swiping over the track pad to accept the call. Soon enough, the screen was flooded with light, though it settled soon afterward. The screen was split, two different faces peering out at him from the group chat he'd accepted. Furrowing his brow, he was met with the playful stoicism of Pietro Maximoff on the right, and the serious composure of Wanda on the left. She and her brother had been in mid-sentence, the Slovak cut off as soon as they noticed the presence of the third party. As one, they greeted him, and he managed to reply politely enough. However, when the time came for the small talk to commence, neither sibling engaged. Rather, Pietro leaned forward in his seat, the playfulness melting away as he nodded at the camera. Taking his cue, the auburn-haired woman brought her hands to rest in front of her, her spine stiffening and her green eyes focusing intently. He stilled in his seat, mouth shut tight as he waited for one or the other to speak.
"Bucky, we need to talk," the female Maximoff announced, another fast look shared with her brother. "About team candidacy. I'm sure you've probably heard."
A hard swallow coursed down his throat, and his metal arm went slack for the first time in hours. The 'if', it seemed, was turning into more.
Coughing once, he gestured to the camera, settling back in his chair. "Yeah, I did. I'm all ears, Wanda."
A/N: So we get a little insight into Steve's plan that has been hinted at. One of them, anyway. Bringing on more and newer members could spread the load, ease up the need to have him in the field, etc. Again, it's just part one of the plan, and it's all going to be executed in stages. How fast those stages are executed, though, remains to be seen. And again, this is Sam's understanding of the plan. There are a few things that he is still unaware of.
Not as frightfully long as the last chapter, so I hope that's okay with you all. Things are going to vamp up a little over the next couple of chapters, or at least I intend them to. ;)
And I know, I'm a jerk for putting Sam through emotional turmoil. It will be resolved...eventually...Meanwhile, the Bucky/Nat train is chugging along, slowly but surely. :)
Yep, Tony is going to get Peter sponsored. For a controlled-setting tryout...as opposed to, you know, bringing him to a full-scale superhero fight taking place at an airport after first coercing him to come along and lying about it to everyone around the both of them. Yeah, it's probably a good thing that Tony doesn't have any children in the MCU universe (that he knows about, so far). That's not intended as a full-on rag on Stark; it's just that some of his choices are questionable, and shall remain so, no matter what universe he's in. A lot of the team's choices are questionable, to be honest.
I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, etc.)
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!