The arguing that had followed the recruits' return to the base had lasted a solid fifteen minutes so far, and Peter was unsure of how much more he could personally take. His mask slipped from his fingers, landing on the open spot next to him as he sat on one of the boxed platforms of the training room (he had worn it in, a requirement made to protect his identity from the milling agents, who had no access to the video feeds and did not understand why the simulation had been stopped, but no longer). To his right, he could see the two female recruits, older women who flashed concerned expressions at him every now and again. The one called the Black Panther had maintained his mask of stoicism, listening even as the others were shouting at each other about his presence. After some time had passed, he'd sunk to the floor, adopting a meditative pose and seemingly letting them deal with the problem—since they did not fall under the realm of his jurisdiction, he saw no need to interfere, for the time being. Ant-Man had removed his helmet, all previous good humor wiped away from his face as he spoke to the Falcon in a rushed, hushed tone, and he caught "kick...how could you...'s a kid." Equally as disturbed, the other man snapped up his goggles, his shoulders tense and barking back that he hadn't a clue beforehand. Just behind him was the guy with the metal arm, silent and still, his gaze taking in all and yet saying nothing. That, he was grateful for, he mused sullenly, his gloved fingers raking and skewing his hair further.
Peter had predicted that it wouldn't work, that it would be a bad idea. He hated that he was proven right, that time.
Tony, and to a lesser degree Colonel Rhodes, were being taken to task by the captain, the remaining Avengers ringing them all. The fellow with the black coat and eye-patch, he identified as Director Fury ("Dude's a BAMF, but confusing as all hell. And downright scary on some levels. Keep an eye on him, Pete. Really," the tech genius had warned him prior to the event, when he had asked about the committee that would be reviewing the applicants), and the older woman was a representative of some kind. Either way, the most important people on the base were engaging in a heated discussion with the billionaire, and Peter could do nothing but listen and watch.
"There was no age requirement," Stark was countering firmly, arms crossed and refusing to back down from his position. Before him, the captain had his hands on his hips, blue eyes icy and jaw tightening.
"Maybe not, but one would think you would've exercised a little common sense," Rogers retorted, tipping his head at the kid perched nearby in question. "Peter is a minor, Tony."
"So what?!" the older man shot back, and a little flush flowed through the boy, glad that his mentor was sticking up for him, even after all that had happened. "Just because he's fifteen doesn't mean—"
"Pretty damn sure it does, Stark! You were watching the monitors; you knew exactly how close the fighting was. What if it had gone sideways? What would have happened then?" the captain demanded, something akin to worry breaking underneath the frustration. It made Peter flinch upon hearing it; he knew that Captain Rogers would not be happy if he found out, but fearing for his well-being, even in a simulation? He hadn't thought that would be the case. It twisted his stomach and made him feel even worse about it all, for some reason.
"But it didn't. He would've been fine if I hadn't..." the billionaire trailed off, guilt washing over his face. According to what the auburn-haired woman had told the group, he had been the one to let slip about the boy's identity. It was an honest mistake, and Peter was not upset about it. Not too much, anyway; he was upset that the once the deception was discovered, it brought everything to a grinding halt, but it couldn't be helped. Dark eyes flicked over his shoulder, catching Parker's wince, and he sighed. "Look, you don't get it. Not surprising, but let me make it clear to you. Yeah, he's young, but guess what? He's got powers. Powers that didn't wait for the magical midnight hour that declared him legal. He's been utilizing them on his own for months, just winging it." He paused, letting that sink in. A fast look of concern was lobbed from Hawley to Fury so swiftly it nearly made his head spin, but there was no time to consider it. He had a case to make, the case he'd intended to make the entire time. It just so happened that his planned speech had to be moved up and...improvised, slightly. Jerking his thumb towards Peter, he continued, "He needs help; he needs the team's help to figure it out. Get him in for some proper training, so he can adequately face what's out there."
A few seconds of silence followed. And then a blond eyebrow spiked.
"And you thought the best way to do that was to bring him in to this?" the captain inquired facetiously, the tenor of the question making Parker cringe again. The fight wasn't over, not by a long shot. Sadly, Tony wasn't giving it up, either.
"Hey, go big or go home, right?" he riposted, spreading his arms wide. A chorus of groans echoed around him.
"Wow...so not appropriate, Stark," breathed the fellow called Hawkeye, little humor in his tone. He had come in with a face like thunder as well. All of them had looked that way, to some degree, when he'd been revealed. Tony crowed back at him, telling him he had no room to speak on propriety, to which the Black Widow grumbled that they were all acting more like children than the teenager was at that moment. The cacophony of voices grew exponentially, and it was downright maddening. Hunching his shoulders, Parker scrubbed his hands over his face, unwilling to be talked over and discussed (shouted about) when he had just as much to say. Standing up, he cleared his throat, balling his fists at his sides.
"Guys," he started, trying to get everybody's attention. When that failed, he raised his voice a few notches. "Guys, hey."
Still, he went unheard, save for the fellow recruits and their winces in sympathy. A hand on his shoulder halted his speech. Glancing up, he saw that the guy with the metal arm had stepped up beside him, his stony facade broken.
"Hold on," he said in an undertone. Tucking back a lip, he raised his head, a shrill whistle piercing the air and breaking through the wall of anger. Peter felt as though his ear was ringing slightly after the fact, but he was glad that he'd managed to pull the others up short. Swiftly, he barked, "Hey!"
All at once, the arguing stopped, many eyes turning in their direction now. Tony's heated glare intensified when it focused on the guy beside the kid, and he took a half-step in their direction. It took Director Fury catching his elbow to make him stop, but by then, the fellow had removed his hand from him, stepping back once more.
"The kid wants to speak," he told them all, arms crossing and his chin raised. "Let him speak."
Swallowing hard, Peter took another step forward, meeting the gazes of the Avengers squarely and his courage rising.
"Captain Rogers, everyone," he started, faltering a little as his voice creaked a bit. Annoyed with it, he quickly cleared his throat and pulled himself to his full height. He went on, "It wasn't just Mr. Stark. I wanted to come. I mean, I did try to talk him out of the sponsorship, but...I still wanted to be here."
The hard lines in the captain's forehead softened, but only slightly. "Peter."
"I know lying about it was wrong, and I'm sorry for that," the boy apologized, genuine to the last. Still, he inhaled deeply and forged ahead with what he wanted to say. "But, well, you wouldn't have given me a chance, otherwise, right?" His eyes darted between the team members, and while some were unreadable, he could see the slight chagrin in a few, the faces they pulled confirming his suspicions. Cupping a palm in the air, he murmured, "Tony's right. I've been managing so far, but honestly, I don't know what I'm doing, apart from helping in whatever way I can. This is all still really new to me; I've only had a couple of months to start figuring it out. I...I need your help. I want to do more, and I know I could do that with you guys. I need to do more."
The appeal was made, and all he could hope was that he would be heard. Truly heard. And judging by the contemplative look overtaking Captain Rogers' face, he knew that he was. However, it was the older woman with silvered blond hair who spoke up.
"Young man, it is admirable that you wish to take responsibility for what has happened to you and put it to good use. However, the fact remains that you are still a minor," she told him, not unkindly. From her perspective, it had to be done, no matter how little she liked seeing the disappointment in the lad. "Perhaps in two years, you can be considered for a position amongst the Avengers."
Parker's shoulders deflated, the dismissal ringing clear in the representative's voice. Stark's head snapped around, and his mouth opened to launch a stinging retort. However, before the boy could succumb to defeat or his mentor to rage, the presence of the metal-armed guy was renewed, standing beside him in a show of solidarity.
"He isn't asking for membership. He's asking for the training. I think that's point he's trying to make," he reiterated, his thoughtful expression framed by the sardonic cast of his eyes. Shrugging, he hooked his fingers into his belt and remained rooted beside Peter. "Better that he gets it from you guys than half-assing it."
Behind the captain, the Black Widow's bright eyes gleamed, but her expression remained even.
"His case is a little weird, but what happens when it's a kid affected by, say, the Inhuman phenomenon?" she posited, a wave of discomfort passing through them all at the prospect. Taking that into account, she hammered the point home. "SHIELD is watching out for the adults; what about children? What should be done for them?"
"I barely made it through, and I'm twenty-four," a whisper-soft voice cut in then, and everyone looked to the girl with black hair, one of the other applicants. A finger rubbed at Synapse's temple as her eyes grew distant, despondent. "A kid would be terrified."
More unreadable, unsettling looks were passed around, and then Director Fury exhaled sharply.
"We need to discuss this," he remarked, gaze shooting to Hawley and Rogers quickly. Off the captain's concurrent nod, he cleared his throat and raised his voice. "Trial activities are suspended for the next few hours."
With a final command for the applicants to remain in the Avengers' wing of the base, and not to wander into the public areas, the review committee left to do just that. At the captain's behest, Mr. Stark went with them, the Avengers dispersing shortly after that. Peter took in deep, careful breaths, overwhelmed suddenly by the rapid turn of events. While he did not understand the full ramifications of his stance that afternoon, he did know that he was not going to be cast out, that his voice had been heard and that maybe, just maybe something in his new and crazy life would start to make sense. Scratching at the curve of his jaw, he half-turned, lifting a shoulder at the metal-armed guy and attempting a smile.
"Thank you, Mister...?" he hesitated, wishing he had caught his second advocate's name on the first go around. The taller man just shook his head, dark hair swinging and brushing over his forehead.
"Just call me Bucky. And don't worry about it."
Nodding, Peter took a few more calming breaths, his fingers occupying themselves with smoothing down his spiked hair and keeping his mind focused on the present. Returning to an earlier inquiry, he sheepishly wondered if it was a good time to check out the older man's arm. Snorting, Bucky had grumbled under his breath before seating himself on the nearby box, holding the appendage out with an exasperated sigh. Silent permission granted, the teen removed his gloves, palms cradling the metal plates as he nudged it one way or another. It was fascinating, and he could help the stream of questions that had burst forth, his mind thoroughly occupied. Funnily enough, the Black Panther (the prince, he chided himself inwardly, the dude was a prince) had come out of his meditations, his focus on the arm as well. Whereas Peter's questions about materials and sensors were academic, he got the distinct sense the prince's were not, something that Bucky seemed to cotton onto as well. Brown and blue irises met, an unspoken conversation below the surface that Parker could not follow.
It was well over an hour by the time the training room had opened again, Tony waving his hand to the boy and beckoning him over. The unbridled hatred that had flooded his face when he chanced a look at Bucky made even Peter flinch, but there was no time to ask about it.
"C'mere, Parker," he called out, gesturing for him to follow swiftly. Snatching up his mask, the teen dipped his chin in farewell to the two older men he was leaving behind, both of them watching as he slipped out of the facility. The late afternoon sun shone through the window walls as they walked, taking a private path up to one of the conference rooms in the Avengers' wing of the base. They came upon one without any glass walls, and Tony ushered him in, closing the door behind them both with a sharp click. Director Fury was there, standing tall with his arms folded behind his back, while Representative Hawley was seated, another woman with brown hair and blue eyes to her left. The captain was standing as well, hands resting on his belt and a silent nod his greeting. Tipping a palm out, the brunette woman invited him to step closer.
A decision had been reached, and it was time for judgment to be passed.
"For the remainder of the weekend, you're forbidden from participating in the placement trials," Captain Rogers began, electing to be the first to address him. Seeing his shoulders slump, the older man shook his head minutely, a finger tapping at his belt. "However, you will be going through a separate set of trials. We gotta figure out your real stats, your strengths and weaknesses and everything. From there, we can flesh out a training schedule for the future. I know it will be impossible to stop you from continuing to do what you're doing in the city." The captain did not seem terribly pleased as he said that, but it was the reality of the situation, and so he got through it. "The least we can do is give you the proper tools to handle it. Since Tony is the closest situated, he will be monitoring your actions and progress while there, and can provide back-up if needed."
The teenager blinked rapidly. It was far more than he had hoped for when the first layers of the deception had been laid down.
"Wow," he breathed, the blood rushing back into his face as swiftly as it had drained.
"Hold on, kid," Tony muttered, stepping forward. A palm raised to stem the verbal onslaught he was poised to give. "There is a catch."
Eyebrows shooting up, the teenager, looked back the people who were deciding his fate, not sure what kind of catch would be applied. It was then that Director Fury cut in.
"You have to report in to the team, weekly. You will meet with one of the designated active members to assess your progress monthly."
The stern look he gave told Peter he would be wise not to miss or skip out on either of those things.
"Any major emergencies—including massive attacks, invasions, and things like that—must be deferred to local law enforcement, or the team, first, no exceptions," was Representative Hawley's demand, her fingers lacing together atop the table. The uncomfortable cast to her face had not lessened by much, but she knew that it would, most likely, be the best that she could hope for in that situation. The captain's chin inclined a bit, and he shared a glance with Stark.
"And you have to tell your aunt what's going on," the blond man stated, simply yet firmly. It was another point, one that they would not yield on, and the set of his countenance told the kid that much. Peter's jaw dropped then, an accusing glare shot at Tony. The billionaire returned the hostility with a bland expression, which infuriated him further.
"You told them that?!"
"Pete, that's my stipulation," he asserted, not cowed in the least by the younger man's glower. "Frankly, you should've told her months ago, when it first happened."
Huffing, Parker felt the indignity rush through him, the fury at being told he had to give himself up by people who would never do so if they were in his shoes. At least, that's what he thought.
"Oh, come on!" he groused, sounding every inch the teenager that he was. Scoffing bitterly, he spat, "Like you tell Miss Potts everything. You lied, too."
Both of the billionaire's eyebrows hit his hairline, and for the first time, Peter realized that he had pushed him a tad too hard. He wasn't going to back down, though, and he stiffened his spine. Before another altercation could take place, Captain Rogers rounded the table, hand out and his expression plaintive.
"Son, we've all kept secrets from people. From people we care about, from one another, even. In the end, doing that has caused more pain and misery than if we'd acted otherwise and been honest. I can tell you that firsthand." The minuscule glance he shot to Stark went unnoticed by the boy as he bowed his head, but Tony merely frowned. He did not, however, disagree with him, and so the point slid by. Focusing on Peter again, he murmured, "That's why we're insisting on it. You'll hurt yourself, and her, more if you keep lying to her."
The younger man's head shot up, the anger in his face laced with doubt. And not a little bit of fear.
"I can't, I can't tell—" He cut himself off, a rapid swallow bobbing the thin Adam's apple in his throat. Slowly, carefully, a hand was laid upon his shoulder, the captain's touch anchoring him to the present moment.
"I'm not saying that you have go out and declare who you are to the world. Frankly, you're not ready for that. But you can, and should, tell your aunt," he reiterated. "She's your family, Peter. And you will need your family to get through this, I promise you."
One breath, then another, and a deep sigh rolled through the kid.
"...She's gonna kill me."
Rogers gave him a crooked grin, clapping his shoulder once before dropping his hand back to his side. The outright rejection was gone, and he was thankful for that. For his part, Tony just shrugged, his earlier miffed state brushed off.
"Maybe. Or maybe she'll be more understanding than you've been giving her credit for. This is the best deal we can hope for, really." Pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek, Stark pondered that for a moment. "Unless you choose to go rogue, but you'll only go so far with that."
Another breath, and then Peter managed to nod his head.
"Okay. I...can accept those terms," he said, gliding over the hitch in his sentence as best he could. And he would accept them. He didn't want to blow his chance, now that he actually had one. So this was what Stark had meant by the great possibilities he could expect. It might not be so bad...until he spoke to Aunt May. But that could wait until after they'd returned from the weekend away.
"Alright, that's good enough for now," the captain spoke over his musings, gesturing towards the door and indicating that he was free to go. "We'll hammer out more of the details as we go."
Somewhat cheered by the prospect, Parker thanked them all before leaving the room, Tony's quiet directive to wait for him outside given before that. The door swung shut as Stark let his gaze fall over the others, riveting on Steve for a long moment as he mused inwardly.
"Look at that. A whole hour passed and we didn't kill each other," he noted. Once they'd gotten the initial argument out of their systems, the two men had been able to discuss the issue at hand. Though it did not approach the level of rapport they had once shared, it was far better than it had been in the months previous.
A grin twisted Steve's lips, though it did not reach his eyes. "Must be a new record."
Tony snorted. "Right."
"Congratulations," Fury intoned sardonically, roused from his silent contemplative state. Frankly, the entire situation revolving around Barnes, Rogers, and Stark did not crack his personal top ten of betrayals. At least the ex-assassin had owned up to his mistakes, and Rogers had as well. And while he really, truly did sympathize with Stark's stance on the matter, he had seen much worse play out in his life and career. The pain should not be forgotten, but it was time to get on to other things. Such as the conundrum posed mere hours before. "Meanwhile, there is still a lot more to go over, now that Stark has overturned another can of worms for us to clean up."
He shared a glance with Hawley, and Hill. The question of SHIELD, of the Avengers' stance on children developing powers and making their way onto the radar, had to be addressed, and it had to be done as swiftly as possible. It had been neglected for too long, and may have already caused irreparable damage elsewhere. They had to work, to try and make sure that would not happen in the future.
Stark snorted once again. He certainly did not envy them that workload. For the time being, he was content merely to bring awareness to the issue; the details could, for once, be handled by the others.
"Enjoy your homework for the night, Fury," he said, smirking at the deepening frown on the older man's face. Turning to the two ladies left in the room, he dipped his chin at both of them in farewell. "Hawley, Hill."
To Rogers, he said nothing. A final glance, a short exhalation, and he wandered out of the conference room. The gamble he had taken with Peter had paid off, to a degree. The world was shifting around him again, awareness of the next generation stepping up to the plate dawning on him fully in that instant. And even previous generations getting into the swing of it, he noted sourly, his mind considering Barnes once more. However, the bitterness from before had been tempered as he recalled the way he'd stood by the kid, stood up for him in a small way. It was strange, reconciling that to his own perceptions. It also left a weird taste in his mouth, one that he did not care to analyze at that moment.
"Let's go check out the guest quarters, kid," he instead offered aloud, hooking his thumb to the elevator and motioning for Parker to come along. He had no desire to return to Albany for the night, and he was not about to suffer through the efforts of a student driver. "See what's left for us to claim."
"Sure," the kid said, following close on his heels. After a minute or two of quiet walking, his face brightened considerably, and he opened his mouth again. "Hey, so I got a close look at Bucky's arm. Did you know—"
The bad taste returned, and Stark shook his head.
"Peter. Not now," he reprimanded him gently, waiting until the younger man had conceded to his request. Confusion streaked across the boy's irises, but he was in no mood to consider it. There was enough to think about already. Barnes could wait for a little while.
xXxXxXx
With the situation regarding the kid having been squared away, the trials resumed with only a few hours lost. Even though they were short an applicant, the others managed to come through the simulations relatively well. The hand-to-hand combat exercises were interchanged with psychiatric evaluations (for those without permanent therapists, of course; the ones who were already in treatment just had their doctors forward reports of their findings for consideration to the on-site doctors). Some of the fights were interesting, purely for the spectator aspect—the sparring between Synapse and Wanda was almost purely mental, and it was entertaining to see as one or the other would occasionally freeze in place before bending in pain due to the assault happening within. Clint and Lang provided a running commentary for it as they went, and even Bucky couldn't hold back a grin when they did so ("Uh-oh, execute system restart, Scarlet Witch needs a reboot," the one called Ant-Man snickered, narrowly avoiding the blasting mist of a red aura as Barton smothered his laugh in the sleeve of his jacket).
For his part, Bucky had determined he was truly doing his best, his sparring opponent being Barton. The archer was just as ruthless and relentless as he could be, but he suspected a lot of his punches and jabs had a different intent behind them as he swung. Privately, Natasha had confirmed that was very likely the case, but the other man had confessed that he was glad that Barnes gave as much as he got without fear of reprisal. Whether or not he achieved placement, he was proving his progress, his worth, and he was doing decently. That was enough for him, particularly when he was going to bed with sore muscles and a blooming shiner the second night.
The third day rolled around, the summons for the applicants distributed. One by one, they filed into the designated office, seating themselves at the table. Bucky sat on the edge of his seat, hands folding into his lap as the assembled Avengers stared them down (avidly he directed his gaze away from both the woman he cared for—she would not appreciate leering, though it wouldn't be anything of the sort—and from the man he'd greatly, unknowingly wronged in the past), all of them positioned behind the committee of four. Steve and Fury took up the center posts before the table, Hawley and Hill flanking them. Once the gathered recruits had been seated and conversation had still, they spoke.
It had been decided, the captain had proclaimed, looking at each one of them in turn. Prince T'Challa, due to his influence and the need to be close at hand, would be assigned to the secondary team. Emily would be as well, seeing as how there was already one mentally-inclined Avenger in New York and they needed the balance (she shot a look to the other woman in question, the pair of them sharing a secret smile to the bafflement of the others gathered). As for the primary team membership, the first slot was to be awarded to Scott Lang, Fury stepping in to intimate that he had demonstrated his worth. Despite the quirks, was the dry addendum, but the guy looked far too pleased to be truly offended by the field director's observation. Upon the seconds of silence that followed, Barnes shot a hasty glance at Bishop, her returning it with a raised eyebrow. The intentional drawing out of the tension was ridiculous, in their eyes, but they could do no more than wait. Finally, Fury spoke again, the corner of his mouth twitching. After heavy deliberation, it had been decided that Bucky Barnes would be afforded the final slot.
A pin could have dropped in that moment, and it would not have been any louder than the quiet that followed. Barnes merely stared at the assessment committee as they spoke directly to Kate. Part of him was backlogging the information, that she would be on a rotating roster between the two teams, three-month intervals spent between the bases so that she could continue her training and gain more experience. Hawkeye would still hold onto his title, but after six months, she could choose whether to take up the mantle in New York, or forge a new one in London. The buzz in the room grew and opposed the one in his mind when the meeting concluded several minutes later, instructions for each new member given. At some point, he recalled meeting Steve's eyes, quiet pride in his irises as he nodded to his friend. The others began to filter out (the captain was drawn into a closed-headed conference with Fury, the one called Hill hot on their heels, and the rest of the Avengers trailed after them), meeting up in the hall, but he stayed put. Well, him and another person.
"Primary team placement. Awesome!" Lang crooned, smiling wide and raising his hand in the air. The expectant look he gave Bucky was met by a bland one, and he slowly lowered his hand again. Clearing his throat, he scratched at his ear, a little at a loss and slightly miffed at being rejected for the high-five. Working with someone that humorless was going to be interest. "Well, I'm gonna go...make some calls."
He hooked his thumb over his shoulder, exiting the room with all haste to do as he claimed. The others still milled about beyond the doorway, the prince bowing his head in farewell to the others. After two days of effectively being off the grid, he was required to put in an appearance to maintain the illusion of his deception. With his placement given, he could do so, and then proceed to London immediately afterward. Synapse was shaking Wanda's hand, the auburn-haired girl no doubt imploring her to send her greetings to her brother when she made it to the secondary base. Even Kate seemed to be in good cheer, despite the ambiguous nature of her placement. He strongly suspected it had to do with her at least having a chance to be a part of the organization in some form. It would be interesting to see how she would make it work between the college courses that she'd be resuming in the fall. For a long time, Barnes sat on his own, the conference room his haven as he processed it all.
Primary team placement. He would, in essence, be an Avenger. It boggled the mind, made his heart simultaneously swell and shrink at the prospect. As Natasha had pointed out in the past, his path had been leading to that moment, almost from the second he chose to step out of hiding and join the fight over Sokovia. Still, to have it there, in front of him, to have truly arrived at that moment, it was nearly unbelievable.
A soft rap rebounded on the open door, and he flicked his gaze over. The cool disbelief thawed when he spotted the woman standing there, ocean eyes shining and a tiny, smug smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she came into the room, her quick, silent steps bringing her to his side. In that stolen, private moment, she bent, palm planted firmly on his shoulder and lips pressing firmly to his.
"Congratulations, Medved'," she breathed when they broke apart, her smooth veneer returning almost instantly as she pulled away. The tiny flash of affection, though, backlit her irises, and he could not help but grin up at her. Of course, she had known about his placement before he did, but she had not given the game away in the slightest.
"Thank you," he replied, the spring of pleasure in his face slipping away as he focused on a nick in the far wall. She examined him for several seconds, her thumb brushing against the material of his shirt.
"You okay?"
Tipping his head to the side, he tapped a finger along the grain of the table top.
"Just...part of me thought it wouldn't happen," he told her, wryness twisting his lips. A low sigh came out of her then, and he looked back up at her, eyebrow inclining a fraction.
A sigh trailed out of her nose, and seriousness invaded her face. "It almost didn't."
That got his attention. It was generally known that placement would be decided by vote. So, to say that it had come close...
Clearing his throat, he wondered, "What changed that, then?"
A clearing throat came from the doorway, and both of them looked up. Stark stood there, his dark gaze offset by the bitter smirk on his lips. The tightness of his posture put Barnes on edge, but Natasha merely raised an eyebrow, unfazed. Glancing at her, Bucky noted the slight inclination of her head, the minimal confirmation of the unspoken truth. Brow furrowing, he stared at the billionaire, incredulous and skeptical of his choice. Why on Earth would he allow his parents' assassin be on the team he helped build?
Evidently, he had an answer for that, and did not need any prodding to share it.
"Personally, I'd rather have you where I can keep an eye on you myself, Barnes. Don't like the idea of you straying too far," he confessed, taking a step into the room and crossing his arms over his chest. Narrowing his eyes at the seated man, he continued, "Particularly if you snap."
Stormy blue eyes widened at the bluntness. Though he had made tremendous progress over the last year and a half, there was a part of him that had acknowledged that it may, perhaps, all be for naught. He was working his hardest to prevent a backwards slide, but it was something he still feared, deep down. To have that fear thrown back in his face, used as an excuse for someone to exploit, was unsettling.
Natasha stiffened beside him. In a warning tone, she ground out, "Tony..."
Placating hands were lifted, but the gesture was disingenuous, at best.
"Relax, Big Red," Stark snapped, the playful tone edged out by irritability. Raking his gaze over her, he spiked an eyebrow. "You should be pleased to have your bionic chew toy around more often. Though, given your last choice, I would say you've downgraded a tad."
Bucky felt more than saw the barely perceptible flinch that flashed through his lover, and his frown deepened. He would dare taunt her with that, with the travails of the past? The fingers of his metal fist curled, and he wanted nothing more than to send it flying into the other man's face. However, he also knew that Nat was strong, and could handle herself. Pulling herself to her full height, the fire of her glare pinned the tech genius in place.
"Given that he chose to leave us all behind, I'm not sure I agree with you," she shot back, a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes when she spotted Tony's expression of discomfort. She glanced down once more at Bucky, the hand on his shoulder gave a final squeeze. Pulling away, she marched briskly out the door, a nod and her parting words flung over her shoulder as she left. "Drive safe, Stark."
"Romanoff," was his farewell, his tongue clicking as she disappeared from sight. Casting another fast, harsh look at Barnes, he noted, "You better hope she doesn't fully emulate her namesake, or you might end up dead the next time you're gettin' busy. Although, wouldn't be surprised if it happened."
His mouth twisted, as though the words had tasted foul. Not liking the tenor of his words, nor the direction they were taking, Bucky rose from his seat, determined to end it there. If Stark kept picking, he would eventually lose his patience. And, unlike Steve, he couldn't hold onto it all that long.
"Probably would be no worse than what I deserve, right?" he snarled back, meeting the harshness with his own. The billionaire could still affect his fate, yes, but he would not fear that future. He already lived with the guilt, would live with it for the rest of his life. If the other man did nothing but grind him down and intentionally provoke him, he would push back, now.
Bucky didn't take more than three steps towards the door before Stark sidled into the frame again, blocking his way out. Inhaling sharply, he paused, hands clenching as he waited for him to either put up a physical fight or come back with a verbal retort. After all, it had been proven that in an enclosed space, he was likely to engage in one or the other when Barnes was there as well. Dark brown irises latched onto him, deep grooves wearing into his brow and around his mouth as he pondered something. Eventually, though, he chose to speak.
"You didn't have to do it." Off the confused expression, he elaborated. "Stick up for Parker, I mean. So why did you?"
Bucky's eyebrows inclined slightly, and he tempered his breathing. Whether he meant it or not, Stark had just exposed another tipping point in deciding to keep his vote as 'for.' Scratching the back of his neck, the ex-assassin searched for the words, ones that would not condemn him as he spoke.
"He was trying to be heard, I just gave him an opening. And..." he trailed off, considering the point. His blue gaze flicked over the other man's shoulder, his ear catching the baritone chuckle of the captain in the seconds that followed. Raising his shoulder, he murmured, "I'm used to it. Sticking up for the little guy is kinda second nature to me. From what I can recall, at least."
Long silence reigned between the two men, the quagmire of everything unspoken and the barely-healing hurts stewing in the honest truth. Neither gave quarter, neither showed fear, no matter what they felt internally. The hard set of the billionaire's jaw eventually loosened, and he lowered his lids, the darkness in his gaze spiking briefly.
"This doesn't change anything," he said, the tone firm as he made the pronouncement. Bucky merely nodded.
"Didn't expect it to." It was too much to believe that Stark would ever truly change his opinion about him, in his estimation. But when something new flashed over his eyes, he started to think that perhaps another level of understanding had been reached.
"Good." With that, Tony pivoted on his heel, flapping a hand at Parker and summoning him to come along. Uncertain of whether or not he could chalk it up as a victory that they'd made it through without killing each other, Bucky went to through the door frame to the hall. Exhaling softly, he looked up in time to catch the kid glancing over his shoulder to him as he followed his mentor, a discreet wave and gratefulness lighting his face as they rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.
Victory, it was, then, he concluded. A small victory, but at least he was still standing, still breathing, and still free. It was plenty, for the moment.
xXxXxXx
In the beginning, Helmut Zemo had many avenues to consider in regards to getting his revenge upon the Avengers. He could clearly remember the spill of rubble, the smash and crash of buildings as they collapsed. The screams of a woman, of the little ones unable to escape echoed in his mind so often, he wondered if he would be driven mad by it all. In a way, he was. When he lost his family, nearly a year ago, he'd lost himself. Who was to say his mind, at least a small part of it, was not gone, too? In his tent, as he received medical treatment on the ground, he saw them as they wandered among the people, ignorant of the true misery they had caused, and he cursed them. With the loss of his wife and children in the disaster of Sokovia, he had been consumed by the desire to spill the blood of those wretched beings, to make them suffer as he had in his grief.
Most of the ideas he had considered were downright foolish, conceived in the early weeks and consisting of no more than finding every one of them and putting a bullet through their heads (impossible and stupid, he would reflect harshly upon that later). However, some ideas had merit. At first, he had thought that his endeavor would consist of a construct that was entirely dependent on him. Intricate details involving the manipulation of the members, of pitting them against one another, of pulling the strings of various connections to make them squirm and destroy themselves flitted through his mind. However, such a plan relied far too much on chance and luck. And it relied on the world seeing the Avengers through a lens darkly, which they had, evidently, decided they could not. Instead, the world praised their efforts—piss-poor efforts in his eyes; they didn't manage to save his family, did they? Or many others', either—and supplied them with aid they did not deserve. Neither were the team cooperative; any fall-outs that had happened had never reached his ears, though he supposed he could have worked an angle on Stark.
No, he would not rely purely on chance. In his desperation, he would rely on others, others who understood the pain caused and the trauma wrought by the Avengers. It was why he sought out Crossbones, why he had released Jensen from prison. Working together, with their steady takeover of the black market underworld and deliberate measure to throw off the teams on both sides of the globe, they could achieve the goal of misery and destruction upon each one of them. And quietly, carefully, they could build their base, build a wide resistance that would rally others to the cause. All that was needed was an opportunity.
And finally, finally, an appropriate one had appeared.
Scanning over the email sent to him by a well-placed (and well-paid) spy, he was tipped off to something even greater than he could have hope for. Sending out a summons, he waited until Rumlow and Jensen came to his office, his palms pressed flat on the desktop as the pair approached and sat down. The good doctor had been experimenting in the lab with a new rifle she had constructed, something that would reduce kickback and cause far more damage. The mercenary, expressing interest in such a weapon, had come off a run in the south of France. The small job yielded little by the way of results, but it did hammer home the point that the Crossbones was not to be underestimated. With both in his presence, he felt the slight surge of giddiness rack him, though he did not allow it to register upon his face. The tight, coiled energy of his body, however, was evident as he printed off the email sent to him, passing copies to his comrades with alacrity.
The U.N. was proposing to hold a summit, in commemoration of the deal brokered between them and the Avengers (a pact made in blood, in his eyes). Invitations were garnered to those who had shown support of the Avengers World proposals, a review of the progress of the past year to be considered. The informant had pressed the importance that was being placed on the gathering, as dignitaries from all over the globe would be there. Whether or not the teams in question would make an appearance was speculated upon, but Zemo knew better.
They would make an appearance. He, and his compatriots, would make sure of it. A rough outline of the grand plan had surfaced, melding with the contingencies he had been making over the last year. It would take very little to infiltrate the assembly; money could take them far, and that, he did have. As a descendant of German nobility and Sokovian gentry, he did have that, indeed. It would be slightly more difficult to smuggle weapons in, particularly as the event was to take place in the paranoid American city of New York, but he could trust Rumlow to get around that. If they moved fast, they and the majority of the already-gathered troops could be stateside in a matter of days, poised to strike just as the meetings kicked off. The smaller details churned in the back of his mind, every small consideration being dealt with even as they spoke.
Jensen's eyes had brightened significantly at the proposed plans, eager to set it into motion. However, when he turned his gaze onto the mercenary, he was met with a wall of cold disbelief. He clicked his tongue, sitting back in his chair somewhat.
"I thought you would be pleased, Rumlow," he remarked, taking in the frown and bunching scars of his partner. "Patience has paid off."
"Yeah, your patience," the other fellow retorted, irises flashing dangerously. He had left patience behind long ago, and it had progressed to the point that he could feel nothing but indifference. Shaking his head, he muttered, "I'm not sure about this plan."
The flippant tone dripping from his words made the other man spike an eyebrow.
"You make it sound as though capturing a good number of the world's leaders and representatives will be a trite endeavor. It's only a single part of a greater scheme," he reminded him, the layer of reprimand underneath heard loud and clear if the mercenary's grinding teeth were anything to go by. Rumlow had shown time and again that he had little faith in the endeavors of the past year, and time and again he had to prove their worth. Even after being proven right so often, he still expected it. Blowing a sigh out his nose, he murmured, "More will follow."
"Good thing that there's an army to back this up," Jensen noted wryly, fingers threading through her dark, cropped hair as her gaze gleamed.
Zemo smiled back at her coldly. "An army with your weapons."
"Good to know that time in Sudan wasn't a total waste," she returned, something a tad more predatory surfacing then.
Brock scoffed audibly. He didn't come down to the dirty, little bunker just to watch the pair make eyes at each other. God, if he wanted to see flirting done over armies and potential death, he would take his chances with his personal underlings.
"I didn't say I thought it would be trite," he cut in again, dropping his print-out on the desk. Scratching at one of the scars along his jaw, he spat, "I just don't think getting involved in the politics should be our focus. My goal has always been one thing, Zemo, you know that."
Brows lowered, and the stare the other man fixed on him was anything but friendly.
"Yes, but the politics will force the Avengers to act. Will force Captain America to act," he pointed out, the corner of his mouth twitching when he caught the mercenary's slight inhalation at the leader's name. Good to see that he had not lost faith in the cause, at least. Prodding the dropped print-out, he continued, "This will draw them out, and then...we will take them out."
Rumlow shook his head, not content with that. "There should be some incentive to make sure they do come out. If we did a little digging, find the right buttons to press, we could—"
At once, Zemo's face went blank, and he cut him off. "No."
"Why not?" the mercenary asked, finally driven into exasperation. For months, he been swallowing assignments and favors down, in the name of a cause they both were pursuing, but when he proposed something, it had to be slapped down? Perhaps he did not understand why it would be important to have such a contingency plan in the wings. "Potts has a couple of bodyguards, but that's easy enough to work around. And the captain's bitch is knocked up, wouldn't be too hard to grab her and—"
A fist slammed down on the desk, making the few personal items atop it jump and flutter at the force.
"No!" The shock of Zemo losing his temper, actually screaming, took Rumlow aback. Not once, even when he had flown into his own rages, did the smaller man ever lose control. Jensen's eyes had widened, and she pressed back into her seat, gaze ricocheting between her two compatriots. Within a few moments, the other man regained his composure, pushing up his wire-rimmed glasses and clearing his throat. The hot rage gave way to an icy chill as he spoke again. "No families, no allies. Just them."
It was the only rule, the only point he would never bend upon. His revenge was reserved for those who deserved it. Only them. If Rumlow did not understand that, then that was his personal difficulty to work out.
Sitting up straight again, he pronounced, "Besides, it would be expected to target the weak ones. Almost a cliché, if you will. And why do them that favor?"
Jensen merely nodded in agreement, but Rumlow had gritted his teeth once again. Why do them that favor, indeed? Why indulge in a cliché?
Clichés were clichés because they, on some level, worked. That was why. However, he could see that if he did choose to indulge, he would be doing so without support. And he had come too far to break off now. With a great effort, he unlocked his jaw, fingers digging tight into the arms of his chair as he acceded to the plan.
"We'll do it your way," he said, the grind of his voice ignored as the other man smirked. He remained silent as he started to elaborate further, as Jensen told him of their stock and how much could be done in the next few days time. Yes, they would execute the plan he had drawn up.
'To start with,' Rumlow's brain amended inwardly. Because if, at any point, the grand Zemo's plan went sideways, he would jump ship and do what he had set out to do two years ago. No more rules, no more patience.
First, though, he would see if it would work.
xXxXxXx
Giving her email a final, cursory check, Holly smiled to herself. In the months that had followed the disaster of Sokovia, she had been in touch with one of the people she had helped evacuate. Specifically, a little girl named Dasha. In her downtime between assisting other refugees and helping Maria contact major organizations to link with the Avengers' cause, she had visited with the child, cobbling English and Slovak together in an amalgamation as comfort. When she was released, she had given the young girl her private email address, imploring her to write her, if she so chose. With her aunt's help, Dasha had done just that, improving her knowledge of the second language and keeping in touch as best she could. For the first few months, she spoke about how she had stayed with her grandmother in the capital, her aunt switching departments so that they could remain there. Taking the initiative, Holly had included her niece Jodie into the email chain, knowing both girls were of an age and could most likely connect well. Seven months later, the kids were still in the full swing of it, sending messages back and forth weekly (and still CC-ing her in the line, acting as a go-between for their guardians on occasion).
Dasha had just returned a message sent a few days previously, stating how little she cared for her mathematics course and commiserating with Jodie about the lack of time spent away from the classroom. A new apartment building was being placed in Novi Grad, nearly completed, and her aunt was considering moving them both back there once it was finished. A file had been attached to the email, a picture scanned in for both of them to print off. In it, the dark haired nine-year-old was smiling, a hand raised in greeting as the photograph was taken.
The kid was a sweetie, Holly mused privately. It was good to see that some of the citizens of Sokovia had recovered, at least a little. It was good to know their efforts in those days, and the weeks following had not been in vain. She would answer later, when she was back at the house. Raking her gaze through the inbox once more, and finding nothing other than the reminder to call in to the editor about the website ideas she had for marketing her novel, she closed out her computer. Another day gone in the archives, another day spent wading through the past and properly cataloging it. Sighing, she signed off on her digital clock-out form, gathering her things and heading towards the door. A slight nod was given to the receptionist on the way out. With a majority of her time spent neck-deep in filing some transcripts from the 1980's (finally, she was allowed to approach closer to her own generation in her work; the outmoded terms of some of the papers of the past had her reeling on occasion), she was grateful to be heading out. There wasn't even a reprieve for lunch, given how Kay had show up sullen and cold, eating mechanically and humming whenever Holly tried to lighten the mood.
Though she was not given explicit details about the derailment between her and Sam, Holly did know enough. It was a hard road for the pair to tread, and Kay was uncertain about how far she wanted to go. It was a little heartbreaking, even for an outsider; being friends with both, and knowing that they really cared for one another, it was tough to see them going through the hell of indecision and refusal to speak to one another. Weeks had gone by, and Holly was unsure that the stalemate could continue much longer. A reckoning, a true reckoning, was on the horizon, she could sense it.
That, or it was just the baby giving her little punches to the stomach even as she pondered it all. Either or, really.
Her feet plodded heavily to the elevator, and she punched the button to go up, rather than to the garage. Prying would not do them any good, but perhaps she could recruit her husband into doing some gentle prodding of his own. Hers hadn't worked—Kay was quite stubborn when she wished to be—but Steve could probably get away with one of those guys' heart-to-hearts, in which little was said, but much was understood. Maybe. Just so that the pair would talk to one another again. With the trials completed and no mission work on the docket, he would be able to hear her out. However, it could wait until after dinner, after they'd gotten home and she parked herself on the couch. Ankle swelling was a thing that was starting to happen, and she was not pleased with it. Choosing to swing by his office before heading down to the car, she wandered slowly down the hall, passed the security points with relative ease. Mentally debating what to eat once they both were home, she knocked lightly on his door, the barest grunt on the other side permitting her to enter.
"Hey, hon, do you think—" Her half-formed inquiry died on her tongue when she walked in and really looked at Steve. Usually, he'd greet her with a smile, or at least look pleased to see her. That, however, was not the case at that moment. A hand was cupped over his mouth, the deep grooves cutting into his forehead. Shoulders were slack, though he was by no means relaxed. On the desk sat his cell phone, the screen dark and his free forefinger tapping at it in agitation. His distant, unfocused eyes snapped to her when she called out his name, wide and uncertain. Wide, uncertain, and red-rimmed with sorrow.
Trepidation filled her gut, and a palm went to the curve of her belly. At once, she closed the door behind her, the dull click of the lock echoing in the silence. Picking her way over to him carefully, she dropped her bag onto a visitor's chair. Going around the desk, she stopped beside him and rested her backside against it. He said nothing, just watched her as she approached, his breathing unsteadily filling his chest. Gently, she pried his hand away from his mouth, taking it between both of hers. Rubbing it tenderly, she felt a nervous tug at her heartstrings when he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. It was not good, whatever had made him act that way, but she was afraid to ask. However, she couldn't just let him sink in on himself in such a way. Not on her watch.
Clearing her throat once, then a second time, she forced herself to ask, "What's wrong?"
Eyes opened again, another breath taken, and he looked at her fully. The barest hint of a quaver was in the back of his voice, but he managed to get through his statement in due time.
"Holly. Peggy, she...she died. Last night."
Steve managed to get through his announcement in time for Holly to gather him into her arms, the sadness shared then.
A/N:...Oh, dear. Things are escalating, dear readers. Hope y'all can hang on. :)
A lot going on in this chapter. Hope Zemo sounded okay. His plot for CW was something that relied heavily on luck and circumstance (and, yes, his intelligence), but as far as this storyline goes, I didn't think it would be applicable here. We'll see how this other one plays out, though.
Canonically, this is about the time Peggy Carter passed away in the MCU. Trust me, it hurt to write that line. Truly.
I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references in the text (Marvel comics, etc.).
Next chapter has the potential to be late (I know, I'm saying it again!) because I'm celebrating early Christmas with some of my family this weekend, and that might eat into my writing time. I'll do my best, though!
Also, I want to reiterate how truly grateful I am to every one of you who reviews, favorites, and/or follows this story. Honestly, you all are amazing, and I wish I could do more to thank you all for your kindness and your aid. Christmas spirit is invading me a bit, haha.
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!