James Rhodes sighed, scrubbing his free hand over his forehead as he turned over the next sheet in the packet sent to him from the base. He knew it was coming, but he hadn't known the extent to which it would be coming. At least it would keep him occupied for the day, he mused as he scrawled his signature after reading through the mind-numbing march of text, dating it the twenty-third of May. After enduring the multiple surgeries to his hips and leg, he was looking for any form of distraction while he healed. He already exhausted testing out the functions of his wheelchair, a motorized one that Tony had taken the liberty of tinkering with before he got it. It made getting around the Tower easier as he recuperated there; he was fairly certain that if he took it out on the streets of Manhattan, he'd be giving some of the vehicles out there a run for their money. Television and movies had not yet exhausted themselves, but he was getting dangerously close, and so he'd had to pace himself. For now, the paperwork would do well.
It wasn't like he could afford to put off signing it all, anyway.
The chime at the door of his private quarters came, with JJ announcing the arrival's name. Granting verbal access, Rhodey looked up in time to see Tony Stark come around the bend in the hall. For his part, he looked well enough. His own bruises and scratches had healed up, and even some of the exhaustion in his person was starting to fade a bit. Inwardly, the colonel was relieved his friend was not regressing to his bad habits of the past. All work and no sleep made Tony a walking anxiety attack, and he did not relish repeating that experience, ever. He wanted better for his friend. At least it seemed like he was getting that much, those days. Sidling up to the table Rhodey was stationed at, the other man spiked an eyebrow, halting at the edge.
"Wow. I mean, you said you were thinking about it, but..." Tony trailed off, his eyes darting over the papers strewn before his friend. Whistling low, he muttered, "Look at that."
Rhodey snorted, capping his pen for the moment. "Yeah, unfortunately resignation involves more paperwork than an extended leave of absence. Still, better to get this done now."
Gesturing for Stark to sit down, Rhodey would have been remiss if he had failed to notice the flicker of disgruntled pity that flew through the other man's eyes. He met the gaze frankly; he did not feel any shame in tendering his resignation for the Avengers, and he did not want his friend to feel it on his behalf, in any respect. Exhaling through his nose, he waited for the inevitable questions, the confrontation, that he knew Stark had been holding back on since he first declared his intentions the week prior. Rhodes had figured the other man had chalked it up as the post-op drugs doing the talking, but he was clear-minded enough when he ventured the notion. Soon enough, Tony was clearing his throat, folding his hands and laying them on the table-top. Rhodey barely suppressed a smirk at the posture, the one that spoke of business and making deals, and how ingrained it had become in his friend's behavior.
"You sure about going through with this?" he asked, point-blank. Flapping a few fingers at the documents, at the air hovering around the colonel, he attempted to continue, "About..."
"About what?" Rhodey shot back, the faint quirk of his lips sliding away as Tony set his jaw. The thought was clear on his face, and so he addressed it. "You think I'm giving up. Tony, think about it for a sec. I'm forty-eight, and I just had both my hips replaced, and most of my femur reconstructed. Doc says I was lucky that I didn't sever an artery, let alone break or puncture anything else. Don't even get me started on the internal damage bullet I dodged."
Leaning back in his motorized chair, Rhodey blew out a sharp breath, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Even when I'm completely healed, I'm not going to be able to walk normally again," he intoned, an edge of sourness creeping into his words. After all the missions, after all the grunt work and operations he participated in with both the Air Force and the Avengers, and it was a chunk of falling wall that had taken him out of the game. Scoffing, he bluntly murmured, "What part of that says I'm just gonna be able to jump in a suit and keep doing the job?"
Even if he went above and beyond expectations with his physical therapy, there was too much damage in his nerves and back. He'd be hobbling to that suit, a cane his constant companion. And fighting? He doubt very much that could happen, either. Shaking his head, he heard Tony sharply inhale, glancing up as he scratched at the back of his neck. His dark eyes were wide, and he could almost see the wheels running at top speed as he considered options for him.
"I could, I could build somethin', get you some—"
The colonel held up a palm, the calm gesture pacifying him and stalling the build-up.
"Man, stop. I appreciate the thought, but that's not the focus here. This isn't giving up. This is being realistic. I've been serving since I was eighteen years old. I was lucky enough to survive this long as it is. I knew the risks when I switched last year, knew that something like this could happen. That something worse could happen. Am I pissed? Hell yes, I am." Rhodey drew in another breath, the fire inside him lulling bit by bit. He had made his decision, and while he was still coming to terms with it, he already knew that it was the right thing to do. "But...I've been angry. And angry isn't going to change anything. Building something isn't going to change anything, not really."
Tony's answering smirk was a touch bittersweet. "Could make you walk smoother."
Rhodey's had the same touch as he returned it. "Maybe. As it is, I'm going to accept my honorable discharge. Take on something new."
Casting another glance at the paperwork, then to the expansive suite of rooms allotted to his friend, the billionaire's curiosity was palpable.
"Like what?"
The colonel shrugged at that, cutting his gaze away briefly.
"I don't know. Stilted golf? Maybe I'll get myself a hot-rod, actually go through the mid-life crisis I suppressed years ago." Eyeing up the second half of the mailed paperwork, he tapped his thumb against it. "Or, I'll branch out elsewhere; I'll become a tactical consultant."
A dark eyebrow spiked, intrigue in his irises as Tony craned his neck to examine the other documents.
"Is that even a thing?"
Rhodey lifted a shoulder, his grin returning slightly. It had been the counteroffer to his proposal, one that he, in hindsight, was glad to accept. It would stop him from going mad in boredom.
"Evidently, Fury's got some agents who are coming aboard who need to be whipped into shape. They need to learn to think like...well, in some cases, they gotta learn to think, period." The two men shared a chuckle, and the colonel grabbed up his pen again. "Just resigning from one post to take up another. Maybe I'll make it like an online course or something, never have to leave the house again. Sit around in my underwear all day, for once."
Flipping over to the page he'd left off, he spotted the slump of Tony's shoulders out the corner of his eye.
"So, no more War Machine," he stated as the signature was made, the flourish underscoring the change in his friend's status. Tony chewed the inside of his cheek for a few seconds. Rhodes wasn't throwing anything away, or giving up, he reasoned inwardly. Though he would no longer be an Avenger, or even an active member of the military, he would still be himself. He would still be around. That certainly counted for something; he'd come close to losing two friends, and he was lucky enough that they both had stayed. He wouldn't begrudge Rhodey his choices. Still, his brow quirked a bit as he pondered the title that the other man was surrendering. "Or would you prefer the Bionic Patriot?"
Although a lame jest, Rhodey still barked out a laugh, shaking his head as the billionaire proudly grinned.
"I wouldn't. And no, not for the foreseeable future," he affirmed. For a long moment, the two men sat, mired in their own thoughts. He went back to observing his friend, his spirits higher than they had been in months, his disposition improved. Deciding something, he rested his elbows on the table, meeting Tony's gaze directly as he voiced his thought aloud. "But there's always Iron Man, if you're really concerned. Just something to think about."
It was food for thought, something Tony would chew over for a long while after he left his friend's quarters. Promises of the two meeting up for some take-out later were made, and he would see those through, but he needed a few minutes to himself. Up in his private penthouse, he sat upon the couch, a tumbler of bourbon in one hand (significantly less alcohol than he'd had in his younger days, when such things occurred in his life) and his gaze affixed to a point above the high definition screen of his television. His handheld sat in his palm, his thumb swiping over the screen idly as he mused over the options that had presented themselves. Or, singular option, really, but the pursuit of it was where the extending branches of it came into play.
There was always Iron Man...
When he was sentenced to his probationary period and imposed 'vacation' the previous year, Tony had spoken to Pepper about options for the future. While they had both inevitably agreed that it would do him some good to pull away, pull back and let others take the reins, he had stipulated that he would want to open up the discussion again by the following year. It was important, then, to strike the balance between billionaire and superhero, a balance he had not found prior to his experiences with the Avengers. That he had failed to find ever since Yinsen's death, truth be told. The last year had, barring the hiccups and derailments, given him that chance. And then some. He was rediscovering Tony Stark, and the person he was beneath the armor. Now, he was being given an opportunity to find a way to strike the balance and keep it going for longer than a few months. Particularly as he had already initiated a trial run, what with heading into battle with the others mere weeks ago.
He had formed a theory, and as a scientist, he knew that anyone worth the name would indulge in tests as swiftly as possible. As a scientist with a partner, he knew that it would be better to speak to her about it first. Both their lives would have to change, again, and he would have to see if she was on board. Resolve reached, his thumb flew over the screen of the handheld, waking it up. Tapping through, he accessed the telephone function, the contact chosen and the ring of the line echoing in his ear shortly after that. A few whirs, and then a click rebounded, and he sighed.
"Pepper?" he greeted his girlfriend, wincing as several fast questions were lobbed at him. He supposed she had a point; after all, he had been in a major battle recently, and she was always extra-concerned for him in the days that followed, in his experience. Grinning softly, the expression slowly faded as he went on. "Yeah, baby, I'm fine. Yeah, uh, listen, you remember what we talked about, last May? You up for a little reevaluation?"
When the affirmative was breathed over the line, Tony hummed a little. He deposited his half-filled tumbler onto the end table and sat up in his seat, preparing himself.
"Alright, let's get started."
xXxXxXx
"You sure about this, Medved'?"
Bucky Barnes trailed his smoldering gaze from the edge of the desk he sat in front of to the woman resting against it. It was mid-afternoon in the middle of the week, the furor over the last several days finally settling down. Back at the base once more, the normal hours spent for training and possible missions had been much lighter than it had been in the previous months. Given that they were down three members—two recovering from wounds and waiting for the green light to return, the other injured and resigned from his post—it was implausible for things to be otherwise. It had left him with the time to think, to ponder out his options in regards to key points in his existence, which had inevitably brought him to his girl's office (privacy controls on and shielding them from view), awaiting his fate.
It hadn't been the first time she had questioned his sense in regards to his decision, but his answer had remained the same, no matter how many times she asked. Looking at her directly, he watched as Natasha Romanoff met his gaze, not apologetic in the least. Still, the softening of the inquiry with the pet name gave him a clue as to the level of concern she truly felt for him. Leaning back in his chair, he sighed.
"It's too dangerous to just let it sit," he repeated his tune, scratching at his scruff. His brow furrowed as he listed the material points to her once again, the blue of his eyes stark against the darkness that threatened to eclipse them. "What if someone else finds out about the words? Tries to bring out the soldier? I can't let that happen."
It was a question he'd been long considering since it had happened, in between all the duties he'd acquired in the aftermath of the disaster. To his knowledge, the trigger words were not widely known, but there was no guarantee that someone else could find them out. HYDRA was surviving somewhere out there, limping and licking its wounds, but still functioning, according to compiled data and missions reports. It would be foolish to let the matter lie, particularly as it could cost him so much in the long run. It could cost him everything, and he did not think he could survive a second loss of that nature.
As he'd learned well before ever entering into a relationship with her, it was impossible to keep secrets from Natasha. Within several days of getting bandaged up and sent home, he confessed what had happened between him and the man called Zemo. His susceptibility to the trigger words had been defeated for the moment, but he feared that it would not remain that way for long. She had consoled him, had promised to stick with him as he sought out a solution, and for that he was grateful. Still, it was hard enough to tell her; he had qualms about telling the team as a whole. As he debated how best to expose one of his greatest weaknesses to the very people he was meant to work with, an idea came to him. One that was worth pursuing. One that they were going to execute that day.
Natasha glanced over at him, the storm inside her visible in her irises.
"It's still risky, letting two telepaths have free reign over your mind," she argued plainly. That Bucky needed to have all traces of the Winter Soldier was obvious. But to let people have permission to run around in his head? It made her uncomfortable, and it wasn't even her brain. Then again, the people he was inviting to solve the problem had more than earned the trust of their companions, of him. Or, at least one of them had. The other had passed her background check, but that was hardly an assurance.
"Wanda and Emily couldn't put anything in there that would be worse than what I already have," he pointed out, a half-smile decorating his lips. Arching an eyebrow, he suggested, "Worried for me, sugar?"
Against her wishes, the corner of Natasha's mouth curved, and she moved away from the desk—carefully, as to not exacerbate the healing bullet wound in her leg. Striding over to him, she ran a hand over his hair (it was growing shaggy again, but he kept putting off the next cut).
"Well, I do have a vested interest in keeping you around," she confessed, her thumb dropping to trace the line of his stubbly jaw.
The eyebrow spiked higher, and his smile turned more genuine. "And what would that be?"
Muffled footsteps clattered down the hall, and Natasha risked a bare glance over her shoulder.
"I'm sure you'll figure it out," she murmured, lips brushing over his and claiming his mouth for a kiss. Ending it all too soon, her hand pressed into his flesh shoulder, and she promised, "I'll be right here, Bucky. Whatever happens."
A knock rebounded against the door, and after being granted permission to enter, the two young women enlisted to help the cause came in. Wanda Maximoff waited for Emily Guerrero to come in fully before shutting the door, a nod given to both Natasha and Bucky. It had taken some persuasion, but ultimately, she had chosen to answer the call when the ex-assassin had confessed a need for help. Though she had sworn not to use her powers on her allies, and had kept that promise to herself, Barnes's need outweighed her inner quavering. However, she did not think she could get the job done on her own. While she could project visions and alter realities in people's minds, she had recognized that the depth of the torture used on her compatriot would require more subtle manipulation. Internally, she thanks the powers that were for the enlistment of Synapse; she specialized in morphing men's minds to see intricacies in a more permanent way. She thanked them even more so, as Synapse had not strayed far from the states following the U.N. attacks and could make the trip up to the base. All of what they were doing was strictly confidential, and had to be done quickly. After hellos went around, Bucky insisted that they get right down to business.
"This will not hurt, James. Or it shouldn't, at least," Wanda said, amending her statement as she approached him. Sharing a glance with Emily (and pointedly ignoring the glare Nat was burning her with), she explained, "When it's over, the hope is that the urge to shut down and become the soldier will be nonexistent."
He nodded at that, having told them himself that was what he wanted. However, his brow quirked as unspoken questions filtered through his mind. Flinching as though he'd yelled them aloud, Emily waved a palm in the air, bidding him to calm down for a moment.
"Okay, hold on. What that means is, we're going to try and manipulate your brain to not react whatsoever to hearing the words, beyond a slight twinge," she said, the idea that she had discussed with Wanda prior to that day exposed little by little. The procedure itself would be simple, but the internal effort would be difficult, and they made sure he knew that, in no uncertain terms. "You already fought against them, right?"
Mutely, Barnes nodded, his jaw tensing and his arms crossing over his chest. Dipping her chin, Emily flashed him a fast grin.
"You're already halfway there, Buck-o. It's just completing the task now."
He snorted, metal fingers digging into his opposite bicep. "Call it what you want, it needs to happen. I can only go so far on my own, and I need...I need more."
The vulnerability, the shaken honesty in his words were the clinchers, were what had made Wanda promise to help in the first place. It was an error in judgment that had laid him bare, that had brought this overlooked issue into the light, and it was the desire to correct that error that drove him on. She knew what that was like, and it was her sympathy that had drawn her in.
"We'll help you, friend," Wanda reassured him. Gesturing for Natasha to step out of the room, the redhead looked past her to the man, holding his gaze for several seconds before she left. As the door clicked shut, the younger Maximoff motioned for Emily to take a place behind Bucky. Her green eyes, ringed with sympathy and discernment, met his before the scarlet aura of her powers overtook them. Her hands rotated, fingers splaying as she raised them up. In his peripheral vision, he spotted the second pair of hands hovering by his temples, a low hum echoing in Synapse's chest as she concentrated. Slowly, Wanda moved forward, taking a deep breath. "Just...hold still."
He barely had time to comply with her command, the red auras shooting out from her hands and seemingly into his eyes a split second later. Bucky stiffened in his chair, the pressure on his brain increasing steadily as time bled between moments. Emily's voice, smooth and rolling, focused on the trigger words, rings of red surrounding them in his mind as she compelled him to listen to her. He was not to give credence to the words, would not ever think them more than what they wore. They meant nothing, they were nothing. They did not control him; he controlled them. Memories of shutting down and changing into the Winter Soldier were blasted, scarlet flashes blinding him and obliterating them with every turn.
The ticks of the clock on the wall echoed around him, his eyes snapping open. The two women withdrew their hands from his space, and at once, he was alert. Calmly, Wanda gave the verbal command for the privacy controls to be turned off, the opaque walls on the interior side becoming sheer glass again. Immediately, Natasha swam into view, her gaze boring into the glass and her foot tapping impatiently against the ground. A single nod was directed at her, and she strode to the door, whipping it open and entering the room again.
"Did it work?" she asked, taking in Bucky's creased brow and the blank expressions on the two other women's faces. Emily and Wanda shared another look, silent communication running between them. After several seconds, the one called Synapse rolled her eyes, while the Scarlet Witch's gaze seemed to adopt an air of smugness. Darting her gaze between them, Natasha blew an exasperated breath out her nose, prompting them to get on with it.
"We won't know until it's tested," Emily confided, visibly stiffening and preparing herself for the verbal onslaught. The implications of her words hit with remarkable accuracy, the glint in Natasha's glare turning dangerous while Bucky's was impassive.
"There's really only one way to do that, and you're crazy if you think that's happening," Nat snapped, prepared to defend him and protect him to the last.
"But in a controlled space?" Wanda ventured, hands held out in a placating gesture. "With the Vision as the deterrent?"
The clearly planned-ahead plot had stemmed Natasha's speech for a moment. For his part, Barnes frowned; he did not really want to bring another person...android...into the situation. But really, if there was no other way to test the effectiveness of their efforts, he would prefer the Vision to be the one to try. The automaton was his mental and physical superior, and could likely subdue him quickly if things went sideways. Rising from his chair, he crooked his hand around Natasha's elbow, drawing her away from the other two women and grasping her attention.
"If he has to knock me out, it will shut down the process," he stated plainly, imploring her to see reason. "Long enough for them to get inside and start again."
"James..." she trailed off, a finger rubbing at her temple. Regardless of the public showing of affection, he cupped her face in his palms, bending and resting his forehead against hers. The hot flesh and cool metal framed her cheeks, pulling her out of her own mind as he held her.
"You'll be here?" he whispered, the tremor at the back of his voice telling her far more than his posture did. He wanted, needed the confirmation, before went any further. And, God help her, she could not withhold that from him. Her lips thinned briefly, and then she exhaled sharply.
"...Yes," she said, the pads of her fingers brushing over his arms. A final swipe of his thumbs along her cheekbones, and then he pulled away, pulled back enough so that she could blast them all with an unimpressed glower. "But I'm going on record with saying I don't like this."
Emily squirmed across the room, flicking her dark hair over her shoulder. "Neither do we, but—"
"It has to be done," the redhead confirmed for them all. It took a minute or two, but finally Natasha nodded, her fingers threading with Bucky's as they followed Emily and Wanda out of the office. Down the halls they went, terse silence encompassing them as they walked. The rings of the shoes and boot heels against the floor accompanied them to a small, private training room just off the main space. It took a few minutes, but soon enough the Vision appeared, his violet face blank as Wanda gave him a brief overview of all that had happened. Dipping his chin, he agreed to aid them in the cause, with his female companion whispering the necessary test words in his ear as the others waited. Bucky's hands shook for a moment, the anticipation of what was to come washing over him as the seconds ticked by. Before long, the android was bidding the ladies to leave, and with a final squeeze, Natasha released his grip, going out and letting Bucky meet his fate.
"Are you ready, Sergeant Barnes?" the Vision inquired, the electric blue of his eyes seeming to soften as he spoke. Squaring his shoulders, Bucky let his hands fall loose at his sides, and he carefully nodded. Dipping his chin, the android motioned for the locks to be activated, and for barriers to be turned on. Once the exits and windows looking in upon the room were successfully taken care of, the Vision met his eye again, a jerk of the chin and a quirk of the lips a small apology for what was about to come. Inhaling deeply, Bucky waited as the android looked him for several seconds longer. Soon enough, though, the words were being spoken, the calm and unwavering delivery of each penetrating his mind. His hands clenched of their own volition, and his entire frame tensed up.
Inside his head, he felt twinges, flashes of the pain and despair that had swirled and fogged his mind for years, the blankness beneath all too tempting to indulge in. However, they never amounted to more than twinges, pinpricks of thought that skittered and disappeared into the dark. The soothing, gentle tones that had enveloped him while under Emily and Wanda's care came forward, meeting each word and encasing it. Words of worth, of promise, folded each one, neutralizing them and making them seem...normal. Closing his eyes, dots of scarlet flickered and flamed, growing as each word was spoken, accompanied by white light as they faded. It was an odd sort of pain, like a toothache or a pulled muscle, the fight inside him buffering each blow. As the last word fell from the Vision's lips, a veritable fireworks display of red and white erupted in his head, burning brilliantly before fizzling out.
With the following silence came the realization that his breathing had turned heavy, that his body was aching and his clenched fists had dug so deep that the nails had embedded marks in his skin. But he was still whole, he was still there and present, not a trace of the soldier having gained a foothold. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh lighting above and scrubbing his face with his hands. Bending at the waist, he braced his hands upon his knees, cautious alleviation flooding through him.
Taking a step or two closer, the Vision asked, "How do you feel?"
Performing a quick inner assessment, Bucky swallowed and reported, "Sore, and tired, but...I'm okay."
On the other side of the door, on the shaded glass inset on the wall, the three women involved in the effort looked on, satisfaction and joy creeping up at the successful effort. The redhead gaped for several long seconds, and the other two blinked at one another, the mental equivalent of cheers and high fives echoing in their minds.
"That simple?" Natasha breathed, her gaze riveted to the glass and the barest hint of relief in her form. Emily looked at her out the corner of her eye, a sigh drifting out of her mouth as she tucked her hands into the back pockets of her shorts. That wasn't the word she would have used for it, in her opinion. Discreetly, she wiped at her nose, the trickle of blood that had been there before not flowing any longer.
"We'll have to keep an eye on him for awhile, but short of him getting captured and fully brainwashed again, he should be as safe as any one of us," she concluded, watching as the female Maximoff went into the room, patting Bucky's shoulder with quiet pride. The ex-assassin certainly looked shaken, but he had survived. Their manipulations had saved him, and most likely would save others. Another good deed done, she mused, warmth blooming in her chest as she witnessed her mental cohort take the android by the hand and lead him out the door first.
Natasha snickered, the stoicism of her form bleeding away. "That alone should make me worried."
Canting her head, Emily let a full smile grow on her lips as the older woman went into the room herself, going to Barnes and folding him into her arms. Wanda gestured to her as she walked away with the Vision, a thumb-up passing before she wrapped her arms around the flustered android. Good deed definitely done, the Latina girl inclined her head, pivoting on her heel and marching away from the sight. She'd let them have their time, and she would occupy what few moments she had left at the base before returning to London with finding some grub. And some tissues, to be safe.
xXxXxXx
That Saturday, Steve sat on the edge of his hospital bed, hands laced together and settled in his lap. It was mid-morning, just about the time that secondary rounds would be made. However, he was up and dressed for another reason entirely. The time allotted to his recovery had been met, and Captain Rogers was on the verge of discharge. All he had to do was wait for the official word, and then he was free.
The process of healing was not entirely easy, particularly as he recovered at a faster rate than typical people, but he had been held to assure that he met the terms set to him. Once he'd been moved out of the city and back up to the base's hospital unit, his impatience had tripled, and waiting out the last week and a half was almost like torture. To be near to his home, to his wife, yet not able to leave with her when she had to go, was infuriating. Not to mention, the boredom between physical assessments was interminable (and Holly could only visit so often; she stopped by after work everyday, but that only alleviated the stolidness for a few hours before she had to go home).
That was all set to change that morning, and he was eager to go (so eager that he practically inhaled his breakfast and showered in record time). Picking at a crease in his jeans, he had to note that Holly was right: he infinitely preferred his own clothing, and the reasons behind why he was able to switch to them. Fingers strayed over to the brown bomber jacket lying beside him, to the duffel bag underneath it, and then fiddled with his wedding ring—back in its proper place once the splint came off. The clock on the far wall ticked, and he stomped on the urge to tap his foot, jiggle his leg as he waited.
He sat at attention as Helen Cho came into the small recovery room, which had been his temporary home since he'd been transferred out of New York-Presbyterian. Politely, he nodded to her as she came in, masking his impatience as best he could. To have his release be so close was almost driving him up the wall, but for the sake of remaining on good terms with the head doctor and administrator, he bit his tongue. Idly, she gave a final, cursory look over the charts, her dark gaze flicking up at him with an almost mischievous glint. Humming, she finally took pity on the man perched before her, hope springing into his face before she even uncapped the pen she'd brought with her.
"There you are, Captain," she announced as she signed the final piece of paperwork. Carefully, she waved the clipped charts in the air, her almond-shaped eyes narrowing in humor as he breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Fully discharged."
A full smile graced his lips, and he seemed to sit up a little straighter.
"Thanks, Helen," he murmured, bracing his palms on the bed and standing up. Small twinges in his arm and leg shot up, and another spiked across his chest. Unconsciously, he rubbed at it through his t-shirt, the ridge of the scar there pushing back. The flickering wince flashed over his features, gone in an instant as he muttered, "No offense, but I'm glad to be heading out."
Helen chuckled a little, scratching out another note on the chart before setting it in the folder tray near the door.
"None taken. We'll continue to do follow-up exams, and you will keep meeting with the PT to determine the rate of your progress, but otherwise you're about as well as can be expected," she stated, nodding in confirmation of her own words. For the last week and a half, Captain Rogers had been making excellent progress with his recovery. The weakness and hurt of the early days had faded, and while he still felt some soreness around his bullet wounds, he had been healing above and beyond the average person. Having access to his previous medical files, she knew that had been the case ever since he'd gotten the serum in the first place, but seeing the physical truth of it was something else entirely. The set of her smile took on a serious air, and she prepared her final recommendations. "I am urging you to take some time off, but as that seems unlikely, I ask that you at least refrain from attempting another mission for two weeks, minimum. And even then, it would be preferred if you didn't go out into the field yourself."
Steve snickered humorlessly, scratching at the back of his neck.
"I'll do what I can, doc." Off her unwavering, steely expression, he blinked and swallowed. Helen was downright intimidating when she wanted to be. "And I won't skip out on the physical therapist, promise."
The stony cast to her features cracked, enough so that a corner of her mouth curved.
"You're a good patient, Steve. You better remain that way," she intoned, her command brooking no refusal. Clearing her throat, she continued, "And now, for the final part..."
She cut a glance over to the wheelchair waiting just outside the door, and Steve's gaze followed, his lips turning down in a frown.
"Can't you make an exception just once?" he implored, shrugging on the bomber jacket over his white tee. As much as he tried to be fair and patient while being under observation and treatment, he really, truly despised the idea of being wheeled out. It made him feel like an invalid, every time, back even before he'd gotten the serum. At once, Helen shook her head, a knowing look in her eye.
"Sorry; it's a liability issue, you know that. Just to the front doors, and then you're a free man," she promised. Watching as his jaw set and his blue gaze flared in defiance, she decided to try and sweeten the deal. "Come on, I have it on good authority that someone is waiting for you there."
That broke the stiffness, and there was a glimmer of joy peeking through, then. She knew that he and his wife had worked out the arrangements themselves, but the reminder could only help. Tapping a thumb against the phone in his pocket, he dipped his chin and scooped up the small duffel.
"Okay, fine," he exhaled, striding over to the chair and sitting down carefully. Once the bag in his lap was situated, Helen came up behind him, pushing the chair away from the private rooms towards the reception area. A few agents who had been relegated to treatment inclined their heads as he passed, but otherwise the journey was silent. Just beyond the front doors stood a brunette woman, one hand splayed over the expanding swell of her belly and the other fiddling with the strap of the purse in her grip. Brown eyes warmed at the sight of them, spying her husband's reticence and creasing with contained laughter. She barely heard the huff the captain gave under his breath, but withheld both laughter and comment as they made their way across the room.
"There," she declared, parking the chair just over the threshold. Locking the brakes, Helen stepped back as Steve got to his feet, closing the gap between him and his wife. She allowed herself a small grin of pleasure as the younger woman beamed, arms wrapping around his middle as he embraced her. Superfluously, she announced, "He's all yours, Holly."
Looking over at the doctor, Holly shot her a playful wink. "Yes, he is. Thank you."
Inclining her head, Cho gave Steve one long, admonishing look, one that told him he'd better follow through with his promises and do as she'd told him. Clearing his throat, he nodded once more to her, and she smirked as she pivoted on her heel. Clinic duties beckoned, and she knew that her patient was in capable hands. Turning back to look at Holly, Steve bent down, pressing a kiss to her hair as his free hand tightened around the straps of his bag. Accepting his gesture, she pulled away a few moments later, tipping her head towards the hall.
"Ready to go home?" she inquired, the question partially facetious. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, an exaggerated movement that made her giggle.
"More than ready, doll."
Taking her hand in his, they walked side by side out of the medical bay. Maneuvering into the halls of the base, it was surprising to note the number of agents in the halls, hundreds of eyes watching them as they passed. A good number of them called out encouragement to the captain, to his wife, well wishes for the remainder of his recovery and pleasant send-offs as he returned home. Pink tinged his cheeks as they walked, thank-yous and nods of appreciation given with a shy, almost painful smile. The grip on Holly's fingers tightened, but he maintained the steady gait he'd adopted earlier. Her other palm curled around his bicep, her body pressing into his side as they moved, but she was able to meet the direct gazes of the others with a grin of her own. Once they made it to the elevator and through the remaining gauntlet of agents to get to the underground garage, both of them exhaled deeply.
"That was intense," Steve declared upon entering her car. His truck had long since been returned to their home, and he was not opposed to riding passenger for this trip.
"A lot of people look up to you, in case you haven't noticed," she pointed out lightly, tossing her purse into the backseat before climbing in behind the wheel. Starting up the car and clipping her belt as comfortably as she could over her bump, she seriously murmured, "And care about you. Which is why it's going to end up being more than a party of two for dinner tonight."
"Thought we were already up to three," he retorted, glancing at her belly and grinning as she snorted. As she backed the car out of the space and directed it to the doors, he wondered, "Who else?"
"The team wanted to come over, celebrate your release," she explained, the service road stretching out before them, the churn of the dirt under the tires crunching as they went.
"Are they bringing the food?" he asked, her snicker and answering nod hot on its heels. Tipping his head back against the rest, he reasoned, "Then I suppose we could make room in the schedule for them."
Canting her head, Holly imparted, "In the meantime, we'll have a few hours before they come. So we don't have to rush around the minute we get home."
"Thank goodness," he mumbled, more than a little pleased that he wouldn't be forced to entertain right away. It had been weeks since he'd been alone with his wife, in a non-sterile environment, and he wanted a few minutes of peace and privacy. Understanding his thoughts fully, the corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk.
"Small blessings."
Several minutes later, the car made the turn up their driveway, the slate blue house coming into view amidst the greening trees. As they pulled into their garage, he spotted the motorcycle in the corner, the cover having been removed for him sometime in the last week. Following her lead, he felt a rush of relief and happiness overtake him as they entered the house. It'd felt like ages since he been there, crossing through the kitchen to the living room, the minute shift of the boards under his feet a welcome sound to his ears. Slowly, he walked through to the stairs, Holly trailing behind him and biting her lip as his fingers brushed against walls and the banister as he passed. Climbing up to the second floor, he shot a look at the office and the nursery, both doors open and the familiar contents within each met with a nod of contentment. Making his way towards the master bedroom, to the light blue walls and dark bedspread, he barely paused in his journey to drop his bag, make certain that his shield (taken by Holly and perched by the wall at all times since his hospitalization) was steady before going straight to the bed and flopping face-first onto the mattress. Belatedly, he remembered that he hadn't taken off his boots, but as he sank into the marshmallow fluff—which he could tolerate better those days—he couldn't quite bring himself to care.
"My house, my bed," he moaned, his satisfaction muffled by the pillow his face was buried in. A bark of laughter echoed behind him, and he rose onto his elbows after a moment. Peering over his shoulder, he smiled at Holly, who had been observing him and his graceful display from the doorway. Jerking his head in a 'come here' fashion, his grin became broader as she circled around the bedside. "My girl."
"And your boy," she returned, taking a seat beside him and a muttered 'uff da' on her lips (smothering his laughter as he remembered Holly's explanation for that: "You can take the girl out of Minnesota..."). A wince graced her features, a gasp shooting out as her palms came to rest on her stomach. "Gah, he's spinning in there today. He must be happy that you're home."
Snickering, Steve scooted closer to her, his hand rubbing over the swell.
"Aw, all excited for me, pal?" he crooned, propping himself up enough to press a kiss to the curve. "Good boy."
"Yeah, it's so good when he chooses to dance on my bladder all day," she replied, a snorting ripping out of her before she could help herself. Shaking her head, she patted his arm, prompting him to move over to his side of the bed. Lying down and facing him, affection flooded her gaze as her fingers traced along his cheek. "I'm glad you're here, too."
The spike of loneliness fluttered up, as the nights she'd spent alone in the house, in their bed, while he was away from her came to the fore of her mind. A wan smirk tugged at his lips, understanding her frustrations all too well. Tilting his head, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close as he kissed her. Little by little, the brushes and sips they took from one another shoved the coldness that had cropped up, heating them both as they held onto one another, murmurs and whispers passed in their shaky breaths. In the midst of their embraces, vibrations rattled in Steve's pocket, and he groaned when it happened for the third time in as many minutes. Groaning, he removed his phone, grimacing as he viewed the name and missed call notification on his screen.
"Nick, again," he grumbled, his thumb quickly moving to the side to shut down the device. Holly rolled her eyes, good humor dissipating as she scrubbed a hand over her forehead.
"I would've thought you earned some sort of break," she muttered plaintively. Glancing at her, Steve lifted a shoulder.
"It's just follow-up to a conversation we've been having for the last week," he explained. When her eyebrows rose, he shrugged again, wryness in his tone when he spoke. "There were a lot of hours when I didn't see anybody. I had to occupy my time some way."
She snorted at that. "Workaholic."
"So new?" he retorted, sitting up and placing the device on the nightstand. Leaning back against the headboard, he let out a slow, deep breath. "It was, and still is, important. All part of the plan."
Rising up beside him, Holly gave him a mock glower. "Getting shot was part of the plan?"
"More like a catalyst, to a degree," he corrected her mildly, not wishing to actually joke about the severity of the injuries he'd sustained. She wouldn't take too kindly to that, even from him. Instead, he merely confided, "I've had an idea on the back burner for awhile, and with everything that happened, I don't think that I can keep doing what I have without it."
A puff of breath flew out of her nose, and she tilted her head to the left.
"You gonna keep being cryptic, or can you let me know what you're planning?"
"I can afford to spill. Particularly as it affects you, too," he said, her attention fully captured after that. His hands strayed to hers, toying with the fingers one by one as he went into detail about what he'd had in mind. Twitching her claddagh and wedding ring, he risked a glance up, meeting her gaze fully. Her wide-eyed stare spoke volumes, but she otherwise remained silent. When he'd finished, he took in a deep breath, a swallow bobbing in his throat. "Will you back me up on it, Holl?"
It took her a few moments to speak, her dark eyes focusing on a point over his shoulder as she laced their fingers together.
"You know I will, but...are you sure that's what you want?" she asked him, brow furrowing as she did so. The sudden spring of guilt and uncertainty in her face was all too obvious, and it tugged at his heart to see it. Tucking the loose strands of her hair behind her ear, her hand started to fidget with the hem of her shirt. What he was planning on, what he was considering, she could get behind the idea. But she didn't want it to happen, if he was only doing so because he felt he must. "I just...I just don't want to force you into any decision."
His palm came up to her cheek, his thumb sliding back and forth over the skin.
"Trust me, this was not a forced decision," he confessed, honesty in his tone. He would not lie; it wasn't an easy decision to make, but ultimately, it was what would be for the best. The trouble lay in convincing Fury to see his point of view, in considering the new options that he provided. If worse came to worse, he would fall back onto Plan C, which was less preferable overall. However, it remained that his mind was made up, on his own accord, without being swayed or pressured by anyone other than himself. "It's what I want, I promise. And if anybody has a problem with it...well, at this rate, it hardly matters. A lot's been given. I want to see if another way can be found."
Unable to refute the truth of his statement, Holly sighed inaudibly, closing her eyes for a few seconds. Steve let his hand fall onto her shoulder, soothing circles rubbed into the fabric of her shirt.
"Well, this is one alternative path. Yet another change, though..." she cut herself off, leaning and bracing her forehead against his. Thinking for a moment, she let a giggle float out. "Now that I know, it puts the whole congrats train at the base into perspective. I get why it was more awkward than usual for you."
Steve chuckled, the low rumble in his chest accompanied by the shake of his head.
"It won't be as bad as all that. We can survive it; we all will. It has to be done."
The stalwart resolution in his gaze made a shiver race up her back, the totality in his declaration seeming to reverberate around them. Dipping her chin, she sat up a little straighter, reaching up and fixing the skewed strands of his hair.
"Being a little selfish, Stevie?" she teased him. Bright blue eyes darted away, and a rueful twist came to his lips. She mirrored it, and bussed his cheek. "After seventy years, I think you've earned the right, sweetie."
The ruefulness started to melt away, and he canted his head. "So long as I have the seal of your approval, Princess."
"Hmm," was the apt response. Looking across him to the clock on the nightstand, her eyebrows arched slightly. Laying a palm on his chest, over his thumping heart, she let it trailed down, the muscles underneath her touch jumping as she went. "Well, Nerfherder, we still have quite a bit of time before everyone arrives. You up for a proper welcome home? Or at least a gentle one?"
The smirk he sported took on a lusty lilt, and his eyebrow spiked. They both understood his limitations while in recovery (Helen had driven that home enough over the last few days), but he did know himself the best. And what she was suggesting was...doable.
"I'm open to it," he told her, his hands bracing along her waist as she swung a leg over and settled in his lap. As the pads of her fingers traced under his jacket, at the collar of his shirt, his eyes went half-lidded. "Take good care of me, yeah?"
"Of course," she whispered, the words ghosting over his lips before her mouth followed, the press of her body and belly to him fueling the fire inside him. Oh, he was definitely glad to be home.
A/N: What's this? I'm posting a day early? What is this madness?!
...This madness is due to the fact that I will be working during my normal posting time, so I cranked this out fairly quickly this week. :) I hope it's to your liking! We'll be back to the normal posting schedule for next week.
We've got Rhodey retiring from the superhero business, Bucky breaking the last chains on his mind, and Steve formulating another part of the plan...which will be brought fully to light in the next chapter. You are clear for discussion, my friends. For this chapter, the last chapter...speculation on the future, go for it.
The 'uff da' thing—with its hundreds of different spellings—isn't exclusively Minnesotan, but a lot of Minnesotans do say it! Touching a bit on Holly's roots, there. ;)
I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Star Wars, etc.).
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!