Whatcha trying to prove? So many mountains to move.
And all your demons are heaven-sent, my lost cathartic friend
The time's come again, it's nearing the end
But I feel no shame. Do you feel the same?
Cos I know I'll be alright if I make it through tonight
Well I swear I'll try to change once again.
The Tea Party, "Cathartik"
Notes:
Whee! Lots of negotiation and stuff here.
oOoOoOo
Clint & Natasha's Room
Stark Tower
May 12, 2012
Natasha wakes, as she always does, long before the light of false dawn breaks the night. She is lying slightly apart from the two-headed octopus that is Toni and Clint, one arm under her head, the other hand resting lightly on Toni's hip. She can't help but smile a little at the other two, clinging to each other tightly even in sleep. She's never been a cuddler, but her luck netted her regular bed partners who stick like barnacles to any warm body nearby.
She doesn't know how they can do it, honestly. It just looks uncomfortable from where she's standing. Tangled together, heads stacked one on top the other, arms that have to be losing circulation from the weight of bodies on them. Toni's face is buried between the pillow and Clint's neck. Clint is only visible from the eyes up over Toni's shoulder.
Takes all kinds, she guesses. Somehow, they manage. As a bonus, she gets a night free from fending off Clint's limbs from wrapping around her in the dead of night, when he's too unconscious to control them. Moving carefully, she slides off the bed and turns to tuck the sheets back around Toni. Neither of them have shifted, both still breathing deep and even, but Clint's eyes gleam at her above the line of Toni's shoulder, alert and questioning.
"Go back to sleep," she says quietly, leans carefully over and brushes her fingertips across his forehead. "It's early. Stay with her."
"Kay," he says just as quietly, and closes his eyes again.
She finishes fixing the blankets, then dresses for an early morning run in Central Park, long leggings and a warm hoodie. She ties on her sneakers and fishes the armband for her phone out of one of Clint's uniform boots, deciding she never, ever wants to know how it got there.
Toni's likely to sleep for some time yet, and it would take an emergency on the scale of all-out alien invasion to pry Clint away from Toni before she's ready to get out of bed, so that leaves Natasha to fetch Toni fresh clothing. Well, she could leave a message for Bucky or Rogers, or ask JARVIS to have clothing delivered, but she enjoys doing little things for the people she cares about.
"Good morning, JARVIS," she says as she approaches the elevator that goes directly to the penthouse. "I'd like to go to the penthouse, if you don't mind."
"Good morning, Natasha," JARVIS replies promptly. "And certainly, as your access level to Stark Tower permits you to go anywhere you like. Would you like me to inform sir and Captain Rogers that you are on your way?"
Natasha raises an eyebrow as the doors slide open, smooth and silent. For some reason, she hadn't thought that Rogers and Bucky would continue to use the penthouse without Toni there, but she supposes it's really none of her business. "No, if you don't mind, JARVIS," she says. "If they aren't aware I'm in the penthouse, then they need to improve their observational skills."
"Very well, Natasha."
Without a Stark-level lockdown, Natasha's biometrics open the lock on the penthouse door, and she quietly enters, guiding the weighted door to click almost silently behind her. It's been quite awhile since she was last up here, but nothing seems terribly out of place. Mindful of the fact she's wearing rubber soled shoes, she takes her time crossing the highly polished wood floor through the foyer and past the sunken den area.
Here's the evidence of other people using this space. A sketchpad, pencil and eraser neatly lined up on top of it. A gun maintenance kit, packed away and sitting half on top of a carelessly-strewn StarkPad. A pile of circuitry in the corner, gathering dust. Natasha eyes it, and her lips tighten into a small scowl. This is where Toni should be. Not that Natasha doesn't enjoy her company, or her participation in bed, but there are too many homes and safe spaces Toni has lost. She will not lose this one either, if Natasha has any say in the matter.
She creeps up the four steps to the living area of the suite, noting that the master door is open, untouched bed perfectly visible. The door to the guest room across the hall, which itself is nearly as big as Toni's room, is closed. Faint snoring emanates, muted by the wooden walls. She shakes her head. Bucky's fallen asleep enough times in front of the TV that she can readily identify him by his snore. She makes a mental note to mock him later, mock him so subtlely he'll probably take it as a compliment.
Quietly, she pushes open the master bedroom door and comes to a dead halt. Steve Rogers is sitting on the floor, his back against the foot of the bed, looking exhausted and lost, staring at the closet door. Well, she thinks, so much for getting in and out without being noticed.
She moves forward, padding to Toni's dresser and pulling her top drawer open. She collects clothing, deciding on the fly what Toni's most likely to want to wear today. It's not a business day, so her money's on the classic jeans, tank top or band tee and either boots, bare feet or sneakers.
Rogers only notices her when she crosses in front of his line of sight to fish a couple of shirts off their hangers, and she ducks instinctively as he jumps to his feet in shock. Natasha's impressed that's all he does. He has to be working on those control issues. "How did you get in here? Wait… Natasha?"
"You're in the wrong bedroom, Captain," she says, eyeing Toni's favorite Black Sabbath tee to evaluate its readiness to be thrown in the garbage can before folding it and stacking it with the three other shirts. "Seems like I could be asking you the same question."
He sits on the edge of the bed and shrugs. "I know this isn't my room. But it's hers. I thought… maybe I could find something in here to help connect me and Toni. Right now, all we have in common is her father and Bucky." He drags a hand down his face, sets the heel under his chin, and sighs. "I think that's going to be all I find, too. What are you doing here?"
In response, she taps the growing pile of clean clothes, and goes back into the closet to find a shopping bag or a box or something to carry everything with her. "Toni needs new clothes," she says absently, reaching in and perhaps it's kismet or the universe's cruel joke, but it's a Captain America tee. She holds it up anyway, trying to figure out if Toni's ever worn it, because it looks brand new. "Her workshop is smeared over her other set."
Steve makes an abortive, choked noise, and she turns around, shirt still in the air. He's staring at the shirt with the sort of miserable, hopeless expression worn by people receiving terrible, life-changing news. She remembers wearing that expression a few times in her life. There are about a dozen questions dancing in his eyes, but Natasha doesn't think he's going to be able to bring himself to ask them. "Don't worry," she says, and folds the tee shirt, sets it back in the closet. As much fun as seeing if Steve had a marking kink would be, Toni probably doesn't need reminders of Captain America at the moment. "Toni isn't going to move in with us. She isn't going to kick you out. All is well."
He blinks, goes a little paler. "I hadn't even considered those scenarios," he says strangely."I was just thinking how I'm probably never going to get to see how that shirt looks on her."
His wistful tone makes Natasha think he does indeed have some sort of deep, dark desire to mark his territory, no matter how fleeting that mark is. Natasha successfully resists the urge to rub her hands together. The straight-laced have never lasted long in the madness and chaos that is the house of Stark.
It also makes Natasha think of herself, oddly, in those first few weeks after Clint brought her home. How angry and despondent she was, thinking she would never have any of the things Clint and Toni were offering. "Don't count yourself out yet, Rogers," she says mildly, and stuffs another few articles of clothing in the bag. "Toni has an amazing capacity for forgiveness, especially when she knows ultimate fault lies with someone else."
"She's terrified of me," Steve replies, flat. "Don't tell me she isn't. I can feel it, every single time I try to go near her."
"Yes, she is." Natasha turns around, leaning against the edge of the vanity, setting the bag aside for now. Arches an eyebrow at Steve's surprise. "What? You thought I was going to deny it?"
"Bucky did," Steve says, and sighs.
"I'm not Bucky. I know you're right. She is afraid of you. It's not a logical, rational, thinking reaction. It's emotional and physical, two things that Toni tries to never let rule her life." She shrugs one shoulder. "She's having trouble with this one, but she'll get there. Give it time, Rogers. Work out a few of your own malfunctions while you're waiting."
"I don't even know how," he says. "It's not like I expected to wake up from the plane crash to see that I may as well be on a completely different planet than the one I was born on."
Natasha knows, just like all of the other people in her family, that they all need some serious therapy, but none of them have the patience or the time or the trust to spare for it. But at the rate they're going, collecting new traumas like they're flavours of ice cream, they're going to require a full-time, live-in shrink just to ensure that none of them spiral spectacularly into the deep end of the pool. It's not the first time the thought has crossed her mind. Maybe she should take it more seriously, actually talk to Coulson and see if he knows anyone not directly SHIELD-affiliated they can learn to trust.
But first things first.
"Have you tried getting out of the Tower for a few hours?" she asks. "That might help. It's a new city, but there's a lot of the old city left, if you know where to look for it."
Steve shakes his head. "No. I… didn't think it was a good idea."
Natasha can't help but smirk just a tiny bit. "Rogers, in this family, you'll soon learn that the ideas that don't seem like good ones are always the ones you should listen to. Go change into running clothes. You can keep me company on my morning jog."
oOoOoOo
DiNozzo's Bakery, New York
In retrospect, she's glad she brought a supersoldier after all. Not only did she get to drop him, cold, like a sack of bricks the third time he tried to lap her with that smarmy on your left bullshit, her impulse purchase of breakfast from the best bakery in New York is less irritating than it might otherwise be, because he's carrying all the purchases.
She's also learned that talking to Steve actually isn't all that bad. Away from the Tower, with the sun on his face, hair windblown, arms loaded down with boxes of pastries and trays of takeout coffee, he actually looks a little steadier, more balanced, perky even. They've avoided, except in the broadest ways of mentioning, all talk of their respective soulmates and who spent where the previous night, but Natasha has a nose for uncomfortable conversations. She knows it's coming.
If she could go back in time and tell the frightened eight-year-old she had been when she first entered the Red Room that she would one day drink coffee walking down the street of New York City, explaining polyamorous relationships to Captain America... she's not entirely sure what that little girl would do, since the girl is a phase of her life she can barely remember. It likely would have involved screaming or hysterical laughter, however.
"Can I ask you a question, Natasha?" When she nods, he continues. "How did you do it? Share, I mean. How do you walk out the door, knowing you're leaving someone who isn't you with your soulmate?"
Natasha laughs quietly and sips her coffee. "You're asking the wrong person, Rogers. I don't share. Not how you mean, anyway."
He frowns. "I thought…"
"That Toni spent the night with us? She did." Another sip, considering how to word what she needs him to understand. "Everyone you ask will have a different way of looking at this, okay? But here's mine. Everyone on Earth is born with two, one, or no soulmarks, right?"
He nods. "Right."
"I prefer to think that Toni and Clint have three soulmarks. The third one's invisible, but doesn't mean it's any less real than the ones you can see. It was there long before I arrived, so if you look at it from a certain angle, I'm not sharing Clint with Toni. She's sharing him with me."
Steve opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking thoughtful.
Natasha drains what's left in her cup, tossing it in a garbage can as they pass it. "Toni is perfectly willing to limit herself to one partner, or two partners in the case of her soulmarks, because she tries to make everyone happy, sometimes to the detriment of her own happiness. But take my advice, Rogers. If you really want to make your triad work, you're going to have to figure out if you're comfortable with the notion that Toni will always desire other people, that there are relationships she will always want to have beyond you and Barnes."
Steve doesn't exactly look unhappy, but he's definitely not overjoyed to hear what Natasha is saying. "I...honestly don't know," he admits, forehead furrowed in thought. "I've never had to think about it before. What if I can't?"
Natasha shrugs. "Then you don't waste your time or Toni's, and let it go. Understand that I'm not telling you to tolerate something you can't. I don't put up with things that cross my limits. Sometimes, there are exceptions that are easy to make. If you don't think you can do that, you need to walk away and be content with your relationship with Bucky."
He's silent for a good few minutes as they walk. "I don't know anyone who ignores their soulmates, Natasha," he says doubtfully.
"Yes, you do." She drains what's left in her cup, and tosses it in a garbage can as she passes it. "Clint has two soulmarks, but he has absolutely no interest in bonding with his other soulmate."
Steve starts, blinks in surprise. "Really? Why?"
She eyes him for a long moment, debating. Clint isn't the most forthcoming about the other mark on his chest, and she knows he much prefers to pretend it's never existed. "I'm only going to tell you because of your history," she says finally. "When we met her, she was calling herself Shelly Conroy. She worked as Pepper's personal assistant for Stark Solutions for awhile, but she was SHIELD's spy in Toni's company. Some things happened-" Which is probably the largest understatement she could ever possibly make, but she doesn't know how to condense the entirety of it all into three or four statements. "-and as a result, Clint wanted nothing at all to do with her."
"What does any of that have to do with me?"
Natasha smiles a little sadly and reaches out to take the boxes and trays from Steve's hands to ensure they won't be dropped everywhere. "Because we knew her as Shelly Conroy, but her real name is Sharon Carter."
Predictably, Steve's hands drop to his side and his eyes widen. "Carter, as in..?"
"Peggy Carter's niece, yes," Natasha says, with sympathy. "She's a very good agent, but she's managed to be involved with three of the last few situations we've had. It's not really her fault, but in the process, she did the one thing none of us forgive."
"Which is…?"
Natasha knows her eyes have gone flat and dead, hints of the Widow rising to view, as she hands the packages back to Steve. "She tried to take what belongs to us."
oOoOoOo
Clint & Natasha's Room
Stark Tower
Clint wakes to the sound of his door opening stealthily. He listens for a moment to see if he can suss out the intruder without opening his eyes. Too heavy for Nat, too light for Rogers. Neither Rhodes nor Danvers can move that quietly. Toni's still sound asleep in his arms. JARVIS doesn't have a body. And he wouldn't hear Coulson at all, he'd just look up and Phil would be lurking at the side of the bed like he grew there overnight.
"If you wake Toni," he murmurs quietly as the footsteps grow closer, "I'll have JARVIS program your arm to perform the Macarena every time you're trying to take a leak."
The sneaky footfalls pause, and then Bucky says from just beyond the other side of the bed, "I was awake for that one. You're a cruel bastard, Barton. How'd you know it was me?"
"They call me Hawk eye," he says, "but that doesn't mean my other senses don't work, and you aren't exactly light on your feet, twinkletoes. Can I help you with something, or did you just feel like a little B&E would kick your day off right?"
The bed sinks a little as Bucky sits down on the edge, carefully. "What's the point of having all the keys to all the doors if I don't use 'em to barge in on the guy my soulmate's sleeping with?"
He opens one eye, peering at Bucky over Toni's shoulder. "While I approve of your abuse of power," Clint replies, "seriously, what the fuck are you doing here?"
Bucky shrugs, shifts on the bed so he's leaning against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed. "You said you wanted to talk in the morning. And Stevie went out running with Natasha. I got bored, and it's morning. So here I am."
"So glad I'm your go-to entertainment, Barnes." Clint sinks down into the curve of Toni's neck, and she shifts in her sleep. Clint freezes, but she just settles again, breathing slow and even. Just in case, Clint drops his voice lower, to barely above a whisper. "Alright, fine. You want to talk, I'm not doing anyone important at the moment. Leave, and that might change."
Bucky shoots him an unimpressed look and folds his arms behind his head. "Don't push your luck, Barton."
Clint sees his unimpressed look and raises him by an I'll-kill-you-with-my-brain glare. "What's to push? This is my suite, which you barged into uninvited, might I add. If we'd had this discussion last night like we should have, instead of addressing Toni's need for comfort and sleep as the more immediate priority, you'd know that you are way past your limits here. Limit the first: this is my space, mine and Natasha's and Toni's when she's here. You wanna come in, you fucking knock and wait to be invited. I don't give a shit if there's a killer indestructible robot bent on destroying the world outside my window. Act like you were raised by a mother who taught you manners, and not like a roided-up Terminator left out in the snow a little too long."
Bucky raises his hands in a peaceable signal, looking more amused than anything else. "You've got a point. Noted for future reference."
"If you boys are going to waggle your dicks at each other," Toni cuts in, voice raspy and heavy with sleep, "the least you could do is be a fucking gentleman, James, and help keep me warm while you posture at each other. My back is cold. So either get your ass down here or get the fuck out."
Bucky eyes Clint speculatively, and Clint just gives him a nonplussed eyebrow. "You heard the lady," he says. "Get in, or get out."
After another long, long moment of consideration, Bucky slides under the covers, thankfully fully clothed, and moves behind Toni. She sighs contentedly and shifts around under the blankets, removing one leg from where it's tangled with Clint's, and presumably tangling it with Bucky's instead.
Clint sighs and closes his eyes, wondering briefly how his morning starts with waking up wrapped around Toni in an actual bed and somehow evolves into staring at Bucky fucking Barnes over the tousled spill of Toni's hair. Someone up there really fucking hates him, he thinks. Not that it's news to him. Just nice to get these periodic confirmations.
By unspoken agreement, they stay quiet until Toni's settled back out into sleep, her breath warm and soft across Clint's neck. Finally, Bucky breaks the quiet. "You two look good together," he says, absently playing with a lock of Toni's hair. "S'weird. Like there's something that just works about it."
"Jealous?" Clint smarts off before he can stop his mouth.
Bucky shakes his head a little. "Nah. I thought I would be, you know. I kinda am a little, I guess. But hell… if she was trying to replace me, or wanted you over me or something like that, she wouldn't have told me to join in."
"Uh uh. No. Stop. Right there, just stop." Clint's a little louder than he should be, but he's nipping this in the bud before it can even start. "Under no circumstances are you joining in right now, because a) Natasha would kill me pretty dead pretty quick, and b) I am so not doing relationship negotiations with Captain America, a man whose perpetual emotional state is, by all accounts, 'the bombs bursting in air' and not 'the gleam of the morning's first beam'."
"That's a little unfair," Bucky says. "Also impressive. You know there's a second verse to the anthem."
"It's accurate," Clint says. "Also fuck you. I went to school." After a brief pause, he adds quietly, "This can't be a one-time thing, Bucky. You know that, right? You take this away from her, and it'll destroy her. Or it'll destroy what you have. I know I'm not exactly high on your priority list, but it'll fucking destroy me too."
Bucky shrugs, smiles faintly. "I knew what I was doing. I guess I finally just got it. It's not really about who's better or who wins or who has who, is it? It's stability and being happy. So yeah, I know it's not a one-time thing. I explained all that to Stevie last night."
"Bet you still don't regret punching me in the eye that one time," Clint says with a smirk, then pauses a little. "Speaking of Steve… Any ideas what the hell we do there?"
"I dunno, Clint." Bucky sighs, leans forward against Toni's shoulder, mimicking Clint's position on the other side of her. "They're both kinda brittle towards each other right now. Toni showed me some of the footage last night. If she's having nightmares or panic attacks or whatever, man, I get why. And Stevie… Steve's on edge all the goddamn time, and he won't go anywhere near the workshop levels. I think it's because that's where it all happened. I dunno what to do. I'm floundering."
Clint frowns a little as an idea strikes him. "You know… while she was under, Toni said she'd been thinking about going back to Malibu. Maybe that might work, get them a change of pace, get everyone else out from underfoot." The more thought he puts towards it, the better it's sounding. "She has a workshop in the mansion, so she can still build her shiny shit. JARVIS has a 24-7 linkup via the Starkcom satellites. Maybe what they need is just a fucking vacation. I know it's been goddamn ages since Toni had one."
Bucky doesn't immediately shoot it down, just looks thoughtful. Clint isn't sure if he should take that as a warning sign of impending doom or not. "What are the risks?"
"Same as they'd be here, honestly: one of them flips their shit, one of them gets hurt, one of them gets dead, or some combination thereof. Probably a bit less of a risk, since California stress is about a tenth of the stress New York brings. Toni always feels better in the sunshine, and this time of year, Malibu is hardly anything but. Also, there are miles of empty beaches Rogers can run his little supersoldier heart out on if he needs to clear his head. Shitloads of activities to do, physical and cultural. Maybe catch him up a bit on the last seven or so decades while he's at it."
"Think we can get them to agree to it?" Bucky says.
"Dunno," Clint replies. "Worth a shot, though, right?"
"I will go to the fucking moon in a rocket built by Reed Richards," Toni grumbles suddenly, and flops onto her back with her wrist over her eyes, incidentally smacking Bucky in the face with her outflung arm and elbowing Clint in the nose with her other, "if you two will just shut the fuck up and let me go back to sleep."
oOoOoOo
Stark Mansion, Malibu CA
May 13, 2012
The minute she walks through the doors, Toni feels the weight of the last few months fall away from her body. She loves New York, loves her tower and the lights and the fact that she can get whatever food she wants at whatever hour of the day or night… but she's secretly a California girl at heart. Sunshine and beaches and the wide, blue expanse of the Pacific soothe her, center her, relax her.
Someone, probably Pepper, has been by to open windows and let the sea air in. The filmy white curtains on the window overlooking the ocean billow gently with the breeze, and it hits Toni with the restorative effect of a full night's sleep and a good cup of coffee. She closes her eyes and lifts her head, breathing in deeply. The tension just drains away and her shoulders slump. "Oh yeah, this was definitely a good idea," she says, and lets the bag over her shoulder thump to the floor. She kicks her slip-ons in the general direction of the shoe rack, and wanders deeper in. "Honey, I'm home! You awake, J?"
"Welcome back to the mansion, ma'am," JARVIS says. "It's 3:37pm Pacific Standard Time, and the weather is a pleasant 68.2 degrees, with a forecast of sun projected for the week ahead. The house has been cleaned thoroughly by your usual service, and your grocery order has been stocked in the kitchen. Shall I add Captain Rogers' New York permissions and access levels to the Malibu servers?"
Oh, right. "Yeah, do that, J." She'd temporarily forgotten she brought company home. She glances over her shoulder at Steve, who is standing uncomfortably in the foyer, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and her dropped bag now secure in his hand. "You can come in, you know," she says. "You're welcome here."
He clears his throat, flushes slightly, and toes off his shoes, using his feet to line them neatly up beside the door. Hesitates for a moment, then maneuvers her shoes neatly into line as well. "Sorry. I didn't want to presume."
She sighs faintly. "Steve… go ahead and presume away, okay? Wander where you like. Open the fridge. Swim in the pool. Borrow a car and go for a drive. Use the WiFi, the gym, the sauna. Watch hardcore porn on the living room flatscreen. I really don't mind. Mi casa, su casa. I'm not looking for you to raise your hand and ask for permission to go pee, here."
He edges closer, steps hesitant. She can feel the nervousness and tension thrumming under the white star. Hopes to Christ he can't feel how nervous and tense she is, but knows he probably can. "Okay," he says, takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, and she can see him wrestling with himself to let go of whatever he's holding in. "Okay," he says again, and tries for a smile. "How about this, then? I'll put our bags in our rooms, and then I'll see what's in the kitchen to make for a late lunch."
"Sounds great," she says honestly, but her brain's caught on his use of the word rooms. She pauses, then chucks caution to the wind and decides to ask. "Are you going to want your own room while you're here? I mean, it's completely doable. There are a couple of guest rooms you can pick from, if that's what you want."
His forehead's got that confused furrow. "Where else would I sleep?"
"I, uh…" She coughs, clears her throat, cheeks flushing hot. She doesn't do embarrassment. What the hell is wrong with her? "You can sleep in my room. With me. If you want."
He stares at her wordlessly for a long moment, already half-turned towards the stairs. He's not like Bucky, or Natasha. She can read every emotion crossing his face, everything between longing and caution and resignation falling past one at a time like dominos under his skin. "No," he says finally, unhappily. "I think it's probably best if I sleep alone."
She's never been one to let shit go. She steps towards him. "Is that what you want? Or is that what you're saying because you think it's what I want?"
He opens his mouth, but doesn't seem to know how to answer that question, and his shoulders bunch around his head again. "This is too awkward," he says, and carefully sets her bag down before sliding the strap of his off his shoulder and putting it beside hers. Moving carefully, he walks towards her, hands spread a little. She's not sure if he's doing that on purpose to reassure her he's unarmed, or if it's completely unconscious on his part.
She watches him approach, waits for the jolt of panic, waits for the shiver of fear. It doesn't come. Steve Rogers, clear-eyed and in a white tee shirt and blue jeans and socks, moving through her Malibu home, bears almost no resemblance to the enraged Captain America in black tactical gear who hunted her through the endless corridors of Stark Tower.
"God, you're shaking," he murmurs, and slowly settles his hands on her shoulders. His hands are so broad, his fingertips are practically meeting over her spine. Her eyes feel huge as she stares up at him and, yeah, he's right. She's shaking like a leaf, even without the fear and memories jumping out of her psyche. "It's okay, Toni," he says softly. "I'm sorry I hurt you. It wasn't me."
"I know," she whispers, steels herself for a moment, and then leans against him, sliding her arms around his waist. Jesus, he's a furnace, broad and tall and solid. She's not exactly a tiny woman, but the top of her head barely reaches his chin, and she can't link her fingers behind his back. But the more she leans, the more she relaxes, and the more secure his arms get around her shoulders. "We'll get through this," she says, and for the first time actually believes it herself.
"Yeah," he says quietly, and his voice is a rumble deep in his chest against her ear. "Yeah, we will."
