Chapter Four
They picked Friday for their first movie night and as the day drew closer, Alice began to get anxious. She didn't dare peek inside the box, but she shook it every day, listening to the pieces of paper fluttering around inside. When Friday finally rolled around, she got out of bed and took the quinjet for a long, circuitous flight to Jersey and back (which was as far as JARVIS was programmed to allow her to fly unsupervised), trying to settle her nerves. It didn't work. She was practically vibrating when she finally collected the box from the kitchen and headed down with Bruce to the rec room. When the elevator stopped on Level 28, Alice panicked and pressed the pause button to keep the doors closed.
"Is anything the matter, Miss Ripley?" JARVIS asked, "Your heart rate is significantly elevated and your breathing is quite erratic."
"What if nobody shows up?" She was staring at her wide-eyed reflection in the metal doors, the paper of the box crinkling beneath her whitening knuckles. "What if Clint's right and this is a stupid idea? Oh god, what if Tony filled this entire box with porn?!"
"If he did that, I'll kill him myself," Bruce said, and Alice blinked, equal parts comforted and alarmed by the complete seriousness of his tone, "But he didn't. Tony talks a lot of crap, but he knows this is important to you, Alice. And, contrary to popular belief, he isn't a complete jackass."
Alice snorted an involuntary laugh.
"No," she agreed, "Only a miniature jackass. House-trained even!"
"Barely house-trained," Bruce countered with a smirk, "But loyal to a fault, the tiny bastard."
Another burst of laughter escaped her, the old joke loosening some of the tension in her chest.
"If it is of any further comfort, there are currently five persons occupying Recreational Area 2F of Level 28," JARVIS added, "Popcorn and drinks have been provided and are currently being enjoyed by all present."
Alice smiled at the digital display showing the floor number, where she always imagined the AI's 'face' to be.
"Thanks, JARVIS," she said, "That does help."
"My pleasure, Miss Ripley. Would you like me to open the doors now?"
Alice took a breath and rolled her shoulders once. Bruce leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple.
"I love you," he murmured, "You know that?"
She smiled up at him, her face beaming. She didn't think she'd ever stop loving the way he said that, the way the words vibrated somewhere deep in her chest. It made her warm and tingly all over.
"I know," she said, "I love you too."
She turned back to their reflections and nodded once.
"Okay, JARVIS," she said, "Let's do this."
The doors opened and she stepped out with as much confidence as she could muster. The hallway wasn't that long, but it felt like it took the better part of forever to make it to the double doors of the rec room. Bruce opened the door for her and she stepped in.
"You're late!" Tony shouted, throwing a handful of popcorn at her over the back of one of the couches scattered throughout the room, "Are we doing this or what?"
The floor angled down toward a movie theater screen along one wall and that was the direction Alice headed, while Bruce went to plop down next to Tony, taking the popcorn from him before he could make any more of a mess. Thor and Klara were sitting on the far side of the room, Thor already digging into a large container of popcorn like it was going out of style. Steve had settled in the couch that was closest to the middle of the room, along with a surprising guest.
"Sam!" Alice exclaimed, pausing to grin at the young man slouched down on the couch with his feet propped up on a coffee table, "I didn't know you were back!"
"Got in a couple hours ago," Sam said, matching her grin and punching Steve in the arm, "Speedy here let me know what was going on. I wasn't about to miss out."
Steve rolled his eyes and slugged him on the leg, knocking both his feet to the floor.
"Get your feet off the table, you idiot," he said, "Were you born in a barn?"
"I'm really glad you're here, Sam," Alice said and meant it. Sam's unexpected appearance soothed a little of the sting she felt at Clint and Natasha's absence. She had almost expected Clint to weasel out somehow, but she had thought Nat might at least try-
She shook it off and hurried to the front of the room with her box.
"Okay," she said, and her voice carried farther than she had expected in the suddenly quiet room, "Here's how its gonna work, so it stays fair: JARVIS is gonna choose someone at random to pick our movie out of the box. Whatever they come up with, that's what we watch. JARVIS?"
"Processing," JARVIS said, followed almost immediately by, "Captain Steven Rogers."
"That seems suspiciously appropriate, JARVIS," Tony said, raising an eyebrow at the ceiling.
"I assure you, Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers was chosen completely at random."
Tony didn't look convinced, but Alice ignored him, holding the box out for Steve.
"Captain, if you'd do the honors?"
He good-naturedly took it from her and tore away the paper, lifting the top and rummaging around for a minute before he came up with a folded piece of plain white paper. He took a moment to read what was written, then smiled as he handed it to her.
"I didn't write it," he said, "But it's on my list."
In carefully printed block letters were the words STAR WARS.
"Sweet!" Tony said, reaching across Bruce for a handful of popcorn, "Six movie marathon, who's with me?"
Before Alice could reply, the double doors opened and Clint walked in, trailed by Natasha.
"God, Tony, are you trying to kill me?" Clint said, his shoulders hunched in his plain black tee, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, "I am not sitting through fifteen hours of this bullshit."
Alice saw Klara twitch out of the corner of her eye, and without looking up from her phone, Nat punched her best friend squarely in the arm. He flinched, glaring at her before he slumped down into one of the loveseats with his arms crossed, the very picture of a sullen teenager being forced to attend a family meeting. Still, without looking up, Nat flopped down next to him, slinging her booted feet into his lap as if to anchor him to the spot. Alice realized at least three seconds too late that the silence had stretched out too long and she desperately tried to gather her wits for a retort.
Tony beat her to it.
"Well, we should at least start with the Phantom Menace."
"We are not starting with the Phantom Menace," Alice said, rolling her eyes and looking up toward the ceiling, "JARVIS?"
"Ready when you are, Miss Ripley."
"Hit the lights."
As the lights dimmed, Alice stashed the suggestion box in the corner and dashed across the room, squeezing in between Bruce and Tony on the couch and snatching the popcorn away to nestle in the crook of her crossed legs. Bruce passed her a large cup of soda as the first blare of the opening theme started to play and she sipped gratefully, her mouth and throat dry from nerves.
At first, she kept sneaking glances around the room, checking in, making sure things hadn't devolved into a complete disaster. But by the time they reached the Cantina scene, everyone seemed to have settled. Clint and Natasha were passing a drink and a bag of popcorn between them, and despite his initial reluctance, Clint didn't seem quite as miserable as he might have wanted everyone to believe. He kept snorting as the Storm Troopers missed perfectly good shots. Steve was giving the movie every iota of his attention, his eyes moving over the screen as if dissecting battle tactics. He shot upright, visibly upset when Obi-Wan was cut down by Vader. Sam spent his time cheering on the flying maneuvers with loud boisterous encouragement like "Yeah!" and "Get some!" Thor kept shoving popcorn into his face and grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying the hell out of himself while Klara sat primly beside him, hands folded in her lap and eyes fixed with rapt attention to the flickering screen.
By the time they reached the battle planning on Yavin 4, Alice had finally relaxed enough to sit back and watch the movie. Bruce's arm had settled over the back of the couch and it slipped down to rest across her shoulders, fingers playing absently with the ends of her hair. It was the longest it had been in years, and she had been thinking about getting it cut. Now she wasn't so sure she wanted to. In the dark, quiet moment before the Death Star battle truly got underway, Bruce ducked down and kissed her. She barely had time to relish the warm, tingly feeling before they were assaulted with a hail of buttery missiles.
"PDA! PDA!" Tony shouted, tossing another handful of popcorn at them as Alice laughed and put up her hands as shelter against the attack, "If I'd wanted to see this I would have filled the box up with porn!"
"Dude shut the hell up, we're missing the best part!" Sam protested, his eyes fixed on the screen. One of the TIE-fighters went down in a shower of sparks and he pumped both fists in the air, "Yes! Did you see that? That my friend, was pure-ass skill, right there!"
"Oh please," Clint said, rolling his eyes, "He only made that shot because the fighter behind missed!"
"You wanna go, Bird-boy?" Sam asked, turning to face him with a challenging grin.
Clint smirked. "Any time, Tweety."
"Boys, you're both pretty," Nat said, "But we really are gonna miss the best part."
There was tense silence as Luke made his way down the trench and a general cheer when Han Solo appeared and blew Darth Vader out of the sky. The movie ended and the lights began to come up.
"Well, Alice, I gotta admit," Tony said, standing up and stretching, "That was pretty damn entertaining."
"I gotta say, Stark, I really feel like I understand you so much better now," Steve said, turning around and propping himself up on the back of the couch, "You think you're Han Solo."
Tony jerked back and pressed a hand to his chest in mock indignation.
"How could you say that? I am clearly Luke Skywalker!"
Steve rolled his eyes. "You are not Luke Skywalker."
"The young prodigy, destined to follow in the footsteps of his father, only to become greater than he ever was? I am Luke Skywalker."
"You're only saying that because you want to be the star-"
Alice was about to tell Tony that he was clearly Chewbacca, when she saw Clint disappearing through the double doors, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched. She blinked and met Natasha's eyes. Nat gave her a long-suffering expression that was almost apologetic as she got up and followed after her friend, slurping at her drink with her phone still in her hand, typing furiously. Alice tried to ignore the pang of disappointment. At least he came, right? That was more than she had hoped for.
Shaking off the cloud, Alice left Steve and Tony to their argument ("How can you compare JARVIS to C-3PO? You take that back!") and plopped down next to Klara instead, who was examining her hands with far more interest than Alice thought they probably warranted.
"So, what did you guys think?" she asked, grinning and including Thor in the conversation too, who seemed more than willing to contribute.
"What mighty battles!" he exclaimed, "Your Princess Leia reminds me very much of Sif, she would have a great appreciation for this film, I think."
"Leia's pretty great," Alice agreed, "Klara? Any thoughts? Favorite character? I like R2-D2 myself."
Klara looked up, surprised, and then furrowed her brow, lowering her eyes again.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi seemed...a strange man," she said finally, "He simply allowed Darth Vader to slay him. I'm not sure I understand that completely."
"Yeah, it doesn't really become clear until the later movies why he did that," Alice said, "We'll have to watch them all, eventually."
"And as for Vader himself-" The furrow in her brow deepened. "-there is something odd about him, something...missing. He seemed trapped, desperate even. I felt...sorry for him."
After she said it, she seemed to flinch away from her own words. She got to her feet.
"Excuse me, I'm afraid I don't feel very well."
She dropped a curtsy and left in a rush, her head held high, but somehow even more distant. The eyes of the others watching her go did not even seem to phase her. Thor rose only a moment after.
"Forgive us, Miss Ripley, but I must see to Klara," he said, taking her hand and bowing over it, "Thank you for a lovely evening. I look forward to the next."
And then he was gone too, leaving Alice sitting by herself and wondering if, instead of helping, she'd only made things worse.
This isn't your fight... too close...
Damn it.
I feel sorry for him... Why had she said that?
Klara did not leave her room for two days. She couldn't bear it. Every time she considered making even a token appearance, the words echoed again in her mind and she saw the faces of those that lived in the Tower, heard their angry voices, and...she couldn't face them. She couldn't. So she made her excuses to Lord Thor and remained in seclusion. He brought her meals, but she ate little. And as the darkness began to close in, she started to give serious consideration to Lord Thor's offer.
I am sure she would be glad to have you...
It was true. Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis, even Dr. Selvig had already made peace with Klara's past. They knew the sacrifice that had been made, had witnessed its direct effects, and that had softened...him in their minds a bit. She could go back to them. They would not even question it, would not say a word should she choose to return. If Lord Thor said it was so, it would be.
But...this was not the first time she had been immersed in these shadows, in this heavy cloud of despair that threatened to consume her. And when she had finally been pulled free of the mire, that first year on Midgard, she had made a promise: that she would not allow that darkness to claim her ever again. To retreat now, even under such heavy fire, felt like a direct betrayal of her vow. This was but another form of darkness, another form the cloud had taken, the form of words and opinions and false assumptions. Would she bow before it?
Would Lady Frigga have bowed to it?
Klara knew that answer. She knew it in every memory of the queen's last year, in every decision she had witnessed and every decision she had not. She knew it in the existence of her very dilemma. For if the queen had bowed to that darkness, Klara would not be facing this darkness of her own. She did not blame the queen, nor begrudge her. She had grown more in the dungeons of Asgard than she had in all the long years she had served in the light, and she was grateful for what little time she'd had. And she would not flee now from what that year had taught her. From what he had taught her.
Once she reached this conclusion, she immediately rose, washed, dressed, and left her room in the Tower. She did it before she could think, before the words and oppression could take root inside her again. She did it to move and be free, for just a little while before she was forced to rein in once more.
It was night. It took several moments to work up her courage and touch one of the wall panels to see it was the third hour of the morning, the sun not yet risen, though the windows glowed with the perpetual light of the never-sleeping city below. The sound was muted here and without it, it was easy to forget that Asgard did not lay in silent slumber all around.
But though the slumber was not Asgardian, it was complete. The Tower was quietest at this hour, and she took it as a good sign. She entered the elevator at the far end of the hall and pressed a button on the top half of the panel at random. She did not venture below the theater on Level 28 (Alice had not given her the tour of those levels yet), but she would see what there was to see in the quiet dark before dawn in this home of giants and heroes.
The doors slid open and she recognized the place instantly. It was one of the recreational floors, what Alice had called a "gym". The room was large and dimly lit, but in the quiet, there was a steady thumping reverberating dully on the walls. Cautiously, Klara moved forward through the maze of strange equipment and peeked around the roped-off square standing in its own puddle of light.
A long, cylindrical bag swung from the ceiling by a web of chains with Captain Steve Rogers posed before it, his fists wrapped in strips of white cloth. As Klara watched, the captain struck in a series of rapid-fire motions, and the bag swung crazily for a moment before returning to its lazy twirl. He turned with the bag, angling into position to strike again, ducking and stepping in time to the blows he rained upon it. It was like watching a skilled dancer work his way around a clumsy partner and still somehow manage to make the performance seem worthwhile.
"Can't sleep?"
Klara stiffened and jerked instinctively back behind the corner of the raised square platform. Could she still escape? Could she pretend that she hadn't heard or (even better) that she wasn't here at all, that he had imagined her presence? Perhaps she could sneak away after he had gone and... No. No, she would not flee. Instead, she forced out the breath she had been holding and straightened, turning to face the Midgardian captain with a curtsy already in progress.
"Forgive me, Captain Rogers, I didn't mean to disturb you," she said, the easy words tripping across her tongue like an old habit. But before she could take another breath to continue, to leave him to his training, he was speaking again.
"Yeah, I can't sleep either," he said, casually, as if this sort of interruption happened often at this odd hour of the morning, "Not like I used to anyway, not since the serum. Being frozen for about seventy years probably didn't help either. I think my internal clock has decided I've used up my quota of sleep for a while."
He looked up and Klara blinked at him. He was smiling. Had he made a jest? Should she laugh? She thought she should laugh, but her lips betrayed her with words instead.
"That's quite Asgardian of you."
He laughed at that, a light chuckle that fell on Klara's ears like the tolling of distant bells.
"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, "Glad to see you're feeling better."
Klara blinked at him again, and he raised an eyebrow.
"Thor told us you weren't feeling well."
"Oh." Of course, he would have had to say something, and she supposed it hadn't been a lie, after all. "Yes, I feel much better, thank you."
He nodded and resumed his stance at the bag, fists clenched in a tight formation before him. Klara remained where she stood, unsure. Should she now make her excuses and leave him? Was he expecting their conversation to continue during his training? She had never been present for any of the training exercises on Asgard, not even when she had been...well, when Andvari had shown interest in her. He wouldn't have stood for it. It wasn't her place. But Captain Rogers did not seem to find her presence the least bit strange. And she could not help but feel the smallest spark of curiosity.
"What do you call it?"
The question escaped before she could think better of it, and it took all her strength not to cringe at her own forwardness. But Captain Rogers answered without pausing.
"Boxing," he said, punctuated by a few rapid blows, "Helps me think. Just fists and a bag, simple but effective."
He slammed the bag a few more times and then caught it in one arm, arresting the swinging motion, brushing his hair back from his brow to see her clearly.
"Wanna try it out?"
Klara was so startled that she stepped back, hands clasped tightly behind her and the breath caught in her throat. Try? Her eyes flickered several times between the captain and the bag he now cradled against him, keeping it steady. He was still smiling. It was a marvel to her, that those smiles came so easily to him. She had never met a man who smiled as easily as he, except perhaps Lord Volstagg. Lord Volstagg had never looked at her as one looks at an enemy. Even knowing where she spent her hours. Even knowing whom she cared for...
Had Lord Volstagg offered her this opportunity, Klara would not have hesitated. She set her shoulders and managed to nod. Captain Rogers released the bag and stepped toward one of the nearby shelves, returning with a roll of what looked like pale blue cloth. He approached her as one might approach a skittish animal, his own cloth-wrapped hands held out.
"Come on," he said, "Let me wrap up your hands."
Klara clenched her fists reflexively, but then released one of her hands to his care. He took it as one might take a rare book, resting it flat in his palm and unrolling a length of the blue fabric, laying it precisely in the crook of her thumb. Klara watched, intrigued, as his fingers moved over her wrist, around her knuckles, securing her thumb, over and over, until nothing remained but the end.
"It'll keep your wrist straight," Captain Rogers explained as he tucked in the loose end and started again on the other hand, "And protect your hands from the bag. It's just vinyl, but if you stay at it long enough, it can really tear up your knuckles."
He finished and stepped back to survey his work. Klara flexed her hands and discovered that, while it restricted her movement, the wrappings came with a feeling of security. It was the closest she had ever come to battle armor in her life, and there was a strange sense of comfort in that. She felt better with it on.
"You should probably have a better pair of shoes," the captain said, bringing her back with this gently-spoken criticism, "But it shouldn't matter for today. You won't be moving around too much at first."
He settled her into position before the swinging bag with a calm efficiency, leaving no time for Klara to feel awkward about being maneuvered in such a way. He placed her feet and hands in the correct positions and demonstrated the two most basic strikes, what he called a "jab" and a "cross".
"There's others, but we'll add them later," he said when she had practiced the movements a bit in the air before him, "These two will get you pretty far on their own. A lot of boxing is just knowing how to throw those two punches at the right time and in the right place."
He moved to stand behind the bag, bracing it on his thigh and against his side.
"Alright, hit me," he said, with a slight smirk that made Klara think he might have been making another jest. Her stomach was fluttering too badly to even think of returning the humor.
She lined up with the bag and flexed her fingers one final time, checking her position. Then she jabbed. Her hand connected with the vinyl in a light whap of sound.
"That wasn't a punch," Captain Rogers informed her, "That was a practice run. A warm up. Now, hit me."
Klara squared up with the bag once more and jabbed again. Again the sound was not all that impressive.
"Klara-" She looked up, into the captain's shining blue eyes. How was it that he was still smiling? "-you aren't going to hurt me. I promise, whatever you can throw at me, I've felt a lot worse. You don't have to be scared."
Klara jolted back from the bag as if he had just thrown a jab of his own and shoved her. Didn't she? Didn't she have every reason to be afraid, here of all places among the enemies of the one she had-? She took another step back, the dark cloud threatening to descend, the cold feeling of empty resolve, of hopeless defeat. She would never be free of it. It would follow her all the days of her life, it was a part of her, this dark secret she kept, this pain that she could not voice, could not even acknowledge...
"I shouldn't be here," she said, turning away and fumbling at the wrappings on her hands. Her fingers were shaking. "I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"
"Hey, hold on, wait-"
His hands were steady and gentle as they wrapped around her shaking fingers, holding the wrappings in place despite her efforts. There was a long pause in which Klara did not dare look up, but did not dare to take away her hands either. The wrappings still made her feel stronger, as if removing them might mean the complete undoing of whatever was holding her together.
Captain Rogers sighed and Klara braced herself.
"Listen, I've been turning it over for the last few days," he said, releasing her hands and running his fingers through his hair, "And honestly? I still don't get it. I mean you know what he did. You knew even before...everything, with the Convergence. And maybe I'm completely out of line here, Klara, but you don't seem like the kind of person to just let that go. You seem..." He hesitated and his jaw tightened as if the next word were difficult. "...kind."
Klara dropped her gaze, studying her slipper-clad toes. He sighed again, and she could hear his frustration.
"What did you see in him?"
It was the obvious question, and yet it rattled every fiber of her being. What had she seen?
He was once a prince... He was once a son...
But that was the wrong answer. He wouldn't understand it, and so Klara was left struggling to find an answer that he would understand. Because at least he was asking, which was more than anyone else had done. It seemed that everyone was always speaking around her, even about her, but never with the intention that she herself should have anything to say in response. She was used to this. It was how she had grown up. But that last year in Asgard, she had learned what it was to speak and be heard. It was nice to know that the skill might still be put to use, even here.
And wasn't that the answer? She looked up, into those hard, blue eyes searching for answers, and instead asked a question of her own.
"Have you ever been seen, Captain?" He blinked and the simmering frustration vanished, replaced by puzzlement and attentiveness. "Not for what you can do, or where you come from, or what you might become. Really seen for who you truly are?"
She watched the realization bleed into him, the sad, far away look of a fond memory, long lost. She could not help it. She smiled.
"Then you are lucky," she said, "I had never before been seen. Not until he saw me."
Three steps. Three steps he had allowed her before he asked.
"What is your name?
"...Klara."
"You're right," she said, " I did know, though not in the same way I know now. I do not condone his actions, or even pretend to understand them. What happened here was a terrible crime and he was punished for it. I watched him suffer the effects of that punishment. It nearly took his life."
That jolted the captain, though Klara could not see how it might make even the slightest difference to anyone but her. The only other person that had ever seemed to care was dead.
"I cannot change what happened," she said, "I can only tell you that the man I cared for in Lady Frigga's name was kind to me, in his way. He was lonely. And he was troubled, deeply, by things I could not even begin to fathom."
She realized she was touching the bobble at her collar, the shining jewel entwined with silver that she hid beneath her tunic.
...stars, and monsters in the dark...
She dropped her hands and clasped them both behind her. The padding lent strength to her posture that she might not have otherwise had.
"Forgive me, Captain Rogers," she said, "But I'm afraid the Loki you knew, and the Loki I knew, were two very different people."
He searched her face and, for a brief moment, Klara saw the glimmer of possibility in his eyes, the smallest chance that he might understand. Someday. But for now, he merely nodded, moving back into position behind the bag.
"Okay," he said, settling back into his supportive stance, "Let's try again."
As Klara moved into position, she hoped he meant more by his words than she dared to believe. But the hope was enough. It was more than enough.
Steve left Klara to her contemplation of the punching bag when the sun started peeking through the windows. He felt...drained. Not just from physical exertion (though once she'd stopped pulling her punches, the girl packed more of a wallop than he'd guessed), but mentally and emotionally too. The things she had said...and the distant agony in her voice... It was like listening to someone who had been screaming in an empty room for so long they'd forgotten what it was to be heard.
Damn. Why couldn't things ever be easy? Why couldn't the universe hand him even one thing that was clearly black and white?
Your name is James Buchanan Barnes... You know me...
...the Loki you knew, and the Loki I knew, were two very different people...
"Barton's gonna be pissed."
Steve jumped and nearly slammed into the wall. Nat smirked as she emerged from the shadows of the adjoining corridor.
"Jesus, Romanov," he huffed, regaining his balance and brushing past her, leaving her to catch up, "Are we gonna have to put a bell on you, or what?"
"You can try," she quipped as she matched his stride, "At least make it a challenge for me."
They walked in companionable silence for a few beats.
"Barton's gonna be pissed," she repeated. Steve set his jaw. He had been hoping she wouldn't repeat it.
"Thor trusts her," he said, "And if she can really do what he says? If she actually brought Loki to bear? That's a power we want on our side."
"I'm not saying you're wrong," Nat said, and a touch of his defensiveness bled away, "I'm just saying, Barton's gonna be an asshole about it."
"Barton's gonna have to learn to play ball, or he's gonna be warming a bench," he said, "Klara didn't dig around in his head, he needs to stop treating her like she ran over his dog."
Nat didn't say anything for several seconds. Long enough for Steve to remember how close the two ex-agents were.
"I'm not saying he doesn't have a legitimate point," Steve said, pulling up short and running a hand through his hair, "But if we stop working with everyone that doesn't see things exactly the way we do, our list of friends and allies is gonna get real short, real quick." He met Nat's unreadable gaze. "The past is the past. We can't change what happened. But Loki's gone, and we're still here, picking up the pieces. So is Klara. We should use her if we can."
Nat stared him down for several, intimidating seconds, then shrugged.
"I'll let him know," she said, "He might need a few days to put himself together."
"Tell him to take all the time he needs," Steve said, "If he can't leave his personal grudges at the door, I don't want him here."
Nat nodded, but Steve took her by the arm before she could walk off.
"I know this is hard for you too," he said, "I'm sorry. It's just the way things are."
She rolled her eyes.
"Don't go getting all weepy on me, Rogers," she said, punching him in the arm, "You think this the first time I've had to work two sides? What did you think my job was at SHIELD?"
"Always figured you were some kind of accountant," he said, "The bad-ass act was just a cover."
"You know me so well."
She winked and then she was gone. Steve shook his head and headed toward his room, ready for a shower. It was gonna be a long day.
A/N: Not gonna lie, the boxing scene is one of my favorites in this fic :) I hope you enjoyed it too!