Chapter 12

"Daddy?"

"Yeah! Yes, its me sweetheart!" Scott presses into the phone, as if trying to melt into it and right to where his little girl is halfway across the world.

"Mommy, it's Daddy!" Scott can here her gleeful voice yell away from the phone.

"Scott?" An older woman's voice says emotionally.

"Yeah, Maggie, its me."

"Thank God. We weren't sure if we would ever hear directly from you again. Where are you?"

"I can't say," Scott looks around him at the rec room. Seeing nobody, he whispers, "For security reasons. But… We are currently somewhere- that shall remain nameless- in Africa. The only reason I can call you now is because they have totally sick tech that can't be tracked. Wink wink, if ya know what I mean."

"Well, when will you be back?" Maggie questions, quickly frustrated.

"I don't know. We are waiting for things to cool down with the government. Maybe," Scott says sarcastically, "if some giant, I don't know, purple alien comes down from the sky and we beat it's a*s, the government will pardon us."

"Scott." She sighs.

"Just give it some time. In the meanwhile, could I talk to Cassie?"

"First, tell me, have you been stealing again?"

"No! How, and why would I? I'm practically living on a resort!"

The only reply he gets is the "Daddy!" a sweet adolescent screeches into the phone. Clearly, Maggie was overpowered by the sheer force of her daughter's joy.

"Cassie! How have you been? How is school? Is Tommy being mean to you again? How did your art project go?" Scott says in a blur, somehow trying to make up for too much lost time.

"Hehe, it's fine Daddy!" Cassie giggles. "Tommy left me alone, but only after I told him that my Daddy is Ant-Man and would kick his butt if he teased me again."

"That's my girl," He smiles into the phone. The biggest grin imaginable is on his face.

"And I showed everyone at school the present you got me!"

"Wait," Scott says, bewildered. "What present?"

"The bear that can talk and sounds like you! I can ask it questions, and it's like you're talking to me!"

"You didn't know about the scholarship, Scott?" Maggie asks, having heard his question.

"The scholarship?!" Scott jumps off the chair, just as Sam and Steve enter the room. Both raise their eyebrows.

Scott looks down at the ground, after shushing them with his hand. "What are you saying Maggie?"

"A man came over here, gave us the bear, then said Cass now has a full scholarship to the collage of her choice. I thought maybe it was some kind of joke, but he put the money in my bank account. Scott, you're telling me you didn't do this?"

"I… I…" Scott mumbles, breathless. "I've got to go. Cassie, I love you!" Scott yells loudly into the phone. He clicks it off, and turns to Steve and Sam.

"Someone gave Cassie a full scholarship. Who would do that?!" While it's a question, his face is practically glowing.

"Did T'Challa do it?" Sam asks Steve.

"He would have told me," He answers, rubbing his chin. "The government, maybe?"

"After what we did? No way. Even if it is just his kid," Sam says indignantly.

"Then who else has that kind of money and knows about his kid?"

All three of their eyes click at the same time. "Stark," They say in unison.

"Wait, why would he do that?" Steve asks.

"Maybe he was trying to do something nice?" Scott throws in.

"I don't think Starks capable of that. Wait! I know how to see if he's up to something." Sam says determinedly.

"What?" Asks Steve.

"Give me the phone." Sam just grabs it from Scott instead.

He pounds a number he clearly knows by rote into the sleek phone. He huffs, and closes his eyes.

"Mrs. Riley?" Sam asks.

The whole room can hear the exclamation of surprise and excitement that explodes from the phone.

"Whoa, whoa there. Slow down! I can't understand you both at the same time."

Sam stands there, his face increasingly slathered with a concoction of alarm and joy. Steve and Scott intently at him. "NO! Oh no he didn't!" Sam burst out. It's that happy kind of outburst, though. Say, like when you get into that college with an all paid scholarship and your parents just can't believe it.

Eyes wide, Sam says in a rush, "I'll call you later Mrs. and Mr. Riley, I've got something important I must attend to."

As if letting out a breath, he says, jumping up and down in little, excited hops, "Stark freakin paid for Riley's parents living expenses!"

"Wait, who's Riley? Your dog?" Scott asks, perplexed.

"No, my old war partner, When he was alive, he talked about his parents all the time. After I got back, and Riley had his… Accident, I felt like I owed it to him to take care of them. Since I've been here, I haven't been able to do that. But, now, Starks given them a retirement fund for them to live like the folks on the Cialis commercial!"

"Why would Stark be doing this kind of stuff?" Steve asks, turning away.

"I don't know, but I would say it's the least he owes us." Scott says it demurely. He still has the biggest grin on his face, though, only to be matched by Sam's.

Steve's face mocks a cheesy film of a heartbroken and confused man. Eyebrows creasing, he is about to leave the room, when suddenly Clint burst in.

"GUESS WHO IS HERE?!"

He opens the door completely and then Natasha comes slowly into the room.

"Steve, you look like the puppy just died on your favorite movie," Natasha says.

Steve closes his mouth, and walks slowly over to Nat. He wraps his arms around her slowly, enclosing her in a hug. "Oh." Nat says softly.

A moment of silence passes.

"I brought something for you," She says quietly.

Clint lugs a crate into the rec room. The sun shows the dust particles that whisp around its lid. 'Mclure' is carved into the fading green painted wood.

"My mother's crate," Steve murmurs. Thousands of moments are caught in that breath.

He falls to his knees, glazing the grit with the tips of his fingers. "How did you get this?" Steve asks Natasha softly.

"It's a bit of a long story, but Stark got it, had me bring it. He said that you would want it." Natasha sighs.

Steve doesn't respond. As if lifting a delicate vase, he opens the lid. Inside is a women's life.

A doll with red hair. A wedding dress. Old letters from relatives in Ireland. Baby clothes. A carved rattle.

Steve runs his fingers across the beads of the wedding dress, feeling their texture and antiquity. Faded but still beautiful. It holds the weight of young love in its creases.

The letters. We miss you Sarah, come visit with young Steve soon, one of them says at the end. If Joseph keeps hurting you, then you should leave him. Come back to Ireland, and bring the child with you.

Why is Steve's face always like a stone? Perhaps he has learned to bury his feelings. The pain and joys of childhood brought back through one box. And trauma ensues

Scott, Clint, Sam, and Natasha watch him silently. Nat is about to lean down, comfort him, but he speaks.

"She told me to always stand up, even when I got beat down. Peggy told me that too. And Sharon. So, I didn't back down. And now… I don't…"

"Steve," Natasha says, sympathy filling her voice. "You did what you thought was right. That's all anyone would expect of you. I don't know why Stark is doing this. Guilt? I don't know. But you don't have to regret it. We all made our choice. It's not your fault."

Steve nods his head. "I know. You made your choice. But," Steve stands, looking at all of them in the eyes. "Stark made us a family. Took us into his house. I know the team couldn't work. But," Steve's voice becomes mist in the wind. "Does he owe us? For anything? I left him lying on the ground for just trying to help us. To keep his family together."

"Steve," Sam begins.

"No."

With those words bitter in the air, he leaves the room.

Clint looks around. "I'm, uh, going to find Wanda."

"I'm right here." Wanda whispers, coming out of the door that leads to the kitchen.

"I heard everything Clint," She answers his concerned look. "And he's right."

Before anyone has the chance to object, the phone rings. Everyone looks at each other. "It's not for me," Nat says.

Wanda walks to a table, and picks up the only phone. "Hello?" Her heavy Sokovian accents breathes into the metal.

Her breaths become quicker. "He what?"

"What is it?" Clint walks over to her.

"Ok, yes, thank you." Wanda clicks it shut.

Her eyes bleed with emotion. "Stark… He… Built a hospital in Lagos. State of the art. Gave free health care to all the families who had someone killed."

"D*mn you Stark." Natasha searches the ground like a map. She's searching for something that cannot be found on it, though, and leaves the room.

Sam and Scott are both bursting. Stark has now brought them some satisfaction. Brought Sam's friendship with him to be less of a lie. There is nothing left for them to do besides revel in their joy.

Tears crawl like spiders into Wanda's eyes. They spread like veins, morbidly changing her face. She tries to hold them back, she's drowned. Wanda is choked.

Only a sob, and Clint scrambles to her. "Shh, shh, it's ok Wanda."

In between those anguished gasps, the choked sounds of a person being pushed down into their own fears and misery, Wanda says, "This isn't me. I… Stark-"

"Wanda, hey, hey, hey," He pulls her chin up to meet his eyes. "Look at me. I have told you a million times what happened isn't your fault. I know you don't need to hear that kind of bullcrap anymore. Ya, it was your fault. Because, you know what? After those few months of training, you totally should have been able to make a split second decision about whether to send a bomb into a crowd of a hundred people or into the sky where it might have not hurt anyone. Simple sh*t like that."

"Now, you have to accept that mistake. Your powers are one of the most incredible things I have ever seen, and this is coming from someone who has seen a lot." Wanda looks up through watery eyes at him. "Including Thor and Steve's abs. But you need to see that your powers are amazing. They are part of you just as your heart is. But they are not you. Wanda is a caring, passionate, emo women who won't let anything control her. Especially not her fears."

"I'm trying," She whispers.

"And you will get there," He finishes. "Stark is giving out these little, I don't know, gifts? To people probably to make up for his guilt. Or some power move." Clint's squinches his eyes suspiciously. "I never could understand that man. For whatever reason, consider this... a perk! People aren't going to like you any more for this, but, hey, if it makes you feel better, then great! You owe to them, though. You've already kicked enough butt for your age, and will kick more in the future. I see a hero in you," Clint put's his hand's on Wanda's shoulders.

"Don't let frickin fear mess you up. Leave that to all those people whose butt's are going to be kicked by you."

Clint smiles at Wanda, his eyes creamy, and kisses her forehead.

"Thank you Clint," Wanda says.

Doubt is soon to be replaced by ascendancy inside her.

/

"Steve," Natasha says, closing the door behind her with a gentle click.

He doesn't say anything. A phone stares him down. It's face reflects Steve and his ringing spirit.

"I have thought about calling him. Almost did. But I don't think I could handle the hate in his voice," Steve says, firmly. Never quaking. Steve seems a stronghold, but inside his emotions are pounding to come out of his metal brain.

"He doesn't hate you," Natasha replies softly. She sits down on his bed.

"Stark doesn't have to say it for me to know it's true."

"I think he forgives Barnes-"

Steve cuts her off. "This isn't about Bucky! This is about me making all of our lives d*mn miserable. I stand by that d*mn phone every night. If I call him, it's not going to fix anything."

"You don't know that," Natasha says firmly.

"Will it get us off this compound and saving people? Will we ever be a family again?"

"No. But you know what won't help? Letting all this…" She moves her hands to emphasis the point. "Anger fester, and then never being able to work things out with Stark. I'm not saying this whole thing isn't a mess. But the world's going to need saving sooner or later. And you want to be the people Stark is going to call."

Steve slumps back into his chair. When the heat of the conversation blows away, Natasha stands up.

"Call him. Don't. It's up to you. But I know from personal experience that not forgiving someone? It never ends well."

As she walks out of the room, Steve calls, "How long are you staying?"

"Two days. Just enough time to make sure Stark doesn't send you guys a puppy."

/

Metal, slick and thick, pointed at the young girl's cranium. The gun goes off. The sound flaps throughout the room. The illusion shatters.

Bucky sits on a bed, gray pigment swathing him. The same barbaric metal pins him down. All the gray is absorbed into the gun, then it fires. Instead of red painting the walls, gray does. The illusion shatters.

This room is black, with spotlights on its inhabitants. Steve. Sam. Scott. Wanda. Clint.

Bam. Bam. Bam. They all wipe the ground in grey with their tumbling bodies.

The gun clicks. Clicks again. Who… Who's firing these depression pellets?

Me.

I gasp awake. Paralysis seized every part of me except my lungs.

Dang you yoga. Whatever lies about 'root chakra' and breathing techniques they are teaching, aren't working. Eventually, time works it's wonders.

Like a fawn walking for the first time, my shaking limbs grace the floor. Delicate movements shiver through my body, until I slam my face into my door.

She's beauty, she's grace, she slams a door in her face. An epic poem about Ella Walin.

Sarcasm rips through my body like a catalyst. In truth, however, I feel morally infirm again. That was me. I pulled those triggers. Dreams reflect. They are mirror images of our souls. Or our dinner, but still. If this isn't reality giving me a punch in the gut, I don't know what is.

The girl… That was my first patient.

I had shoved that memory down for too long. It needed to be aired out. Like soggy sheets needing to be blown in the crip summer wind. Unlike the cleanliness that comes from that, however, my heart splatters blood on that memory.

The sink's water, the toilet's buzz, are just background noise to the sound of bullets harassing my ears. The glass mirror pushes my image onto me. Tired and disgusting.

I have a moment of depersonalization. It's like I've become a ghost and I'm now looking at everything I fear. Myself. The very things I detest, I have become. Disregard. Mistakes. Hurting others. Killing others.

I loathe wearing that girl again. But I have to. I must live out my sentence.

When I can open the door again, Bucky is leaning against the other wall.

"Why are you up?" I ask. He straightens.

"I saw your light on."

He was up too.

"Are you ok?" Bucky asks. My heart melts. I put my hand on his strong and warm arm.

"I should be asking you that," I whisper piteously.

Gruff, but soothingly, his arms enclose my body. I nestle my face in his neck. Brown locks dance around my face. My breath comes in huffs. I sound like a dog. I can never handle my tears.

There are two kind of crying, just as there are two types of anger. One: Tears, gentle voice cracking, and a tissue. Two: Hot, sobs, and nonexistent control of your voice.

What began as a one, became a two. The agony decimates through my body. Like a fire, it consumes. The tears try to act like white blood cells, eating away the bacteria of my soul. Trying to cleanse. They don't succeed.

Bucky, like a true soldier, stands there. His warmth invades my skin. Without me noticing, we waltz into my room. Soon I can only hear my sobs, only see the soft glow of my lamp. I'm numb.

Bucky sits me on my bed, and takes a seat next to me.

"I saw her again."

"I know," Bucky responds quietly.

"How?" There is no interest in my tone.

"Who do you think I see in my dreams every night?"

People swirl before my eyes. The silence allows them room.

"The nightmares are always terrible. But it's worse when you're awake, because you know you are remembering them on purpose. You think that you deserve the pain," Bucky says quietly. His gruff voice stands stagnant in the room.

"It won't stop hurting. We can't stop that. We have to let it go," Bucky continues.

"I can't," Is all that I can get to come forth from my mouth.

He looks me straight in the eyes. A worn hand gently glinds across my face. My heart stands still. Every word that comes out of his mouth, I treasure.

"I didn't think I deserved to start over. I did so many terrible things. When Steve found me, I was trying to start a new life. It didn't work. The memories wouldn't go away.

"Then I came here. I saw each person struggling with their own demons." Bucky's voice is thoughtful. Brown hair dangles around his cheek bones.

He has been thinking about this a lot. Once as he left the session, we both went to our rooms for the evening. Dinner was a solemn affair, with only Nat's return to lift the mood. No chance to talk then. It was to awkward for me to go to Bucky. Any words I could speak wouldn't have been adequate to express how I feel.

It's glaringly obvious this whole time Bucky has been having a revelation.

"It wasn't their fault. They deserved to be happy. And I want you to be happy."

Tears pucker, then drop my face.

"I want you to be, too," I sniff back.

"I'm going to try. And now that I've met you, I can finally start over."

Bucky and I fall into a hug. I sit on his legs, curled in a ball in his arms. He holds me.

Neither of us wants to let go, but neither of us wants to move. So Bucky scoots back on the bed, until his back is against the pillows. The lamp stays on. The warm light bathes us both in a hug.

We aren't to be in the darkness anymore.

As I stayed curled in Bucky's arms, listening to his heart beat, I whisper, "I was using you."

"Huh?" Bucky mumbles, now fully awake.

"When I came here, I thought that it would satisfy me. If I could treat you, I mean. That I could make up for killing the girl. You reminded me that I can't find satisfaction in stuff like that. Only in things deeper."

/

Hey everyone! Lately I have been getting so many more comments and favorites and reads (over three thousand!), and you have no IDEA how much it means to me. To have people read your work, and to show they enjoy it, is literally the best feeling in the world. So, thank you.

Today, I would absolutely love if you guys told me what you have thought of the story so far with a comment! What you like about it, what you would like to see more of, ect. It would seriously make my day, and I don't care if it is one sentence long, I will adore it. Thank you guys so much for reading!