THE WINTER SOLDIER

There was a strange sense of foreboding upon entering the apartment. It was quiet inside; neat and orderly as you would expect of a soldier's living quarters. Steve put away his duffel bag in the first bedroom they came to, then came out to direct her to her new room at the end of the hall. Her belongings – including a brand new bedroom set and mattress, as well as what looked like expensive bed linen – had already arrived, thanks to Tony's efficiency, and she figured she might as well get to work setting everything up; adding a personal touch to the space with what little of her own belongings she had on hand. She had moved around so much from place to place, never really staying put long enough to settle down, that she didn't have a lot in the way of furniture or bulky possessions.

She got started on making the bed first, running her new, silky sheets between her fingers with a smile, and pushing impressions of her digits into the bamboo fiber pillows before slipping them into their cases. The bedroom set itself – a simple, Scandinavian design – was something she would have chosen, had she been given the chance. That was the odd thing about Tony – he always just seemed to know.

When she had finally finished setting down and plugging in the black, industrial-style bedside lamps, she collapsed back onto the mattress, effectively ruining its finished appearance. Closing her eyes as she relaxed, she failed to notice Steve, who was leaning in the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest, smiling as he watched her.

"He must really like you," he said.

Her eyes jumped open and she turned her head to look at him. He nodded to the new furniture as she sat back up.

"This was probably just pocket change to the guy," she replied, an odd mixture of modesty and borderline-ungratefulness. She dragged herself lazily to her feet. It was a damn good mattress.

"Still, you think he spends this kind of money on the rest of the team?" Steve said, sounding weirdly inclusive of her in the comment.

"No. He just funds your whole compound and your equipment."

Steve smirked, gaze dropping down as he nodded. "How does spaghetti sound for dinner?" he asked, as he looked back up at her again.

"You cook?" she said, sounding impressed. The guy was built, handsome, polite, occasionally saved the world, and he could cook?

"I try," he replied.

"How are you still single?" she asked and he laughed again, a touch of color to his cheeks now.

"Unfortunately, work takes priority," he replied simply, and she nodded. She could just imagine being his partner (something she didn't do that often – honest) and the stress she would go through knowing each mission could be his last. It was unsettling enough to know that Tony had taken to constantly carrying a suit with him on the off chance he suddenly found himself in some life-threatening situation; something that had proven more and more likely these days.

"You finish up doing what you're doing in here," Steve said, "I'll go make a start on the food."

"Sounds like a plan, Cap."

He smiled at the nickname and took his leave.

She headed for the bathroom after that to store her toiletries, but came to a stop as she found herself standing outside the door of the second bedroom. It was shut, with no light coming from underneath it except for what might have been the faint rays of the setting sun. Passing her intended destination, bag of items still clutched in her hand, she backtracked to the kitchen. She glanced over the various items scattered across the surface of the kitchen bench as Steve pulled a knife from out of the wooden block beside the oven.

"Quick question."

He turned to her and smiled obligingly.

"Bucky knows about me staying here, right? He knew I was coming?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Cool. Just checking."

"Trying to keep the surprises to a minimum for the moment," he explained as he began slicing up some onion, and she nodded.

She eyed the closed door again on her way back towards the bathroom, and was sure that this time she heard movement from behind it.

She had been setting out the last of her belongings in the shower – already feeling like she was invading the boys' space with her scented shampoo and conditioner, and the stash of make-up she had left in the cupboard below the sink – when she finally had her first run in with the ex-assassin. He didn't look nearly as surprised to see her in there as she thought he should. Her eyes had widened as she had glanced up from washing her hands and spotted him in the mirror standing in the doorway. He seemed more hesitant than surprised. Giving her hands a quick shake over the basin, she dried them on the towel provided and turned to greet him properly.

"You must be Nellie," he said, his voice deep and a little hoarse from underuse.

His hair was longer than she remembered it from the pictures of him that had been splashed all over the news; his short facial hair threatening its way to becoming a beard. She stuck out her hand instinctively and he glanced down at it for a moment, a small crease appearing on his brow before he took it. It took her a moment to remember how he had lost his other appendage, but she willed herself not to look, knowing it would be rude. But as she stepped aside to let him into the room, curiosity got the better of her and she risked a glance, catching a glint of silver at the end of his long-sleeved top. He turned back to her, not showing any sign that he had noticed.

"Steve's back, too?" he asked.

"Yeah. He's making spaghetti."

A brief grimace flittered across his features.

"No good?" she asked with a chuckle.

"Let's just say it's not his specialty. It might be good to have a woman around."

She wondered how much of his old values he had managed to retain through all the experimentation and torture, fighting back her knee-jerk need to call him out on it.

"What makes you think I can cook?" she asked instead.

A small smile appeared on his face and she found herself wondering what all the fuss was about with this guy. Surely this wasn't the same man who had almost killed Steve and Nat. But she thought when she really looked at him she could see some of those old ghosts milling about his features: the dark circles below his eyes, the subtle listlessness. Leaving him to it, she headed for the kitchen to test Bucky's theory on the food.

All-in-all it wasn't the worst meal she'd ever had. The best part had been Steve's proclamation as Bucky had entered the room that he was making his best friend's favorite, to which Bucky had shot Nellie a look. It had taken a great amount of effort on her part to keep from laughing.

Having dinner with two super-soldiers wasn't as intimidating as it first seemed. She had enjoyed listening to the two friends' banter, momentarily catching a glimpse of a personal side to the captain that she hadn't seen before; the bond shared between two men who had seen and lived through war together – two men out of time. When their talking eventually pattered out, Bucky seemed to go quiet. For a while the only sound other than the clink of forks against plates was the soft swing music coming from the record player in the living room. The overall atmosphere was calm, and though she was sure that this was more for Bucky's benefit than anything, it was a nice way to finish off the day. She could get used to this. Though she would never admit it to his face, she already found she much preferred this to Tony's frenetic energy and loud classic rock. She wondered if she ought to thank him for setting this up for her, then imagined (with a smile) the sort of questions that might raise. As she finished off the last of the pasta on her plate, she found herself tapping her toes to the beat of the brass.

"So how was your first night in the house that freedom built?" Tony asked the following morning.

Since she had been given the night off to settle into her new lodging, there wasn't much to go over on their usual morning walk, and she had been slightly surprised when Tony had presented her with her favorite Starbucks coffee blend. It wasn't the generosity that surprised her – the man was more selfless than he would ever be given credit for – but more so that he knew exactly what she drank from that particular establishment. He was by no means a snob when it came to where he got his coffee from – the average neighborhood coffee place would do in a pinch – but he was particular about what coffee he drank. Once he found a place he liked, he tended to stick to it. She wondered what had happened that morning for him to end up at a Starbucks.

She glanced at the side of his cup. Sure enough, the words IRON MAN stood out in black marker.

"It was real swell," she replied.

"Dear god, they've gotten to you already."

She chuckled and took a sip of the sweet, dirty chai. Without the usual reams of paperwork to distract her, she found herself actually enjoying the views outside the windowed corridor for once. She spotted Sam out in the field flying around as he practiced shooting targets out of the sky. A figure she thought might have been Steve watched him from below. It took her a second to realize that Tony had used 'they', but she was confident he hadn't meant it the way she thought. She had almost forgotten that she was keeping a secret from him. She didn't like it. She hated feeling like she was already being put in the middle of who had essentially been the two opposing sides of what was these days referred to (a little dramatically in her opinion) as the 'civil war'. Her loyalty would always put Tony first; he had, after all, given her the best opportunity of her life despite her lacking the qualifications of the other candidates. He had never really explained why he had chosen her, but knowing him as she did now, she was sure he had his reasons.

"Thanks for everything, by the way," she said to him, hoping he understood it to mean not only finding her a place to stay, but the new furniture, too.

"Don't mention it. Really. I don't want the others to start asking for favors. They're already missing you, by the way. Vision said it won't be the same now that he won't have to wake you up in the library almost every morning."

"See, falling asleep here and living here – two completely different things. I still don't know what the council was on about."

"Honestly? Neither do I half the time. I just assume I won't agree and tune most of it out."

She smirked and paused to take another sip of her coffee, watching out the window for a moment as Sam tossed something down to Steve, who deflected it easily and tossed it back with a little extra force than seemed necessary as Sam landed. She could practically see the goofy grin on Sam's face; the impatient look Steve would have thrown him in return.

"So I looked into some of the things from your notes yesterday," Tony said, breaking her from her thoughts, "I think you might be onto something." There it was – that subtle encouragement. She looked back at him. "I left some things on your desk that I thought might help you expand on that some more. I'll look into it in the meantime, but you let me know what you come up with."

"Same time tomorrow," she told him, not a question but a simple statement. He gave a nod as he took out his phone and wandered off towards the conference rooms, leaving Nellie to stand by the window and watch the two figures below as they began to walk back towards the compound.

Her desk was the usual picture of organized chaos; a combination of neatly compiled stacks of notes, a scattering of reference books, a mug or two of stale coffee, and files marked with varying levels of confidentiality (she had gradually achieved higher and higher clearance over time, but was certain that she hadn't quite reached the really important – not to mention most interesting – material). But as she approached her workspace she spotted something out of place. She plucked up the sticky-note first.

In case you get sick of Glenn Miller.

She picked up the gift beneath it. AC/DCs 'Back in Black' album on vinyl. She smiled.