That Thursday morning late in March had dawned slightly cloudy, but that was just fine. Sam Wilson liked those days, when the spring mornings were cool and shaded, his run refreshing and renewing as he lapped the reflecting pool, or down the familiar streets of his neighborhood. It was promising, as the light filtered through the glass and he rose, swapping his sleepwear for shorts and a clean shirt. Plenty of time before his afternoon meetings to get a couple miles in. First things first, though, he had to confirm something. Looking out the window, Sam smirked to himself. Having heard the arrival late last night, he had wanted to make sure his guess was on the mark, and he was satisfied that he knew precisely whose bike it was that was parked in his driveway. Early though it was, he knew that the owner of the motorcycle would be up as well, most likely stationed at the kitchen table having had first crack at the coffee. Good thing he'd already gone to the store a couple days ago to stock up on necessities; his erstwhile roommate had returned.

After throwing on a sweatshirt, he made his way downstairs. The trip down the hallway was short, and when he glanced up from his shuffling feet, he cracked a true grin. Steve was there, exactly where he predicted he'd be. Sweats and a t-shirt were his attire, preparation for later. He raised a mug in Sam's direction, his free hand gesturing to a box of doughnuts that sat open on the table (had to have been bought on his trip down from the city).

"Sam," he greeted his friend, setting down his coffee to come around to him. Shaking his hand and clapping him on the shoulder, Sam moved off to assemble his coffee.

"Hey man, it's been a minute," he said. It had been over a month since he's seen Steve properly. Between the captain's missions, his own work at the VA, and ongoing personal endeavors, they hadn't had much time to catch up. Sloshing coffee and milk into his cup, he took a seat opposite Steve, grabbing a doughnut while he was at it. Taking a big bite, he asked between chewing, "Things going good?"

Steve nodded, shrugging a shoulder. "Been busy, for the most part. Things are pretty good. And yourself?"

"It's alright. Been fairly quiet around here," Sam replied, gesturing to the house with his mug. In truth, it seemed that most of the DC metro had quieted down significantly with Captain America's increased absences. Or perhaps he just beginning to know how placid his life had become since his discharge until he'd met the captain, now that it was settling again.

"How're things going at the VA? Still counseling?"

Sam chuckled then, shaking his head at the earnest questions. "It hasn't been that long since you've seen me. Yeah, they still have me working with readjusting vets. Got a few new faces, new sets of baggage."

Steve shot him a wry grin. "Suitcases or man purses?"

The paraphrased words made Sam shoot him a knowing look, though he'd maintained his grin. Taking another sip of the brew, he said, "A little bit of both, depending on who you talk to. New person at the front desk is settled now."

Silence descended briefly, as his mind turned to the previous receptionist. He'd dated Tori for eight months, after the helicarrier disaster, and though it had been roughly twelve and a half weeks since their break-up, there were a few sharp pangs every now and again when he thought of her. To see her place filled, first by a couple of temps and now permanently, just drove home the fact that she really was gone, off California dreaming while he was still out East.

Whatever. He was counseling, helping others cope with their guilt and their trauma. He ran, he went out, watched football and had other worries and concerns in his life. It was alright. It would still be alright, no matter what.

For his part, Steve barely winced at the forced reminder of his friend's separation. Determinedly, he gulped down some coffee from his own mug, murmuring, "Good to know. Is she nice, cute?"

Sam snickered, shook his head. "He is alright, and not as impressed by my associations as the last one was."

"Or he could be," his friend responded ever-so-helpfully, an eyebrow raised and a finger wagging at him. "You don't know for sure."

There wasn't much to say to that, so he just tapped along the side of his cup, shrugging. "Fair point."

The expression on Steve's face slid away from levity, seriousness taking over. "And the other stuff?"

Sam's dark eyes cut away then, knowing the question would be coming. However, he knew that Steve wasn't going to be overjoyed with the answer he had. Bucky Barnes had remained elusive since September, one or two blips on the radar allowing them to know he was still alive. Still, that was about all he could assume.

"Haven't heard a thing on the communicator. I think he's shut it off," he confessed, speculating. The ex-assassin was on the road to recovery, to figuring out his own place, and besides a well wish at Christmastime, he was set on doing it on his own. The Stark-built communicator provided to him was silent since that day, and he didn't have high hopes that would change any time soon. "Or broke it. Either way, we're back to radio silence and having no clue where he is."

The corners of Steve's mouth turned down, the blue of his eyes turning stormy. No, he definitely didn't like the answer. "Anything cropping up in missing persons, by any chance? Just in case."

"Nothing yet," Sam responded. "I'll keep an eye on things."

"Thanks. I'm trying to do the same, but…"

"Juggling too many things at once? Not surprised," Wilson remarked, leaning forward in his seat, crossing his arms on the tabletop. "I can take lead on this. You've got enough on your plate. Protecting the world and all that."

"Supposedly," Steve muttered, inclining his head in acceptance of the offer. If Sam was willing to keeping an eye and ear out for Bucky when he couldn't, far be it from him to say no. It irked him to have to take a back seat in regards to the entire situation, but for the time being, he would have to accept it. Besides, nothing would happen until his long-lost friend decided to reappear. Deep down, his gut was telling him that it wouldn't be forever, and until then, there were other pressing occurrences.

And speaking of such, Sam's eyebrows rose, his voice pitching lower. "Got anything to tell as far as all that stuff in New York? My mom thinks it has to do with a gang war, but it all sounds so weird."

Given that his mother also resided several miles north in Harlem, she was a little removed from the truth. However, he knew the captain would have a better idea, if not a resource to raw on to get more of a clue as to what was going on.

"Fishy, you mean. It's all so fishy," his friend corrected him. He snorted, rolling his eyes as he considered everything that happened in the last couple of weeks. "Not like they're giving us anything, either; the authorities are determined to keep us out of the situation until it reaches crisis proportions."

Sam's brow furrowed, suspicious of that. "Didn't several bombs go off in one night? How is that not a crisis?"

Steve gave him a deadpan look. "You tell me. There's nothing any of us can do, and believe me, we've all tried."

That they had, each and every one of them having approached the police, the local government, to appeal and discover what they were keeping to themselves. The bombings were under investigation, no outside intervention from the Avengers was to considered, let alone tolerated. No persuasion from Stark, Romanoff, or Hill could persuade the ones in charge to allow them to at least understand the causes of what had happened outside of the official public reports. No matter that they had acted as first-responders; that was all they were allowed to do. It was irritating.

"Bet you're missing SHIELD right about now," Wilson cut across his train of thought. "Fury would've overridden the cops and handed it off to you guys straightaway."

"Not necessarily true. For something like this, a single agent would be sent in to infiltrate. If that person was incapable of locking it down, then a team of agents would be deployed, and only if they were totally obliterated as well, then he'd consider sending in the strike team." Off Sam's wide-eyed expression, Steve tipped his head to one side and raised a shoulder. "I worked in tandem with the man for over a year as an operative, I learned a thing or two. And for the record, I don't miss SHIELD. Not what it became."

Sam gestured at him with the remaining bite of doughnut in hand. "But the ideals it was built on had some merit?"

"Some," Steve conceded, a corner of his mouth lifting. "If you tilt your head sideways and squint."

"There were enough to keep you there."

Unable to refute the point, Steve merely sat back in his chair, sighing under his breath and saying no more. The two men continued their repast maintaining the quiet. The question that Sam had delayed preyed upon his mind, and after he swallowed down the dregs of his coffee, he pushed the mug away and brought it to the fore.

"Well, what brings you back to your rented-but-barely-utilized room?"

"Hey, I use it," was Steve's objection, though his friend found his declaration to be halfhearted, at best. He wasn't having any of it, and he indicated so with a discreet roll of the eyes.

"As a storage locker. Granted, it's a very nice storage locker…"

"Kind of expensive for a storage locker," the captain said. "Pretty decently furnished for a storage locker."

"Still, point is you crashed here last night instead of across town," he interjected, knowing full well there was a bed his partner preferred to sleep in, and a woman to share it with, and it certainly wasn't at his house. "Can't be because you're desperate for my company. Not entirely, at least."

Steve's gaze shifted away to the left, not quite meeting his in that moment. "I mean, if it's an inconvenience..."

"Shut up, man; not what I meant. I'm just curious. You've got that...planning look on your face," Sam said, mock-squinting and staring at the studious set of his friend's expression. He'd seen enough times to know when the captain looked like that, something was about to go down. "Are you going to mount an offensive against a massive terrorist infiltration?"

The other fellow smiled, a tenseness coming around him then. "Not this time. But you are right; I've got something in mind, something I can't really do with Holly around."

"She'd be gone at work most of the time."

"I'm not taking any chances," he responded, a flutter of nervousness appearing in his irises. Flicking his fingers in a you'd-better-tell-me gesture, Sam waited for an explanation. Little by little, as it came forth, he dropped the teasing aspect of his demeanor. Rather, it was replaced with surprise, and genuine good feeling on his part.

"Do you need any help? I mean, I could fly with a banner attached to me," he offered, the news still being digested. Perhaps he could be of some service in a way. Distractions were always welcome to him, even if it meant he might have to make an ass out of himself to do so. "It would save you the money on a biplane."

Laughing, Steve shook his head, some of the nerves dissipating for the moment. "I'll keep it in mind. I just need a base of operations for a little while. And for you not to spill the beans."

"You can count on me, Cap." Saluting his partner, Sam got up from the table, hooking a thumb towards the door and grabbing up his keys. "Well, that's enough gossiping like a grandma for one day. I'm gonna get some laps in on the Mall, if you want to come along."

Dipping his chin, the captain got up and set his cup in the sink, heading in the direction of his room to get his shoes. "Sure, if you think you can keep up."

The promise of retribution was in Sam's gaze as he moved away, and he called out, "We'll see, old man."

xXxXxXx

That night, Steve had stationed himself at his old desk. The day had been spent tidying the space, and going to the actual storage locker he had rented upon moving to the city. Rifling through it for a long while, he was able to find what he needed, relief coursing through him. Once he'd finished there, he'd returned to Sam's house, planning and checking in at the Tower while he waited for the right time to make the call. Pulling his laptop out of his bag (left in there overnight as he'd gotten back to D.C. far too late and was far too exhausted to unpack at the time), he opened it up, clicking slowly through until he initiated the proper program. As he selected the correct name, he rested his hands in his lap, folding them together and pressing them hard against each other to stop the minor tremors.

Soon enough, the camera on the other end of the connection opened, revealing the person seated before it. Dark brown eyes creased at the corners as the fellow grinned slightly, a hand raking through his hair, more salt added to the pepper in the last few months. Holly's father looked a bit tired, a bit more careworn, but he seemed pleased to be speaking to Steve face to face—digitally, at least.

"Hello, Steven," Paul greeted him, a superfluous wave of the hand following that. He leaned back in the desk chair, plaid shirt wrinkling as he did so. Steve tried to keep his face tranquil as he looked him in the eye, gave him a short nod.

"Hello."

"Sorry about being so spotty on getting back to you. Been a crazy couple of weeks," Paul murmured, shaking his head at himself for letting the time slip by so easily. Dipping his chin, he continued, "For both of us, I understand."

A corner of Steve's mouth raised. "Something like that."

"Though yours had less to do with an incompetent plumber and burst pipes, I bet," the other fellow hinted, a dark glitter in his gaze similar to the one his daughter had when she knew more than she was letting on. He certainly knew that the woes of a contractor were in no way on the same level as an elite task force's, and he wasn't afraid of the comparisons. Snorting, Steve shook his head.

"Definitely not."

For a short time, the two men went over the original intent of Steve first call a couple weeks back. As part of his Christmas gift to the family, he had extended an invitation out at any point in the coming year to see their girl, as Holly herself had indicated that circumstances had prevented them from coming out east very often. He just wanted to get an idea of the dates they were considering, as it would be on his dime. Paul speculated that early summer would be the best bet, but a firm date would have to wait for a little while longer. The conversation went sideways back towards work, with Steve giving a few details of what had been going in New York (reassuring him that Holly had been nowhere near the blast zones of the bombed buildings—mostly true, which allowed him to get away with the partial fib) and Paul describing his recent nightmare of a housing project.

For Steve, in the back of his mind, it was oddly comforting, being able to maintain a level of civility and friendliness with his girl's father. Having never grown up with one himself, he only had secondhand experience, the dual images of Mr. Barnes and Paul forming in his mind when he pictured the figure, in his time the head of the family, the cornerstone for all to rest on. A good man, who could recognize the best in others. He hoped that Paul could see the best in him, if not for his sake, then for Holly's.

It would make everything that much easier in the long run.

As Paul was preparing to sign off, Steve drew himself out of his musings to stop him. His gut tightened, and he fought to keep his breathing under control as he spoke.

"Before...before you go. I have another question, sir."

Paul chuckled under his breath, tilting his head back for a second or two. "Oh, we're back to 'sir', huh? Makes me think you might have done something wrong."

Pink tinged his cheekbones as Steve shook his head, hands clenched tightly together in his lap. "N-no, Paul. I haven't."

Noting the earnestness in the fellow's gaze, Paul gave him an encouraging grin as he sat up straight, arms crossing over his chest and his shoulders relaxing. Whatever Steven wanted to ask about, he was all ears. The poor guy didn't need to have his chain jerked around, not when he appeared to be seeking his input.

"Well, go ahead, son," he said, taking a slight, perverse delight in referring to him in such a manner, as technically the young man before him was a senior by a few decades. By degrees, the delight had changed course, and his eyes had gone wide as Steve dug down into his deep well of courage and pursued his inquiry.

When Lisa Martin crossed in front of the open office door a few minutes after the call ended, she glanced in at her husband and paused in her steps. The computer face before him showed the desktop background, a photo of their three grown children along with their eldest granddaughter taken a few years ago. Arm in arm, the frozen faces smiled up at the patriarch of their family, his gaze riveted to them. Setting down the laundry basket she was toting, she stepped into the room, the stillness in her husband's form drawing her in. Laying a hand on his shoulder, her bright eyes stared down at his profile, noting the rawness in his dark gaze even off to the side.

"Paul?"

Carefully, he turned, responding to his name. Looking up at his wife, he felt something in his heart swell and crack. His smile was tremulous, but his voice was calm when he finally spoke to her. Pride and warmth dominated his tone, the wealth of emotion spreading between them in an instant as he shared with her.

xXxXxXx

The click of her heels rang in the empty hall, the midnight blackness broken by a few lights positioned along the walls. Her hood was drawn up, a small pack attached to her back as she attached her gauntlets. If she wanted to get across the ocean in time, she would have to be stowed away and gone in no less than two hours. If she hurried, she could make it.

"Nat, where are you going?" a voice called out, though she did not halt in her tracks. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Clint striding fast behind her, trying to catch her before she got too far. Delay was not on the cards for her today; she would not let him stop her.

"Going to go check out something," Natasha responded, fast and certain. "I'll be gone for a few days."

The African insurgents were multiplying at an alarming rate, and the recovered reconnaissance she had pilfered was...disturbing. An army was being sheltered across the ocean, an army unaffiliated with any of the continent's countries. After Hill's review of the photos she'd forwarded, she could see not only unmarked tanks and trucks, but the weapons had a distinct quality to them, something she'd only ever seen once, locked in the bowels of the helicarrier, delivered at the hands of a liar and an enemy. An intercepted message had been sent secretly to the Avengers, about members of the assembling militia that they were to proceed with the orders from the top, the whispered salute making her blood run cold as she read it. She needed to get closer, know beyond a measurable doubt, and she could do that best when she was alone.

No team, no organization: it had to be just her.

"Where are you going? What's going on?" Clint demanded, grabbing her arm before she get too far. Pressing a hand to his shoulder, she did not dig in to make him release her. Rather, she increased pressure to emphasize her point.

"I'm gonna need you to trust me. It could be nothing, or it could be something."

"Something bad?" It was a question, but he had his answer purely from the purposeful look on Natasha's face. It was one he knew all too well, one he had seen on many missions past, and he understood her resoluteness. Taking her hint, he clasped her shoulder in return, holding her gaze. "If things go wrong—"

"I'll call." Her lips curved upward. It was an exchanged that may have varied in tone and exacting wording over the last thirteen years that she'd known him, but at heart, it had remained the same. Barton was her truest and dearest friend, one of the few people in the world who knew everything about her. Not just the bare facts, but the hard, darkest truths of her soul. They had learned to work together, depend upon each other. And when danger fell, the Black Widow would call and Hawkeye would answer.

Danger was about to fall, she knew. But for now, she needed to wait on seeking help. Barton could see it, and drew her in for a swift hug before he let her go, his stomach clenching as she walked away.

"Be careful, Natasha," he told her, her head inclining a bare fraction before she got onto the elevator, disappearing into the shadows again.

A/N: Y'all...holidays. What can I tell ya? Sorry that the chapter was a little late; most of my time has been spent here, there, and over yonder doing Christmas stuff/New Year's stuff/having a few days off to do nothing but play video games. I got a PS4 for Christmas. Yay adulthood. :)

Anyway, I told you guys this chapter was going to be a little more lowkey than the last, and it's a bit shorter than the last one (although that one was much longer than I intended it to be, haha). And Holly it seems has also taken a break, but she'll be back. Also, Sam has jumped in! Yay Sam!

I own nothing from the MCU. Also, next chapter might be a little late again, as I will be working a lot of shifts next week (three jobs, what can ya do?), but I'll try to post as soon as I can.

Happy 2016, everybody!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!