The dark of the night enfolded her as she waited outside the door, the strap of her duffel biting into her shoulder as she stood. Holly tarried in the shadows of the Avengers Tower, the city still rumbling around even in the late hour. Manhattan was never quiet, but at the moment, she felt it was probably as peaceful as it ever could be: the cars rolling by weren't honking overmuch, and there wasn't a press of people on the sidewalk when she'd exited her taxi. The train ride to the city was unremarkable, most of it passed as she dozed fitfully, the arrival at the station jarring her. Having slept curled up against the window, her legs were a bit cramped and she flushed when she pulled away from the cool glass. The cabbie she'd flagged down found her to be lacking as a conversationalist, though she was comprehensive in her directions. She was dropped down the block from the Tower, waiting until the cab had gotten far enough into the flow of traffic that she wouldn't be watched as she made her way to the back entrance.

However, having made it to the Tower itself did not mean she was at ease. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she shot nervous glances around her, hand dropping into her pocket and palming the taser nestled there. The hood of her read sweatshirt had dropped back, and she sighed tiredly. Soon enough, the scrape of the door opening greeted her ears, followed swiftly by the burn of the lights blinding her. The silhouette of another woman was there, the turn of her head revealing her face.

Maria Hill looked exhausted, but she still was able to greet her with a pleasant enough smile. The system in the Tower was still on lockdown, so she had been required to come all the way to the ground floor herself, being the only person in the Tower to do so. In that instance, Holly regretted taking the train; if she'd driven, she'd at least been able to key in for garage access. As it was, it seemed like the older woman was grateful to step away from her office. No doubt she'd been holed up there for hours as reports of the attack on Johannesburg came in, a public relations disaster to the fullest extent that she had to quell.

"You made good time," she remarked lightly, a little surprised at the other woman's earlier-than-expected arrival. When she'd gotten the call, Holly's weak voice asking her to let her in, she was confused. It was common knowledge that she'd be returning to the Tower for safety reasons, but she wasn't truly expected until late morning. A three AM access request beggared belief. Holly shrugged, a corner of her mouth barely lifting as she followed Maria inside, the door latching and locking swiftly behind them.

"Even when you factor in the cab ride," she replied, glancing up at a clock on the wall when they made their way to the elevators. Her fingers fiddled with the strap on her shoulder before one hand rubbed at her eyes. Circles were beginning to form under them, and her head was aching, the burn growing as she leaned against the elevator wall. The majority of the rides and crosses up were done in silence, with Maria bringing her up to the captain's quarters. The curiosity in her gaze was muted, but the assistant still had questions about her abruptness, the quickness of her trip. Not wishing to discuss that, Holly kept her mouth shut until they made it into the living space of the quarters, the bag dropping heavily as she let it fall to the floor. Rather, the rock in her stomach curled tighter as she considered another question to ask.

"Have...have you heard from them?" she wondered, glancing up at Maria. The notifications on her phone had been holding steady at zero, and the longer she went without any internal input, the more the anxiety grew. Steve...was Steve okay? Truly?

"They're all alive and accounted for," she confirmed, a frown turning down her lips. Debating on whether or not to say more, she decided honesty was the best course to pursue. There was a lot of speculation about the condition of the team, and Holly was one of the few people who actually deserved to know the truth. "But it was touch and go for awhile."

Very little of her nerves were alleviated when Holly heard that, and it showed in her face as she swallowed. "Oh."

"The witch got to them, messed with their minds," the assistant explained, frown furrowing her brow. Though she'd known that the Maximoff twins were bound to make moves in the coming days, she hadn't thought to what extent the damage they would do. It wasn't underestimation, per se, but she had assumed that Ultron would be the bigger player. All three had exerted their power, and the joint act was costing the team. "Hence why Banner...well."

There was nothing Holly could say to refute the statement, having heard the numerous news broadcasts for herself. Rather, silence enveloped them, both women lost in their own thoughts. Holly's hands started to shake, her fingers lacing together to stop it as she struggled to keep her breathing even. Tiredness crept through her veins, her head drooping down as everything that had happened over the past forty-eight hours pressed upon her. So much was broken, lost, and she had no idea what she could do. The burn behind her eyes surged, and she blinked against it, trying to stop the reaction her body was performing against her will.

"Hell of a couple days, right?" she tried to joke, her throat thickening on the words. The other woman snorted, the forced joviality of it doing nothing to assuage her. As Maria directed her gaze across the room, to the wall of glass and the city beyond, Holly felt her tight control slip, though she desperately tried to stop it.

"Yeah." Maria sighed, her shoulders hunching against the thought. Glancing back, she was taken aback by the sight of Holly's reddened face, the bunch of the stitches on her forehead as her brow furrowed and she bit her lip. Dread slid down to her gut as she, to her horror, saw tears begin to fill Holly's eyes. Gripping her upper arm, she began to lead the woman over to the couch, free hand steadying her as she went. "Hey, hey. Here, sit."

Falling back into the cushions, Holly brought her knees up to her chest, arms curling around them as she buried her face into her jeans, the tears flowing freely as they hadn't before. A couple had slipped out here and there, but she'd been so focused on getting through the motions of what she'd thought needed to be done first. Losing her job, a good chunk of her forehead, and she could've lost the person she'd loved the most as well. Instead, his brain had been scrambled, and she had to hear about it secondhand. And with barely any sleep in the interim, she couldn't hold on any longer. Conscious of the person beside her, still rubbing her back even despite most likely wanting to bolt, she tried to keep her sobs as silent as possible, the fabric against her face getting soaked. The ends of her sleeves swiped at her eyes almost ineffectually, unable to impede the flow of tears. It was a release that she needed. If that made her weak, then so be it. She didn't care anymore if she seemed that way in front of these great people. She was who she was, and she wasn't going to pretend otherwise.

God, even at this point in her life, she wanted her mother. She wanted to be held, to be told that things would be okay even if they wouldn't be. And she wanted Steve so badly, too, wanted him home safe, even if they jumped right back into the stupid argument they were having. So long as he was there...but it couldn't be helped right then. A couple of gasping coughs racked her body, her arms tightening around her knees.

At some point, she felt the hand smoothly lift from her back, and she assumed that Maria had left, her footfalls deadened by the carpeting as she went. Becoming overheated, she let her feet drop back to the floor, unzipping her hoodie and tossing it towards the end of the couch. Sniffling, she pressed her fingers against her hot face, the tears tracking down slowing finally. Out the corner of her eye, she saw a box of tissues being proffered, the blur of Maria's form distorted by the tears remaining.

"Thanks," she mumbled, the stuffiness in her nose garbling the word. Taking the box, she pulled out a few tissues, swiping at the tear tracks and taking a few breaths to calm herself. Blowing her nose, she winced when Maria's frank gaze swept over her. If she looked as much of a hot mess as she felt, she wouldn't have been surprised. Coughing once more, she murmured, "I-I'm sorry..."

"Don't worry about it," Maria replied, gently stopping her train of thought. A few beats of quiet passed between them, with Hill thinking quickly as to the best way to amend the situation. Uncomfortable as she felt, she couldn't very well just ditch her in the moment of grief. There was more going on than she was letting on, she'd been able to read that very clearly off both her and Steve, and clearly something else had piled on. "Do you want to talk..."

Immediately, Holly shook her head, not wanting to reopen the wound that she had hastily bandaged over mere moments before. A few fingers flicked in the air, brushing the idea away. The assistant glimpsed the door at the far end of the hall over her shoulder.

"If you want to get some sleep, I'll clear out."

Again, Holly indicated a denial, crossing her arms over her chest as she snorted up at the ceiling. "I napped on the train. That's enough for now."

Maria would have objected, but the mulish set of Holly's jaw stopped her, as well as the fact that she was a grown woman who could make her own decisions. Sure, they may not be the best decisions, but it wasn't as if Maria held any true sway over her person. Instead, she looked for another solution, one that could help occupy the girl's mind if she was refusing to let it rest. Lighting upon something, the wheels turning swiftly as she spoke, though her demeanor remained outwardly placid.

"Well, I've got a whole bevy of news reports and media dumps to trawl through," she expressed, observing the ruddy-faced woman's eyebrows incline as she spoke. Holly said nothing to that, instead shrugging a shoulder in question. Tipping her head to the left, Maria spelled it out for her. "Would be helpful if you wanted to take some of that on while I field the numerous and joyous phone calls I've been receiving almost nonstop."

Holly expelled another ragged breath, doing one last swipe with a clean tissue before tossing it on the pile she'd created beside her. Her problems would not be solved with a good weeping, though it had been a curative for her, and they wouldn't be solved quickly in any case. She didn't want to be mired in her emotions for the moment, she didn't want to cry herself to sleep (though she was sorely tempted). If she couldn't do her job out in the world anymore, then perhaps she could be useful here, even it was only for a night. Nodding, she got to her feet, taking a moment to take the binder out of her braid. Shaking and combing her hair loose with her fingers—it had grown out from her cut in January, just above shoulder length now—she left it to hang in a mess of waves to stem the headache that was pulsing. Going into the bathroom, she came back moments later, palming some aspirin in one hand and gesturing for Maria to lead the way with the other.

"Sure, if you make some coffee," she stipulated, keeping close behind the taller brunette. Maria wrinkled her nose, but she dipped her chin in agreement. Studying the younger woman in her peripherals, the assistant allowed herself a cryptic smirk.

"You're a cheap employee," she stated blandly, while Holly snickered at the perceived joke.

"I may demand a raise if things get tougher," she shot back, dry swallowing the tabs in hand a few seconds later when they boarded the elevator again.

Maria's bright gaze gleamed as she watch the floor numbers climb on the digital interface. "Noted."

xXxXxXx

The shock had not entirely dissipated. Steve wouldn't believe it if he hadn't seen the proof with his own eyes.

The brightness of the day, early morning sun piercing through the haze, highlighted the green fields and lush outcroppings of trees as Barton landed the quinjet. The radar pinged, registering their location as Nebraska of all places. A safe house, he'd promised them, nestled where no one would think to look for them. A place where they could recover, push away from the brink and get back to themselves. The archer led the way up a beaten track, Natasha's arm slung over his shoulder as he helped her along. Tony and Thor were hot on their heels, curious about their arrival in the middle of farmland. Banner, like Steve, said nothing, just stumbling along with his eyes darting everywhere. The two story house that loomed beyond the wooden fence was offset by a few weathered outbuildings, and was a cheery light yellow amidst the green. An old truck was parked alongside of it, a clunker if the captain ever saw one (the voice of Hank filtered through his mind then, confidence that he could make the thing picture perfect again showing through before he brushed the thought away). The wraparound porch was empty, though a set of chairs and some toys were scattered along the planks. Noticing this as he followed his compatriots, Steve frowned in question. Toys...there were children here? The door yielded under the archer's free hand, revealing a long front hall, a modest carpet running the length over polished wood. Turning into a living room, the space opened up onto a kitchen, the furniture comfortable and obviously lived-in. The whole space was airy and bright, and decorated with a myriad of hand-drawn pictures. The coffee table was littered with construction paper, some of it cut into stars and other shapes. As Steve began to piece together the evidence with the most likely conclusion, Clint beat him to the punch.

The archer called out, letting Natasha step off to the side and collapse on the arm of the couch. The floor creaked at the far end, alerting them to the entrance of another person. She was of middling height, long brown hair framing an oval face. Her eyes lit up upon spying Clint, and one of her hands dropped to her belly, drawing all the entire team's attention to her pregnancy. Dropping the papers she was holding on her other hand on the table as she passed, she sidled up to Clint quickly, going straight into his arms for a kiss.

Nonplussed, Stark found his tongue after a second or two. "We're in an agents' nest. Has to be."

That had garnered a few sideways glances, but the purported agent said nothing about the comment. Rather, she just grinned in greeting as Clint wrapped his arm around her waist and introduced her as Laura. Bringing up her left hand to wave a hello, the glint of a gold band caught Steve's eye, made his breath shorten for a moment. Stamping came down the stairs, to which Barton reacted with pleasure. Around the corner came two kids, a boy around eleven or twelve and a girl approximately seven years old. Caught up in their father's arms, they chattered happily as Clint held them close. The little girl, Lila as her father called her, asked about Auntie Nat. Four sets of eyebrows shot up as Natasha rose from her seat, unapologetic as she reached out for the girl and swung her up into her arms.

Clint Barton had a wife, a family, and Natasha knew about it. Sharing a questioning look with Banner, the captain merely held down his shock long enough to apologize on behalf of the team for interrupting their lives. Tony pointed out that it would have been avoided, had they known the family existed in the first place. Due to Fury's influence, Barton had them struck from the record when he first joined SHIELD, and it had remained that way. Happy clamoring swirled around him, the surreality of the moment piercing them all.

The most lost of them was the god, staring about the home with such blankness that it was unsettling. As the little girl drew up to him, stared into his trouble eyes, something in his expression seemed to break. The ting of the toaster popping broke through, and a shudder rushed through his form. Stalking away, his crimson cloak floated behind him. Quickly, Steve followed, his brow creasing as he watched his friend clamber down the outside steps.

"Where are you going?"

The god stepped out into the clear patch of grass in front of the house, firmness in his voice. "The girl's dream will not leave my mind; it's taunting me with something I cannot name."

Shooting an almost sad look at the building, he began to swing his hammer, preparing to go.

"I shall return, once I know what it is."

With that, he let Mjolnir soar, taking him high into the air and away from them all. Steve was unable to get any form of protest in, instead left with his gaze directed to the heavens, and the weight of his heart still heavy. One more, gone. He could only hope Thor would find his answers, and soon. Shifting on his feet, he turned to go back into the house, a chill coursing through. A house, a home...

"You can't just leave it all and go home." Peggy's voice reverberated in his mind, and he sighed. Turning away, he clattered down the steps, determined to make himself useful. Heading back to the quinjet to gather up the emergency bags stowed aboard, clothes and supplies for each team member if they were ever stranded somewhere. Slinging two over his shoulders (straps situated awkwardly over the shield upon his harness) and taking the other two in hand, he swallowed down the pain that had surfaced. Maybe, after a change of clothes, some food and some rest, he could find answers, too.

xXxXxXx

The water in the bathroom ran, and Natasha sighed, fingers toying with the change of clothes and towel in her arms. Whoever was in there was taking their time, but she didn't mind it too much. For the first time in hours, she was alone; Barton and his family were outside, presumably working on the never-ending projects Clint had taken upon himself ever since he and Laura first bought the farmhouse. The other teammates were off, and knowing Laura's sweetness and tenaciousness, she most likely had them taking on chores as well, with a smile on their faces at helping her out. She appreciated the time apart, her whirling thoughts slowing down as she sat there, the unbroken quiet different from the atmosphere on the quinjet. The spare bedroom she was in, one of a few in the large house, also doubled as the crafting room, a sewing table and boxes of buttons and shiny thing by the far windows. It was the room Natasha like the best; it felt like home, a strange feeling she hardly ever got in any other place. A couple fingers dropped to the quilt beneath on the bed, picking at it for a second to remove a speckle of dust. Tilting her head back, she stared at the ceiling, allowing her dream, her vision, to come back to her. A grimace painted her lips as she did so, her shoulders tightening underneath her borrowed robe.

The Red Room. It was always there, whether or not Natasha wanted it to be. The source of her worst nightmares, the childhood that was warped and destroyed, replaced with terror and pain. Little girls of no name, no family, put into the program when they had no other option, and more often than not those little girls were fragile, snapping over time. Except for the strongest, who endured and even thrived on the horror, on the violence; those little girls became hard, harsh women. Beautiful machines of destruction and evil. And she had proven to be one of those.

The graduation ceremony. A horror no fifteen-year-old should ever face, let alone go through. The endgame to all the training such a girl as her had endured, the certification to make her worthy of all they had made her to be. But she had, and had done so willingly. After a fashion, at least; in her vision, she could see the tears she had not felt sliding down her face, the fear that made her breathe hard and fast, strapped to the rolling gurney with no escape. No escape from Madame, or from the choices made. The choices she allowed them to make.

Inability to achieve motherhood, to be the matriarch of a family. She wanted to say they had robbed her of that choice, but deep down, she knew they hadn't. She'd let them do it to her. She did not fight it, she had known it was coming. It was necessary, Madame had told her, to be what she was trained to be. No loose ends, nothing to distract her from the mission. Though the procedure had frightened her, the cost of it did not weigh down upon her until she'd freed herself. When Clint Barton rescued her at eighteen and brought her to SHIELD, only then did she realize the choices she'd made. They'd removed everything that made Natalia Romanova who she was before she could understand, replaced her with a Black Widow, a master assassin of their order. As she was rebuilt piece by piece, with Clint's aid, she could reflect on the damage she had wrought, and allowed them to use her to perform. Natasha had been sickened to her soul when it all was thrown into the harsh light of reality, and promptly stuffed it down into a box, at the back of her mind, with no other witness to her pain but her new-found friend.

That box had been blown wide open, the tear in her soul gaping and bleeding. Certainly, she could claim innocence, the fact that she had been too young to truly understand what they would take away from her, but...it did not sit well with her. Natasha was strong as a child, far stronger than some had given her credit for, but she'd let Madame and the trainers slip in, the cracks filled with their motives and their strictures. It gave the organization structure, and somehow by giving girls like Natasha an outlet, a form of belonging, they held them prisoner, broke them down into pliable servants.

She'd let them do it, and she didn't even bat an eyelash. They took away her choices, without a single protest made.

What kind of monster was she to allow such a thing to happen? To have them take away her rights to a life, a family, without fighting for it? To turn a young girl into a devious woman, and for her to be glad for that? How horrible was she to be a killer, and to only too late realized that there was more to be had in life than that, if it weren't for her choices?

That would never happen again, she'd vowed long ago; she would kill anyone who sought to control her destiny. She was the one to make choices about her life, without any input from another.

Well, it depended on the other person, she supposed. The water sound disappeared, and she tore her eyes from the ceiling in time to meet Bruce's gaze. His dark curls were still wet, tousled after a few swipes from the towel. His expression was less haggard than before, his recovery coming swiftly. The man had taken the reins again, though his tiredness at doing so pervaded his person. Just a man.

A man who called himself a monster, but was nothing of the sort. Not to her.

Their meeting was awkward, the conversation that in other circumstances would be playful banter stilted instead. Still, it didn't smother the fire burning inside her, burying the fears as she looked at him, dark curls and eyes, the button-up shirt framing his torso as he left it open. And in that awkwardness, the genuine feeling rose, and for once Natasha Romanoff did not want to hide from it, or lie her way out of it. She wanted Bruce, wanted him to be with her, whatever the cost, whatever the distance they had to tread. If he ran, she would follow, she told him. She did not have to stay where she did not want to, not ever again. The poor man just looked at her, graven and heartbroken as he called her crazy for even considering him a viable option, and pangs swept through her heart. He said that he couldn't give her a future, or at least not a future that resembled the life in the farmhouse. A future that he assumed she craved, and in the lowest parts of herself, envied Barton for having.

The utter sadness on her face pulled him up short as she whispered, "Me, either."

This was where her choices had led her, she reasoned to herself. Under the knife, under the harsh light, she exposed herself, allowing a part of her to be excised, to show whom she had become. If she truly wanted this, wanted him, she had to let him know about her darkest parts. Living in ignorance would avail them nothing, and in truth she didn't wish for it. Something black and terrible had made her just as much of a beast, though she masked it with iciness and beauty. But Bruce, he believed that there was something good underneath, could reach for it.

And as she reached for him, she gave him the chance. If they had to disappear to make it so, then they could.

xXxXxXx

Walking down the lane, the sounds of birds and nature surrounding him, Steve inhaled deeply. Striding down the long, dirt path, he tucked his hands into his jeans pockets, a rock bouncing off the toe of his boot as he went. Having never resided in the country, he could completely understand the initial appeal. Out there, far away from the lights and noise, one could breathe. One could think. And he'd definitely needed to start thinking hard.

Once he'd finished with his turn in the shower, he was at a loss for something to do. A hand placed gently on his arm pulled him into the present, Mrs. Barton's wide gaze friendly as she asked him for a favor. She'd forgotten to get the mail the day before, and normally she would ask one of the kids to fetch it for her, but they were so occupied with their father...following her glance back towards, he could see for himself how overjoyed the children were to see their dad. They'd ringed around him, the smallest one in his lap and the older one bringing paper forward for him to look at. Clint, smile becoming broader, ruffled his son's hair before planting a peck on his daughter's temple. A part of him ached at seeing it, even if he could appreciate it happening. Before she could say another word, Steve nodded, agreeing to do as she asked. It was the least he could do, intruding on the private sanctuary they had built.

Steve had had many hours to relive what he was forced to see, to experience. Much time was lost in his own mind, the majority of the flight consumed by it. The fear was latent, resting in his soul, and the Maximoff girl had forced him to face the ugliest side of himself. But it was something he would choose to face; a great man once said the only thing to fear was fear itself, and he did not want to be afraid of what he'd seen. The side he'd been exposed to was the very one that Ultron had taunted him with: the one that survived off of war. For so long, he'd been fighting, serving, caught in the battles for good over evil in several different theatres. It had cost him so much, in the past and in the present. But the potential to lose more loomed on the horizon, with each passing day. Death was not something he feared, not any longer...not for himself. It was the death of others, the idea of the death of the person most precious to him that made his heart ache, his skin crawling. That who he was, what he did, would harm Holly just for being around him was something that worried him from the beginning of their friendship, and had escalated as their relationship did. A small part of him had acknowledged its continual presence, but as the last few days had shown, it had not been an invalid concern (much as he wished it to be).

It made him doubt his own convictions, for a time. Steve loved Holly, wanted to marry her, but he was also putting her more at risk. How could he do that to her? That thought had circled more times in his mind than he cared to count, and still he could not find an answer for himself. Options played out, all ending in bitter heartbreak and entirely not what he wanted. Living without her was...it was just impossible now. But, should he...

"Captain Rogers?" a meek voice cut into his private musings. Drawn out of them, he glanced down, the little girl in braids and cotton dress reaching out a hand. "Mommy says thanks for getting the mail."

Furrowing his brow, his eyes went to his own hand, envelopes and flyers filling it. Looking around, he hadn't realized he'd made the entire trip and back in a fog. Carefully, he passed the stack off to the young one.

"No problem. Lila, right?" he asked, her nod making her braids bounce against her back. Idly, he thought of Holly's niece Jodie; the two girls were of an age, and full of energy to boot. In her free hand was a paintbrush, and he let his mouth soften into a grin. "You did all the pictures inside?"

"Yep!" she pronounced proudly, waving the brush a little as she did so. Her bright eyes danced as she spoke. "I got some new paint this week! Didja like them?"

"Yeah. They're really nice," he told her, watching her beam grow wider and her thanks flowing freely as she ran off. Sighing under his breath, a whistle to his left caught his attention. Tony was there, flannel shirt tied around his waist as he attempted to scale back on the pile of wood that needed splitting. He'd been drafted into the chore, a promise of cookies from the missus in exchange for helping with the tasks Clint had neglected around the farm. Figured he might as well make himself useful, since they were stuck there for awhile, anyway. A second ax was perched on a block beside him, the gesture of his hand telling Rogers to have at it. Taking it up, the pile was whittled down enough that it was separated into two, the larger one more and more allocated to him than to Stark. The repetitive nature of it was therapeutic, the bunch and coil of his muscles giving him a release that his mind could not. And in turn, it allowed his churning mind to settle.

Meanwhile, Tony took the opportunity to ask whether Thor had said where he was going. For answers, they knew that much, but he did not give a location or amount of time it would take. Steve told his teammate as much, hauling another log to be split. Some of the quelled anger rose, coloring his words as he sniped at the other man, about how there was a lack of communication between team members. His eyes traveled to the porch briefly, observing Clint as he measured a balustrade with his son, Lila rocking in the chair behind the pair. His gaze flicked up to the house and back to Tony again, dark guileless eyes staring back. And it wasn't only them, his brain whispered, the argument with Holly resurfacing in the moment. Still, he'd figured out of all of the Avengers, the god would be the one most likely to share when things went awry. Swinging his ax, Stark grunted, reminding him that they had no idea what his vision had been about, and therefore couldn't make a judgment call. The captain snorted at the entire situation, remarking how easily they were ripped apart. Like cotton candy, he muttered, his friend stiffening in his stance as he watched him line up another log.

"And you came away without a scratch," Stark said, a snap in his tone as he regarded his leader with suspicion. Caught off-guard by the comment, Steve stopped in his motions, brow furrowing. The other man had no idea what he was saying. There was no walking away from what he'd seen, and the fact that Tony assumed otherwise irritated him. For all that they'd gotten to know each other over the last few years, and for all of Stark's purported genius, he still was unaware of so much about Steve's true character. Raising an eyebrow at him, he waited as Tony shrugged him off, tone turning more tart as he spoke again. "Or so it seems. Wouldn't know; do you even have a dark side?"

"Everyone does." The shot hit Steve square in the chest, but he didn't allow himself to flinch. "Just because you haven't seen it yet doesn't mean it's not there."

And he would know; he'd spent the better part of eight hours trapped there. Scoffing, Tony waved a hand, stopping him from continuing his work. With Ultron trying to tear them apart, they had to remain focused. The captain rolled his eyes, and stated how if that was the case, then perhaps Tony should've spoken up about it sooner. He should've spoken up about the whole situation sooner. The billionaire crossed his arms over his chest, reiterating with growing irritation how he'd been conducting research with Banner.

"Which you decided to keep to yourselves," Steve pointed out, slamming his ax into the stump again. The log he'd been trying to split refused to do so, and he picked it up, feeling along it to find a weak spot. "This could have been avoided, or prevented entirely, but you said nothing."

"Because I didn't think we had to! I didn't want the debate; I wanted the solution. If it had worked, it would have been a great one. This twisted, toxic circle we're caught in could have been ended, the world would be safe, and we'd be free. Wouldn't you want that, too?!" Tony's voice rose with every iteration, driving home the crux of his choice. He hadn't done it for vainglorious reasons. He'd wanted Ultron to stop them from getting lost in their missions, to prevent the worst from ever happening again.

Frustrated, Steve tugged apart the stubborn wood in his hands, the pieces separating and flying as he let them drop to the ground. Grinding his teeth briefly, he looked back up at Tony, seeing the anguish and determination in his eyes. His own blue gaze was icy in the face of it.

"What I want is irrelevant. This isn't about me, or the team; it's about the world, and what they could handle. You tried to prevent something out of your control," he stated flatly, calm in the face of the billionaire's onslaught. It was the point that the other man missed over and over again when he defended his actions, and Steve no longer wished to see him spared of the knowledge. What he'd been doing was just as dangerous as what he'd tried to prevent, and one could argue even more so. No matter if his reasons were altruistic; lives were at stake now, when they shouldn't have been. "And it's not just going to be us paying the price for this. It will be everyone."

A throat clearing caught both their attentions, Mrs. Barton stepping forward hesitantly. Meekly, she indicated that her husband had thought it would be alright to ask Tony to take a look at the family tractor. Effectively separating the two volatile men with a simple request, she gave the captain a smile as she guided Stark away, his admonition about not taking from his pile barely stinging as he went. Exhaling sharply, Steve went back to his task, minutes flying by as he eventually made it down to the last log. When it was apparent that his erstwhile friend would not be return anytime soon, he went against the mandate and finished the work, sweat dripping down his face and his arms well warmed up. Tipping his head back up to the sky, he noted the sun had slid further in it before the scent of sugar called him back to Earth.

"Thanks for your help," Mrs. Barton said, holding out a tray of cookies as she'd promised. Shrugging a shoulder, she went on, "With Clint not being around lately, it's been taking forever to get done. I have no problems hefting an ax, but, well."

A gesture to her belly spoke more than words could. Taking a few cookies, Steve dipped his chin respectfully.

"Happy to help, ma'am."

"I'm sorry to be asking you all to do this," she apologized, sighing a little as she glanced around her expansive yard. Steve did as well, thinking that it had to be tough, running the plot of land with two young kids and a third on the way, with a spouse who was home very little. Canting her head to the right, towards the back of the house, she paused before asking another favor. "Could I trouble you to stack it between the posts by the wood stove, too? If it's not too much to ask. It can wait, I mean, otherwise, not a big deal."

Quickly devouring the treat in hand, Steve swallowed hard, cutting off her backtracking. "I can do it."

As he moved to start the task, a few of the woman's fingers fluttered in the air, distracting him. "Clint told me about your engagement, by the way. Congratulations."

His throat went dry at her words, and he had to cough to loosen it up. "Thank you."

"She—Holly—sounds nice," she said, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. The corner of the captain's mouth lifted, but he said nothing. Lifting a shoulder, she continued, "Clint's talked about her a bit. Says she's pretty resilient, getting back up even after being thrown down during their practices."

Steve nodded, having lived with that truth for some time. "She's stronger than she lets on."

"Must be," Laura commiserated. She knew firsthand how seriously her husband took his work. Training someone to defend her life against others would not be simple, nor would he ever make it so. Her grip tightened around the tray in her hands, a couple lines cutting into her forehead. "Though I bet she's been worried sick over the last few days, despite that."

The captain's head drooped as his chest constricted. He hadn't spoken to her since they'd left, had denied even leaving a message for her until he got himself sorted out. Perversely, he'd done it so she wouldn't worry overmuch, but he knew her better than that. Guilt coursed through his veins, and his cheeks burned.

"Amongst other things," he murmured, almost to himself. Glancing up, he caught Mrs. Barton's barely suppressed grimace, her eyes fixing on the middle distance. Prompted by her posture, Steve went on, "Must have been tough for you, too."

"Life with an Avenger can be, knowing that there's someone out there with your loved one in the cross-hairs. But..." she trailed off, looking over her shoulder to her family, her home, the bluntness softened by the happiness in her returning smile, "it is what it is, and I've stuck with him through it all. Not easy, but it's our life, and I'm glad for what we do have. What we have isn't bad."

"Can't guarantee a safe future," Steve muttered, looking at the homestead as well, something he'd never had, a dream that had been abandoned in the past until recently. A dream that he doubted he could touch, deep down.

The look his teammate's wife gave him was calm, unwavering honesty decorating her entire face. "Nobody can, Steve, no matter who you are or what you do. It's still worth the time we have now."

Silence descended on the pair, the distant chatter of the children and the creaks and whistles of the trees the only dialogue that remained. Slowly, carefully, Steve inclined his chin, and Laura grinned again, a sigh floating out of her. Hooking a thumb backward, she began to back away from the soldier towards the ramshackle outbuilding looming on the edge of the property.

"Anyway, I'll just go check on Tony in the barn. Give him his cookie ration," she said, shifting the tray in her grip enticingly. "Thanks again, Captain."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Barton," he intoned lightly, though his serious gaze was focused on the wood at his feet, mind churning. He missed her answering grin, but not her gentle reprimand.

"Next time, call me Laura."

The muted thuds of her footsteps petered off as she went, and Steve concentrated on completing his chore. Back and forth he carried armloads of wood to the posts, stacking them neatly while the wheels turned in his mind. Thinking back on the dream as he worked, he understood what he truly needed to do: he needed to learn from it. While it was due to negligence that Holly had been shot (the memory of her blood made a shiver course down his spine), the feeling in his gut told him it could only come true if he let it. The vision had shown him destruction of his happiness could come from his own shortcomings as well as from outside forces. If they let it break them down from the inside, then there would be no cause to fight for. Nothing in life was simple, he reminded himself, and nothing worth having was easy work.

"It's not over, Steve. It can't end this way." Holly's words rushed back to him, the rightness in them resounding. No, it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Holly was intelligent, intelligent to the point of knowing what a trial it would be to even be involved with him in a friendly manner, let alone the romantic one it had evolved to. She'd understood what was and wasn't in his control, as well as her own. And she was employing measures to keep up with whatever changes occurred. Granted, it was a little late, but seeking the self-defense training was still a step towards that. She was not adept at fighting, but she was learning, improving, for her sake as much as his own. She'd stood by him in after one of the lowest points of his life and career, and she had not run away when trouble reared its head. She was adapting, not allowing herself to be the passive girl in his vision, the passive girl she could have been in the past.

She wasn't allowing what might be to mar what already was. Perhaps it was naivety, but it was the reality of her life. Because she loved him, loved him enough to embrace the fact that his fear might become realized. She would fight for him. Maybe even...and he would, too. Because he loved her.

If that made him selfish, then perhaps this could be one of the few instances in his life that could be claimed as much. He would keep fighting for what they had, even at the greatest cost.

Resolve hardened within him, pulling him to his full height as he paused for a moment. One stranger, who did not have the full measure of him or his fiancee, would not manipulate his life or his heart. They could not continue as before, that much was clear; he couldn't allow her to go on taking second place. More danger lay that way. But they could figure it out. That fear could be put to bed, or better yet, to use.

Coming around the corner of the house for another load, he was preempted by a hand pressing against his shoulder. Clint stood there, the weight of the world that seemed to be present at other times having melted away. His bright eyes glittered, the smirk twitching up his lips as he waved his leader off.

"You're relieved for the time being, Cap. Cooper and I can cover this," he said, nodding down to the boy that hovered behind him. The kid looked between the two men, a sour look surfacing briefly at the idea of taking over the chore.

Steve frowned. "Are you sure? Because—"

"Just go. Take some time off," the archer cut him off soundly, blocking him bodily from getting closer to the woodpile. "Be productive with it, say by getting in touch with Gracie Lou."

Though it was a suggestion, he could tell by the tone of his friend and his posture that he would brook no refusals. Clint understood better than anyone—the proof before all their eyes—the importance of making loved ones a priority. It would do the captain some good to take a page out of his book. Stepping back, the captain drew in a deep breath, a touch of humor gracing his face. He'd been putting it off long enough. It was time for him to summon his courage (get up his cajones, Tony's voice rang sharply in his mind) and do so.

"You know what? You're right, Barton," he replied, wiping the splinters dotting his hands off on his pants. Catching the smug look on his teammate's face, Steve allowed himself a mock snort. "For once."

"Glad to hear it..." the other man said, not perturbed in the least at the joking insult. Letting Steve get a coupe feet away, he chose to sigh audibly and groan under his breath, "Dumbass."

The captain paused, a scoff flying out as he asked politely, "Pardon, Hawkeye?"

"I said, 'Glad to hear it, boss'," the fellow deflected, the glimmer in his gaze growing exponentially. Steve raised an eyebrow at him before shaking his head.

"Uh-huh. And people say I'm bad at lying."

"Oh, you are, Cap," he confirmed, all but laughing in his leader's face. Inclining his head towards the bank of trees sheltering the quinjet, he muttered, "You're much better at stalling. Shoo."

Making the motion with his hands, he was pleased when the captain snickered to himself and turned towards the dirt footpath. Taking up an an armful of wood, the older man gestured for his boy to do his part.

Cooper glanced over his shoulder as he began to help, waiting until the other man was completely out of earshot before speaking up. "Setting up Captain America to call his girlfriend is kinda lame and girly, Dad."

Clint chuckled humorlessly, though a corner of his mouth raised. "Yeah, I know, buddy."

One way or another, he had to do it. Clint would never hear the end of it otherwise, no matter who the source was. It was just better all around, for everyone to start healing. Ultron was waiting on the fringes, and if they wanted to best him, they had to get kicked back into play, sooner rather than later.

A/N: What? Another chapter in less than a week's time? My, I'm spoiling you guys...:-P Really, I'm spoiling myself, because I finished this chapter ahead of time and I really couldn't wait any longer to share it. Also, holy balls, my chapters are getting longer and longer...sorry if you're looking for a quick read.

I guesstimated on the location of the Barton homestead, putting in somewhere in the range of north of Omaha, Nebraska. Just barely on the opposite side of the Iowa-Nebraska border, if we get slightly more specific. That's my mental map, since the Marvel Wiki only claims it's somewhere in the Midwest.

I know some of you were concerned that Steve would push Holly away for her own safety after his vision. However, this was never my plan; in my mind, it's the easy way out, and Steve Rogers doesn't exactly take the easy way out of anything. If he wants something badly enough, he will continue to push and fight for it, no matter the cost. Yes, he's noble, and self-sacrificing, and he endures great amounts of pain to keep surviving, but I think cutting her off from him would not be anything of those things. Besides, they both knew the risks when they started the relationship, and to give up at the first sign of trouble is not what either of them are about. He just needed a minute to screw his head back on after Wanda twisted it sideways. Perhaps this is unreal to you, and might turn you off of the story now, but that's what I think. Also, the notion of pushing the loved one away to save them from yourself...it's gotten to the point of common in fanfic that it's pretty cliché, in my experience, at least. It's used for a lot of reasons, some of them good, but I don't want to go too cliché here.

Also, Natasha. Natasha, Natasha, Natasha. There was so much hate in regards to what happened to her in Age of Ultron, particularly when she confessed how the Red Room training robbed her a chance at motherhood. Yes, women should not be defined by their ability to mother children, but I believe it had more to do with the fact that, at a young age, they took away her choices, and more to the point, she let them do it to her. Natasha has shown how strong and capable a woman she is, so a part of her must hate herself for being "weak" enough to let manipulators in her head and control her life that way, because she didn't know anything different and most likely didn't want to know anything different at the time. I believe her greatest fear is to be robbed of her freedom of choice, which she's discovered since she's been "freed" from the KGB. Even when she worked for SHIELD, she did it on her terms because she wanted it, not because she was brainwashed into it. The Red Room represents that, and sterilization is driving home point of that. Anyway, I hope I did justification to that idea. Whether or not you agree with it is up to you, but I hope it made what's going on in her mind a little more...palatable, let's say. And yes, I made her barely a teenager when she went through the "graduation ceremony". I'm of the opinion that spies in this universe don't have great longevity, and they'd want to get agents out in the field as soon as possible...and nobody would look at a teen and think they were capable of such things, generally. That's the end of my overlong explanation.

And if I were Holly, I probably would've broken down into tears well before she did. Okay, I definitely would have bawled well before her. At least some of the future bodes a little well...better than the last couple of chapters of drama, haha.

I don't own anything from the MCU, as well as any pop culture/movie references made in the text.

Next chapter will finally get to Steve and Holly talking again. Also, we're going to touch on Thor's special side trip. That one will probably take a bit of time, so it most likely won't be up until next Friday or Saturday.

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