It had been a week since the disaster in Sokovia, and while so much had changed, time still seemed to march so slowly. As far Pietro was concerned, at least. For a few of those days, he was sorely tried and tested, his healing injuries forcing him back to the plane of mere mortals despite the rapidity of their healing. He wanted to move, think, to be active in the changes surrounding him and his sister. Their futures were moving apace, even as he was stuck first in the hospital bed, and then restricted to the floor of the infirmary that he resided upon in the helicarrier. With the advent of the new Avenger World initiative, spots had become available on the expanded team. In the past, such an opportunity would have been scorned and passed over by him, his hatred for the Avengers too powerful to overcome to even allow the idea consideration. But now...everything was different. With Ultron destroyed, with his hometown and good portion of his country in disarray, and his own allegiances altered, there was little else he wanted to do in place of serving them. He was given his gifts for a purpose, and while the original intent was diabolical, his own leanings had changed that. Pietro did not hate as much as he once had; he couldn't, not when the team he'd despised had saved him, protecting his sister and making up for the damages caused with their efforts. He only wished he could do the same.
With survey crews and various charities and companies descending upon the small country, it was deemed time for the carrier to depart, and he went with it, his sister standing with him as they watched their country shrink little by little into the horizon. It was to England, just outside of London, that the carrier was sent, ready to restock and prepare for the return trip to the United States. From there, the remaining members of the Avengers were ready to split off: Tony Stark and the Vision were set to go onto Johannesburg, to track the progress of Stark Relief within the city and to see to the reconstruction and repairs to the damaged areas where they could, while the one called Thor would go with Barton to Seoul to check in. The others, Captain Rogers included, were of a mind to return home, to start preparing to move base, which was scheduled to happen at the end of May. And, in the midst of it all, Pietro and Wanda were left with no word of what was to become of them. Lodged in a hotel at the heart of the city, one day passed in which he was allowed to fret. Soon enough, he had visitors. A good portion of his wounds had healed or were on their way when the director of the helicarrier, Nicholas Fury, came to him with the offer, the captain by his side. The rest of the team was absent, and perhaps that was for the best (despite letting go of his hatred, he still did not like Tony Stark, and would have had some issues with remaining still and at peace while being in the same room as him). With the two of them there, he felt as though he were in front of a panel of schoolteachers, overlooking his conduct and determining how to praise or punish accordingly.
Seemingly, it was praise, and he should have expected it; after all, it was a procedure they had gone through a few days prior with Wanda, approaching her first while he was still recovering. Having proved himself in the field, numerous times, they wanted to extend an offer to be on the Avengers. He was not required to answer right away, the captain had spoken up, allowing him the chance to think it over before Fury could get another word in. Either team would welcome him, as vacancies were cropping up for both. Pietro had nodded, said he would give them an answer soon, and spent the next several minutes staring out the window of his hotel, pondering what he would do. The passersby below went on with their day, the bustle of cars and buses in the gray rain unhindered.
The sun had dropped lower in the sky, darker shades added to the clouds, when he heard the click of the doorknob turning, the whispering brush of the panels swinging open and shut. The light tread of feet behind him was familiar, and so he did not turn around. His sister came up to him, resting an elbow on the sill and sighing quietly, the aura surrounding her disrupting the quiet in its own way. Glancing out the corner of his eye at her, he lifted a corner of his mouth, but said nothing. For a few moments, at least.
"What do you think, Wanda?" he asked suddenly, mimicking her posture, leaning against the window frame. Looking at her, he could see in her eyes that she understood exactly what he was considering. It wouldn't have been hard for her to do so. If she hadn't gleaned it from the roil of his inner feelings, she would have heard it from someone or another. Gossip did spread fast, almost faster than he could run, no matter where he was or who was around.
Green eyes focused on him, clouding over as she shrugged a shoulder. "I...I don't know."
His eyebrow inclined at that; the hastily covered emotion, the sudden stiffness in her spine, the way she quickly averted her gaze to the glass after speak told him more than she did. Shaking his head, he brushed the silver strands on his forehead away, breathing slowly out his nose.
"Yes, you do," he carefully contradicted her. The spring of guilt, small though it was, shot up in her face, though she attempted to control it. Smirking sardonically, he lifted a shoulder at her. "What you do not know, is how to tell me, yes?"
When she'd confessed about Fury's offer to her a few days ago, Wanda had not committed to any course, either. But from the way she'd spoken about the options, the wistful lilt as she spoke of moving on, moving back with them over setting up shop in Europe, it was obvious which way she was leaning. She just lacked the courage to tell him the truth. Well, he wasn't about to let her continue to deny it.
"Pietro...you are right," she confirmed, tugging on the end of her auburn braid. Exhaling, she continued to peer out the window, the light tap of rain against the glass mingling with her words. "I was not sure what to say. Because you are my brother, and being apart from you is something I have not imagined before."
Pietro snorted. "Well, you are imagining it now."
It wasn't meant to come out harsh, but she must have felt some sort of sting, given the way she'd flinched. Still, Wanda held herself erect, chin raising almost in defiance as she stared out.
"Our people, they have suffered enough because of me. They have died, because of my need for revenge."
Chastened, Pietro let his head droop. He knew very well that even with her protection of the people and guarding the spire that was programmed to destroy the world, she still carried guilt over all that had happened. It was a short-sighted mess, her idea to tear apart Tony Stark with his own fears, which had backfired in ways neither could have imagined. However, it was not all her fault. As the older brother, he held responsibility to look after his sibling, to be a good example even in adulthood. He had not stopped her, even when he would have rather just killed him instead. He let her manipulate so many, to serve a cause they thought they knew. Rather, they were played, and in turn nearly let the world get destroyed by their carelessness...his carelessness.
"Mine, too," he had murmured, fingers twitching impatiently along the polished veneer of the pane. Anxious to move, to not be still, to do something, he lifted his hand, pressed his palm upon his sister's shoulder and met her gaze again. "But we can make it up to them, right?"
Wanda nodded eventually, twisting the rings on her fingers and contemplating what he'd said.
"I think so. But I think I need to do it away from them. While you...you want to be close. Be among them, in some way. Which you can, and should," she declared evenly, stoic in her bearing as she went on. "In America, I think I will have the chance to start. To start over."
While Pietro felt drawn to the idea of a team on this side of the globe, close to home, Wanda did not feel the same draw. Her destructive powers, her abilities, set her apart more than his. It would be very easy to lose control, to let her emotions override everything again. And as much as she loved Pietro, she knew he would not keep her in check. They felt too much in the same way, and it was proven how far they would go to support each other, even when they made the wrong choices. In the last several days, after being exposed to the further suffering of her people, all a byproduct of her want for revenge, she knew that she needed to not let that happen again. She needed accountability, much like the rest of the Avengers did. Under the Black Widow's gaze, under the captain's eye, she knew she would find it. Moreover, perhaps she could find herself, find out who Wanda Maximoff was, at her core.
To her right, she could see Pietro's head bobbing up and down, his fingers squeezing her shoulder companionably.
"Maybe that would be a good thing. Both Maximoffs in one place would make them nervous," he said, snickering a little as he drew a smile from her. There was little too much truth in that statement to deny it, and so they let it pass. His arm moved around her, slinging over her shoulders and pulling her back from the glass, back towards the interior of the room. Continuing, he murmured, "Me on one team, you on the other. I think it will be good. Hard, but good."
Though he could not say he was a visionary at all, an image did surface in his mind as Pietro thought about it: his sister, all in scarlet and auras surrounding her, standing guard on one side of the world, him in blues, grays, and whites on the other, working apart but still on the path towards the same goal. If it was what she wanted, he would not stop her. Nor would she stop him. They both knew where they wanted to be, and so they would be. She would go back, go to New York, and he would make a new home in England, a smaller base to be established in the countryside in the next few months. Perhaps he might have a chance at being an interim leader there. He rather liked the idea.
Wanda nodded, biting her lip for a moment. "You might be right."
"Of course I am," he intoned, confidence infusing him. Jerking his chin up, he flashed a brilliant smile at her. "Older brothers know better."
Rolling her eyes, she chuckled at his arrogance, swatting him in the chest as they walked towards the door together. Unconsciously they were moving together, towards their new futures, ready to tell Fury without any more discussion.
"Hush," she reprimanded him, her smile slipping after a second or two. As he let her go, and she preceded him through the door, she waited until he'd crossed the threshold before looping her arms around him, her face pressed into her brother's shoulder. A tremor cut across his mind, her energies pouring into him in that moment. "I will miss you."
"I know," Pietro said, arms tightening around her briefly. Like he had said, it would be hard, separating from his sister for the first time in years. Still, it wasn't like they would never see each other again. He wouldn't give up before it was time, and neither would she. Pulling back, he grinned down at her, the sadness in his eyes not lifting in the slightest. "But I'll never be too far away."
Tapping her nose once, he jokingly pinched it, stemming the tears that were threatening to surface. Pietro barely dodged the second swat Wanda swung at him when he let go, his laugh echoing around them as he continued to evade her attacks for a few minutes. Soon enough, his arm around her shoulders again as he led her to the elevator bank, ready to find Fury and declare their intentions.
xXxXxXx
Switching off the headset, letting the pilot continue the flight unaided, Natasha removed the set before standing and finally moving away from the control panel. Nodding once to the fellow at the helm, she moved away, towards one of seats off to the side. Unlike the one Tony had modified, the quinjet they were commandeering had come straight off the SHIELD- produced helicarrier, on loan for the day's events. Breathing out slowly, she tipped her head back against the rest, tucking back the loose strands of her flaming hair behind her ear and resting for the first time in hours. Days, really.
In the last week and couple days, she hadn't had much time to think, let alone rest. Personally, she was okay with that. Working to help the refugees of Sokovia, to broker deals in the name of the Avengers with nonprofits and setting up such things had taken up much of her time and energy, her body barely having anytime to heal as she moved from one task to the other. Anything, really, to keep herself going, keep herself busy, keep herself from thinking of...
Her eyelids squeezed tight against the thought. There wasn't much to think about, in that case. It was nothing, it had come to nothing, and it would be nothing. She sharply drummed that into her head. Natasha Romanoff would not let herself be torn down by an affection that was rebuffed, that was pushed aside in the name of...what, consideration? Safety? Bruce had his reasons, she knew that, breaking another little piece of her from the fractured whole. The short-lived fantasy, that had come so close to reality, was still there, damaged and in sight, but she would never touch it now. The morning after Banner's departure, she was determined to act as though nothing were amiss, assuming the ice queen persona that all had come to know and fear of her. But though her teammates had accepted her show, she knew they knew deep down she was cut, that it was a farce. It made her want to cut ties as well, go after him, try again. However, she would not beg for his affection. Maybe, in that case, he was right: she deserved better. She deserved someone who was willing to try, no matter the consequences. No matter how broken and battered she was. And until she was confident in her finding such a person, in reviving her allure and her charm, she would fake it as though she were unaffected.
The around-the-clock work helped, the discussions for the new branch of the team distracted her. Soon enough, though, it was time to head home, to the quiet. A part of her had quaked in fear of that, of the demons lurking and waiting in the shadows there for her. Nick Fury had stepped in then, extending an offer for her to complete and prolong the inevitable trials she'd put herself through in the silence. The task she had been given by Fury was simple on the surface, but the turmoil within her told her otherwise.
After all, she wasn't too keen on playing delivery girl. Nor did she want to spend too much time in the proximity of the Winter Soldier. The ghost, the man, was supposed to be able to smell weakness and fear in a person, and while the idea was superstitious and ridiculous, a part of her could not quell her suspicions that he, in fact, could do so. Then again, he had been an unwitting witness to one of her great moments of weakness, so there was not much she could do to hide it.
Opening her eyes, she looked at the man in question, his head bowed, cropped hair falling over his brow and his lips set in a thin line as he stared into space. A bag was perched beside him, his body encumbered by different shades of black and gray, heavy boots on his feet, heavy bags under his eyes. He hadn't said a word since they departed, when the captain, his girl, and Wilson had joined them on the tarmac, sending him off as best they could in spite of the early hour and the air of uncertainty that hovered around them. Poor Steve, she had thought; though he managed to grin and bear it, he looked so sad then, and even Natasha, mired in her own heartache, could sympathize. Bidding good-bye to friends was never easy; the closer one was, with so much left unsaid and so much that needed to be done, the harder it got. It was for the best, he knew, and murmured, his fingers laced with Holly's, drawing enough silent strength to step back and wave him off, promises to contact him as soon as he could in the near future. For his part, the ex-assassin had lifted his hand in farewell, but Natasha could see the well of guilt and confusion in his eyes, the question of what he had done to deserve that measure of friendship even after everything. She had turned away before he could catch her watching him, not willing to let him see how much she felt, and understood, that same confusion. As it was, he was leaning back in his own seat now, harness limp around him and his face creased in exhaustion. Lack of sleep the night before, Natasha guessed to be the cause, due to the new turn his life was taking that day. Less of a soldier, more of a man, now, she mused to herself.
Over the last week, when she was forced to work side by side with him (mostly in silence, as she did not have much to say to anyone since the meeting with the U.N. representative that did not include obvious comments) she had seen glimpses of the truth of his person beneath the layer of coldness. Granted, it was mostly Steve or Sam that would be able to break through it, but she knew that he was allowing himself to start letting go, to get through the pain of his past and make something better out of it. It came as no surprise, really, when Nick told her that he would be sending Sergeant Barnes away, to the Country House—the rehabilitative homestead that had been on tap for SHIELD's most beaten, broken agents to recollect themselves and heal. It was still operating as a clinic, underground even though it was out in the open. What did surprise her was the fact that he had chosen her to be the fellow's escort. In fact, she nearly objected to doing the task...until the director actually used the word please. Nick Fury did not often beg for help, but he was doing so with her.
Perhaps it was because Barton was gone, off on his own mission, and with him went her stability. Maybe it was because he didn't want to see her wallow in heartbreak (not that it was something she'd ever done; that was a facetious musing on her part, and she knew for a fact that it didn't wash in the slightest). More likely he just wanted to give her something to do that was of use to him. Nick could trust Natasha with something that important, mundane though it seemed. But she knew it wasn't that at all; once upon a time, she had been bleary and nervous, secured to a bench and uncertain of her future, and a sandy-haired agent who had spared her life once too often was watching her, telling her that now, things would be different. That she would make it be different, that it would be her chance and choice to do so.
Maybe that was why. Breathing carefully out, she rose again, smoothing down the red blouse and leather jacket she sported, her stride confident as she moved to his bank of seats. Coming to a stop before him, she waited for Barnes to notice, to tear his eyes away from the blank space of nothingness back to the present. When he finally looked up at her, he could not quite hide the flash of diffidence that coursed through him, before the layer of blankness descended upon him. Raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow, she cut a glance at the open seat next to him, silent permission asked. A shrug of shoulders was her only answer, and so she took it for what it was worth. Settling on the edge of the seat (because nothing could make her forget what he was capable of, no matter how lost he looked, and if she had to get away from him fast, she could do so) Natasha maintained the quiet for several long minutes, allowing him to adjust to her proximity before speaking.
"So what did Fury tell you, about where you're going?" she asked in a low voice, conscious of not drawing the pilot's attention to their conversation. Barnes flicked his gaze up, darting it to the pilot and back before he lifted a shoulder.
"Not much. Just that it's somewhere safe for me to go through rehabilitation," he replied, lacing his hands together in his lap, staring at the toe of his boot as flesh crossed with metal. Natasha nodded, though he did not see it.
"He's not wrong," she told him gently, recalling her days at the place. The early days of her freedom, spent in a haze of confusion and fright, wrapped up in a big house and her rattling around in it like a lone pea in a can. A big house where she had only herself to face, and that was more terrifying that anything she'd done up until that point. A corner of her mouth lifted, a stray detail coming to the forefront of her mind. "Just be prepared; it's gonna be really muggy out for the next three months, and the air conditioning is sub-par, at best."
Barnes snorted at that, the barest hint of a smirk on his lips as he glanced up at her. "I'll take that over cold any time. You've been?"
"Had to," Nat confessed quietly. As his brow furrowed in question, she cupped the air with her free hand, brushing the painful past away even as she spoke about it. "Used to work for the KGB, way back when. It was part of the deal I made when I switched over. I wanted to go straight, I had to do it this way."
The cornflower blue of his eyes broke through the icy shell that normally surrounded them, barely fazed by his blinking. Questions circled his mind, that much was obvious, but he either had a good sense of discretion or he just did not want to antagonize her by inquiring further about her past. To a degree, he probably even understood her position. She certainly had inkling about what his was like, at the moment. He ruminated over her words, a flash of an indefinable thought crossing his face.
"Did it work?" he wondered, curious as to her answer. Curious, and perhaps not a little afraid. Natasha let out a slow breath, arms crossing over her chest as she tilted her head to one side.
"It's debatable," she said, self-deprecation in her tone. It was an invitation to humor, but she saw right away that he was being sincere and would not be turned from the path. The smarmy grin she had dropped, seriousness invading her gaze. "It works if you let it, if you want it."
Being ordered into rehabilitation, into therapy, would ultimately come to nothing if the person being ordered did not accept it, did not want to be healed and to start repairing their lives. Faking it would get them nowhere, either. It was a fact that she had realized quickly in her stint there; she had, obviously, tried to beat the system, to get through and back to work as swiftly as possible without actually working on herself. It was impossible, and something that Nick had caught her on very early. In a line of work that require one to be deceptive at all times, the only thing that would actually help her to move on, to live, was to be entirely honest and to know she needed help. She squinted at the man beside her, questioning his motives in that moment. Was he playing a long game, too, in the hopes of getting out fast?
The hard set of his jaw, the leap of fear squashed by the spike of bravery in his eyes said otherwise.
"I want it," he declared, sitting up straight in his seat. His metal hand curled up on his knee, the nearly inaudible clicks of the joints reaching her ears.
"That's a major part of the battle, admitting you want it. Then the real work begins." She sighed heavily, swinging her leg back and forth as a shiver trailed down her spine. "Going over all the memories...it won't be easy."
"I don't expect it to be."
"Good, because it won't. Unless your memories are sparse; that might make it more tolerable, at the beginning. How much do you remember?"
"Too much...and not enough," Barnes retorted, the haunted air encasing him briefly. In a moment or two, he shrugged it off, and Natasha found herself letting go of the breath she held.
Gesturing to herself, she asked sarcastically, "You know who I am?"
"I know a few things," her companion replied, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Your name, for starters. And what you do. And that I've shot you."
"Twice," she corrected him. Off his raised eyebrow, she elaborated, "You've shot me twice."
A long bout of silence passed, and then: "I'm surprised you're not trying to kill me now."
Natasha let out a snicker at his expense, crossing her legs as she sat up in her seat. "Well, like I've said, I've been there before. When your mind isn't your own, when you do things you were not meant to do...and then when you realize how wrong you were, it's its own punishment." Once more, the humor faded, everything she'd been pressing back coming forward, the memories always there, no matter how far she'd gone. "All that you can do is find a way past it. And they'll help with that. Besides, I did manage to get you back a little for it."
"More than a little, I do recall that much. Those stunner disks sting, by the way. Even on this," Barnes said, lifting his metal arm. Encased as it was in the black sweater he was wearing, the exposure of the hand at the end of the sleeve still made the point. Natasha felt her smile return, a surge of pride coursing through her; that day under the overpass, she had never been more grateful for her stunners, seeing that they could delay even a renegade hit man with a metal arm. And even now, when she could see that he was not that person any longer, she was still a little pleased with herself. Only a little.
"I'm aware. It's worse on skin."
"I'll take your word for it." He rolled his eyes at that, but he managed to temper it with an expression of remorse. "I'm, well...sorry."
Nonplussed, she wondered if that was the first time in seventy years that the sergeant had said those words, and meant them.
Flicking a few fingers in the air, she eventually murmured, "I can't say it's nothing, because it wasn't. But I understand the circumstances, so..."
It wasn't an outright rejection, nor was it total acceptance. But it seemed that the fellow would accept her equivocation as it was, and he dipped his chin.
"Alright, then."
The pilot's voice barked across the space, announcing that landing would be imminent. Off the cue, Natasha buckled herself into the harness, the descent making her stomach lurch and drop. Out the corner of her eye, she noted the way Barnes' human hand gripped tightly to his, the whiteness of his knuckles growing starker as they dropped on and off. Rather than take the opportunity to tease him for his lack of comfort with flying, she turned her head away, focusing on the hatch as they landed. A flood of green swam before her eyes once the quinjet settled on the ground and the ramp slid down, the scent of clipped grass and dirt after a rainstorm invading her senses. The familiar smell she associated with aid, with healing...it reminded her of Clint's farm, which in reality was only two states away. Maybe she should do as Bruce had done, and run. She could go there, to the farm. Maybe she could do as Clint had confessed only to her: retire, and live out the remainder of her days in solitude. Be Auntie Nat, up in the spare room, her explosive life fading into quiet obscurity.
Shaking her head, she unclasped the harness from around her torso. It was not her time, Natasha sharply rebuked herself. She would not give up the fight, not yet. There was still so much to do, and she was a part of those parts and pieces that were changing. Leading the way, she climbed down to the end of the ramp.
The Country House looked much as it did when she'd first arrived thirteen years ago. It was an expanded farmhouse, whitewashed and bright in the midst of the green lawn. Inside, though, was incredibly different from the exterior: it had up-to-date technologies to keep the agents housed there in the loop, decent Internet access and a medical bay downstairs that rivaled many of the major hospitals in the country. Sandwiched in between thick tree breaks, the gravel road leading up to the front of the house peeled off to a barn that had been converted into a training space, before winding down the lane to the proper tarred road.
Barnes slid out after her, his eyes widening as he glanced around. The breeze stirred the unruly strands of hair on his forehead, brushing hers as well. Distant bird chirps caught his attention, and he adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, continuing to stare in wonder.
"It's so..." he trailed off, lost for words.
"Not what you were expecting?" Natasha supplied, tucking her hands into her pockets. "That's kind of the point. It's not cold, clinical, like a hospital would be. Or a psych ward, in some places."
"I was actually gonna say 'quiet.' But yeah, I suppose it ties into that, too," he amended his statement, allowing the briefest flicker of a smile down at her. The front door of the house opened then, the slap of the screen-door snapping back akin to the sound of a gunshot. Years of training drilled into both of them allowed them both to catch themselves before reacting, but Barnes remained on edge as the person who had emerged clambered closer. A middle aged woman, her light brown hair threaded with natural silver, waved to them a little, her hazel eyes donning a look of recognition as she spotted Natasha. She grinned politely at her; she'd remembered Doctor Gregory—Libba, she allowed her patients to call her. The woman was unfailingly supportive of all those under her care, practically unflappable, no matter what atrocities and horrors they confessed to her. Underneath the layer of supposed sweetness, there was a will of iron, and a determination to help whoever she was dealing with to find the healing they needed, even if they couldn't find it with her.
"Mister Barnes?" she asked gently, her voice mellow and clear. When he simply nodded, she smiled. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Libba Gregory. I understand you were sent here by Nick Fury, right?" Another nod, another lift of her lips. "Good, I'm glad that you made it out safely. Well, we've got everything set up in the house for you, if you'll come this way."
Unconsciously, Barnes stepped back, giving himself more ground and room in case he needed to act. It wasn't a huge step, but it wasn't something Natasha wouldn't notice. The doctor picked up on it, too, but before she had a chance to utter any reassurances, the redhead sidled closer to the taller man, her shoulder pressing into his arm. The weight of her next to him stalled him, held him there before he chose to fight or fly. Meeting his gaze, she bit back an inhalation. Kindness, gentleness, disturbed him more than any orders barked in his face could, and it was awful to see the reality blooming in his eyes. It was awful to see that look of despondency in anyone but her.
When she was given the chance to reflect upon it later, Natasha would ponder when she had reached the day that she felt compelled to comfort the Winter Soldier. But, then again, it wasn't him that she was providing solidity to, that she was offering some form of comfort.
James Barnes needed it, not the Winter Soldier, and the distinction became ever-clearer in that instant.
"It's not a trick, Barnes," she whispered, the Russian touching him enough to get his body to relax minutely. "Really. I promise."
With the tiniest turn of her hand, she bade the doctor to step back, and respectfully, she did just that. With an invitation to come into the house when he was ready, the older woman walked away, glancing over her shoulder once as she went. Natasha exhaled softly, waiting for Barnes to collect his faculties, get himself under control. A few shaky breaths were expelled from his mouth, and soon enough, he shifted away from her, swallowing audibly.
A few minutes passed, and then he cleared his throat. "I...I suppose that's it, then?"
"This is where we part ways," Natasha proclaimed, canting her head to one side. "Been doing it a lot lately; guess that's why Nick chose me for this."
His brow furrowed at that. "But it's not your preference."
For a moment, she considered lying, or just letting the comment go unanswered. But, out there, at that place, away from the world and all she was, she did not see the harm in being honest.
"...No, it's not." With that, she pivoted on her heel, the gravel under her boots crunching as she strode back to the quinjet. When his voice called out to her again, she stopped in her tracks, half-turning to hear what he had to say.
"Thank you...Natalia," Barnes pronounced carefully, tongue wrapping around her natural name with ease. She blinked rapidly at that. It had been quite some time since someone had called her that (and she did not count the time that involved the computerized weasel known as Zola, who was taunting her as much as hindering her and the captain in their endeavor to find the truth) and she was not totally sure how to react to it.
"Natasha," she countered lightly. He did not look the least chagrined at it; instead, he just tucked his hand into his pocket, inclining his head at her.
"That's a nickname, though. Figured I'd be a little more proper."
"I think we skipped proper when you attacked me twice," she noted dryly, and his placid expression became a touch strained.
"Consider it my way of making up for the past."
The wry look on her face softened, an intentional move that he would read and understand.
"I'm familiar with that, too. Good luck, Sergeant." That said, he turned towards the house, squaring his shoulders before walking up the path to the front door. He hadn't gotten five feet away before Natasha amended the title she'd given him. "James."
He did not look back at her, but his step did falter for a second, his feet pausing in the journey. Soon enough, he was back on his way, up to the farmhouse and to the doctor awaiting him on the porch. Watching him go, Natasha shook herself a little as the screen-door snapped open and shut, swiveling harshly and tromping back up the ramp into the quinjet. It was over, her task was completed. She could go back to the Tower, and back to the work that she was needed to be a part of.
And she could do so, just as James had done, she told herself, taking a seat by the pilot once more as they prepared for take-off.
xXxXxXx
Once stateside again, Holly found herself at a loss.
To be sure, she still had follow-ups to do regarding the two or three charities she'd gotten in touch with, and she connected Jane with Maria to help expedite the process of getting the colleges involved in relief efforts. As well as that, she was devoting her attention to preparing for the wedding, some appointments scheduled over the next couple of weeks to get things lined up. Still, it did not erase the fact that after being busy from sunrise to sunset for so long, she found the sudden lack of work to be daunting. Distractions were few and far between, and thus all that she had been pushing back, ignoring, in favor of helping the team in what little way she could began to prey on her mind.
The future was coming upon her fast, and she was unsure of what she would do. Marriage was the only certainty, but everything else was open, left up to chance.
In lieu of occupying time when her other tasks were sorted (and when she could not look at another bridal website without being able to hold back a scream) she assisted those who had been drafted from the downstairs offices and Maria to start packing up the upper floor's necessities. In compliance with Stark's probation, the team had agreed to his alternate plan of establishing a new base, which was being refurbished somewhere upstate at the moment. Within a few weeks, it would be ready for habitation. All the records and files, equipment and tools, that were needed there were to be boxed up, shipped or delivered fast. With Steve spending a good portion of his time with Fury, officially starting to contact the recruits they had finally settled upon for the new team, and the others either on other missions or returned to their homes (like Sam, who had been offered a spot on the main team and needed to head back to D.C. to begin getting his affairs in order) she was okay with the idea of packing up boxes. It would be good practice, considering that she would have to be so for her own things soon enough.
On the third day, she broke for lunch, following Maria up to her personal office. The grand space had grown emptier in that short time, the desk and lounge furniture already shipped off the site. With their containers of take-out, the two women sat on the floor, the openness of the room making their voices echo slightly as they spoke in between bites.
"It's so weird, not having to run to one place or another," Holly ventured after a moment or two, her plastic fork stirring her food. Maria, chewing fast, swallowed and lifted a shoulder.
"You know what's weird to me?" she countered, her bright gaze lighting up as she speared a dumpling. "Getting a full night's sleep."
The corners of the younger woman's mouth lifted, a snort shooting out of her. "That, too. How long do you think that will last?"
"Not long enough, in my case. It might be a little different for you," Maria conceded, and Holly nodded briskly.
"Yeah, that whole lack of employment thing really opens up the schedule."
Hill's brow furrowed. "You lost your job?"
Dark brown eyes flew up, connecting with the quizzical blue. That was right; she'd never actually gotten around to telling Maria about no longer being employed at the bookstore. So far, she'd only told her friends, and Steve. At the time, it was still a fresh loss, and she did not want to dwell on it. And then, well, it was a helter-skelter dash to the finish line, to assist the people of Sokovia and help the team establish a new place in the world that she had just neglected to fill in the details. Granted, she figured it would have been obvious, given how she was in no rush to return home, that there were no demands on her time. Inwardly, she supposed that even expert spies missed a couple of things here and there; nobody was perfect, after all, and it wasn't Maria's purpose to know everything that happened to her.
"Oh, right...um, yeah," Holly stammered, the swirling of her fork taking an aggressive turn for a few seconds. "Well, I was laid off, technically, but it amounts to the same thing."
Maria blew out a breath, but her expression reflected nothing but calm. If Holly had been looking for it, she would've seen the sudden, brief gleam in the other woman's eyes, like she had been dealt a winning hand in a national poker championship.
"Wow...that's..."
"Tell me about it," Holly retorted, spearing a piece of broccoli and shoving it into her mouth. Chewing it fast, she swallowed and said, "But...it is what it is. Can't really do anything about it. On the plus side, I get a month's compensation out of it, so I'm not totally in dire straits yet."
Hill nodded, her movements slowed as she continued to watch her eat. "We've also been keeping you pretty busy, too. Probably we should just add you to the pay roll."
"With my lack of qualifications? Eh, at least I'd be pretty cheap," Holly joked, a weak jab at herself played off with a sarcastic smile. "Besides, I wasn't doing much, other than talking to a couple of people that you couldn't. If I hadn't been there, you'd probably have done it, anyway."
"You did well enough," was the firm contradiction out of Hill's mouth. Gesturing with her fork in the air, she continued, "Could parlay that into a major shift upward in your job search, like as a donations officer or something."
"I suppose. My interests lie elsewhere. I'll help where I need to, but I know where my strengths lay."
"And I do, too."
Holly's grin faded the longer Maria held her gaze. There was not a hint of dissimulation in her face, and she let her eyebrows lift minutely. It was no joke, no ruse; her sentiment was entirely unfeigned. She felt her mouth open and close for a moment or two, struggling to collect her faculties in that time.
"What are you..." she finally murmured, trailing off when Maria set aside her container. The older woman laced her fingers together, dropping them into her lap as she stiffened her spine. What she was about to propose had been on her mind for awhile, ever since the team and she had to dig through the old files of Strucker's contacts. The lay-off, while not ideal from Holly's perspective, actually played directly in Hill's wheelhouse, and she made the reason why fairly clear.
"The new facility is going to have to go through a round of hiring soon. I'd like to accomplish some of that here, in the next few days. Particularly for the office-based jobs." She shrugged, as if it wasn't another major task to get done, or at least partially completed, before the move. The original position Maria had in mind for her was not what she was about to offer; circumstances had changed that, and perhaps that was for the better. "It seems to be that we have a desperate need for filing and transferring recovered information, as well as storing for later use. If donations doesn't quite strike your fancy, there's that, instead. I've already got a couple people in mind for the team, but we could always use another archivist."
Another long moment of quiet followed, and Holly merely gaped at her through it. She had known she would need to start looking for new employment soon—she was in no way keen to simply sit back and be a burden on Steve, no matter his insistence that he would take care of her, whatever she decided. It was just incredible that a position like that would fall into her lap. The work would suit her, suit her skill set, and she would not have to worry overly much about money and bills, like she had feared.
"You're serious," she croaked, tipping her head to one side, the loose strands of her dark hair brushing her neck.
Maria smirked, the expression more genuine than it seemed on the surface. "Position comes with pretty decent benefits, considering we'll be out by the Adirondacks."
Part of her wanted to accept, right then and there. The paperwork would only take a few minutes, and she had no doubt that Maria had them on hand...somewhere. However, another part of her made her pause. It was a good position, sure, but it was a position with the newly reformed SHIELD. She would be working in close conjunction with other agents, have access to dangerous and upsetting information. It would bring her in deeper into the side of the world that had been Steve's domain up until that point, and while she had ingratiated herself to a certain point already, she was unsure she wanted to go deeper. She was unsure that Steve would want her to go deeper.
She needed to speak with him. Not to get his permission, no—that man knew better than to even begin to think that he could influence her in such a way. But they did need to discuss it; it would be another alteration to their lives together, and it was important for her to really consider whether she wanted to pursue that option.
"...Let me think about it."
"Okay." The look of comprehension Maria donned settled something within her, and the two went on with their midday meal. Cutting a quick glance back up, the older woman lightly intoned, "Don't leave it too long, though. Can't guarantee it will still be here."
Later that evening, when the work of the day was done, she found Steve forking through the leftovers in the quarter's kitchen, reheating a couple plates for them both. Forgoing sitting at the table, the pair took up their plates and leaned against the counters, close at hand and discussing the day's events. After being separated by the horrifying events caused by Ultron, and the subsequent aftermath, the couple did not stray far from one another in their downtime, a touch here and there connecting them as they spoke, discussed the meeting they would have with a potential photographer that Holly had set up, and the ring shopping they would need to do in the next day or so. There was quite a bit to do in the next four weeks, but she held out hope that they could do it.
Steve's strong arm looped around her waist as they picked at their food, his wry half-grin decorating his lips when he filched something off her plate. She merely rolled her eyes at him, swatting his hand when he tried to reach for more and instead distracting him with questions about his own wedding task, accomplished in the time free from interviewing. The pastor of the church he attended in his off-time (a nice enough fellow, Holly had thought when she'd met him; she went to services with Steve when it was possible, more often than she did on her own) had accepted their declaration to marry, with the proper notice, and he was willing to help them get through the premarital counseling as swiftly as could be. More meetings, he'd sighed, but at least the guy was more than happy to conduct the sessions quickly and over video chat, instead of requiring them to figure out how to get across town multiple times a week to do so.
Holly nodded, accepting the plan for what it was worth, tapping her finger along the edge of the counter as Steve's grip on her waist tightened.
"Something's on your mind," he pointed out, pushing his plate to one side and focusing on her. Tucking her hair behind her ear, he asked, "What is it, doll?"
For a moment, she just looked up at him, taking a steadying breath before speaking. "I got an offer."
"An offer?" he wondered curiously, an eyebrow lifting. Lighting upon an answer, he perked up a little, mouth quirking a bit. "Oh, for your book?"
Holly shook her head, feeling a little chagrined that after all that time, she still had heard nothing from any of the publishers she reached out to.
"No, not...not yet. I got an offer from Maria, for a job. As an archivist at the new base, not anything life-threatening or something like that." She felt Steve go still, rigid, his piercing blue gaze latching onto a point above her head. Thinking that perhaps he wasn't as willing to accommodate to the idea as she hoped, she tripped over her next words, attempting to make her case. "It...it would solve the unemployment problem, it wouldn't be too far away, and she promised pretty decent benefits, which I would probably have even if I just went with your stuff, but—"
Hands cupped her face, a kiss cutting her off midstream. Effectively muted, she let Steve drop another peck or two on her lips before pulling back again. Thumbs brushed along the skin of her cheeks, the comfort of the gesturing reassuring her.
"If you want it, sweetheart, then you should take it," he told her, reiterating his words from several days previous. Holly was the one who had to make the choice, and be happy with it. If working near at hand in the same vicinity as him, at a task that she would be good at (if not better than most) would make her happy, he would accept that. He'd promised her that much; truthfully, he was just relieved it wasn't an offer to become an agent. Though she'd sworn she would never be one to his face, that didn't mean he thought the idea would never be brought up to her by others. His eyes narrowed slightly, considering that last point, his expression evening out. "Just be wary for strings being attached."
Holly snorted outright at that, the truth of the statement too much to ignore. "Yeah, trust me, I'm keeping my eye on them. She hinted that I could have a higher-up position instead, if I'd asked."
Steve blinked, exhaled sharply. "And you didn't want it."
It wasn't a question; it was fairly obvious that he already knew the answer. Still, she felt compelled to verbalize the negative, anyway.
"Nope." Her eyebrows twitched closer together as she turned in his embrace, arms coming around and palms splaying along his back. "Does it bother you?"
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Should it?"
Holly shook her head, smiling up at him. "I don't think so."
Steve returned the expression with a grin of his own, dipping his chin once. "Then there you go. Anything else?"
Letting out a short sigh of exultation, Holly removed one hand from his back, fingers sliding deftly into her pocket and removing her phone. Pressing the side button, the screen lit up, the time displayed on the front showing it to be half past the hour. There was another appointment to keep, one that could not be delayed any longer.
"Just that it's about that time." Tucking the phone away and removing herself from his arms, she turned and led the way into the living room, faltering in her stride slightly. Looking back at him, nervousness bled into her voice as she went on, "You'll still do it with me, right?"
"Yeah, I will," he confirmed, following her to the couch and sitting down with her. Her hands clenched into fists as she stared down at the coffee table, her laptop perched and waiting there. Gently, he pried one loose, fingers sliding between hers and a careful squeeze anchoring her with him. "Here. It'll be okay. You can do it. You've faced worse."
"Right, right," she murmured, looking at him with the adoration that still had not wavered. "And so have you."
He squeezed her hand again, a silent thank-you for the encouragement she'd given him in return. For a long minute or two, they sat there, the quiet of the quarters surrounding them.
"...You know, it will work out better if you actually turn the computer on, dear," Steve pointed out when it got to be too much, his body shifting with impatience as she remained unmoved. Dark eyes cut up at him, glittering with humor.
"Am I getting sassed by my tech-deficient fiancé?" Holly inquired lightly, giggling as he rolled his eyes at her.
"Keep stalling, Holl, see what happens."
She nodded, leaning back in her seat to do just that. "Okay, then."
"Oh, for the love of..." he grumbled, releasing her hand. Shuffling forward, he pushed up the screen of the computer, jabbing the power button and watching as the machine began to wake up. Fingers crept along his once more, their hands lacing together as the welcome chimes of the laptop fired up. Holly sat up again, typing in her password as smoothly as she could with one hand, waiting for the screen to change over. Opening up a video chat line, a couple minutes passed before the call connected. On the other end, two people swam into view, an older man and woman staring back at them. With a shift of silvered blonde hair, the woman came closer to the screen, the darker man beside her following suit.
"Holly, thank God!" Lisa Martin crooned, relieved tears surfacing in her bright eyes as she looked upon her daughter. With all that was going on, connections back to her family had been few and far between, but now that they were back home, there was no sense in putting it off any longer. Darting a look to the left, she inclined her head towards the couple, her husband Paul's gaze raking over them. "I'm so happy to see you...and you, too, Steve."
As Steve swallowed, his grip tightening around her hand, Holly took a shaky breath, her own tears pressed back viciously. She did not want to waste time on them, not when there was so much to discuss, when the bad did not outweigh the good.
"It's really good to see you, too, Mom. Hey, Dad." Meeting Steve's sharp glance, she coughed once, preparing herself for a long evening. "We, uh, we have a lot of catching up to do."
"I would say so," Paul replied, scooting his chair forward and lifting up a newspaper. "Seems like there's quite a bit to go over."
The headlines were stark, deep black against thin white, announcing the Avengers' efforts overseas and what they had planned for the future. Shifting in his seat, Steve cleared his throat, taking point with Holly right by his side as they explained the strange, dreamlike events of the last two weeks, and beyond.
A/N: I guess when I said "time jump," I meant like a week and a few days from the last chapter. Still, had a few things to crank out before we jump farther ahead.
So Wanda and Pietro agree to part, Bucky goes to rehab, Nat has a lot to consider about her life, and Holly and Steve continue to charge ahead with...everything. Nice little summation there, huh?
Next chapter, I really do intend to jump ahead by a few more weeks, towards relocating to the New Avengers base, and more wedding plans interspersed. The wedding is coming, folks...like, two more chapters, I think. Truly, I'm trying to get there as soon as I can.
I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references that were made in the text.
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!