When asked later about the wedding day, Holly could not say that she remembered it all in perfect detail. Waking that morning with a combination of nervousness and excitement in the pit of her stomach, she went through the motions of her ablutions, mind far away as she considered everything that was to happen. She wouldn't say she was sleep-walking through her morning, but it felt more like an out-of-body experience, watching herself being pushed and pulled one way or another, across her room to drape the dress over a chair, setting up a place for Natasha to work on her makeup with her, to going out to the car with a massive travel mug of coffee to get her hair done at a salon, her mother, sister, niece, and best friend accompanying her. Peter, as promised, had arrived early, dressed neatly and camera at the ready. His uncle, he explained, would be helping him set up equipment when it was time (the older fellow was only seen at a distance, but he waved happily when Peter pointed him out, hooking a thumbs-up at both of them), but for now he was free to follow along at her wish. Some moments, like that, stuck out in her mind long after the day had passed, committed to memory.
Another few happened while she was getting ready. She stared impassively into the mirror as her hair was tugged, brushed, and maneuvered one way or another, small talk eluding her as she thought, over and over, that she was getting married. Married to Steve. Married to Steven Rogers, Captain America. The camera clicked quietly in the background, lost in the chatter and unheard by her as she kept considering the significance of the day.
Her hands gripped the arms of the chair that she was in tightly, in an attempt to quell the shaking. Her heart thumped loudly in her ear as the final touches were put on, the low chignon she'd chosen settling as her mother handed the stylist the combs to place along it. Glancing up, she saw the tears in Lisa's eyes, how she swiped at them discreetly when she thought her daughter wasn't looking. Holly had to drag her eyes downward, focus on her lap, or she was going to start crying, too. Her resolve nearly broke when the work was finished, and she felt her mom's arms wrap around her shoulders from behind, her face next to hers as she hugged her, the strands left out of her updo brushing her skin.
"My gorgeous baby girl," she whispered then, and suddenly Holly was very grateful that Nat would be doing her makeup later, as she let a couple drops free. After a few moments, she let out a gasping chuckle, waving off her rising emotions as a tissue dabbed at her face, Lisa giggling along with her. They had subsided briefly, and she did not doubt they would rise again, but for the moment she felt she would be alright. Heather, from her chair down the way, shot her a sideways look, chin barely dipping as she smiled wanly at her. She understood; it was only five years ago that she'd been in the same position, and she recalled very clearly the rise and fall of every moment.
"You okay, Auntie Holly?" Jodie asked her, her niece bounding over to her when her turn in the chair was finished, strawberry blonde curls bouncing as she went. Her little face was screwed up in concern, and hastily Holly nodded her head, taking her small hands in her grasp.
"Yeah, kiddo, I am."
Jodie, glancing away briefly, tilted her head to the side. "You sure? Nana said you'd be excited, but you were crying."
Holly couldn't help but let out a breathy laugh at her own emotional state, and how noticeable it was, even to the seven, nearly eight-year-old.
"Oh, I am, honey," she attempted to reassure her again, squeezing her fingers gently. "It's just...a different kind of excitement."
Jodie waited for a further explanation, but there was nothing her aunt could tell her to make her understand. Shrugging her shoulders, the other woman chuckled a little when the girl rolled her eyes and huffed. Shaking her head, another query came to mind.
"Is Ste...erm, Uncle Steve excited, too?" she wondered, thinking this was a question her aunt would be able to answer. Holly blinked, another surge of warmth pouring through her then. Jodie already referencing the bond Steve would now share with the rest of the family was sweet, and great. Given how her parents had reacted to what they'd told them about the events in May and her level of involvement, as well as the accelerated time-line for the wedding itself, the family could've resented him for involving her, could've passed that resentment on to the younger set. And while she knew for a fact that her family was still nowhere near okay with what she had done (and she had emphasized that it had been her choices that led her from the beginning, not Steve's; in fact, he was more on their side in regards to keeping her out of harm's way), they still accepted him. They had made room for the children to accept him, and acknowledge him for what he would be.
Smiling gently, Holly reached out, patting the little girl's curls tenderly. "Yeah, he is."
Satisfied with that answer, Jodie replied, "Good. Daddy said there would be a party after we're done at the church. Parties are fun; he should like that."
A sigh came out of the older woman, and her grin remained wide. "It will be fun, kiddo, I promise."
The ride back to the hotel was a blur, although she did recall her phone vibrating on and off during the car ride; inevitably, Heather reminded her, someone would want to get in touch with her about where to go for the ceremony. Passing the device and a list of the service companies she'd gotten in contact with to her mother (so she liked being organized, so what?), Holly and her bridal party separated to get changed and ready. Upon entering the suite she was staying in, she found Natasha waiting there, perfectly coiffed and attired as always, makeup brushes in hand and an almost feral smile on her lips. Behind her, Peter gawked, stunned by the redhead's beauty and tenacity for a few minutes before forcibly jerking himself back into reality, snapping pictures and consulting the little list he kept in his pocket. He took photos of the accouterments that Natasha dipped in and out of, of the process of applying eyeliner, of the dress nearby. At some point, he may have disappeared to take some shots of Sarah and her sister, but she couldn't check for sure. Nat had forbidden her to move until everything was applied and ready. Once the last touch was done, she remembered thinking that she was definitely going to owe Natasha baked goods on top of the cash she insisted she give her (she did not brook a refusal, and she made the woman actively walk away with the money in hand after hugging her in thanks).
Lisa, removing the small bag of necessities, helped Holly into her dress and passed off her somethings as they went down the list. The old was a necklace her grandmother had left her, the new a set of earrings that closely matched it. Her sister's borrowed bracelet was perched on her wrist, and, her face coloring a little as her mother handed it off to her, she slid the blue garter up her leg, its counterpart following swiftly on the other. Sarah and Heather flitted in and out of her vision, their purple dresses swishing around their knees as they darted from one end of the room to the other, gathering up the last of the things to go to the chapel and put them in the car her parents had rented for the trip, with Jodie and her little nephew Cole drafted into the endeavor. Fiddling with her bouquet, she tried to calm her breathing, slowing it and closing her eyes momentarily.
"If you could hold that for a sec, please?" Peter asked politely, her eyes flying open as he knelt near her, aiming the lens at her carefully. Swallowing, she held herself in her pose, at the edge of her seat and head tipped up slightly.
"Okay, Peter." A few shutter clicks, and then she wondered, "Was that good?"
The teenager nodded, his brown hair flopping a little out of the comb-over he'd forced it into. "Yeah, I took a few for safety's sake. I'm much better at action shots, but, well..."
"Hey, now," she cut in, shaking her head at him. "Your stills are nothing to sneeze at, either; you have talent with a camera."
He smiled shyly, fingers toying with the strap of the camera around his neck.
"Good thing, too; gotta get the money for college somehow," he remarked ruefully. Holly could understand that all too well. It was the major reason why she put up with her waitressing gig in high school. If she hadn't wanted to continue her education, and not ease up the loan debt she would have, then she definitely wouldn't have put up with it (good thing her dad never let her quit, either). Peter was getting a head-start, which was not a bad thing, but he had just started high school that year. Holly barely suppressed a wince, following the implications to a logical conclusion. Still, she chose to comment in a different way.
"Between that and amateur computer repair, I think you'll be golden," she told him, knowing he also advertised his abilities in that regard on a separate tab of his website, too. His smile became a little broader, and he lifted the camera again, finger hovering over the button.
"Keeping my fingers crossed."
Before she knew it, it had slid into the afternoon, and the time of the ceremony approached ever-faster. Speedily, Holly and her party were whisked to the chapel at Fort Hamilton, the brick facade shaded by the nearby trees, a slight breeze wafting through the air. The white doors swung open as people bustled to and fro, the last of the saber guard arriving as she was escorted into the building. The chaplain greeted her kindly, the minister at his side and letting her know that Steve and his friends had already arrived. There was a bit of a snafu in regards to the live camera set-up, with Peter suddenly rushing by and into the chapel to take a crack at it, but it wasn't something that couldn't be figured out. If they had to, Steve could always give Tony a call, see if he could figure it out before everything went down. Herded into a downstairs room, Holly was trying to maintain her level of calm, listening as her mother spoke with one of the vendors on the list for her, responding whenever Jodie had another question or laughing whenever Sarah tried to keep her spirits buoyed. Seated on a table, she let her legs swing back and forth, adjusting her posture every now and again due to the constraints of her under-attire. It could have been worse, granted; if she gotten something with a corset or such, she would have hated herself for that choice. The minute ticked by, bringing her ever closer to the main event, and she shuffled nervously, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited.
"Are you ready to do pre-ceremony shots?" Peter's voice floated through the door, his head poking around it after a couple seconds. He had just returned from fixing the feed and testing it for the soldiers who would be watching the ceremony outside, and he had already gone ahead to take photos of the groom's party. He gestured back towards the stairs, prepared to take her whenever she felt it was time to go.
"Yes," Holly answered, her tone firm as she stood. The teenage photographer went immediately, returning only a few short minutes later, nodding for her to come along. Back up the stairs she went, the nervous flutters in her stomach pressing harder with each step she climbed. The concept of seeing the bride before the wedding went against Steve's traditional sensibilities, but Holly had argued for it. In truth, she was going stir crazy, and was fairly certainly she would make herself sick if she had to wait to see him until the ceremony. She couldn't take that, and told him as much. Eventually, he agreed to the idea, and so he was waiting for her, outside. Peter rushed ahead, throwing the side door open and leading the way across the grass, past the soldiers milling and (no doubt) the security detail onsite. He led her towards the area which overlooked the bridge and the waters beyond, where the captain was standing, leaning against the trunk of a tree and his back facing her, determinedly not turning around before he was prompted to. Lining up his shot, the boy motioned for her to come forward, to go to her husband.
Taking a deep breath, she picked up her pace. That part, she knew she would never forget.
xXxXxXx
Steve had been waiting patiently by the tree for a few minutes, sent on ahead by Peter and instructed to stay within sight of the bridge. Sighing, he leaned against the trunk, watching as cars motored by, the glare off the decorative cannons nearby and the water piercing his gaze. The low hum of activity behind him continued, as he knew it would, but around him, it was peaceful.
Inside, he was quaking. For quite some time, Steve Rogers had never thought that he'd actually make it to that point in his life; he had figured he would probably have died before getting the chance to marry, whether it was due to his own health issues or serving in the war. But when his alarm went off that morning, it truly hit him then: it was happening, that day...it was really, truly, happening. It left him in a sort of suspended state, as if he were both part of the action and outside it. Showering, suiting up, conferring with his best man and groomsman, it all seemed surreal. Surreal, and exciting, and beyond what he'd imagined.
Small wonder, then, that he felt so jittery and nervous as he got ready. Small wonder that he still felt that way, particularly as he could hear his bride treading quietly through the grass to him, the clicks of Peter's camera not distracting him in the least. Adjusting his tie, he let his palms slide down the sides of his jacket, his dress blues in pristine condition. Back when he had first woken up, a new set had been commissioned for him, in an effort to replace the ones that had been taken up by the historical society. He accepted them, but still chose to fight to get his originals back, along with other things that they had no right to keep. The new uniform was relegated to the back of the closet until an official event required it. Well, he certainly couldn't deny the official nature of this event.
At least the new one fit properly, he thought, glancing down at himself. At least the badges and stripes weren't worn down, and the collar devices were clean. The soft footfall told him she was closer, and he felt his nerves flare again. She was right there, behind him, and he had to force himself to stay still, stay where he was. A couple of sharp breaths went in and out, and he tried to relax his posture again.
Fingers curled around his bicep, gentle pressure applied to start him in his turn. Pivoting slowly on his heel, Steve's eyes swept away from the bridge, from beyond, and focused on the present, on the presence beside him. His gaze widened, his jaw going slack as he stared at Holly, his breath stuttering in his chest.
"Oh, my God..." he gasped, scanning her from head to toe. His hands hovered around her, as though he were worried that he would ruin the effect if he touched her. A little giggle escaped her then as he continued to look her over.
"I take it you like it?" she asked him, turning in a circle to show off her appearance in its entirety. The skirt of her white dress floated around her knees as she did so, the lacy white flowers embroidered up the bodice and away from the waist accented by the light. The thin, sheer material on her shoulders and arms softened them, flowers dotting across it here and there. Crystal combs in her hair and holding the small veil in the back glittered in the sun, and so did the drops in her ears. When she finished turning, he found the gumption to come closer, to step into the light shining around her and cup her face, his heart thudding hard in his chest as he leaned his forehead against hers.
"You're so beautiful," Steve whispered, his smile growing with every passing second. And she was, from top to bottom. Always had been, in his eyes, but it was more obvious then. The urge to kiss her came over him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, couldn't bring himself to mar the piece of work before him. The grin on her lips stretched, her own gaze wandering over him as she drew back.
"My handsome man," she murmured, the hand not holding her bouquet sliding over his jacket, tapping his nameplate and the silver bars marking his rank. Tenderly, she brushed at his hair, the strands dark gold in the sunlight. Just as handsome, just as good as the first time they'd spoken (more so, given how he was uninjured at that moment). In spite of her joyful expression, beads of tears began to pool in her eyes, and hastily he reached up, swiping them away when one or two fell.
"Don't cry, doll," he said, wondering what was the matter and what he could do to stop the tears from flowing. Still, she went on smiling, a gasping laugh bubbling up.
"I'm not; I'm just...overflowing with happiness," she contradicted him, sniffing deeply and pretending she had not shed a single tear. Linking his arms behind her and holding her to him, he blinked at the sky above, a chuckle coming out of him.
"Well, that's one way to put it," he retorted, planting a kiss delicately in her hair. The tightness in his stomach had lessened, he felt calmer; she was right about needing to seeing each other before the ceremony. It was better, now, and more real than before. All the while, the snap of Peter's camera went on, the moment captured multiple times from several different angles. Idly, he thought that he definitely would want prints of that moment. Soon enough, the kid had asked if they were ready to bring in the rest of the family and bridal party for pictures, and they gave him permission to fetch them from the chapel. Nodding enthusiastically, the teen took off, almost tripping over his feet to do as they asked.
"While he's gone..." Holly trailed off, making Steve glance at her and raise an eyebrow. Clearing her throat, she screwed up her brow in concentration for a second or two, the 'thinking line' in her forehead appearing and scrunching back the scar that was somewhat hidden beneath the makeup. She put her hand on his shoulder, leaning up to get closer to his ear. Bending a little, he listened as she haltingly quoted, "'You for me, and I for thee, and never another. Your face turned to mine and away from all others.'"
When she finished, Steve pulled back, surprise gracing his features. He knew those words, recognized them. She shrugged a shoulder, the hand holding the bouquet clutching it a little tighter.
"I read about it on an Irish wedding blessings page awhile ago, thought it would be a nice—"
That time, he could not stop himself, his mouth coming down onto hers and stemming her speech.
"More than nice, a chroí," he muttered against her lips when they broke off the kiss, touched as he was by her thoughtfulness. His broad smile remained even as she rubbed her thumb along his lips, laughing as she tried to remove the shade of red she'd left behind.
xXxXxXx
Bells chimed the five o'clock hour, and the time had come for the ceremony to start. Outside the chapel, the officers and soldiers not on duty were perched in their own chairs, watching the screen that had been erected, ears bent towards the speakers mounted nearby. As per the plan, Steve and the minister were already at the front of the church, waiting on the others to come in. The guests gathered inside were speaking in low tones, but that changed the moment the music shifted. The unspoken cue caused a sort of hush to fall upon the crowd, and the doors swinging open drew all their attention. Though the gathering was small, very small by some standards, the idea of walking down the center of an aisle, all focus upon you, could be daunting. At the back of the line, Holly could watch as everyone moved out ahead of her, throat going dry and palms beginning to sweat as she knew how close she was to the moment of truth. Beside her, her father Paul stood still, his hands tucked into the pockets of his suit and eyes focusing on the toe of his shoe. For a long moment, she said nothing, let the processional music play softly and fill the space between them. After her mom went down the aisle first, and Sarah looked back and gave her one last wink of reassurance, she glanced up at him, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow and squeezing gently.
"Hey, Dad," she whispered, grinning when he finally looked at her. He returned it, his brown eyes going misty the longer he did so.
"Well, well, Holly Jean," he started, a catch in his throat stalling him. Twice he cleared it, and on the second time, Holly shook her head.
"Oh, dear. You didn't get it all out of your system when Heather got married?" she joked weakly, making something glimmer in his eyes.
"Of course not," Paul replied, tipping his chin up. "I saved some just for you, little girl."
Holly glanced away, her face heating up as she watched her sister and brother go up, Sam and Sarah arm in arm behind them.
"Haven't been little for awhile," she mumbled, the sentiment in his tone hitting her harder than she thought it could.
"Doesn't matter," he told her, his larger hand coming up to cover hers. "You're still my girl, big or small."
Now it was her turn to have a hard time swallowing, for him to pat her gently and let her know everything was going to be alright. So many memories of her father playing with her, showing her his building plans, being the unobtrusive presence in her life no matter where she was or what she was doing, came roaring to the fore. She coughed once, bringing up her bouquet to hide it as Jodie went next with Cole, her fingers gripping his little vest tightly as he swung around the pillow with the decoy rings, some fake flower petals spilling out of her basket as they half-toddled, half-jogged forward. Turning to look at her father again, she saw the well of emotion rise in him, too, and knew he was thinking the same as she did.
The music shifted again when the kids had made their way to the front, seated beside their grandmother on the front pew. Taking the cue, the guests moved in almost perfect synchronization to stand, pivoting to face the doorway. Oh, that was intimidating.
"No turning back now," Paul muttered out the side of his mouth. Holly's grasp shifted on his arm, her head coming up almost in challenge—even if her legs were shaking as everyone stared at them.
"Absolutely not," she responded, her father leading on the right foot. Up the aisle they went, Paul's hand resting on hers, the calloused touch firm and reassuring as the pair of them made their way towards the front. Past the pews, the ends knotted with purple and white posies, past the friends and colleagues gathered (later on, she would tease Tony by saying she'd caught him wiping a tear away, which he scoffed at outright), to the front. Up to where her sister and her best friend stood, lovely in purple, where Sam posed in his own military uniform, her brother smirking at her in his suit and winking at her. To Steve, whose warmth and adoration never wavered once as she drew closer.
Just as at the rehearsal, Holly stood patiently as the minister began his opening speech, welcoming the congregation and entreating them to join in celebrating the union between the two people before them. After remarking upon the act of marriage being a representation of the union between Jesus Christ and the Church (with Holly capitalizing the word in her head for significance), he looked out, asking if there was an objection to the union going ahead. A bland four seconds passed in which nobody even moved; after all, who was going to tell Captain America he couldn't marry whomever he wanted? Or better yet, who in her family and friends would think it wise to tell her to run the other direction? Smothering a snicker, her eyes flicked to the blue ones still watching her, noting the flash of humor in them as well. Satisfied with the lack of response, the minister went forward.
"Who is it that brings this woman to this man?" he asked, hands folding over one another and his bright gaze falling onto Paul. Clearing his throat once more, her dad took a step forward, bringing her with him.
"I do," he pronounced, loud enough to be heard by everyone. Squeezing her fingers one last time, he inclined his head, pressing a kiss to her cheek before putting her hand into Steve's outstretched one. Holly almost thought she could hear the soldiers outside cooing at that, but did not remark upon it. As Paul made his way to sit next to his wife and grandchildren, he nodded once to Steve, a smirk identical to Hank's on his lips.
Taking the opportunity to continue, the minister spoke to them once more, his voice clear and solid in the space of the chapel. Holly listened with half an ear, her concentration going towards breathing as deeply and steadily as she could, her quaking hand entwined with Steve's and feeling his nerves shake him, as well. The minister announced how the day was a blessing, that joy and peace between them would be found in the love in their hearts, unconditional and freely given as it was given by God.
The older fellow smiled on both man and woman, gesturing to them with open palms. "Would you please face each other and join hands?"
Handing off her bouquet to Sarah, Holly's other hand slid into Steve's, the heat of them washing over her. Dark brown eyes connected with blue, and were lost in one another as the officiant went on.
"Steven, do you take Holly to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only to her forevermore?"
"I do," Steve said, his voice strong no matter how much his hands trembled. He grinned widely at her, and she could not help but to do the same.
"Holly, do you take Steven to be your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only to him forevermore?" the minister repeated for her, and she felt herself nod before she answered.
"I do."
The reading that followed, as done by Heather, was well-delivered, her teacher's voice carrying out the passage from Ecclesiastes sweetly. Once again, the vows were repeated, just as heartfelt as they had been before. Some would later mock Holly for not writing her own vows, but she just ignored them. With so much else going on, with so much else to do in that short amount of time, she had no problem speaking words that thousands of other couples had done, as her own parents had done, for their weddings. She still meant what she said, no matter that someone else had written them. She would take Steve as her husband, with all the good and the bad, and she would love and cherish him throughout it all. And he would do the same for her. The rings were exchanged, retrieved from the jewelers at almost the last minute. A simple gold band that dipped to a point was Holly's, meant to act as a complement to the claddagh that was her engagement ring, a small diamond sitting near the point. Steve's, though, was gorgeous, in her mind: gold tungsten, Celtic knots engraved into it. Long lasting, and appealing to his artistic side. As she slid it onto his ring finger, she had a flutter of dread, hoping that it would still fit properly, which it thankfully did.
A second reading from Corinthians was given by Sam, his additional duty met well even as his tired eyes blinked rapidly. Once he moved away from the stand he was positioned at, back to Steve's side, he flicked a couple fingers at the minister to go on with his charge. To the couple, the officiant bade them to love one another for who they were, to cherish their individuality as well as who they were together. He wanted them to continue to respect and care for one another, to share and be one another's home. On the word "home," Holly felt Steve's grip on her hand increase in pressure, caught his sideways glance in hers. That, she would have no trouble doing. Home, she had found, was wherever he was.
"Steven and Holly, in so much as the two of you have agreed to live together in matrimony, have promised your love for each other by these vows, the giving of these rings and the joining of your hands, I now declare you to be husband and wife," the minister finally proclaimed, spreading his hands out and intoning the benediction. A sense of relief started to spread through Holly as she looked upon the man at her side, now her husband. To the gathered indoor congregation, and to the camera projecting the events outside for the soldiers, he boomed out, "I present to you Captain and Mrs. Rogers."
The applause inside was almost nothing compared to the happy roar just beyond the brick walls of the chapel, Holly jumping a little at the sound and laughing at her own surprise, Steve chuckling with her and steadying her a little. Kindly, the minister looked on them, inclining his head towards the captain, eyes creasing at the corners with delight.
"You may now kiss your bride," he prompted him. Hot on the heels of the relief came the surge of joy, and Steve automatically nodded at that, looking at his wife in anticipation. Her bouquet dropped from her grasp, her fingers curling around the lapels of his jacket and pulling him down to her. From somewhere towards the back she heard someone cry for her to go get it—it was Maria Hill, as it turned out—laughter rippling through the attendants when they heard it. The cheers around them got louder as they kissed, and she found herself being lifted off her feet, Steve's strong arms winding around her. He embraced her once the kiss ended, and she felt more tears sting her eyelids as she hugged him back.
There was still the saber guard to go under, the crowd outside to appease, the reception line to deal with, and so many other things, but at that very second of time, it could wait. It could wait while she held her husband, while he cradled her against him, a very real sense of peace and happiness rushing between them, the love they shared flying fast and hard.
For that moment, it was enough.
xXxXxXx
Wanda cast her gaze around the community club hall, searching amidst the chatter and noise for something. Or, she supposed, technically someone. With the wedding ceremony over and with everyone adjourning to dinner, she did not have the time to look out for the missing member of the party. Indeed, she had not seen him since she and her brother had arrived at the chapel, when he was standing beyond the fringes of the property, electric blue eyes performing a sweep of the grounds. It seemed peculiar, not having him inside with the rest of them. Pietro had not commented upon it; rather, he continued to eat his dinner, speaking rapidly with Nick Fury about the progress of the new base in England. Quietly, she excused herself, laying a hand on her brother's arm and telling him she was stepping outside for some air. Weaving her way between the tables, the silver and purple sashes on the chair brushing her as she went, she flicked her eyes around once more, in case she was incorrect. Bridal party at the top table, invited officers and soldiers seated according to rank on one side, civilians on the other...no, she was not wrong.
Going out through the entry, she lightly tripped down the steps, the early evening breeze stirring her dress as she made her way down. The maroon coloring of it had darkened in the lowering light, swishing about her legs as she moved. Carefully, she turned her head one way, then the other, reaching out through her powers to sense him. Crossing the paved road, she paused a moment before moving around to the other side of a big tree, finding him standing there, poised with a hand on the bark. The Vision spared her a look, tipping his chin once in greeting but otherwise remaining at attention. As with the last few days, he had taken the role that Captain Rogers had charged him with very seriously. Then again, the Vision was a very serious creature, anyway. For a minute or two, Wanda stood beside him, the distant purr of vehicles going by mixing with the earth preparing to rest for the night.
When she had come to America, Wanda was not sure what to expect. Upheaval, change, the inevitable sense that she did not belong, those were the first things that came to mind. And while some of those ideas had come true to a degree, she had found that her perceptions were not accurate. She had a great deal to learn, still, in many senses. Much like the creature next to her.
"How is everything going?" she asked him eventually, tugging at the end of her braid. He glance back at her, shoulders shifting beneath the golden cape perched there.
"Very well, Ms. Maximoff. Thus far, I've only had to deter a few inebriated privates from attempting to get a closer look. I sense no immediate danger in the premises," he told her, sounding as if he were compiling a report to give to the captain later. Perhaps he was, in a way. Snickering silently, she shook her head, taking a step closer to him.
"You know you can call me Wanda, if you want," she reminded him. He had more than earned the right to do so. They were teammates, after all, and more to the point, he had saved her life. There was no need to stand on ceremony at that point. Still, the creature was unfailingly polite, a habit ingrained into the protocols set forth by Tony Stark. He had yet to break them. His mouth twitched at the corners, a close approximation of a grin.
"Wanda," he corrected himself, nodding once more to her. When she did not turn to go, he looked at her curiously, the click and whir of his thoughts nearly audible. "Is there something you need?"
"I was just curious if you wanted to come in. You are a guest, too," Wanda pointed out. She knew for a fact that while Rogers had asked the Vision to watch out over the ceremony and the people involved that weekend, he did not mean for him to separate himself from the rest of them. He was as welcome as any of them, perhaps more so, given that he thus far had proven to be a trustworthy ally and teammate. The Vision had more right to be there than Wanda did, probably, or even Pietro, but she would not voice those thoughts aloud. Instead, she watched as his electric blue eyes dropped to the ground as he considered the notion.
"Perhaps. After everyone has finished eating," he stipulated. Catching her incredulous glance, he gave a facsimile of a wry smile and waved a hand through the air. "I have found that some people think my observations of human life, particularly when they're consuming food, are off-putting."
Well, she was unable to deny that. The Vision had a propensity to ask and ponder some very outlandish questions at times, things that were taken for granted and not mentioned by the human adult populace in company. She'd seen the aftermath of such things several times in the last couple of weeks at the base already. However, she did not blame him for making inquiries; after all, even with him tapped into the most advanced technological systems known to man, that did not mean the Vision had all the answers, knew all the protocols.
"Well, I don't. I know you're just trying to understand it all," she said, tucking a loose strand of her auburn hair behind her ear, hunching her shoulders a little. Canting her head to one side, she sighed. "But if you would rather stay out here for now, then that's fine. You come in later, if there's no trouble."
The tone in her voice suggested she would expect him to follow through with her command, though he did know it was a request. The Vision conferred inwardly, wondering if he really should go in, and 'mingle', as was said. As an android, he was set on a different plane than the others within the club's walls. Not that the Avengers had made him feel that way; he was treated like any other person fighting for the good of the world, thus far. Though he knew it to be naïve to expect the rest of the world to treat him as such, he could expect perhaps something better inside than to be left standing all by himself in the dusk.
"Very well, Miss—Wanda," he conceded after another few seconds, catching himself on the last word. Her smile grew a little wider at that, and he found himself returning the expression. Her head bobbed up and down, hands going to her hips.
"Okay. That's when the fun will start, anyway. Dancing is the best part of a wedding, you know," Wanda informed him, thinking back on the weddings of neighbors she had attended in her childhood. As different in observance as they were from this one, she knew that the aspect of celebration was not far off the mark. Flashing a mischievous glance at the Vision, she murmured, "I could teach you how to dance, too."
He blinked at that, a sardonic expression surfacing so quickly she barely had time to register it. "I do have unlimited access to a multitude of instructional files and pages on the art of dance."
Outwardly, she scoffed at that, flicking her fingers in the air. A light trail of scarlet mist cascaded around her hand, causing her to pull her fist back against her chest, a sheepish chortle coming out her mouth. Her eyes, though, looked more than uncertain. The Vision barely suppressed a frown; he did not like people to feel unsure around him. Certainly not her.
"Downloading information is not the same as doing it," she said, accent rolling around the syllables as she spoke. Imperiously, she raised her chin, sizing him up briefly. "I'll show you how to do it."
The electric blue pupils contracted slightly, taking in her faux haughty demeanor, her insistence. Slowly, he inclined his head at her.
"Practical application is...a good way to learn and adapt new skills."
The smirk she was sporting slid into something more genuine. "Good. Meet me inside later, then."
Pivoting sharply on her heel, she was making her way back across the pavement, a waggle of her fingers her farewell as she went back inside. The softest sigh came out of the android's mouth, his mounting confusion being forcibly pushed down.
"Yes, Wanda," he said quietly, observing her departure, ensuring that she was safely back inside before he turned back to his duties. For the time being; he was not about to risk the wrath of the newly-codenamed Scarlet Witch and ignore her request to dance. Perhaps she could teach him something, after all.
xXxXxXx
Tony walked over to the bar area, set up in the corner. Though there was an opportunity to indulge in the free beer, he did not wish to stomach cheap brew that evening. Instead, he laid down the money for something a little stronger, tucking a few dollars in the tip jar for good measure. The burn coated his throat as he swallowed it down, resting against the bar and looking out over the room. Dinner was about what he expected; chicken or fish, pretty standard wedding fare, with him picking off of Pepper's plate whenever he thought she wasn't looking. When she caught him, she just rolled her eyes and grinned, snatching up a bite of his fish with aplomb. When he'd gone to get a drink, she asked him to get her one, as well. If he could remember to return with it that time, she'd added saucily, her wink softening the words. At that moment, she was speaking to the bride, who wasn't so much blushing as much as she was radiating with exuberance. She was giving Banner a run for his money in that department, he thought to himself sadly; could there ever be a happy Hulk? Maybe. He wouldn't know. The martini he had requested on Pepper's behalf was deposited by his elbow then, his money taken and the cue to head back to her clear. Returning to his seat, he barely had time to sit down before the woman in white hugged him while he sat, her thanking him for coming reverberating in his ear.
Weddings were such odd affairs to him, with so much rigor and structure and rules, compiled by the idea of legally binding oneself to just one other person for the rest of one's life. Or, at least, until after the ink dried on the certificate and one started filing for divorce a week later (funnily enough, that had happened with Jenkins in legal, about ten years ago). When he was younger, he could not fathom the idea. After all, he could end up with someone cold, calculating, nearly heartless, possibly for no better reason than for the fact that one of the party had gotten knocked up—birth control was a godsend, to be sure. Now that he was older, he was beginning to understand the appeal of it to others. The stability, the hope for the future and facing it with someone who loved and cared for you, no matter if you left the toilet seat up or if she covered the counter end to end with hair and makeup items. On some level, even, a part of him rather liked the idea. But...well, he was still content to be a guest at a wedding, and not the host. After that, he had no further answers to questions that were not asked yet.
Instead, he just slung an arm around his girlfriend's waist, let her strike up a conversation with their seated companions, with him interjecting offhandedly every now and again. Instead, he watched, and observed, his eyes drawn across the floor.
The DJ had arrived, and his set-up was nearly completed. Once the plates and glasses were cleared from the table, tapping came at the microphone, pulling focus to the other end of the room. It was time to get the actual party portion of the night started, the guy announced, pleased cheers echoing in response. The call came for the bride and groom to make their way over to the dance floor to begin the festivities, and he could not help but catch the flash of diffidence streaking across the captain's irises. His wife, though, merely smiled up at him, tugging his hand and pulling him to follow afterward and encouraging him silently. Scanning the room again, Tony noticed something else. The scrawny kid that had been hired as the photographer was nowhere to be found. Huffing, he set down his glass, taking it upon himself to look for the teenager and bring him back to his duties. Probably the kid was in some corner fiddling with Instagram or Snapchat or whatever, he groused in his mind. When he exited the main room, he did not find the young fellow there, and a puzzled expression bloomed on his face.
The rock-back clang came from the far end of the hall, a ladder still wobbling from being climbed on. A hatch in the ceiling was opened, a pair of skinny legs swathed in cheaply-made black pants sticking out. Little grunts of exertion trickled out as he approached, and when he peered up into the hatch, the legs had been drawn in, the boy folding them as he sat down and consulted the laptop he'd brought with him, eager eyes lit by the bright screen. His jacket, a dull, solid blue block, had been ditched some time ago, and his formal tie had been loosened.
"What are you doing, kid?" he asked the teenager, causing him to jump in shock. Jerking his head up, the boy's eyes widened when he recognized him. Bracing himself for an onslaught of praise and hero worship, Tony was a little taken aback when the kid merely smiled and shrugged.
"Getting a good angle, Mr. Stark," he told him, consulting the screen one more time and fetching up the camera beside him. "I want to do one better for the captain, see how creative I can get with some of the pics."
Setting the laptop down, the teen shuffled away, going deeper into the dark crawlspace. Curiosity fired through the billionaire, and within moments, he began clattering up the ladder, too, grumbling as he wedged himself up into the rafters.
"You're gonna snap your neck, is what you're gonna do," he called out into the darkness, one spot illuminated at the far end. The ceiling tile had been removed, propped beside the kid as he aimed the camera through the space. Crawling over to him (unsteadily, the creaks of the beams beneath him not reassuring in the least), Tony could see the impish grin on the kid's face, the knowing look in his eye. Clearly, he had done something similar before.
"Not likely. I got this." That said, the teenager hooked his legs securely around a beam, poking his head and camera out the open ceiling area. Warily moving closer, Stark stared down over the gathered guests, an angled view of Steve and Holly in their first dance meeting his eyes. Carefully, the kid—Peter, he was called—twisted this way and that, the snaps of the shutter drowned out a little by the music below. A few more clicks, and soon he was swinging back up again, a broad grin on his face. Shrugging his shoulders, Tony smirked and felt himself sag in relief when Peter replaced the tile. He would hate to have to tell the boy's uncle that he got hurt doing something incredibly stupid just to get a good shot.
Stupid...and innovative. Picking his way back towards the open hatch, he caught a glimpse of the laptop's open screen, and without any prompting, Stark scooped it up, clicking through a well-rendered floor plan.
"How did you get a layout of the clubhouse?" he wondered, tapping a few keys to zoom in a bit closer. As quickly as he dared, Peter shimmied over to him, trying to snatch the computer away. Nimbly, Tony shuffled backward, putting out a hand against the teen's chest and thwarting his attempts. In the hazy light, he could've sworn that the kid had turned red as a lobster.
"I didn't. I got in early, did a quick calculation of the dimensions of the space, figured out the angles from there," he told him, tugging at his sleeves' cuffs. His gaze dropped to his knees, his shoulders hunching slightly. "There was some time to kill in between setting up the cameras in the church and waiting for everyone to get here."
Raising an eyebrow, Tony paged through not only the impromptu floor plans, but also some of the private ones. The kid had a handle on computer building; his calculations were above and beyond that of an early teen. He seemed to have a few schematics to mechanical projects he was working on, something else to do in his spare time, he supposed. The laptop itself bore the hallmarks of home improvement, its operations running beyond the capabilities of that particular model. The kid was, undoubtedly, intelligent, if one looked past the awkward-as-all-get-out aura that hovered around him. Returning the floor plan to the front display, he smoothly handed it back to the boy, dipping his chin once. Sniffing, he lowered his legs out of the hatch, feet connected solidly to the metal rungs of the ladder below.
"Nice work, kid," his voice floated back up to Peter. Letting out an uneasy breath, Peter put his laptop back in its case, slinging it around him and securing his camera around his neck before following.
"Thank you, Mr. Stark."
The two made their way back into the main room, the kid dropping his stuff off at a table at one side, with his abandoned jacket. Going up to his uncle, who had been manning a camera on a stand, he had a hushed conversation, one that Tony did not intrude upon. The older man nodded at something the kid said, his graying hair drooping into his face as he clapped Peter on the shoulder. That done, the boy moved around to the other side of the dance floor, camera up and clicking away as the captain and his bride swayed. The kid was smart, had ingenuity...and he was hungry, eager. That struck a chord with the billionaire, made him consider something. Stark kept him in his sights, casually working his way back over to the kid after he had time to immerse himself again. Edging closer, the dulcet tones of the singer on the track slid over him, hiding his footfall as he came up on Peter's right.
"You might want to adjust the aperture," he intoned quietly. Peter jumped a little again, casting a questioning glance his way. When Stark said nothing more, he flapped a hand in the air, brushing the idea off.
"This one works better when the subjects are moving at a pace like they are." Parker paused in his work once the song finished, staring hard at the billionaire-superhero. What angle was the guy playing at? Granted, he was living out a fantasy of his: speaking with the Tony Stark. It was all so surreal, and strange, but he felt there was more to what was going on, that he wasn't understanding something. His narrowed gaze met the older man's, and he waited.
Soon enough, Stark reached into his pocket, having decided upon something. Extracting his wallet, he removed a business card perched in there. Handing it off to the kid, he watched as the younger fellow's eyes widened, his deft fingers flipping it over to reveal numbers to his lab tech teams at the Tower.
"Here. In case you want to work on something else this summer," Tony murmured, hands going back into his pockets. "We might have a spot open for an intern."
For a long time, the kid could only stare down at the card in his hand. It was like a gift from God, a passport into the Promised Land, the offer. His tongue unglued from the roof of his mouth, and the young man had to swallow a few times before he could speak again.
"I, but I...I'm only fifteen," he said, the color draining from his face. It couldn't be real, it had to be a trick. But no, here it was, and here was Mr. Stark, looking at him with a mixture of understanding and satisfaction on his face. He could have bitten his tongue for making such a dumb remark, but the genius beside him merely canted his head.
"Doesn't matter. Just think about it," he told him, pivoting on his heel and walking away. "Later, Mr. Parker."
Weddings were odd, Tony mused privately as he moved towards Pepper, ready to guide her to the dance floor as the others were beginning to do. But sometimes...sometimes the most interesting things happened at them.
xXxXxXx
"You okay?"
The question broke through the wall of pensiveness that had surrounded Steve. Turning his head, a corner of his mouth turned up as Holly came closer and rested her hand on his arm. It faded slightly as his gaze roamed back down to the display in front of him. A small table sat against the far wall, black cloth covering it with a runner of purple crossing over it. Simple picture frames, ranging in size and color, dotted the top. It was accompanied by a tiny votive, the candle within flickering. Faces of the fallen, gone but not forgotten, staring back: Morita, Falsworth, Gabe, Jacques. Dugan shared spaced with Holly's grandparents, three of them passed away before the happy day. In the center was a rare and precious picture, the wedding portrait of his own parents. Most of the others had been scanned off of the Internet, but that one was the genuine article, and something his wife insisted be part of the display. They stood there in loving memory, as the smaller framed sign they ringed around proclaimed. To one side, a stack of paper cups (the size of shot glasses) and a bottle of Irish whiskey were waiting, open to anyone who wanted to toast to those who could not be there for the happy event. Some had taken the opportunity to do so, evidently, as several cups lined the small trash basket stored beneath the table, but thus far, he had not done so.
Having found a free moment, he just wanted to pay his respects to them all. The required dances of the night had been finished, dollars collected in small buckets (Sam had disappeared shortly after that, for a spell; he thought he spotted him ushering someone out and down the far hall, but he wasn't sure), daughter taking to the floor with father, and his mother-son turn with Lisa. It had been kind of her, stepping in where his own mother could not, but deep down he ached, missing those who could not be there. And so he had to go to them, had to look at them all, and try to assuage the pangs in his heart.
"Yeah, I just...wish they could be here, all of them," Steve said, lips twisting a little. Her fingers slid down his arm, entwining with his own as she nodded. Tipping his head toward one frame, he tried to inject some levity into the heavy air. "Dugan would've made quite a stir, and probably would've made the bar run out of beer quicker."
Holly snorted, a touch of wistfulness entering her dark eyes. "Grandma Rose probably would have helped him out with that. At least they're here, this way."
Reaching down, she smoothed a wrinkle out of the purple runner, the music in the background a cheery contrast to the somber mood settling around them.
"Yeah," Steve concurred, exhaling slowly. Unbidden, his eyes flicked towards the small photograph at the back of the cluster, and he frowned. "I don't like his picture being here."
Following his line of sight, Holly bit her lip. That picture had been a point of contention, one that Steve would not easily let go. However, it was not like they could erect a memorial table and not have a picture of Bucky Barnes. No matter what the truth was; to the outer world, he was still dead, and it would look far too suspicious if he was not honored.
"It had to be done," she reminded him in a hushed tone, taking advantage of the cover the music provided. She started rubbing his back gently, her cheek resting against his shoulder. The tense set of his body loosened a bit under her ministrations, but not by much. "You know that."
"I know, I know," he muttered, his chin drooping as he continued to look upon them all. It was hard enough, knowing that his friend was prevented from coming due to his ongoing treatment in rehab. It seemed worse to act as though he were dead. The gentle touch was removed after a short while, but before he could say anything, Holly leaned over the display. Removing two of the paper cups, she took up the bottle and filled them both to the brim. When she'd finished replacing the bottle, she picked one of the cups up, her free palm sliding around his waist.
"C'mon, soldier," she said, glancing pointedly at the remaining cup. Taking the cue, he grabbed it up, his other arm curling around her and pulling her close. Meeting his blue gaze, tender compassion filled hers. "No matter what, they'd all want you to be happy."
Both of them looked down at the pictures again, with Steve's focus pulled to his parents. His mom, her long gown sweeping the floor, flowers in her hand. Dad, at attention, one hand at the small of her back and his eyes piercing across time as he looked straight out. Hints of smiles turned their lips, and memories of the full one his mother would've had came to mind. She would have been happy for him, he knew that, and maybe Dad would have been, too. Happy and proud of their boy, their only son, as he started down a new path of life.
Abruptly, Steve turned to look at Holly again. He held her gaze steadily, genuine feeling in his voice.
"I am. Really."
"Good. Me, too," she replied with a grin, lifting her cup and tapping it against his. Raising them both in a silent toast, they threw back their shots as one. Steve gave a muted wince at the oaky smoke taste coating his mouth and Holly crowed out a low growl as it flowed down her throat. Shaking her head, the crystal combs in her hair caught the lights flashing around the dance floor and shimmered. Chuckling at her low tolerance for whiskey, he pulled her into his embrace, the warmth of her body and heart closing around him.
"I love you, Holly," he whispered, his breath ghosting over her ear and causing a shiver to course through her.
Her head turned, dropping a peck on his cheek and humming in pleasure. "I love you, too, Steven."
It was supposed to be an innocent kiss, but when his mouth met hers, he could not hold back the sweep of desire, running like a smooth undercurrent all day. Cupping her face, his tongue ran along the seam of her lips, and she parted them with the barest gasp. However, before they got in too deep, the catcalls and whoops from the nearby guests broke through, jarring them enough to stop. Embarrassed laughter trickled out as Holly buried her face into his shoulder, and Steve could do no more than grin sheepishly, the burn in his skin flaring when he caught his brother-in-law's eye roll and Paul pinching the bridge of his nose across the room.
"I suppose it wouldn't look good if we snuck out of our own wedding reception, would it?" he asked facetiously, smirking when Holly lifted her head and scoffed.
"Probably not," she confessed, playfulness in her face as she started toying with his tie. Glancing up at him through her eyelashes, she purred, "But if you want to give it a go, I'm game."
The glint in her gaze and the press of her body against his tempted him so very much, he very nearly lost his composure. Swallowing thickly, his grip curled briefly into the folds of her dress in an attempt to stop himself.
"Just a little while longer, I think," Steve said, drawing back slightly, straightening up and shifting onto his back leg. Sighing, Holly dipped her chin, consigning herself to the idea. The last song's track ran out, moving onto something slower. Taking his hand in hers, she lifted a shoulder, cutting her gaze to the dance floor and back to him. The barest hint of a nod was all she needed to start leading him in that direction, the sway of her hips distracting him as they walked.
"Fine. But after the bouquet toss, all bets are off."
xXxXxXx
Blithely, Maria Hill leaned back in her chair, sipping from the glass of red wine in her hand. So far, the wedding was lovely. The DJ was decent, the people around her were interesting, nothing had exploded...pretty good time. There really was only one downside to the event: her lack of a date. And Tony was oh-so-helpfully reminding her of that.
"Maria, I thought you said you were bringing someone," he said, another tumbler of bourbon in hand as he paused at her table. Up until that point, she was lightly chatting with Natasha, congratulating her on catching the bouquet—which was more of Natasha claiming it when it landed nearest to her. The garter toss went a little better, with Steve actually able to aim decently towards the crowd. The maid of honor's boyfriend had caught it, and it was a treat for him to dance with the Black Widow (at least, it should have been; she didn't know the kid well enough to judge). Still, the conversation was left open-ended, allowing Stark to just swoop in when he could. Sticking out his lip in a mock pout, he inquired, "Was Baby left crying in the corner?"
Maria shared a glance with Nick, who was on the other side of the table discussing a few things with the captain. The blandness of his expression gave away nothing, and she hid a smile.
"Nope, his flight got tied up, but he's on his way now. He's very excited to see you all again."
"We've met him? When?" Natasha asked, her crimson dress wafting a little as she shifted in her chair. In her mind, she was combing over the probabilities of whomever it was that had been introduced to all of them. That it was someone associated with SHIELD was not in doubt, but who could it be?
"A few times. He's been very busy recently, but there was no way he was going to miss this," she murmured, her bright gaze purposefully dropping down as she sipped her wine once more. "He actually was going to stop by the base on Monday, but this came up first."
The captain wandered over to stand next to Tony, the pair of men sharing a look. "You're being awfully cryptic, Hill. Who is this guy?"
"Oh, he's..." Her phone buzzed then, the incoming message making her eyes light up impishly when she read it. "Actually, he's right outside. Wait here, I'll go get him."
As she tripped away, the Avengers left behind in her wake glanced curiously to one another. It seemed none of them had an inkling of who the mystery guy was. Fury, though, maintained his expression of calm. Inwardly, he was laughing his ass off at the looks of uncertainty passing amongst the trio, and so he resolved to be near at hand. There was no way he was going to miss that show. Some minutes passed before Maria stepped up to the arched doorway back into the main room. Smoothing down her dark blue dress, she gestured for the person behind her to come along quickly. She turned to watch him come up the steps behind her, her smirk widening with every footfall.
When Maria's date swam into view, Steve felt the blood drain out of his face, a ragged gasp ripping out of him. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Tony's jaw go slack, dark eyes turning glassy and his fingers gripping his glass so hard his knuckles went white. Natasha's easy grin had dropped off her lips, and she had shot up out of her chair, the legs scraping so hard against the floor they squeaked. It couldn't be...
The fellow adjusted his dark tie, his suit pressed and molding to him well. Aviator sunglasses had been perched on his face, though they were superfluous now that the sun had set, and so he tucked them into a pocket. Light brown eyes glided over the scene before him, and he swiped a hand over his thinning brown hair to make sure it was lying in place. Casually, he crooked his elbow out to Maria, who took it and walked with him over to the table. The stunned expression on the faces of the Avengers was nearly enough to make him chuckle, but wisely he held back on it.
The captain, inhaling sharply, was the first to find his tongue. "Agent C-coulson?"
Phil nodded, betraying nothing in his face, not the pounding in his chest or the thread of humor that threatened to surface.
"Sorry I'm late," he apologized. Extending a hand, he waited for Steve to grasp it, the shock weakening his shake as he continued to stare. Admiration filled his voice as Coulson went on, "Congratulations, Captain."
A beat of silence passed amongst the members of that small group, incredulous stares boring into the ex-agent. Blinking once, twice, three times, Tony let out a strangled cough...and then promptly sank to the floor in a dead faint. Steve barely had any time to react, his hand automatically snatching at the other fellow's jacket, slowing his descent enough so his head didn't slam against the boards. The glass of bourbon bounced across the floor, shattering when it smashed against a table leg.
"Tony!" Pepper's voice crowed across the room, the redhead bolting over to him. The commotion drew many stares from the guests, looks of cluelessness and worry bouncing from one to the next. From his spot by the far wall, where he was being asked a few questions by the young photographer, Sam craned his neck, brow furrowing in concern.
"What just happened?" He glanced down to the companion on his right, watching as Kay's assessing dark gaze swept over the scene. Tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, she lit upon an answer that she could afford to give.
"I don't know, but given the fact that Tony Stark just swooned, the Black Widow is bug-eyed and Captain America is whiter than his wife's dress, I'd say it looks pretty damn interesting," she told him, a corner of her mouth turning up just as Nick Fury shot a look across the room to her, inclining his head. As the new arrival (her almost-boss, once upon a time) moved to help get the unconscious billionaire off the floor, and the bride picked her way over to the mess with her maid of honor in tow, the young woman snickered to herself. "Debriefing on Monday is going to be so much fun."
Taking in her sardonic delight, Sam spared a glance to his left, spying Peter's aghast stare. "Please tell me you got pictures, kid."
Peter, jerked out of his staring, outright scoffed at that, lifting his camera and showing how his button finger had not stepped pressing down. Surreptitious clicks of the camera firing off seemed to echo around them as a toothy grin decorated his lips.
"Like I'd let the opportunity slide, Mr. Wilson."
xXxXxXx
"Am I gonna have to carry you into the room? You did get quite a shock earlier," Holly attempted to kid with Steve when they disembarked for the hotel. The clean-up for the community club was in her mother and Sarah's capable hands, the gathering of gifts and cards their responsibility until the next morning. The remaining festivities of the reception had gone well enough, though the cake cutting was a little suspect. Steve's hand shook so terribly that she had to be the one to actively cut into the confection. Little by little, he had recovered, as well as Natasha and Tony (who had to sit outside on the steps for a long moment, with Pepper stroking his back and the Vision attending on them every so often), but that hadn't erased the surprise. And the pain, if that dark look streaking in his irises was anything to go by.
Steve snorted, rolling his eyes at his own behavior. "Only if this was 1942, sweetheart. I'll be fine. It's just..."
"Not what you were expecting?" she supplied, knowing full well that she hadn't even begun to cover what he was feeling. When she had met Agent—Director, she reminded herself—Coulson back in January, she had no idea who he really was, what his significance was in SHIELD and with the Avengers. Steve had since then filled her in on the details, and...
Well, she knew now.
"No. They told us he...Fury said..." he trailed off, squeezing his eyelids shut against the onslaught of memories, of those dark hours on the helicarrier so long ago. Exhaling sharply, he opened his eyes, stared up at the dull brown ceiling of the cab they were in. "But Fury also made us believe he was dead, too. Maybe I shouldn't take things like this, this way."
He shrugged, a rueful expression flitting across his face. Frowning, Holly tilted her head, taking his hands in hers.
"What, and act like it's nothing instead? I don't think you should act any differently than you have," she said, thumbs sweeping over his knuckles. Quiet permeated the cab for a few moments, his fingers squeezing hers. Huffing under her breath, she settled back in her seat, her head dropping onto his shoulder. The long hours of the day were starting to get to her, and from the slump of Steve's form, the loll of his head against the seat, she knew it was the same for him. More so, in fact. "Just do me a favor: if something like this happens again, don't pass out. Unlike Tony, I don't think I could get you off the floor."
Chuckles rumbled in his chest, and he let out a dramatic sigh. "I'll try, just for you."
Several minutes passed before the cab rolled up to the front of the hotel, fare and tip trading hands easily before they got out. Slowly, the couple made their way up to their second floor lodgings, arm in arm as they went. The closer they got to the door, the tighter Steve's grip became, and the burn inside her amped up with every step. Husband and wife paused in their journey, looking to one another. Alone, for the first time in hours, the hall of the hotel was deserted. It emboldened Holly to push Steve back against the nearby wall, fingers threading into his hair and pulling him down for the deep kiss they'd been unable to continue earlier. Hands roamed freely, the buttons of his jacket coming loose and the combs in her hair being knocked askew as they went. The heat between them climbed higher and higher as her tongue dragged along his, soft moans muffled as much as possible in the open space.
Breaking off the kiss, sucking in a deep breath, she knew that staying out of the room was not a viable option.
"We should probably go in."
The eagerness of his nod made her giggle, made her feel giddy in spite of the exhaustion of her form.
"Yeah." Steve fished his copy of the key card out of his pocket, letting her go and turning away from her. For a couple seconds, he struggled with it, pulling and pushing the card too fast to let the scanner read it properly. Leaning against the wall, Holly crossed her arms and closed her eyes.
"The key card door lock kinda brings down the drama of the whole tradition," she muttered, shaking her head as Steve slid the card in and out. Once the green light reflected out at them, he cranked on the door handle, swinging the portal wide open. Before she could take a single step, he held out a hand, making her pause. Digging into his other pocket, he extracted one of the paper programs from the ceremony and folding it over a few times. Kneeling down, he wedged it underneath the door, an impromptu stopper to keep it in place.
"Does it?" he wondered, blue eyes reflecting the hall lights. Deftly, he hooked an arm around her back, the other scooping behind her knees. A squeak came out of Holly as her arms flew around his shoulders. Adjusting to his hold on her, she swallowed, letting one palm slide down to his tie and looking up in time to see his gaze grow darker. "I don't think so."
With that, he carried her across the threshold, kicking out the paper stopper as he went and the door slamming shut behind them, neither of them caring.
A/N: Holy...balls. Welcome to the longest chapter I've ever, EVER written, everybody. Soak in it...I did so much wedding research for this, I could plan my own wedding now. Good Lord...which totally included the music. If you want to know what the processional music/first dance songs were, feel free to ask!
Yes, we finally get to the wedding. I tried to keep the actual ceremony part short, since I know reading a long-winded rehash of a wedding ceremony is not what everyone is about. But yay, Holly and Steve finally tied the knot! It's sappy and corny and happy...and so many interesting things happened. Feel free to discuss...
Sorry if the clothing description was too much. Didn't mean to weigh you down with too much of that stuff. But dude, it's the wedding dress, how can I not? Images of the dress and rings can be found at my LiveJournal; same username as here (phantomproducer), the most recent entry.
I may be of Irish descent, but I do not know any Gaelic. Had to use an online translator for the one phrase Steve utters:
"A chroí."-My heart.
My headcanon says that his mother taught him some Gaelic, but due to the stigma back then of growing up Irish, he was encouraged not to use it in public. In private, though, it was okay.
You may be wondering what will come next after this...I can't tell you. Because that's the next chapter. But...well...I will tell you this. The next chapter will be the last chapter of The Eleventh Hour. Crazy, right? I know, man, I know...it's been a fun ride. But, as I have said and hinted multiple times, this does not mark the end of Holly and Steve's time together. No, no...there will be a third installment of this series (cue brain explosions), which in my mind I've started calling the "Of Time" series. However, due to the extreme length of this last chapter, the next one won't be coming out before next weekend, so I'll have to ask you all to bear with me as I recover and prepare to go on the next leg of the journey. I'll say my thank-yous and such then, so we put it off for a little while longer, my dears.
I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references/apps that may have been mentioned.
Thanks for reading, please review, and I will see you all for the next one!
EDIT: Finished TWO sexytimes one-shots about Holly and Steve, one when they're both on the helicarrier after the evens of the Battle of Sokovia in Ch. 29, and the other that takes place immediately after the end of this chapter. Head on over to my AO3 account and read them (same name as here:PhantomProducer) if you're of proper age, maturity, and whatnot.