"Here is your office while you're here. You'll have the fun of orientation module stuff online and we have a writer's meeting after lunch, but feel free to start getting things set up until then. I'll be back for you soon."

Holly blinked, drawn back into the present in that moment. Focusing back onto her guide in question, she noted the dark, square-framed glasses perched on her nose and the almost sassy lilt of her grin. Tucking back long, dark brown hair, she had introduced herself as Darcy when she came to get Holly at the entry. She imparted her position as one of the lead writers to Holly as they walked, having been there for the last four years or so and moving up. Grateful to know she was not alone in being somewhat new to the company, Holly breathed out a sigh of relief as they went to the nondescript office space she was brought to. The walls were bare, except for a few file cabinets and some empty shelves. The desk sported the obligatory telephone and monitor set-up. An issued laptop was hooked up, with instructions for set-up beside it. Booting up the work computer, she bid Darcy farewell as she sat down, slumping in her chair slightly when the door shut. Her newly-minted name badge settled as well, and she glanced at the drop ceiling.

Her mind wandered back to when she got the call offering her the job, and her relieved gasp of acceptance thereof. Once the official letter was sent and the documents signed, she still had to take a moment to wonder at the job change, and how she would make this work. She would find a way, but she knew that she would have to learn as much as she could in the time before her first day. Sarah had been contacted, and together they had formed a plan to help her get started.

The slouched posture only lasted a minute or two, until she shook her head and reached into the bag she had brought with her, fishing out a flash drive. After going through the login and setup instructions, she plugged in the drive, opening a few documents. One of those was the list of title belts throughout the entirety of MWE and which show they corresponded with. Another was the current roster, with both active and inactive members. Sarah had come over the week before she started, insisting that she needed to at least know the basics of titles, terms, and team members, in her own words. Certainly, it would help her at least sound like she had somewhat kept up with her childhood brushes with the infamous wrestling company. As the clock ticked, she studied them, lip tucked between her teeth as she reviewed. At least, until her new email set-up reminded her to start on orientation modules.

Soon enough, knocks tapped against the door, drawing her attention away from the screen. Darcy had returned as promised, brown bag in hand and beckoning her to come along again. Grabbing up the lunch she had packed, she was quick to follow her fellow writer. As they walked, Holly learned that Darcy had initially gone to school at Culver, but had switched between programs until she had settled on a business degree. She had a minor in creative writing, which was how she was able to parlay herself into a position with MWE.

"I mean, I thought about a masters and a doctorate path, but this, this is a fun job to have. Plus who doesn't like seeing buff guys duke it out and showing off?" she teased, and Holly chuckled at that, pink tinging her cheeks slightly. They sat together at lunch, and traded some stories from their childhoods. Darcy inquired as to how a Minnesotan ended up outside of D.C., and Holly asked after the other brunette's brief stint as an astrophysics major. Once they had finished eating, they went back to their respective offices, collected their laptops, and journeyed together to the meeting place. Eventually, they turned down another hallway on the south end of the building, going up to a door marked "Writers Room" and heading inside.

The writers room itself was nothing special; it was much like the conference room that Holly had interviewed in. A whiteboard took up the far wall, though, filled with scribbled notes in all sorts of colors. Before she could examine those more closely, Darcy called her name, patting the seat next to her to take a seat at. Quickly, she was introducing herself to several others, including a very tall fellow named Todd, who shook her hand across the table without having to bend over it too much to do so. She set up her laptop again, intent on taking whatever notes she could so she could get some ideas started, following the example of several others. The low murmur of the room hushed when the door opened again, a few well-dressed bodies pouring in. Among them was Pepper Potts, who gave Holly a small grin and nod before taking her seat at the far end. The last to enter was the CEO himself: Tony Stark, tech genius and wrestling entrepreneur himself. Holly managed to stifle a gasp, though her eyes did bug out a little. She had not been warned about his presence; in fact, Darcy had even somewhat indicated that he would likely not show up. Well, given the goatee-d and bright-eyed presence taking them all in, she was evidently wrong.

Flapping a hand at the group, Mr. Stark sauntered to the chair at the head of the table, setting down a tablet and phone in front of him as he sat. "Alright, everyone, let's get the hellos and how-dos out of the way here. We've got a show to put on. It's a long road to Marvelfest, after all, and we've got to get cracking."

Holly bit her lip as the others muttered at that. As she understood it, Marvelfest was the biggest pay-per-view event of the year, the last having just gone by two months prior. They were already looking to plan it out now? She opened a new word processing document on her laptop, typing out a short scribble to keep it in mind as she went. Switching back over to her cheat sheet, she kept an ear out as the other writers went back and forth sharing ideas, more clacks on keyboards echoing around her. Briefly, Darcy introduced her to Mr. Stark, but beyond a polite nod, he said nothing to her. Dutifully, she kept her gaze on the screen as the others began to pitch ideas, with Mr. Stark chiming in with points or counterpoints from his perspective. Holly was impressed; clearly, he cared about the business as Pepper had indicated, but it was very obvious in how he would sharply cut someone off from something that likely ran against the best interests of the company or the wrestlers.

However, he certainly did have a proclivity to let the writers throw in ideas and argue among themselves. One story-line idea was pitched, and long minutes were spent arguing over it. Cutting a glance to the side, she saw that her erstwhile guide had had enough.

"Look, boss, you know he's not gonna go for that line," Darcy cut in over the others and speaking directly to Mr. Stark, almost rolling her eyes. Her tone had the air of long suffering to it, as though this was an argument made far too often in the past. Holly kept her lip buttoned, though her own eyes widened at the other woman's utterance. The senior writer flapped a hand in the air and continued, "Rogers is never gonna go full heel, as much as you would like him to. Plus, given how fans react to him, it won't go over well."

Heel. Glancing at her notes again, she realized Darcy meant a heel turn, or when a wrestler changed from essentially a good guy to a bad guy for a story-line. From what Holly remembered, some were pushed into either category willy-nilly, or some just simply stayed that way. Evidently, Rogers was the latter. She discreetly typed that next to his name on the roster document.

"Always worth a shot," Todd piped in, chuckling despite the looks he got. Twiddling a pen between his fingers, he asserted, "Fact of the matter remains that since he's back, he needs a new line for the upcoming year."

"He's not a contender for any title yet this year," Mr. Stark iterated, swiping at the screen of a tablet before him. Considering it for a moment, he looked up and directly stared at Holly. At once, her back stiffened as her nerves snapped, but she held his gaze. The corner of his mouth turned up, and a thoughtful look stole over his face. If she hadn't been familiar with the long-substantiated truth of his intelligence, she would think it was sincere. Instead, he betrayed himself with the innocent-sounding inquiry, "Which way would you pitch him, newbie?"

Swallowing on a suddenly dry throat, Holly took in the eyes turned towards her, and took in a deep breath. Oh shit, oh shit, me?!

Glancing briefly at the notes on her screen again, her mind moved furiously as she tried to formulate her thoughts. Sarah and Holly had gone over some of the key wrestlers for each division, and this Rogers (or as he was known sometimes, Captain America) was one of them. He had been quite the hero among the fan base when he came up, but he had been in something of a slump over the last few years. That was something she could springboard off of.

"Well, when was the last time he held the, uh, Iron Championship Belt? Three years ago, now, right?" she asked, pulling up a new document and tapping out a few ideas. Not bothering to wait for a reply, she continued, "Or even the American Hero title? That's been even longer, I think."

As she double-checked her cheat sheet, she missed the appraising gleam in Tony's gaze. It was gone by the time she looked back up again, gesturing to her computer as she spoke.

"I think either gearing him towards a top championship run would be good, or maybe the American Belt would be seen more as redemptive, since he hasn't had a chance to advance since dropping the Iron title." Looking around the table, she saw a few of the others nod along with her though process, and she felt a spike of relief flood through her. Her attention turned back to Mr. Stark, and she shrugged a shoulder, a little bashfulness peeking through. "He needs something to work towards. That could be it; who wouldn't want to see Captain America take the title again?"

The older man squinted slightly before tapping at his tablet again. After a long moment of thought, he looked her in the eye again, privately pleased that she held it that time.

"Since he's been cleared for working, I think I agree with you. Let's make this happen." He pointed to the whiteboard at the end, and Pepper was on her feet before anyone else, making sure to scrawl it in blue dry-erase marker on a blank spot. Holly's name was written beneath it, and the younger woman felt another rush of feeling go through her. It was her first assignment, and not a small one, either. A few of the other writers looked at her with furrowed brows or consternation, but she could not quite care in that moment. Mr. Stark continued, "Midsummer's Eve is around the corner, and he needs to start making the run by then."

Another pay-per-view event, this one only a month and a half away. It would be time to put her nose to the grindstone, that much was certain.

"Steve should be in the training room," Pepper interjected smoothly, answering the question before it had even been asked. Nodding to Holly, she said, "Head that way when we're done here."

Returning the nod, Holly rode the glee that was coursing through her, tempering it with the knowledge that she would have a lot of work ahead of her. She made use of the rest of the meeting tapping out thoughts and making sure to discreetly ask Darcy for the easiest route to the training room.

Maybe she wouldn't be as lost as she feared she would be.

xXxXxXx

The familiarity of the training space was something of a comfort for Steve. Having spent the better part of the last seven years with Marvel Wrestling, he had been there when the old gym had been revamped. It was a project that Tony had wanted to do for years, and only just managed to get done. The blond man supposed that if he were the CEO of a tech conglomerate, it would take him over a decade to get things fixed up, too. As it was, he was a retired Army vet who managed to find a job that kept food on the table and a roof over his head. The physicality didn't hurt, either.

After all the time doing physical therapy and occupying himself with his sketches, he was ready to get back to work. It was rare to get time in alone in the training space. The various athletic trainers and stunt choreographers were giving him a berth, some of them unsure of approaching him. Even Sarah, who had greeted him so enthusiastically on his first visit back, was maintaining distance. The blond had returned only a couple of weeks ago, and his doctors had kept people apprised of his recovery. However, he did not want to go through a specific regiment. Instead, he was left to his ministrations, pondering the course of his path as he went. Earbuds went in, music from his phone greeting his ears as he started.

Leg and ankle exercises from PT came first, with him taking a secluded spot on the mats far from the main entrance. As he carefully rotated the ankle, he tutted to himself as he felt the pull and bunch of it. In his last match, it had been his Achilles tendon that had ruptured, causing him to lose not only the bout but time in the ring. Steve found it to be so ridiculous; the man had been part of military operations, training, and nothing ever happened. Not even his first years in the business were as marred as the last few. He shook his head, banishing that trail of thought swiftly. Introspection was done aplenty when he went through surgery and treatment, and he merely wanted to get back to himself. Stiff upper lip, a little part of his brain murmured, and he pushed that away, too. It sounded too much like...well, it wasn't something he wanted in his mind at the moment.

Lifting came next, the clanks of weights nearly echoing in the wide, open room. As he laid on the bench and began his reps, he continued to fight off the memories, the thoughts that played at the edge of his consciousness. Seven years, seven long years here, the army before...he had to get back into it, make himself get back up into it. Tony, though, had been holding him back, knowing full well how much he had wanted to at least shoot a promo or something to assure people that he was still there. His boss, though, had instead allowed the PR team to issue a statement on his behalf, and told him that he needed to focus of recovering. Well, he was here now. What could he make of this situation?

Several workable scenarios floated in his brain as he finished his set, time flowing around him as he went. Eventually, his awareness came back into the room itself, and he had the feeling he was being watched. Carefully, he removed his earbuds before pivoting on his heel. A young woman stood a few feet away, looking out of place in black slacks and a green blouse. Her dark hair was pulled back, and her brown eyes were wide as she shuffled backward. It was clear she had been the one staring at him, with the guilty pink blush crawling across her face. Slowly, she waved at him, inhaling deeply before fully looking him in the eye.

"Hi…"

Unbidden, he returned the wave. "Hi. Can I help you with something?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, determinedly striding forward and offering a hand. "I'm Holly Martin. I'm, uh, a new writer here. Nice to meet you. I was sent down here to look for someone."

Taking the proffered hand, something like a jolt went through Steve, one that ran so deep he could barely acknowledge it. His callouses were cradled in her smooth palm; that alone indicated the lack of rough work in her life.

"Sure, I can help with that. I'm Steve—"

The tentative smile on her lips grew wide and she let out a relieved breath.

"Oh, perfect! You're the one I'm looking for. I'm glad I found you quickly," she murmured, the words coming out in a rapid fire. She dropped his hand, explaining that Mr. Stark had specifically chosen her to start working with him on a story-line to bring him back onto the scene, as it were. Observing her while she spoke, he inwardly chuckled at the nervous tinge of her voice. There was no hiding how uninitiated she was to the job, but he could admire her willingness to at least approach him regardless.

It appeared that there was finally an answer of how to get him back into the swing of things. Suggesting they move to her office to speak, he agreed, stopping only to grab up the bag he'd brought with him. The waft of cool air enfolded him as he moved with her out of the training room, the sweat on his shirt clinging. Silence hung between them for a moment, one that got the better of him and he felt he had to fill.

"So, you got stuck with me, then," he blurted, feeling in that instant like he could kick himself.

Holly turned her head, her brow quirking. "Stuck with you?"

He dipped his chin, scratching at the back of his neck and stopping in his tracks. She waited beside him, looking up with concern in her gaze.

"Well, given that I'm coming off an injury and you just got here, I would think that would be a bit hard to jump into," he explained, honesty coming to fore as ever. She blinked at that, nodding after a moment or two.

"I guess," she replied, shrugging. Her lips curved, and she continued, "I mean, I haven't written something scripted for a long time. I know I am probably not the person you were hoping to work with, coming back."

A wince decorated her features. The self-deprecation was not lost on him in the slightest, and he stepped closer, feeling drawn to respond with some form of assurance.

"I've worked with veterans and newbies. Been here long enough to know that being new doesn't mean you can't produce something good."

He laid a palm on her shoulder in reassurance, and the jolt seemed a bit stronger that time. Still, it thrummed too low for him to pay much attention to. Instead, he watched her eyes almost glow with gratefulness, the crease of her grin welcome in place of the clear doubt that had sat on her mere seconds before. Glancing down at his hand, she stood up straighter as he removed it, both of them nodding at his words.

"In the spirit of that, then, I think we should get to work. It would help to get to know you. And the Captain America stuff as well."

His half grin bloomed, and gestured to continue the walk to her office, more than ready to get to work.

"Let's get started, then."

xXxXxXx

The chanting of the crowd was electric, and Holly felt the swell of excitement rise in her chest even as it was dampened by the thick curtains surrounding the booth area. Her laptop was not with her that time. Instead, she had a thick notebook, pen already in hand as she wrote down the impressions of the feelings inside her.

That evening, she would not be resign to watching clips of various past shows or studying after hours. Instead, she was given leave to join some of the show-runners at the back table for the taping of the UAC show. As the developmental show of the brand, it was important for her to see the building blocks that were laid to either launch wrestlers' careers, or to rebuild them. Some of them roster chose to remain in the developmental stage, staying as as mentors of sorts, but most were hopefuls, looking to be either on Core or Extended. It was a flurry of hustle and bustle as the ring was prepared, lights were raised, and music pumped out of speakers. A set of headphones were given to her, and she made notes of commands and calls that came over the line. She also, periodically, would flip the page to the running ones she had of her own charge. It had only been three days since meeting, but an impression had been made.

Steve Rogers was an interesting subject. It was important to her to get "his" voice right while writing, especially since he was a living, breathing person and not an original character she had made up. Still, it was quite a career, and person, to find the voice for. Steve, evidently, had had one hell of a life so far for only being thirty-two. He had apparently been a survivor since childhood, having overcome various illnesses and diagnoses, only to finally even out in high school. A concrete base to work with for sure. Add in his two tours in the army and then choosing to pursue a career as a professional wrestler after his discharge, well, that gave her further layers to work with. Bullies feared him, evildoers had to beware...that was just the tip of the iceberg.

She liked his voice, the way he took his time to consider his words when he was explaining parts of the job that eluded her. The blue-eyed, blond, boy-next-door charm wasn't so bad, either. But he was very easy to talk to, and she felt like he was at least willing to listen to her ideas, few though they were. The general idea of his run for the American Hero belt, though he did express hoping not to lean too hard on the Captain America theme. She, personally, did not think that could be helped, but they were working their way to a compromise. They only had a short time to get things going, and she was already tidying up some preliminary lines.

"Who's the girl?" came a gruff voice, and Holly nearly jumped in her seat. Pulling off the headphones, she looked up into the face of the speaker. Unlike the other wrestlers who were wearing specific covers for their ring shoes or trunks, this guy was dressed in a white tank and jeans, a leather motorcycle jacket capping it off. His belt buckle was fairly large, sporting an X design. Though understated in his clothing, she could see that his head was not. Thick, dark muttonchops ran down the sides of his face, and his dark hair was pushed up, tips of it almost curling around at the top. Hazel eyes peered at her, and she swallowed at the sight.

The show-runner beside her snorted, brushing it off with the wave of his hand. "She's new. She's watching tonight to see how things run. She'll be on Core, though."

The tall fellow snorted, extending his hand after a moment.

"Logan."

"Holly," she responded in kind, shaking his hand. When the handshake finished, she drew away, turning back to the taped page of events on the table. Running her finger down it, she pointed to one name and looked back at him. "Wolverine, right?"

A smirk twisted the older man's lips, a hand going into a pocket and withdrawing a cigar.

"That's what they call me," he replied, placing the cigar in his mouth and lighting it with a lighter that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Her nose wrinkled, but the others around her were seemingly unbothered by it.

"Music going in three, two—" called another show-runner, and the rise of a mix of rock with hints of techno rose up. The crowd outside seemed to get even louder, and the bigger fellow squared his shoulders.

"See you around," he mouthed around the cigar, giving her a two-finger salute as he walked away.

Holly nodded, watching as he ducked through the curtain, the dampened shouts and cheers bleeding through for a moment. Turning her attention back to the monitor, she placed the headphones back on her ears in time to hear the announcers call out Logan's stats and moniker. Calls to camera operators bled in and out as the fellow strode up the open walkway, looking past the lens following him to the ring. People reached out, trying to get a high five or wave so they could be seen on television. When he reached the end, he climbed in, seemingly unhurried. He took his time looking around the facility before passing his cigar to the waiting referee. In a moment, the crowd seemed to collectively take a breath as the Wolverine struck his signature pose.

The pose was important, Steve had told her during the first meeting. It was a mark of the wrestler in question, something that separated them from the pack and became their own. In Logan's case, he crouched, arms coming out at his sides and his fists balled, a great roar pouring out of his mouth. Some of the people mimicked the movement, and it took Holly aback to look at it.

"Woah," she whispered, the draw of the movement making so much sense to her, then. She definitely had to remember to ask Steve about the development of his stance the next time they met.

When she got up for a bathroom break (and had to navigate through more unknown halls to find a private one), she spotted a person seated off the locker room area, tucked out of the way in case of any backstage interviews. Their back was to her, a hood drawn up over their head. The dark blue sweatshirt and dark jeans nearly caused them to fade into background, probably as intended. A monitor was set up in front, showing off the match that was happening, and the person was hunched. Pencil scratches caught her ear. Cautiously—and curiously—she approached the alcove, reaching out and tapping the person on the shoulder. They turned, and very quickly, she could see that not only was it a man, but a familiar one.

"Steve!" she gasped, an unwitting grin on her lips. "Didn't know you would be here."

He returned the grin, though it was more subdued than hers. He sat back in his chair, tipping his chin up as he blew out a breath.

"I like stopping in from time to time. Remind myself of where I was to where I am now."

He nodded to the monitor screen, to the smaller crowds that still were cheering or jeering at turns, and to the wrestlers that were duking it out. She watched as his focus shifted back to the match, the distant shouts and screams faintly echoing. The pensive set of his brow caught her, and she wondered if he was thinking about his last match. Or maybe even his first ever. Glancing down, she saw a close, leather-covered book in his lap, the nub of a pencil tucked between his fingers.

"What's that?" she wondered, indicating it with a tip of the head. Steve opened it for her, though he did respond audibly.

"Reference sketches. Capturing motion like this helps me understand body movements." He paused, chewing over his next sentence. When it came, it was small, nearly a confession. "Somehow, it helps me with my own techniques."

He flipped through a few pages, the detail of the sketches intricate. She bent closer, close enough brush against his arm as he showed her his work. One showed a fellow with long hair posted up in the core, arms raised in victory. Another showed a woman, sprawled in a catlike stance the glitter in her gaze clear even in graphite. When another page was turned, the picture was of two men executing a move, engaged in what she would later learn was called the German suplex. The raw determination on one fellow's face contrasted with the sharp shock on the other's, the moment frozen in time. Sweeps and arches, angles and curves...Steve was an artist, with true talent. She had not expected that.

"I think I'll need to see that," she said, almost trance-like, her fingers curling around the ends of her sleeves to stop herself from reaching out and touching the thins lines. "Before your first match back."

Preoccupied with keeping her hands to herself, she missed the study of blue eyes following along the curve of her jaw, as well as the blossoming grin on Steve's lips.

"That can be arranged."

A/N: ...Yeah, almost a month, I know. Full-time job takes a lot of time...and the house...and the dogs. Still, I buckled down and got back to work here. I hope you all will forgive me for not getting Steve back on the wrestling circuit just yet, but that will be coming, I promise! By the way, the amount of notes I have about title names, which brand they belong to, which characters are currently holding belts...nuts. And subject to change, so we will see where we go from here! Also, gratuitous Logan is gratuitous.

Just a friendly reminder that I own nothing from the MCU, nor any pop culture references that may have snuck in here.

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