Darcy Lewis sat in her office, opting to eat there for her lunch over the break room. She needed to go over the last of her notes, make edits to the line she was running (Thor was under her purview, and they were coordinating a run-up on Loki once his line with Cap was finished). Taking a bite of sandwich, she bopped her head to the playlist she'd created for writing, the music floating around her and putting her in the correct frame of mind to tap away. She also took comfort in the string lighting she had set up, the shades drawn down over her window and giving the whole scene a sort of twilight ambiance. The desk lamp was all she needed for her keyboard and monitor.
This was the part of the job that Darcy liked: being creative, letting the juices flow and having the ability to work with some very interesting people while doing so. Some very interesting, attractive people. She snickered to herself; she knew better than to get involved in entanglements. One could look, but not touch.
Chancing a glance up, she nearly jumped in her seat when she saw a person standing in the open frame. Nearly choking on her food, she managed to swallow and pat her chest, attempting to calm herself. Once she had taken a sip of water from a nearby travel cup, she coughed once and let a small grin curl the corners of her mouth.
"Holly! What brings you back to my den of iniquity?" she greeted the newcomer. The new writer's success with Rogers had placed her on the map in the writers' room. While a few of the fellows did openly roll their eyes at her and mutter about beginner's luck under their breath, Darcy could only feel a sense of pride for her coworker. There were too many assigned to difficult characters in that room only to flame out within a year, and she was please to see that the other woman was managing to keep herself not only afloat, but spread her wings in the company.
However, at that second, Holly did not seem to be flying with joy. Rather, the nervous cut of her gaze down to a stack of papers in her hands, and Darcy sat up a bit straighter, hitting the space bar on her keyboard and pausing the music. Holly took a step into the room, flipping up the switch for the overhead lights and shrugging her shoulders as she prepared to speak.
"Um, I was, well…I got another reminder to finish up some assigned training. It was to sign off on our employee handbook and to better understand parts of our contracts." She paused, allowing Darcy a moment to nod in understanding. The training modules like that one would be part of the fabric of the job. However, it was not the module that concerned her. "I, I noticed something while I was reviewing the PDF attachment. I pulled out my own contract copy, just to make sure things looked squared away, and I must have skimmed over the clause when signing on initially."
A sinking feeling went down through Darcy's gut; she had an idea which clause it was.
"Oh. Which one?" she dared to ask anyway, gesturing for the other woman to sit.
Holly did as she was bid, plopping down in the guest chair with little hesitation. She fiddled with the pages in her hands for a few moments longer before she inhaled sharply. She dropped her paper copy of the document onto the desk, flipping the pages until she reached the correct one. Turning it to face Darcy, she jabbed a finger at the section in question.
Leaning forward, the bespectacled woman pull the document closer. Scanning over the page, she felt a grimace tug her lips down. It was exactly the passage she'd thought Holly had been indicating. It was under the heading of "Performance Responsibilities." While writers' contracts clearly differed in so many regards to others, such as HR or the talent in general, there was one section that was rarely changed up across the board. It stated, in no uncertain terms, that a person could be drafted to the roster at any given moment if it suited the interest of the company. If they were backstage, they could be pulled in, provided that either Mr. Stark or the collective board agreed to it.
"Oh, yeah, that. It's part of almost everyone's contracts. Except for certain upper management and, like, finance or something," she muttered, and Holly's eyes went wide at that. Privately, Darcy mused that the portion of the contract existed to provide Mr. Stark himself the ability to join in with the company's roster, back in the day. Howard Stark certainly had never done so, but Tony, he had made his mark by being hands on both backstage and in the ring. Introducing it into all contracts covered all avenues there. In the present moment, she looked up at the other woman again, her brow quirking in sympathy. "If it makes you feel any better, hardly anyone working the backstage part of the show ever gets pulled into the ring."
That, in fact, did not make Holly feel better, if the deadpan look she was given was any indication. Lewis lifted a shoulder, tipping her head to the left.
"Sorry, but that's the best I got."
The other brunette slumped a little in her chair, staring down at the paperwork between them. Even if it hardly happened, that did mean there was always the sliver of a chance that it could. In studying up for writing for the company, Holly could count the number of times over the last ten years alone she had seen non-wrestlers get involved in in-ring politics, as it were, on one hand. While it did seem maddening and like an all-out melee at times, it was performed by professionals, by people who understood and respected the ring they all fought in. An outsider very, very rarely ventured out, save as part of a celebration. If you weren't a wrestler, you sat in the stalls or backstage. Even the announcers did not often become part of the show, save for what their job descriptions allowed. However, if what Darcy said was true, they could be drafted at any point to work a line.
She really should have read the contract better. Well, there was nothing for it now, not unless she wanted to get lawyers involved. And she could not put up fees for a lawyer for what she was sure was an ironclad clause that she had signed to. The only thing she could do was come up with a plan to aid her, should she ever get pulled in.
"I gotta make a call," she muttered, and Darcy wished her luck as she rose. Once she grabbed the papers up, she waggled her fingers in farewell. Lewis sighed heavily, knowing there was little else she could do to help. She sank back in her chair, watching the retreating woman's back with curiosity.
Perhaps they would be looking for a new writer in the morning, but with the determined set of Holly's countenance as she left, Darcy could only wonder if something else had been accelerated instead.
xXxXxXx
Finishing his final reps with the weights, Steve was racking them back up, chatting with his companions as he did so. As he assimilated back into the culture of the workplace, his friends began to join him once more in prep and workouts. The trainers, of course, were present as well, but he preferred the assurance of a pal being his spotter over someone who was paid to make sure he didn't drop the bar on his neck while lifting. Today, it was Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes that had joined him. Sam had been part of the company before Steve had joined up by a few months, an Air Force vet in his own right. Bucky, however, had been Steve's friend since childhood, the pair coming of age and even entering the army together. It had taken the blond man's persuasion to encourage him to become a wrestler after his discharge, but eventually Bucky become a force to reckon with a year after Steve's entry.
Consequently, the two men knew him well enough to understand that whenever something shifted, either in routine or stance. Steve was glad to have them at his back in the ring as well as in day-to-day life. He expected that evening's training to go as well as it typically did with his friends.
Imagine his surprise upon looking at the arrival coming through the back entrance and seeing Holly there, kitted out in sweats and a grim set to her lips. Quirking a brow, he asked the guys to wait there, going over to her to see what was up. The blond missed the pointed looks Bucky and Sam were giving each other as he went. As he had grown closer to the writer, the pair often made a remark upon his mentions of her, on how she was cropping up more and more in conversation. Steve was a very reserved individual, careful with the friends he made and the company he kept. The loyalty he had was fierce and without question, but even his companions could see something else was going on there, given how often he met with her in person. The duo shared another silent look when, after the distant pair exchanged words, they were waved over by Steve. Gesturing, Sam smirked a little as he went over, Bucky trailing behind him.
"Hey, guys," Steve called out to them. Nodding at the woman to his left, he introduced them to each other once they got close enough. "Holly, this is James, and Sam. You may know them as Bucky Barnes and the Falcon."
Bucky snickered at that. "Or the Winter Soldier, depending on the storyline. Since you're breaking kayfabe and all, pal."
Kayfabe, what—oh, yeah. Like her notes said, like breaking the fourth wall. She took in the sight of the two men before her, one African-American with a wide grin and dark eyes, and the other Caucasian with long, dark hair and a tattoo of a red star on his left shoulder (the rest of his arm was wrapped down to the wrist, and it did make her curious). Recognizing him as one of the wrestlers from the charity event, she nodded to herself. Extending her hand out, she shook each of theirs in turn.
"It's nice to meet both of you, officially, anyway."
The dark-haired man lifted the corner of his mouth, blue eyes narrowing in on her. "I'd say it's good for us to meet you. After all, this lump's comeback has definitely been making waves."
He hooked a thumb at Steve, who just rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Holly rubbed the back of her neck, a little bashful at the praise.
"Oh," she breathed, feeling her cheeks heat up. The Falcon, as he was called, clapped a hand on her shoulder.
"I think a congrats is in order. The past few weeks seem to have stayed on track," Sam commented, withdrawing and crossing his arms. Nodding in the direction of the offices, he confessed, "I've seen some writers derail a wrestler within days of a pitch going live."
The three fellows shared an almost synced snort at that, and the young woman grinned then.
"Something is definitely working, that's for sure."
Sam chuckled. "It's definitely better than the last guy that came in on the writing team. Couldn't run a line worth a damn. He tried to pitch me against the kid to Tony, did you know that?"
Steve dipped his chin. "Of course I knew, Sam. Makes no sense for you, at least right now."
"You never know," the one called the Winter Soldier interjected, tutting a little under his breath. Turning his attention back onto the writer in their midst, he inquired, "So what brings you by here?"
She tucked some loose strands of hair behind her ear, looking a little shamefaced.
"…I read the wrestling clause in my contract," she murmured. Steve's brow furrowed at that; that clause was still part of the paperwork for office staff? She shrugged and continued, "Apparently it's boiler plate, but I missed it entirely when I signed up. I read that thing up and down, and I have no memory of it."
The three men around her shared loaded glances at that. Concern doubled in Steve, and he took a step closer to her, resting his palm on her shoulder.
"Are they putting you in?" he asked, his tone quieter than before. He was starting to formulate a plan to speak to Tony on her behalf if so; she looked so uncomfortable and nervous. He was stopped by her head shaking in the negative.
"No, not that I know of. I just would rather be prepared for it, if it does happen."
Bucky cut in, "It doesn't, usually. Tony and the board would rather have agencies reaching out to local talent first wherever we go. It's how the kid got his break, actually."
"Peter certainly appreciated it," the blond man remarked. To her, he tried to give reassurance, one more squeeze before his hand dropped away from her shoulder. "Don't worry, Holl. I truly doubt you will be forced to do what we do."
A small tingle went down her spine as the nickname, and she couldn't help but like it. However, she pushed away the thought as quickly as it had risen, instead turning and flapping a hand at the locker room entrances.
"I hope you are right. Either way, I am meeting up with my friend, Sarah. She helps train with the women's division; she offered to give me some pointers today. It might help with my own insight." Looking back at all of them, she cupped her hand in the air. "I watch, but it will be different to know. It'll be good to know how the body moves as you're doing it yourself."
The truth of the statement was acknowledged by all of them, and without fanfare, the two new men peeled away, saying that they had to continue training. Calling for Rogers to join them, they gave the other fellow little choice but to get back to his task. Casting his gaze over Holly once more.
"Don't get too banged up, okay?" he implored her, gaze flicking to the practice ring and back to her. Her dark eyes met his, and she heaved out a deep sigh.
"I'll do my best."
With that, he bid her farewell, returning to his friends on the other end of the training space, glances stolen as she met with her friend finally, the pair of women climbing into the ring and getting to work.
xXxXxXx
The excitement was palpable to Holly when she sat backstage with the other writers. It was the first pay-per-view event of her career. The past week, the company had taken to the road, settling in West Virginia for the event as planned several months ago. WesBanco Arena had hosted MWE events before, along with other sports teams and conferences. The crew, the head camera operator included ("Aaron, Holly, and he's a sweetheart," her best friend had admonished when she confessed to forgetting his name, and she only smirked at that) had been building the ring, getting seats coordinated with the box office, rigging lights and pyrotechnics. For her part, she only drove up the night before, collapsing into her bed at the hotel and staying put there. When she had arrived the following day in the late afternoon, she set up her camp in the designated room for writers. She was not the first one there, but she did manage to find a space near the door, a foldout table holding some swag that had been allotted to those who would attend. She'd stopped over at a gas station before heading over, packing up on her own food and drinks to get her through, and set her bag on the tabletop. Removing a notebook as well, she jotted down a couple notes to herself, the nerves snapping in her as she did so. Her free hand tapped against the phone in her jeans pocket, and she wondered if she should text Steve again.
Holly had sent him a good luck text along with a couple of memes, and he had responded with thanks and a couple of gifs of his own, a little slower than her with the technology. She pictured him for a moment, somewhere further in the complex, maybe drawing in his sketchbook to alleviate his own nerves. The mental image made her grin to herself, and she let out a deep breath as she prepared for a long evening. The monitors showing the preshow commentary played, a radio system rigged and relaying the crews' commands as she and the others kept an eye on proceedings. Her coworker, Todd, had been called away by a show-runner, some notes passed between them for the storyline he was heading. Suddenly, the outside cameras cut off, the warning against illegal taping and piracy taking its place. Claps and her coworkers mutters about showtime kicking off met her ears, and she took out her laptop then, ready to review beats of the planned events as the title card flashed up on the monitors.
It was finally here: Midsummer's Eve. The loud chants and pumping music reverberated down hallways and into the open spaces backstage, the wide expanse of the lower levels. It had seemed like a long road to get there, and somehow, also a blink in time simultaneously. Either way, she was glad to be there, with all the knowledge under her belt and her expectations grounded in the ability of her chosen storyline. It was good to get back on track after the last week's events.
Holly, as she had planned, had met up with Sarah to learn a few basics before the blonde woman had to head out for the arena herself. The important thing was to remember to not only care for her own safety, but for the safety of those in the ring with her. If that meant learning blocks and false jabs to make her escape, that was what she would do. She was still clunky in her movements, nowhere near any sort of expert level, but she was building a base, as Sarah had indicated. They would continue their work once the hubbub around the pay-per-view died down and they were all back at MWE headquarters, but Holly felt a little better about the contract's clause now.
The opening matches went off with few hiccups, with the women's division seeing the advent of a new tag team to win the belts for the Extended brand. Core's main women's belt was contested as well, but Natasha Romanoff held her ground, the lithe movements in the ring no doubt a hallmark of Sarah's training. The others blended into the background for her, showrunners and operators chattering back and forth on the radio. However, Holly remained at attention when the last calls were made for Loki and Steve to get over to the waiting area for their walk-ups. Though they were not the main event, they were penultimate, and that certainly meant good things for Steve's run. The pair of men had passed by the room, but there was no time to do more than look up at the same time Steve's passing glance flicked in the doorway before he moved off. Keeping her fingers crossed in her lap, she waited with bated breath as the monitors lit up again, showing the wide stadium and the fans as the cameras panned the crowd. The first brace of music hit, the pops of fireworks going off and flashing green as Loki made his way out.
As with many pay-per-views, wrestlers would make or commission specialty gear for the events. Loki was no exception, a sprawling green overcoat with a floating train following him to the ring, his signature horned helmet on his head. He sauntered down the ramp, catlike grace in his movements as he went. Upon reaching the ring's edge, he reverently removed the helm, handing it and his overcoat off to a waiting stagehand by the nearest camera operator. His black and green ring gear, tall boots and a one-piece suit outlined with golden trim, fit him well and it showed as he climbed in. Standing in the center, he raised his arms, tilting his head back as if to soak in the adulation of a loving people. As it was, he smirked at the boos, yet again relishing his role. The title belt around his waist, the American flag enamel and glittering gold face plates shining under the lights, was likewise handed off, that time to the designated referee. His music played for a minute or so longer, dying down long enough for the crowd to be hear on the sound system.
Then the bright, brilliant brass music rose, and so too did the crowd to their feet. After letting a few seconds of music play, Steve went out, stepping onto the grand stage. Captain America had solidified his run, ringed in red, white, and blue fireworks as they flashed and banged around him. After striking his signature pose, he wasted no time jogging down the expanse of the ramp, face stern. His gear had been altered as well, the sleeves removed but the red gauntlets remaining. The woven material of the chest sported bolder hues of the flag, the caps on his shoulders sporting a bold silver A. The tac pants were blue, ending in sturdy red boots. The shield was on his arm, and he had a coordinating helmet of his own, both of which were passed off like Loki's belonging were once he arrived ringside. Sliding under the bottom rope, he took his own moment to pose, and Holly snickered a bit at the theatrics.
She eyed her laptop screen as the match went on, reading the march of events as they happened. The first grapple broke, leading to Loki leaping back and rebounding off the ropes to attempt a clothesline. The captain ducked, pivoting to catch on the rebound. Grabbing him around the middle, he pulled the other wrestler into a suplex, shouts rising up around them as the action mounted. The prince of mischief would not have it, executing feints and lunges to get the bigger man off guard. It did seem to work, with Loki getting in his jabs and disorienting Steve. She held her breath when the bigger man finally fended him off, going to climb the the corner to perform a move off the top. Thankfully, it wasn't a shooting star press (he hadn't done one of those for a long time, he'd confessed), but a frog splash after laying Loki out in the ring. Rope jumps, leaps out of the ring, dragging themselves back in before the ten count, the grit on both of their faces showed that neither would give any quarter. Back and forth they traded blows, with the man in green seemingly becoming more and more unhinged in his motions.
All was going according to plan, and she was too pleased with the progress she was seeing to notice the commotion in the hallway as it passed. The rise and fall of voices echoed, but she paid it no mind.
Minutes ticked back, and before she knew it, Holly had marked the time over half an hour was spent in the ring, and Steve and Loki's showing was starting to wind down. Tapping a finger on the table to mark her beats now, she counted them down: reverse hold, push, lift, and body slam. No disqualifications, no submissions, only the three-count could finish it. So many near-misses on both sides, and then...
Captain America grabbed Loki, the German suplex finally dazing him enough to lay back on the mat. The bigger man laid with his back over the other's midsection, pulling up his leg and holding him in a pin. The referee slapped the canvas, one, two, three...
The audience roared its approval, the run finally reaching its conclusion. Captain America held the title once more, the ring announcer shouting to all and sundry. Sweat poured down Steve's face as he released Loki's leg, kneeling on the mat and looking up to the ceiling. His gaze went past the lights and the rigging, the noise lost on him for a moment as he heaved in deep breaths. The title belt was pressed into his hands, and he was brought back to Earth. The small, satisfied grin on his lips was captured by the nearest camera, and Holly could feel her lips stretching into one of her own. It had finally happened, he had finally made it back to where he had longed to be at: holding a title, proving his worth to the company. Rogers had gotten back up to his feet, strapping the belt on just as Loki started to crawl off the mat, when a hard cut of different music hit. At once, both men's heads snapped to look up the ramp, not a little surprise in their gazes.
Holly sucked in a breath, the murmuring of her coworkers hitting her then. This, clearly, was unplanned. The walk-up song was heavy metal, something of a cross between a pirate shanty and a headbanging scream-fest. Dread pounded through her veins as she recognized it, and confirmation came in the form of Brock Rumlow strolling out as if he owned the place. He had ring gear on as well, though his specialty mask was left behind. An all black suit, sleeveless and with crossed bones outlined in silver on his chest, encapsulated him, drawing in the eye. The crowd was going nuts at the prospect of Crossbones entering the event early.
"What is he doing?" she nearly whispered, standing up from her seat.
"Last-minute change, I guess," Todd groused from behind her. Looking at him over her shoulder, he shrugged and pulled a face. "Not that he talked about it with us or anything."
Her brow furrowed further, but she did not comment. Instead, she turned her attention back towards the screen. She supposed that Brock had either gone to the board or approached Tony directly himself. He was due for a match that night right after Steve's, but word around the office was that he was vocal about his distaste for his opponent, and was looking for a workaround. Stark was probably looking to save face, trying to keep one of the top title holders happy so that the show could go on.
Crossbones made his way down the ramp, absorbing the mixed reactions and frowning. Climbing up the steel steps and shoving his way past Loki (who shot him a look brimming with contempt), Rumlow took to posing himself, stopping short to gesture for a microphone to be handed in to him. Chants and screams rose and fell, his voice barking over all.
"Feel proud, Rogers. You finally got your American belt, you finally had your moment." He gave mocking applause for a moment, Steve doing nothing but stare at him as he did so. Smirking, the other man continued, "But now, that time is over. It's my time now. And for my time, I say, why not make this interesting?"
A short pause, and then:
"Open invitation to anyone in that locker room to come and get my title. Hell, I'll even let you stay for this one, Cap. Come on, bastards, who wants the Crossbones?!"
He threw down the microphone, seemingly an unspoken signal given. Without warning, several sets of clomping footfalls stampeded past the writers' bank, stunning those seated as the blur of bodies rushed by. Holly, sharing looks with her fellow writers, shot to her feet and took off after them, the confusion lancing through her as she went. Todd and a couple others followed her, the small group emerging into the waiting room just as orders were being barked between operators. In the center of the chaos stood Tony Stark, his dark gaze laced with anger, his own commands given to be relayed.
The monitors showed it for the free-for-all it had become. Rumlow was basking in it, clearly, even as he DDT'd one fellow who came at him. Another rush of bodies blurred by her. She had managed to pick out James and Sam in the bunch, the new group sent on by management to stop the madness as swiftly as possible. Even some stagehands and local hired talent had joined in, the ring filling and the crowds practically baying at the spectacle. In the roiling group, Steve was managing to hold his own, tossing his newly-won belt to a referee and engaging to stop the onslaught. Many that had initially answered the call were acolytes of Rumlow himself, and he took perverse delight in putting them in their places.
Despite having gone through an entire match, Captain America was doing his best to stay afloat. He'd wanted nothing to do with the open call, but he had been boxed in by the acolytes, nobody allowing him to leave. Holly bit her lip, watching as he was driven back into a corner, one of the guys kicking his legs out from under him. She gasped as he hit the mat, though he managed to get a few hits in on the way down. Another fellow grabbed his leg, ripping off a turn buckle cover and using the laces to tie him in place. This was getting ugly, fast.
Tony, having sent down others to try and stop the madness, turned back to see Rogers' being tied up. Out the corner of his eye, he noted that the Martin girl was there, observing the happenings with disgust and shock lining her features. Making a split second decision, he pointed at her, forcing her to look at him be fore he pointed at the curtain separating them from the arena.
"Go, Martin."
Registering that Mr. Stark was speaking to her, she blinked almost stupidly at him. "What?"
"Rogers is stuck, and the others are too busy with the match. Help him get out of there."
She gaped at him again, utterly aghast. "It's a frickin' brawl out there, you have to be joking!"
She showed no fear in arguing with him, and while he could admire that, he could not have her wasting anymore time.
"That's right. And it involves too many people." He glanced back at the monitors just as Rumlow slammed one of his acolytes into the mat. Snorting, Tony raked a hand through his hair. "That open invitation was the real joke. Damn Crossbones, I may just fire his ass after this is finished."
Holly, still trying to find a way out of his boss's demand, gesticulated wildly.
"What about one of the refs? Or the hired talent? If he's hung up, they probably would—"
He cut her off with the wave of a hand, brooking no refusal.
"Just do it, kid. Your priority is to get out Rogers before he's back on leave, again."
As Stark began to motion to several other staff in the viewing room, he gave her a final stern look to get moving. Letting out a massive groan and eye roll, she reluctantly stepped towards the curtains. Panic wormed its way up her throat, and she had to take a few calming breaths, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Somehow, this amped her up to push through the curtains, running down the ramp herself. She was trailing after a number of other crew members, huffing as she went. The collective body heat had caused the temperature to rise in the arena, and she started to feel the prickle of sweat on her brow and back. The lights grew brighter, those remaining in the back making sure it all could be seen.
The spread of bodies was nearly out of control by the time the recruited backstage crew, with some of the local talent actually getting caught in the madness before being brought back down to Earth. Pushing her way through and around so many big, sweaty bodies, she clambered up the nearest set of steel stairs, inwardly thankful that they were in the corner Steve was tied up in. Dropping to her knees, she reached between the ropes, tugging on the knots.
A hand shot out, forcing her to pause. She raised her gaze to meet Steve's, his reddened face icy eyes thawing when he saw it was her.
"Holly, what are you doing?" he crowed, not a little stunned to now have her ringside. Going back to her ministrations, she blew some loose hair out of her eyes.
"Stark told me to help get you out," she grunted, tugging at the intertwined laces of his boot and turn buckle cover strings. It was proving difficult, but she was doing her best to get them separated. "I need my paycheck as much as you do."
Steve rolled his eyes. "Hilarious."
Working together, she and Steve broke the bond of strings, the blond man free to move. Quickly, he crawled under the ropes, rolling down and onto the floor of the arena. Pushing herself out of the way in time for another wrestler to slam into the steps, she went to him.
"Come on!" she crowed, grabbing his forearm and assisting him back up. Just as he got upright, his gaze shot over her, eyes widening.
"Duck, Holl!"
She, to her credit, dropped down as he bid her. A kendo stick that sailed over her, smacking into his side as he stepped into it. A low grunt echoed out of him, even as he grabbed it, ripping it out of his opponent's hand. The guy, part of the local talent, stared at him in an almost comical horror, eyes going wide. Steve, flicking a fast gesture to the side of the ring, waited the barest second for the fellow to nod before dropping the stick and grabbing him. With a hand on his belt and palming the back of his neck, they jointly executed the guy being slammed into the side of the ring, with the opponent falling to the ground in a purported daze. Unbeknownst to either of them, Holly had instinctively snatched up the kendo stick, rising from her crouch and holding it horizontally.
A queue of talent lined up before her, and she shared a fast glance with Steve when he noticed, too. Barely waiting for her to agree, he took one end of the stick, ushering her to charge forward with him. Using the stick as an inflexible clothesline, the pair pushed down the guys, forcing them to essentially stay down then. It was becoming clear that the unplanned nature of it had whipped them all into a frenzy, and it was time to come down from the adrenaline rush. Wilson and Barnes, having dealt some kicks and jabs of their own, were retreating back up the ramp, Loki right behind them. The remaining roster members that had come down to stop the shenanigans began to push crew up the ramp, leaving nothing but a wake of bodies writhing on the ground and in the ring. Crossbones, coming up from dealing out a suplex, looked around then, seeing that his call had left him with no competitors. As Steve and Holly started up the ramp themselves, he ran to the edge of the ring, leaning over the top rope and screaming Rogers' name, barely heard over the din.
Rumlow's words were unintelligible over the roars of the crowd, all of them chanting various names and hollering naked approval for the evening's events. However, what was unmistakable was the look he shot the pair, the incline of eyebrows and the downright nasty cast of his face. His gaze darted between the pair, a twisted smirk blooming on his lips. As he continued to shout, unheard, he proceeded to get his point across another way when he caught the confused look on Holly's face.
He pointed from Rogers to her, and despite the numerous cameras and censors working around him, he began to flash an obscene gesture in her direction. The shouts coming from him turned into laughter at Holly's dropped jaw, Steve's arm looped over her shoulders tensing mightily then.
Holly had had no personal dealings with Crossbones prior to that day. She had only heard secondhand accounts from other writers and from Steve himself, and the picture that had been painted had been one of a man with a chip on his shoulder and the determination to make everybody but himself deal with it. Further research watching previous tapings and even some documentaries for the company showed how closely the words matched up. From a distance, he was aloof, hardly paying any of the writers any mind unless he had a bone to pick with one of them; several had gotten on his bad side in recent months, rebuffs for certain angles or lines hitting hard even if he never spoke above a modulated tone. He struck her as a somewhat unnerving man.
Now, he was proving not only that, but he was willing to stoop to gross gestures at her expense, purely to play to the crowd. When she later recalled it, while some of the men had laughed along with him, some of the women on the other sides of the dividers had expressions of disgust on their faces.
A fire burned in her gut, and before she could help herself, a scowl contorted her face, and she stepped forward. Steve's arm was shrugged off as she stomped toward the ring again. Her own gesture was flipped at him, causing the crowds to have an upsurge of hoots and hollers, those same women cheering positively. In that moment, she didn't care; she just wanted to answer him back, letting him know that he couldn't just play off her like that. She had been sent out—not willingly, mind you—to do what her boss had asked of her. Screw Rumlow for thinking he could mock her for it!
She had half a mind to get back out there and tell him exactly what she thought about him, his attitude, and his blasé approach to ring events. Whether she liked it or not, now she was involved.
Large hands grabbed her shoulders, bringing Holly to a halt. Steve had rallied, knowing that the unvarnished response from the woman was too genuine, and he had to put aside his thoughts about timing to stop her. Real anger was in her eyes when he came around to stand in front of her, his grip on her not abating. The hand employing her own gesture had dropped, and she began to push against him.
Keeping her in place, he bent his head closer to hers, his murmur in her ear overriding the screams of the crowd.
"Holl, stop." Blue eyes were met with brown, the words cutting through the upsweep of emotion. Glancing over his shoulder briefly, Steve grimaced in Brock's direction before focusing on Holly again. "Not worth it."
The cameras were ringing them then, and Holly, upon really noticing them that time, seemed to physically shrink back. This was not the job she had signed up for, and Steve knew that. Not everyone sought the limelight or took it in stride as being part of the world. In that moment, she truly began to realize what she had been doing, and she started to breathe heavily. The tall, blond man pivoted around, taking a defensive stance in front of her, glaring up at Rumlow. The laughter had gone away, the crowd's exuberance turning from chants of Crossbones to Cap, Cap, Cap! The preference was clear, and as they were direct opposites of each other (Brock the heel, Steve the perpetual babyface), it became all the starker of a contrast. The man in the ring looked around at the others who were writhing on the mat and ground, as well as noting who had already stumbled away from the ring. One man was left standing, and it was the man that, more often than not, had the ability to do so with no more than a look and proud stance.
In that moment, he had taken the crowd away from Crossbones, and the fury reflecting down at him was far too real to be brushed aside. Though Brock's title was not the one Steve had won that night, the challenge of Rogers even being there was something neither of them was able to ignore.
Idly, Steve wondered if there would be a change of plans down the line because of that night. However, that was not his focus, even as he maintained the pose for several beats longer to allow the cameras to push closer and then retreat. Sliding his glance sideways, he caught one of the camera operators nodding for him, indicating he would be free to take himself and Holly backstage again. Carefully, he took Holly by the arm, guiding her ahead of him and muttering it was time to go. Hustling up the ramp, he continued past the main station, studiously ignoring the crowd that had gathered around the company's head. His arm curled protectively around Holly, guiding her out and down a couple halls until they were by themselves. Pushing through, the pair eventually went into a stairwell, tucked by the steps. It had enough light for Steve to really get a look at Holly.
"Are you okay?" he asked her, gently turning her to better light her face. Her face adopted incredulity. He was asking her that, when he had just finished a match and got through a brawl?
"Me? Don't worry about me." She brushed off the concern he had for her, instead turning it back onto him. "What about you?"
"M'fine," he mumbled, coming down from the adrenaline himself. Scratching the back of his neck, he muttered, "I can't believe Tony sent you all out. That was—"
"Insane?" Holly cut in, snorting hard. Glancing back at her, Steve huffed out a sigh before tipping his head back.
"Well, I was gonna say irresponsible, but that probably sums it up better." Looking back down at her, he stepped closer, tipping her chin up to fully look at him. "You sure you're alright?"
She was sure his voice was just gravelly from all the yelling and shouting he'd done during his match. Swallowing against the sudden lump in her throat, she quickly nodded.
"Yeah," she affirmed, cutting her gaze away. A thought occurred to her, and she couldn't help a giggle before speaking again. "Rumlow's a dick."
Stepping back, Steve gave a chuckle of his own.
"That he is, and then some."
"Hmm," was her apt reply, her breathing starting to steady. For a long moment, they stood there in the stairwell, awash in the glow of the fluorescent lighting, the cries of the crowd fading in the distance. Holly's brown eyes took him in, the huffs of his chest petering off into normal breathing patterns, the sweat on his brow starting to dry. He did not look all that worse for wear, but given that his last injury was internal, she could help but fret a little. On impulse, she grabbed his hand, persuading him to walk with her. "C'mon, you should get checked out by medical, make sure nothing is wrong."
About to refuse, he looked up to see a look in her eye, one that told him he was better off not fighting it. Slowly, he nodded, not wanting to worry her anymore.
"Okay."
As they made their way back down the hall to the makeshift medical bay, neither noticed the dark, watchful gaze taking them in as they passed. Stark, having taken a moment to look for one of his top wrestlers, was a little astonished to find him the company of the writer. Then again, he had been the one to assign her to Rogers' storyline. As it had finished, he had thought about putting her another wrestler's line, maybe even Barnes', but that was before. He had watched as she charged to the ring, and he'd called down the line to make sure a camera was nearby at all times to her (to make sure he hadn't just landed himself into some legal hot water). The brief exchange of glance between her and Steve, along with the protectiveness of the man, had the wheels turning in Stark's head.
There would be a change, he surmised, waiting until they had rounded a corner before leaving himself. However, it would be a change that none of them had seen coming.
A/N:...Well, that took a turn, didn't it?
I thought it was high time for Steve to get his belt. But now, things are shifting, and hopefully he and Holly can hang on for the ride.
I own nothing from the MCU nor do I own any pop culture references in the text.
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!