"Are you nuts?"

Tony Stark raised his gaze from the computer screen, the Monday after the first pay-per-view of Rogers' return. He was there, having taken some time out of his schedule to look over a few prosthesis prototypes that Stark Industries was working on. They showed promise, looking at using lighter and more durable materials combined with adjustable tech to better accommodate veterans with disabilities. Though he no longer was directly contracted by the government to do so, the previous years under their thumb did allow him to see the needs of the many over the few up close. Instead of having his work co-opted, he wanted to have control over the enterprise. However, the last several hours had been spent combing over the blueprints until he was nearly cross-eyed from the effort.

His focus landed him back in the present, in his office suite on the top floor of the MWE Building. The modern opulence of the room faded out of his consciousness, the glass desk on a raised platform and leather couches in a separate sitting area pushed away. Very few people were given codes for direct access to the suite: his appointed staff, Pepper, and proven wrestlers of the brand. Given the baritone voice and the consternation in it, he knew very well it did not belong to any staff assigned to that level.

Instead, he was met with the icy stare of one Steve Rogers, jaw clenched and a rod rammed in his backside, no doubt. The double doors to the suite had already shut, heavy mahogany in place of the typical glass used elsewhere in the building.

Leaning back in his chair, Stark dared to smirk. "Not according to my recent testing."

The blond man before him did not even roll his eyes, he was so visibly agitated.

"Stark, this is serious," he reprimanded him. Steve was one of the few who did not quake before the golden Stark name or its bearer. Rather, he treated Tony with the same courtesy as he would the hot dog vendors at any of the arenas that had his name plastered all over them. In general, the tech genius rather liked that about him, but instances like this one could really stick in his craw. It meant that he would be in the oncoming discussion for the long haul, rather than being able to just wave it away.

"What isn't with you, Steve?" the billionaire sighed, gesturing towards the visitors' chairs in front of his desk, a nominal one that he knew the other man would not take up. Instead, he watched warily as Rogers strode forward, tossing his phone onto the desktop. Glancing down at it, the brunet could see that the screen was lit up with an opened app, and he met the blond's eyeline. "So, you've read your emails, then."

"I have. That's why I think you're nuts." The other man's remarks were followed by a hand combing through his hair, the agitation clear. Tony waited in silence, spiking an eyebrow and watching as Steve began to pace. "This is not a good idea. She has no training, no experience. She's a writer, for God's sake!"

Oh, yes, he had definitely read that email. As one of the parties to be affected by changes, he was sent the confidential-marked missive. After witnessing how she had stepped up to his commands and her interactions with not only the situation but Steve himself, Tony had settled on a new course of action. Holly Martin would be drafted to the roster, pending her agreement, in a manager position alongside Rogers. Something about the unspoken chemistry between them was unmistakable, one that he had not foreseen when he had assigned her to work with the wrestler months ago. What had started as an experiment to put the junior writer through the paces and test her mettle had morphed into something Stark had not anticipated. Only once he had consulted with the company lawyers and the board, he moved forward with the action, with a block of time carved out of the afternoon to go over the paperwork with her.

He wasn't altogether shocked that Steve would oppose the idea, however, and he had been mentally preparing for this confrontation even as the idea took shape a few days prior.

"Hey, I am not going to throw her into singles matches or anything," Tony pointed out mildly, rising to stand as well. Pointing at the phone as the screen went dark, he continued, "It's in everyone's contracts, has been since my dad ran this company."

Tony's reminder of the policy was met with a derisive grunt, and Steve scrubbed a palm over his forehead.

Spreading his hands wide, the billionaire said, "I am thinking that this is a great chance to work a new angle. You haven't had a manager in a long time now, and—"

Steve cut him off, "I thought I told you that I don't want those types of lines anymore."

What was left unsaid between them spoke volumes, and Stark could see the rigidity give way to awkwardness. Chewing the inside of his cheek for a moment, Tony stepped around the desk finally, coming up to the man he considered a friend as well as an employee.

"It's been four years, Steve," he murmured, tone quieted. Steve dropped his gaze and let out a deep breath through his nose, clearly dispelling the well of emotion in him that way. Crossing his arms, Stark took that moment to make his case. "Frankly, I think this is the right step for your continuing comeback. You've been out of the ring for nearly seven months prior to now, and you have ring rust showing after your first title match back. Crossbones ran roughshod over you with his little stunt."

The bigger man brushed it off, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. "I got back on my feet quick enough. It always takes the guys some time to get back into the groove of things, especially for title runs. I'm just the same as them."

"No, Rogers, you're not." The blatant honesty of the moment overtook Tony. He could never understand how Steve continued to insist that he was no different from the rest of the roster. In his time, both as the son of the owner and his ownership outright, Stark had seen many wrestlers come in and out of the company's doors, some excelling and raising the industry to new heights, others disappearing into the mists after a few circuits with them. He had a knack for seeing talent and propping it up; he knew, almost innately, who had staying power and who didn't. Captain America's tenure was not all that long as some from previous years, but he had that power to become a legend in his own right. And he would hammer that point home as many times as it took to get it through the younger man's head. "You know damn well your position in this company. You know that you have a lot more at stake than some of them. I thought you wanted to do what it takes to get back on top."

The wrestler frowned. "I just wanted to get back in the ring and do my job. That's what I'm doing."

"C'mon, Rogers, you don't get to act like the titles mean nothing to you. Don't act like your whole career here is like another day in the office," the company owner admonished him. That earned him nothing more than a derisive snort. Lighting on a different tack to try, he followed with, "Martin is the reason you were approved for this run, and you know it. Let her keep helping you with it."

Expecting a bit more reticence, it was something of a surprise to Stark to watch as Rogers' cutting gaze soften somewhat, no doubt turning over the last few months in his mind. Eventually, the stiffness in his shoulders melted, and he seemed to almost sag as he came to his own decision and nodded. That concession was brief, and the harsh posture was back, along with a finger jabbing in Tony's direction.

"Only a manager, got it? She can't wrestle without training, and I will not put her in that position. Neither will you." He took a few steps closer to the billionaire, each clip of his boots on the tile floor punctuating his words. "That's my stipulation. Otherwise, I will walk out that door right now."

Tony's dark eyes widened, even more surprised than he was before. Never, ever, had Rogers drawn such a hard line in the sand. When it came to himself, his career, there of course were several hard and fast rules, personal ones that the company abided by. Still, he had not ever stated he would leave if a demand was not met. The closest he had gotten was four years ago, and that ended, well, that ended with him staying at MWE.

This writer, this young woman, was enough. Somehow, some way, things had shifted.

"Wow," was all Tony could croak out, and Steve merely shrugged at it.

"I know the cost of this business," he stated, inwardly fighting down the upsweep in him that had pushed out his line. Though he was careful to not let on in front of his boss, the counter that came out of his own mouth had shocked him, too. Clearing his throat, he was quick to point out, "She is only starting to learn. I won't let her pay for it, not for me."

A long minute passed, the two men in a veritable standoff. Soon, Tony let out a fast breath, and nodded.

"Okay, Rogers. Manager only." He extended his hand, and Rogers took it, the handshake a seal on the deal. The blond man let go after that, turning and striding back towards the doors. Not wanting it to sit there, Stark spoke up, halting the wrestler as he reached the mahogany panels. "Just don't be upset if she makes choices that are different from your wishes. Besides, she might refuse and walk away, and this whole conversation will be moot."

"Hmm," was the apt reply, the shoulders tightening up once more. Gripping the door handle, he paused once more and looked over his shoulder. "And what about Brock?"

The hardened expression on Tony's face said far more than any words could, though he did choose to answer that query aloud.

"That is a separate issue, and trust me, I am dealing with that personally."

Steve narrowed his eyes for a second or two before nodding at that.

"Good," he said, pulling the door open and leaving the office. Stark, watching as he passed the glass walls and went back down the hall towards the elevator bank, let out a long sigh. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he knew that he would have to set aside his other project for the time being. He had a lot to work on, starting with the contract meeting, and he had a feeling it would go about the same as the confrontation with Rogers did. It would be best to get ready now and brace himself thoroughly for it.

xXxXxXx

It was rare for Sarah Collins to go into the offices section of the MWE complex. She had her own desk space, of course, but for the trainers, it was more of a bull pen set-up in a hall just off the training complex, squished between that and the internal arena for UAC's tapings. However, it was her best friend's office that she was going to visit, an urgent text message pleading for her to come up at the end of the day. Once she wrapped with some collaborative work for the next coming show, she got herself cleaned up and headed to the correct floor. Counting the office numbers by the door frames, the trainer noted the correct one's door was ajar, and utter silence beyond it. Brow furrowing, the blonde woman pushed it open, taking in the scene before her. Holly, seated behind her desk, was pushed back from it, leaning forward with elbows on knees and her face buried in her hands. Clearing her throat, Sarah waited until Holly dropped her hands, and she blinked at the completely disturbed expression on her friend's face.

Not bothering to wait for permission, the smaller woman strode into the room, closing the door soundly and going to her friend.

"What's going on, Holl? I got your text, and you look…" she trailed off, taking in creased brow and agitation in the brunette's gaze. Carefully, she reached out, laying a palm on her shoulder, and waited until Holly let out a deep groan. Taking that as her cue, Sarah perched herself on the desk's edge, biding her time as the other young woman gathered her thoughts.

"Do you know what I was just doing?" Holly posited after a minute or two. Not bothering to get confirmation or denial, she continued, "I was stuck in a conference room with Tony-fricking-Stark and the fricking company lawyers, renegotiating my fricking contract to become part of the fricking talent."

That took Sarah aback, causing her to physically jerk back in her seat. About to ask if she was fibbing, she took in the new emotion lining Holly's features—despondence—and knew it was true.

"Holy shit," she breathed, unable to form another thought beyond that. Holly, part of the talent? That was utterly baffling. Her accent, which she tried to suppress at work, came out on the two words, the lightly elongated shee-it making Holly chuckle under her breath. You could take the girl out of Virginia…

Turning her head toward her computer, she muttered, "Tony thinks it would be good for Steve's upcoming runs to have me start making appearances as his manager."

It was difficult enough, fielding phone calls from her family. Her brother, of course, had a subscription to the MWE Network and app, so he was able to connect to watch the pay-per-views. With her joining in a writing capacity, he started getting the extended more involved, so they could see her work playing out. When she was sent out by Tony, to physically aid Captain America, he, her parents, and her niece had all watched it play out (even though the little girl should have been in bed). Word began to spread through their family, and suddenly, they were all reaching out to her, trying to check on her, to see if she was becoming a wrestler, too, and wasn't she supposed to just be a writer?

She had answered confidently, during those calls, that it was a one-time thing, and that she had no intention to become part of the roster.

That night, that command from Tony, and Rumlow's appearance changes things, apparently. And before she knew it, she was sitting in the cold boardroom, trying to wrap her head around the activated rider in her contract.

Holly shoved her chair back suddenly, banging a fist on the desk as she did so. The well of feelings was finally overflowing, and she could not stop it from coming out.

"Stupid, freaking Rumlow! That damn—" and here tumbled out a litany of curses before finishing, "—open challenge!"

Dramatic as it was, Sarah couldn't help but find it a little funny. Chuckling, she recalled her friend's actions during that televised moment. "It was a little funny, how you flipped him off. So many people here would love to tell him to sit on it and spin."

The brunette groaned again, slouching in her chair as her anger was spent. "Why does anyone put up with him?"

Sarah slid a sidelong glance back at the closed door.

"Well, this is all rumors but…" Her gaze flicked back to her friend, who was now sitting at attention. Deciding that she couldn't resist the tidbit of gossip, she confided, "One of the higher-ups, Mr. Pierce, keeps vouching for him, from what I hear. Though the last few months of his own crappy behavior have put Pierce on shaky ground, too. Brock's sales are great, though. He's good at his job, but he's just…"

Holly's eyebrows rose, and she mused sardonically, "A little shit?"

"That's a nicer term for it." At that, Sarah hopped off the desk, going over to her friend and patting her on the shoulder again. Raising her chin, she declared, "Look, Holl, we'll just up what we have been training you for, maybe see about throwing in some moves for you to use as well."

Holly managed to give her a weak smile before dropping her head back into her hands.

"I can't believe I'm doing this. This is insane."

"How much did they bump your pay?" Sarah arched a fine eyebrow at the stooped woman in the chair, observing as she peeped through her fingers at her. The sheepish cast to her gaze through the appendages told her everything she needed to know. Nodding sagely, she remarked, "I thought so. I'm surprised you didn't walk."

Holly dropped her hands, sitting up straight once more. "I thought about it. But…it's just to be a manager, not a full-time wrestler. It will help Steve. I want to help him. And it could just be for the short-term, anyway. Managers are only that for maybe a year at most, from what I saw."

The petite woman, noting the other's emphasis of helping Steve, stored that nugget of knowledge for later. Rather, she dipped her chin, acknowledging the statement at the end.

"Yeah, they typically transition into their own wrestling career or fade into the background. If you get popular, though, you might be stuck in that position for awhile," she reminded the brunette. Cupping a hand in the air, she said, "Or they might switch you off to someone else."

Holly's face suddenly became deadly serious. "If they even hint at ever switching me off Steve to someone like Rumlow, I will quit. I mean it."

"I believe it," Sarah replied, taking in the sincerity of the words. Holding out her hand, she grabbed Holly's, helping haul her out of her seat and start tugging her in the direction of the training spaces. It may have been after hours, but there was no time like the present. "Let's get to work."

xXxXxXx

Steve locked up his personal office, his own time spent with the lawyers having eaten up a good amount of his day. While he was not in the same room as Holly had been, they had passed each other between their separate contract amendment signings. The look on her face made his heart twist in his chest; there had been no time to warn her, as once he'd finished up with Tony, things seemed to ramp up. As they passed by, he gave her as encouraging of a grin as he could, one she tried to return before being directed into another room, Stark standing by the open door and saluting him before shutting it behind her and him.

The wrestler could only go back to his workspace, choosing to lose himself in sketching and examining the playback of the title match, noting in a separate notebook slip-ups, things that needed tightening up, and even a couple of positives that he would want to repeat in future matches. He paused the screen after awhile, choosing to indulge in the artistic pursuit exclusively. Reassurances from Tony about involving Holly circled his mind, as well as his own turbulent thoughts on the matter, and the only thing that could calm him was his art. Sketching had always helped him declutter his mind, well before he was ever a wrestler or even a soldier. When he was a child, he first picked up pencil and paper, allowing himself an outlet to record the world around him as he perceived it, and to imagine what it could be. Having grown up a sickly kid, in and out of the hospital with his mother, it was good to develop a hobby and skill that could be done without leaving his room during testing or overnight stays. It remained true through his adulthood, bringing him peace after returning from maneuvers or bad bouts in the ring.

When he finally felt some calm, Steve put the sketchbook aside and let out a deep breath. He looked up at the clock on his desk, noticing it was after closing for the main complex. Deciding he needed to at least get in a nominal workout before leaving, he shook the mouse for his computer. The screen woke up, showing him the moment he'd paused at during the video. It was when he was telling Holly it was time to go back up the ramp, that responding to Brock's taunting wasn't worth it. He stared at it, at the vulnerable turn of Holly's head to look up at him, the softening gleam in her gaze as the reality of the situation was setting in. Something akin to a rush and heat flooded through him, and he cleared his throat, forcing himself to put the machine into shutdown.

That image stayed in his mind as he made his way to the training complex, detouring into the locker room and going to his assigned locker to change into workout clothes. It would be quick, just some curls and rowing, nothing too harrowing. Looking up as he exited, Steve stopped just over the threshold of the room, noting the emptiness of it. With the lights still being on, he had thought there would be more people in the training facility, but there was no one.

No one, save the lone figure sitting in the center of the practice ring. Her back was to him a dark t-shirt two sizes too big swathing her torso and brunette hair falling out of the messy bun she'd put it in. Perhaps sensing more than hearing him, she turned, swiping at the sweat on her face. Her chest was rising and falling with her breaths, though they seemed to be evening out.

It was Holly, the trepidation sliding off her face as she greeted him with a grin and halfhearted wave.

"Hey." The breathlessness of her voice was obviously from recovering from her own workout, but it still caught him in a way he was not expecting. A low burn went through him, and he shifted in his stance.

"Hey," Steve replied, forcing his tongue to cooperate. Striding over to the ring he stood at the edge of it, resting his arms on the lip of the raised platform. Silence hovered between them then, and he glanced away, tapping his fingers on the mat. Gathering up his gumption, he decided it was time to address the elephant in the room. "Look, I tried to talk Stark out of it, out of making you a manager. I didn't ask him to get you mixed up with this side of things, I swear."

Blinking, she shook her head before getting up. Crossing over to his side, she knelt down in front of him, bracing a hand on the lowest rope.

"I know you didn't. I signed the contract, not under duress." She rolled her eyes heavenward, and shrugged. "I mean, this part scares the ever-living out of me, to be honest, but I agreed."

Blue eyes met brown as they looked at each other, and he said, "You didn't have to."

"I know I didn't have to. I told you I would do what I could to help you back up, Steve. I keep my promises." This, she punctuated with placing her palm on his shoulder, total sincerity in her tone. The corner of her mouth runed up, and she quipped, "The pay raise helps, though."

That got him to chuckle, and her little victory grin allowed him to relax, at least slightly.

"I can imagine," he retorted, an almost playful edge to his words. Bracing his palms on the mat, he pushed himself up onto the lip, standing as Holly did. Sitting on the middle rope, he pushed the top up to allow her to climb out. Once both of them had their feet firmly on the ground again, he scratched the back of his neck, deciding it was time to teach her something new. "Since we'll be working a closer and more dangerous capacity, we need to start relying on each other more. I think you've probably noticed how we are able to signal or talk to each other, even in front of the cameras?"

Holly canted her head. "I have."

"Good. I won't coach you on moves or anything; I know you're Sarah's charge," he quickly stated, knowing they were nowhere near able being to spar or train with each other. Raising his hands, he said, "We'll start with signals."

Her brow furrowed in curiosity. She hadn't heard of that before for wrestling. "Is there a standard set?"

Steve shook his head. "Not really, except for some general verbal communications. That is something we'll come up with together. They have to be quick hand motions, so that the audience doesn't always catch it, and so if something happens, we can see it quickly. I can't guarantee that things won't get dicey for you, even standing outside the ring. If something goes wrong, we need to communicate."

Slowly, Holly nodded, understanding the practicality of the suggestion. Whatever would help them both out in the long run, she would take it.

"Okay," she agreed. For the next several minutes, they did a few motions back and forth to each other, either agreeing or debating on what would indicate what meaning. After practicing for awhile, Holly repeated the agreed motion for okay, two fingers tapping near the temple in a sort of salute. Chuckling, Steve returned it. On impulse, she reached out, grabbing his hand as it came down, gripping it tightly.

"Thanks, Steve," she told him, doing her best to convey the depth of her gratitude to him. There was so much else he could be doing, so many other places he could be, but here he was, taking the time with even the smallest thing to help ground her in her new role. Sarah, of course, was being thanked for her efforts with baked goods, but in the moment, she only had her words for him. Clearing her throat, she nearly stuttered, "I'll, I'll do my best, you know, for this next phase of your run. I don't want to…drag you down."

Looking down at their linked hands, he managed to squeeze her palm back before it was dropped, pink smattering along his cheekbones as he ducked his head.

"You won't," he murmured. Taking a breath, he lifted his chin, smirking slightly. "You'll probably be the one getting my ass out of the fire again."

A laugh ripped out of her then, her eyelashes lowering as she met his gaze. "We'll see, won't we?"

xXxXxXx

The following day, two days before the roster would be back on the road for the next event, found Holly in one of the empty dressing rooms. While some of the roster had their own offices at the complex, the sound stage portion had some spare rooms not assigned to anyone. Rotating talent could use them for shoots, promos, or any sort of camerawork that was needed. She was seated before a wide mirror, a frame of lights surrounding it. She was told to arrive around two o'clock, and she was not about to flout the schedule. It seemed so strange to not be in her own space, working on the next set of dialogue or figuring in beats of action, but instead having a couple of the hair and makeup techs for UAC assisting her. Her hands were tucked into the sleeves of her sweater, and she was willing them to stop wringing as brushes passed over her eyelids and hairspray encompassed her. The previous evening came back to mind, and she mulled it over as she sat.

"Publicity shoots are all new to me," she'd confessed to Steve, the pair of them sitting by the ring. They had stayed late after rehashing signals. The itinerary email for the following morning had come through that evening from the filming crew, and she felt so odd about being included. Toying with a loose thread on the bottom hem of her t-shirt, she murmured, "I acted in a couple plays in high school, but I was never a lead or anything. Feels weird to think I will be upfront, if not center."

"At least it is just pictures, some cinema shots, that sort of thing" he attempted to reassure her. Resting his arm against hers, his presence did far more to comfort her than his next words did. "When we get to the real promo work, I'll help you with it."

She'd managed a wan smile, tapping his arm in appreciation. "Thanks, Steve."

Holly came back to the present moment, looking into the mirror as she was bid. The makeup was subtle, enough to be picked up by a camera, but nothing quite as ostentatious as some the female wrestlers did. Her hair was styled, out of the ponytail see seemed to sport daily at the office, seeming to float almost softly around her face. Inhaling at the effect, her fingers gently touched the ends of it. She supposed it had to do with her role being more understated, and she would take that gladly. The makeup and hair ladies had pronounced her finished, leaving just before one of the people from the costuming department had arrived. Select clothes were suddenly laid out of the counter next to her, each individual garment allotted its own space. She had sent over her sizes that morning, and she was inwardly grateful that they had items that could fit her on hand. Glancing at the shoes, she raised a hand, stopping the costumer from leaving.

"Excuse me," she said, willing her voice to come out stronger than she felt in that moment. Gesturing to the shoes and standing, she told the costumer, "I can't wear those. I'll snap my ankles in these heels."

The woman turned to face her fully, exasperation lighting her angular features. Shaking her head, the imperceptible swish of her short, dyed hair fluttered as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her name tag, pinned to her chest and declaring her to be Lillian, scrunched up.

"Ugh, you're not wrestling in these," she retorted, nearly clicking her teeth against her lip ring. Raising an eyebrow at the brunette, she scanned her body critically. She'd spent a good while looking for an administrative look on the fly, and many of the female wrestlers wore heels without issue. "What, are you gonna say you're not like other girls next?"

Feeling a hot prickle rush up her spine and the burn in her face, Holly shook her head.

"No, I am just trying to avoid having to make a worker's comp claim, okay?" She glanced down at the flats on her feet, knowing she hadn't worn heels for so long that she was not confident that she could walk in them. Her left ankle, one that she had sprained in high school after a softball game, ached just from look at the tall footwear. Meeting the costumer's eyeline again, she requested, "Just…is there something back here that isn't six inches and stiletto?"

The imploring look she sent back to the other woman got her to pause, the snide cast to her face coming off. Clearly, her nerves were obvious to others, as Lillian sighed gently, going back to the pile and picking up the footwear.

"Fine, I suppose we can tweak the look a little," she conceded, leaving the room as Holly gave her a quiet thank you. Taking the opportunity to change into the attire, she had barely managed to fasten the last button before shoes that better suited her arrived. Once those were tugged on, she teetered after Lillian, following her direction out to where the photoshoot would be taking place.

Steve was waiting on the dais, the platform and some layered background pieces draped in various shades of red, white and blue. A chair, similarly bedecked, was in the center, and he was perched on it. His title belt, now bearing his name plates, was strapped around his waist, the outfit of choice for him being the updated look from his won title match. The helmet was strapped on, the effect of it all making him look like a superhero straight from the pages of a comic book. She chuckled to herself; perhaps wrestlers were like superheroes come to life, in certain ways.

Carefully stepping around cords and lights, Holly made it partway to the stage before the bigger man looked in her direction. Despite half his face being covered by the eyeplate of the helmet, it could not hide the almost gobsmacked look on his face. They stared at one another for a long moment, before Steve managed to find his tongue and speak

"That's…different," he sputtered, taking in the sight of her.

Holly looked down. She was in a blue blouse, a dark gray vest layered over it. However, the design of the shirt was just so that the cut of the blouse dipped down to show a hint of cleavage (obviously, knowing it would sell, she remarked inwardly). A black pencil skirt encompassed her, the look finished with black wedge boots. It was not all too different from her office attire, just perhaps a bit more...alluring. Subconsciously, she tugged the lower edge of the vest, trying to adjust it to sit a little better.

"Good or bad different?" she ventured aloud, looking at him. Steve blinked rapidly, shifting in his seat.

"Good. It's good." Bashfully, he dipped his chin, a crooked grin gracing his lips as heat flooded his face. "Sorry."

"No, no worries." Once, twice, she cleared her throat before flapping a hand at the edge of the platform. "Can you give me a hand? The skirt is a little restrictive."

Immediately, he put the shield down, moving to get off the stage. "Yeah, of course."

Steve hopped off the edge, coming over to Holly's side. Carefully, she braced a palm on his shoulder, her arm sliding fully over his arm looped around her back. His palm, big and warm, bled heat through the material of the clothes as he counted off. On three, she gripped, he lifted, and she planted her booted feet firmly on the platform, relief flooding through her for a brief moment. Once up there, she let go of him, turning around and staring at all the lights and the set-up of the stage. It all seemed like a Hollywood dream, for a second or two. It was broken by the number of crew coming in, along with the lead photographer. The fellow was working with videography, though stills and promotional photos would be done before any action shots.

"Steve, sit here," the photographer instructed, his name lost to Holly just after introducing himself. As the bigger man followed his instruction. The shield was placed to the left, resting along one of the draped background pieces, and he was told to put the belt on his shoulder, holding it face out. Once he was positioned, the fellow gestured for her to come over. "Okay, Holly, stand here."

She was gently prodded to stand a little behind the chair, and she stepped with caution over the flowing fabric that spilled around her feet.

"Drape your arm on his shoulder, lean forward…just like that. Perfect," the other man crooned, clearly pleased with the effect as she followed his words. Essentially, she had her forearm draped over Steve's right shoulder, her hand resting on the title belt as she pressed in from behind. Palm out, the photographer hopped off the platform, darting back behind his camera set-up. "Hold it right there, and give me serious."

Doing her best to affix a serious expression on her face, she chanced a glance down, noting that Steve had turned his head to look up at her. As the other man was still puttering with set-up, he took a chance to signal to her, the ringing lights making his eyes almost glitter.

Two fingers tapped at the temple in a salute. You okay?

Her shoulders lost their stiffness, and she shot him a fast grin, responding to the signal in kind.

Okay.

The corner of his mouth raised a fraction before Steve looked forward again, severity invading his expression, and she followed suit, the duo taking steady breaths as the first shots flashed and clicked. A thrill thrummed low in her gut, despite her apprehension; perhaps it would be okay, going into this new chapter. Only time would tell.

A/N: Sorry this one took two months. I started, hit a rut, got busy with work, and then inspiration struck again. Ah, the fun of being an adult at times.

More progress on some fronts...we will see where this twist takes our duo...

As ever, I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references made in the text.

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