With the initial success of Holly's introduction as Steve's manager, things began to pick up some speed. The incorporation of a new rival to his title also garnered a great amount of attention, an old legend versus a newer one a classic line that the crowds enjoyed. Each day was a new experience for the brunette woman, the world unfolding in a way she had not anticipated. While the upward trajectory of her career was at times frightening—more press conferences, more time in front of the cameras and being personally involved in the product she was putting out—it was thrilling as well. The challenge it presented suddenly was one she knew she could handle, if not ever fully master, and Holly felt it deep down inside her when she stood beside him, bracing herself every night from that night out.

(It was clear to her, when she woke up with the muted glow of the sun beyond the bus windows' shades and her fingers were still laced with a sleeping Steve's the following day, that more things had shifted besides her career possibilities. When he woke, catching her brief smile before she withdrew, he'd felt the change in the air, too. Neither said anything aloud about it.)

For himself, despite initial misgivings, Steve could accept that Mr. Stark's idea was beginning to show promise. Naturally, the head of the company had worked it out with the board to start investing in some merchandise featuring Holly, another meeting to work out some preliminary designs with her on the road. She'd drafted Steve into surveying the mock-ups of t-shirts and such with her as they traveled, approval or denial given once his artistic eye had examined the offerings thoroughly. Of course, this was all done between rewrites, a few public events, and practices, her incorporation into his stable becoming solidified.

Much like her general presence in his own life had become solidified. It became natural to, along with practicing and working on scripts for shoots, sit together on the bus. Like it was natural to have worked all those hours in the office, going to grab coffee or a quick bite after matches or charity events. It was clear, in those times, affection was building.

In those small moments, the glances, the brief congratulatory hugs and arm lifts ringside, the shared smirks at the staged press conferences, the shift continued to rock them both. The sway was bringing them closer and closer, circles crossing paths over and over, the inevitable conclusion seemingly coming upon them faster and faster. Feeling the undercurrent was one thing, acknowledgement was another, though, and they had not done so. Not even to each other.

The leg of the circuit had settled on Tulsa, Oklahoma for a stop, a few weeks after the first match with Holly's direct participation. Due to time constraints and a booking issue, the wrestlers had to leave straightaway from their last show to make it to the hotels in time for check-in. Any auxiliary staff—writers, crew, and the like—would have to take the remaining bus once everything was taken down and packed up. Unfortunately, Holly had found herself lumped in the latter category, and she and Steve parted ways almost as soon as they had come back through the backstage curtains. His gut tightened at the thought of leaving her behind, but there was nothing he could do about it. Boarding the bus, he kept an eye on the arena until he could no longer easily see it. It was part of the job, though, something he had long ago accepted (even if he wasn't always entirely comfortable with it). Given the lateness of the hour, he along with the others who had caught the conveyance sought to get a short rest. At nearly midnight, the bus pulled into the parking lot of a Radisson Hotel. Despite the season sliding into autumn, the remaining humidity settled on them all as the assembled wrestlers disembarked from the bus. Key cards were handed out, with Steve sharing a room with Sam that time around. He was grateful that he at least had a roommate he could tolerate, let alone was a friend. Sam himself had worked a hard match early in the night, and he was downright exhausted, nearly collapsing on one of the two queen beds and falling asleep with some of his ring gear still on.

Chuckling to himself, the blond man dropped his bags near the empty bed, pulling out his toiletries and getting a quick shower before changing into more comfortable clothes. After casting a glance around the shadowy room, Sam's snuffling snores echoing around, he concluded that he was not ready to sleep just yet. Palming his wallet, phone, and a key card, he decided to make use of the bar situated on the bottom floor of the hotel.

Once he arrived, he looked around the small bar. There were some tables scattered across the floor, most still occupied at that time of night. Doing another scan of the space, he felt some relief at spying someone else he knew sitting at the bar top along the far wall. Bucky Barnes, the erstwhile Winter Soldier and his best friend since elementary school, was there, a beer in hand and his eyes trained on the television in the corner, a repeat of a ball game from earlier in the summer on. He had also dressed down significantly, his longer hair gathered in a loose bun at the back of his head. Approaching the bar, Steve called out a greeting to him, his friend answering back happily enough in spite of the hour. Beers were ordered, the two men breaking off every few minutes to watch the play on the field for the old game. Mentions of home came up as well, with Bucky's old man recovering from a recent surgery and his sister having gone back home for a little while to help their mother with caring for him. That always made Steve feel a little wistful, remembering the good times with his mom and the sparse memories of his own dad. However, he had been practically adopted by the Barnes brood since then, and he liked to hear of their goings-on.

Inevitably, talking shop cropped up, as it was wont to do in those situations. It was beyond count at that point the number of times they'd compared notes while at a 24-hour diner, or in a corner booth at a bar.

"Looks like things are shifting in your favor again, Buck," the wrestler remarked, after they had spoken about that evening's performance. While Captain America's trajectory was remarkable, there were so many other moving parts in the MWE universe, and he was pleased to see his friend making some changes for himself as well. Board approval had finally come down the pipeline, and it was time for him to operate under his own name rather than as the Winter Soldier for the first time in two years.

The other man openly scoffed, a chuckle following it. "Only took a couple years. The Winter Soldier shtick has been good, but I'm looking forward to a run without that gimmick for a while."

Steve spiked an eyebrow at that. "You think Darcy won't play into it at least a little?"

The brunet man hummed under his breath, the corner of his mouth lifting as he considered the statement. He'd been under her purview for awhile by then, so he had gotten to know her foibles as well as the angles she liked to introduce. While he liked working with her, he knew that the mysterious and deadly persona he'd adopted had become her preferred playground. For his part, though, he needed a break. A new run was just what the doctor ordered, in his opinion.

"She's working in conjunction with the Todd guy, so she probably won't do as much as she wants to," Bucky intoned, making his friend outright smirk.

"Too bad for her, then."

"Yeah." Unconsciously, Barnes rubbed at his left arm, the pads of his fingers trailing over permanent marks, the fading minimal despite the passage of time. "I'm kind of hoping that it can free up a little more of my schedule, not having to put on that rubber arm before a match. It really chafes the scars after a while."

It was another part of the persona: half man, half android, being rebuilt from the ground up to be used with deadly force in the ring. The rubber shell, painted to look like a metal-plated appendage, used up so much lubricant every night he had to wear it, and it had taken a long while to get used to it adding extra weight to his arm. It threw off his normal move repertoire and had to be worn from the start of a show until he left an arena. It was draining, in so many ways, as well as painful.

His friend's brow quirked in concern.

"Still?" he asked, and Bucky nodded.

"Uh-huh." Clocking the apprehension in Steve's face, he was quick to allay it. "It's not as bad as it was, when we were first figuring it out, but still."

Companionable silence reigned between them then, each lost in their memories of how he'd gotten the patchwork scarring in the first place. Their unit had been dispatched to a hot area; a firefight having erupted around them. He could never quite recall what happened when he chose to sweep through one of the crumbled buildings to evacuate the people trapped there, but when the percussive blast hit him and knocked him down, he could guess what it was when he next awoke. Well, after he'd woken insensate and screaming from horrid pain. It was mere luck that he had somehow managed to turn so that his exposed left arm was not ripped clean off by the collapse of rubble around him. Instead, an airlift to Germany and several surgeries later, Bucky was left with deep canyons in his arm, and a belated promotion to sergeant to boot. Steve, who had taken charge after their commanding officer went down, had also been promoted to the rank of captain, the success marred with regret of what happened.

Still, they had both survived, and were thriving in spite of it all.

Clearing his throat, Steve murmured, "A more open schedule for you will make Natasha happy, at least."

"Absolutely," Bucky agreed, knowing full well that he was sporting his dopey grin while doing so. It was the grin he always had when he thought about his partner, one that friends and family had teased him about in good humor. Just something about her brought it out in him, and he wasn't going to fight it. Tipping his beer bottle in a sort of salute, he followed aloud with, "Happy wife, happy life, right?"

Steve chuckled, taking a pull from his beer before replying, "You aren't married yet."

"Keyword is yet, Steve." It was true, though. Bucky and Natasha had been engaged for the better part of two years by that point. He'd come in years prior to that, freshly minted from UAC into Core, and on his first day, he'd been laid out in the practice ring by a fast-talking, smirk-wielding redhead he hadn't expected to be as strong as she was. Of course, from that point on, he had pursued a relationship with her, which she happily engaged in as well. In the storied universe of MWE, the two rarely interacted, but in the real world, it was clear that they were attached at the hip. The proposal, when it came, was a private one. Despite their profession, Bucky had downright refused—and Natasha concurred—to do an in-ring one as suggested by Tony. What they had was more than enough for either of them. He drank, washing down the memory of that conversation, and sighed, "That's what will go into more of the free time, the planning."

Steve's gaze strayed to the bar back, taking in the bottles of liquor lining the shelves. "Have fun with that."

A sidelong glance was shot at him, and Bucky cleared his throat. "Things with Zemo seem to be tracking well, too."

Curiosity was spiking through the brunet man, but he preferred to use a subversive maneuver over direct assault at that moment. Since he was not looking at Bucky, Steve missed the clear intent in his face.

"Better than I expected." He broke off for a moment, whistling at the homer one of the players on the screen hit, the televised event panning to the crowd's jubilation. Draining the dregs of his beer, he set the bottle aside and pronounced, "Helmut has some new ideas for when we hit St. Louis in a couple weeks, so we're working on those. Going to get things settled before moving north."

Bucky's eyes narrowed somewhat. It looked like he was going to have to be a touch blunter with his approach.

"How's the writer adapting?" Steve's attention was caught then, pulled from the ballgame and back onto his friend. Affecting nonchalance, Barnes shrugged and said, "I mean, she looks alright on camera, but that only shows so much."

"Holly," Rogers corrected mildly, and his fellow wrestler was hard-pressed to hold back a smirk. Scratching at the curve of his jaw, Steve continued, "She's getting better. I think pulling double duty with writing on top of being a manager is helping distract her."

The underlying admiration surfaced in his tone, along with the tiny grin that had developed since the woman in question had been thrown into his path. Though he was not always available to be around their interactions, Barnes had noticed how often his friend mentioned Holly, her ideas, her techniques. Bucky was just one of the many observers around them who could see what they were refusing to acknowledge. However, he was not willing to pussyfoot around it any longer.

"She does seem a little distracted at times," he said, looking Steve dead in the eye and going for the kill, "usually when you are around."

Ice blue eyes widened, and the blond man coughed to loosen up the sudden dryness in his throat.

"What?" he croaked. The deadpan expression on Bucky's face made the other man visibly wince, but he would not receive any mercy with it.

"C'mon, man. There's no way you haven't heard the rumors floating around." And goodness, there was a good number of rumors ricocheting around the wrestling company. The attraction was so clear when they were together, it practically radiated around them. Whispers had been following in their wake more and more, and the brunet man had fielded so many questions about what was going on due to his friendship with the blond. Enough was enough. "People have eyes, we all see you two together."

The dryness increased, and Steve flagged down the bartender, requesting some water. When the plastic cup was handed to him, he practically drained it in one gulp. Rumors, about him and Holly? People had eyes…they could see…

Could she see, too? He dared to wonder, but he would not voice that thought out loud.

The cup was placed on the bar top, with the fellow struggling to gather his thoughts. "Bucky, I…um."

"It's been a few years since Sharon," the other wrestler stated, gentling his tenor a tad. Having seen the relationship from nearly the beginning to the very end, seeing the highs and lows of it that Steve was willing to share, he knew that it would take time for him to recover. It was longer than he personally had anticipated, but it was evident that enough time had finally passed for his friend to open himself back up, even if it started unconsciously. The serious cast that decorated Steve's features told him that it was no longer an unconscious thing.

"I know. I just…this life is hard, hard enough for one person to handle." Palms were laid flat on the bar top, and he met Bucky's eyeline directly again. "Two people, trying to make it work? That's tougher, and you know that for a fact."

Barnes conceded to that fact with a nod.

"I do. I also know that life outside of the ring doesn't wait for you, and it's less comfortable," he responded pointedly, arching an eyebrow at his oldest friend. "We both understand that."

The past decades as friends stood between them in that phrase, the schoolyard taunting and bullying from others in the neighborhood, the million different slights and hurts that had been forgotten. The hardship of Steve's dad dying in Kuwait, Bucky's father suffering a heart attack. Their moms struggling to support their individual families and each other during recessions. Their personal enlistments in the army, and Bucky nearly going down on maneuver. The promotions, the years away. Scars littered them both, not all physical. Not all were products of the ring.

Real life, the life being lived off camera and without threat of suplexes and DDTs was infinitely more complex.

The blond man's chin drooped; his eyes dropped back to the bar top. "Yeah."

Bucky let out a short breath, digging into his pocket and retrieving a pack of gum. He'd given up smoking a few years back, but in emotional situations like these, he found himself craving a cigarette still. The gum helped get his mind off the want, little by little. Taking out a couple pieces, he chewed as the din of the bar enveloped them, albeit at a quieter clip than before.

"All I'm saying is, it's pretty clear there is something there." Purposefully, he elbowed Rogers in the side, making his case much like he had when they were still kids. Steve gasped in surprise, groaning as he rubbed at the sore spot. Raising his chin, the erstwhile Winter Soldier declared, "Don't use the job to be too chickenshit to find out what it is."

The man called Captain America, grunting as he dropped his hand, riposted, "This sounds a lot like the peptalk you would give me when we went on rollercoasters as kids."

"Still applicable," he retorted, cracking a grin before laughing quietly. Steve joined in for a few moments, the hilarity dying shortly after. They made eye contact again, and Bucky's façade took a sober edge. "Don't leave it for too long, or you will miss out."

One moment went by, then two, and Steve gave a short dip of the chin. The conversation turned at that point, but he had the contents rolling in the background even as he and Bucky started to talk stats for their respective favorite baseball teams (the brunet man followed the Mets, but the blond was a diehard Dodgers fan). Once the score of the game was finalized, it was time to depart, the beer and quiet chat at the bar having done a lot to relax him.

As he bid good night to Bucky after paying and heading out of the bar, he went to the elevator bank. Crossing the lobby, he caught sight of the tail end of a bus pulling away through the windows. As he waited for one of the elevators to come back down to the floor, he took his phone out of his pocket. Fiddling with it for a moment, he toyed with an idea briefly before pursuing it. Stepping away from the doors, he opened the text thread he'd last sent messages in and tapped out a new one.

Hey, Holl. Did you guys make it out here yet? Did they put you all up here at the Radisson?

The send button was pressed before he could second guess himself, blowing out a fast breath as he did so. Steve, nerves snapping as he waited for a response, felt relief flush through him once a return message came through.

Yeah, just got in a few minutes ago. Holly's reply was delivered rather quickly, for the lateness of the hour. The text bubble blipped as she sent more to him. Solo room this time. The other person I was supposed to bunk with had a family emergency come up and they caught a flight back to D.C.

Steve's brow quirked as he typed back, Oh, no, that's not good.

Right? Makes me feel a bit bad about having a room to myself, but then again…

The pounding in his chest seemed to be getting more audible as he pictured her on her own, lying in bed in the darkness, the glow of the lamps in the parking lot illuminating the room. His fingers, however, had not stilled.

I get it. I'm glad you made it here safe. Inhaling deeply, Bucky's words reverberated in his mind, telling to not wait, to not lose his chance. Years had passed since he'd felt this way, and while he could argue against it until he was hoarse and blue in the face, the fact of the matter remained that he did not want to. He would not fight himself. Fingers shook, but after breathing out through his nose, he forced himself to tap another message. Which room?

The text bubble blipped for several long, almost agonizing seconds before the reply registered.

I'm in #301. What's up?

Steeling himself, Steve went back to the elevator bank, jabbing the up button and getting into it as soon as the doors opened up. He hastily pushed the correct button before he gave one last reply.

Be there in a few.

xXxXxXx

Holly sat on the edge of the bed that was hers for the night, busying her hands with tying back her hair into a loose ponytail. With a room to herself, it did not really matter which she chose, but the other was the new home for her bags. She'd been too tired upon arrival to really put anything away, save for her toiletry bag. It had sucked, having to wait to leave until the crowds dissipated, but at least she didn't have to stay overnight there. In reality, it had only been about an hour and a half after the first bus had gone, so it really was not as bad as they initially had thought when the snafu was reported. Check-in went alright, her card in hand and room designation called to her even as she went to the elevators. The day had been a long one, and she was ready to be done with it when she first went into the space. She was midway through changing into pajamas when she registered the ping of her phone's notifications. Steve, despite the lateness of the hour, was checking in on her. It was sweet, and the thrum in her chest could not be ignored as she replied to him.

That thrum had sped up when he told her he would be up to see her, and she found herself blinking down at the device before she dropped it onto the bedclothes. Steve was coming to her room…at 2 A.M. Oh, boy. The occurrence was not common, but also not unwelcome.

The implications sat heavily in her mind as light knocks rebounded off the door. At once she was on her feet, the tiredness that had pervaded her upon arrival all but gone as she peered briefly through the peephole. He was standing on the other side, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his pants and his blond locks flopping over his forehead. The tremble in her digits were disguised by the rapid unlatching of the locks and her opening the door.

Holly took him in: navy sweatshirt, worn jeans, boots swapped out for a beat-up pair of Converse shoes. Shadows were under his eyes, but that physical exhaustion did not play into the brightness of his gaze. Caught up in the intensity of the look, it took her a second or two before she found her tongue.

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?" she asked, lowering her voice to reduce the echo of it in the hall. She turned her head to look down the corridor, missing the appraising once-over he gave her (a too-large t-shirt with the neck stretched out and exposing one shoulder, checked pajama shorts peeking below the shirt hemline, and socks). He shifted in his stance when she looked back at him, twin spots of pink on his cheeks.

"Yeah," he blurted, before he started shaking his head in denial. "I mean, no, nothing has happened, but…can I come in?"

He gestured to the interior of the room, and, swallowing as discreetly as possible, she nodded.

"Uh, sure," she assented, stepping back to let him in. He looked up and down the hall swiftly before going into the room, striding past her with his face set. As he stood in the middle of the room, surveying the set-up—or lack thereof—her arms crossed over her chest, a vain attempt to disguise the fact that she'd removed her bra for the night. Beats of silence passed with them rooted to their spots, and she could no longer take it. "What's going on? Steve, what is it?"

Holly strode over to him, her hand curling around his wrist, persuading him to turn and face her with the gentle touch. Blue eyes met her brown, the light of the few lamps in the room swathing them. He rested his own fingers atop hers momentarily before scratching at the back of his neck.

"I, uh, wanna talk." Off the confusion in her gaze, he clarified, "About the rumors."

The heat that had rushed through her began to fall away in the face of a cold dread.

"There's a lot of rumors going on around here," she attempted to play it off, giving a weak grin. Lifting a shoulder, she muttered, "Almost worse than a high school sometimes."

The corner of his mouth turned up briefly.

"True, but I mean…" He closed his eyes for a second, taking a short breath before finishing, "I mean the ones going around about us."

The drop of her stomach hit then, and her palm fell away, belatedly realizing she was still holding on. She'd wondered if he had heard of those; her face flushed at the thought. The writers' room (or whatever space constituted that while traveling) was abuzz with it, especially when she was introduced as a manager for Steve. She'd caught the glances, the critical looks, and even some glares when she was working on a line, or if Steve happened to be with her as they were working things out.

"Oh." Though inwardly she was freaking out, she tried to remain calm on the outside. Dipping her chin, she exclaimed, "Yeah, there have been some. I've seen some of the online ones, too."

That pulled him up short, and incredulity decorated his features. "What?"

Her face felt red hot then, and she wished she could sink through the floor as she grimaced.

"You know, the ones that think I'm…blowing my way to the top with you?" she managed to squeak out. Determinedly not looking him in the eye, she spat out, "And there's one that thinks there's a threesome situation between us and any number of the others employed here. Mr. Stark has been the typical third mentioned."

Steve's eyes had widened considerably at her proclamation. He wasn't all that interested in social media, only had the barest brushes with it at times, but he had figured out long ago that it would be a tool many would choose to utilize regarding him whether he liked it or not. He had not, however, thought that that line of thought would be publicly posted.

"Oh, Jesus," he breathed, cupping a hand around his mouth as he really let those implications sink in. Holly visibly winced, crossing her arms over her chest again.

"Yeah. I promise, I have stayed out of it," she swore, holding up three fingers in scout's honor. "I know better than to feed the trolls."

That got him to chuckle as well as her, the levity cutting through the awkwardness as he dropped his hand.

"Good," he said, before quirking his brow and looking off at a point over her head. "But really?"

Thinking he was questioning her, Holly hastened to reassure him.

"Yeah. I swear, I am not going to jeopardize your run," she promised him, willing to make the promise a thousand times more if that was what it took. Shaking her head, she half-turned away then, her gaze settling on her reflection in the mirror above the dresser. Her tone drooped, the words coming out before she could stop them. "I know that you don't—"

Her brain finally caught up with her mouth, shutting herself up in that moment. The air between them was thick, the tension high, and she let her gaze flick to meet his through the mirror's reflection. The intensity of it nearly scalded her with its heat, and she dropped it, feeling it worm through her, pooling low.

"I don't what?" he asked, the baritone of his voice gone husky.

"Feel that way," the brunette woman said, not daring to look at him as the words trickled past her lips. "About me. Like I do about you."

The truth, purposefully buried when she fully realized her feelings for this man, had finally pushed its way out. It could not be contained, not after she saw on the Internet, when she caught people staring at them together backstage…especially not the suggestive jokes Sarah snuck in on occasion to tease her. Most of all, she couldn't deny it when she herself was struggling so hard to keep it inside. Steve was a coworker, essentially. And a friend, and, and…her thoughts were running ahead, reminding her yet again of all the reasons why a man like him would not be interested in someone like her. How his life was so full, that the little bit she was able to be a part of was all she could reasonably expect. She was just a writer; one he had been forced to have in the beginning.

Another hot flush ran through her, embarrassment at her adolescent musings rising. She was a grown woman, for Pete's sake; what the hell was wrong with her? Acting like a teenager caught in a crush irked her, but it was difficult to ignore the quiver of fear starting to flood her heart.

Calloused fingers grazed her chin, turning her head to look at him again as he went to her. The height difference between them was reinforced, another wash of heat hitting her then. Even though inwardly she was bracing for rejection, she could not help but close her eyes and lean into the light touch as his hand moved to cup her cheek. He stepped closer, the proximity of his body to hers causing a shiver to go down her spine.

"And if I do?" he whispered, the confession hitting her in that instant. Holly's eyelids flew open, and her jaw dropped. She gaped up at him, and later on, she would wonder if she didn't half look like a large mouth bass while doing so.

"Did you, did you just…?" she stammered out, daring him to repeat himself. To prove that she was not hallucinating, that he actually did—

"Guess I did," Steve confirmed, the tremulous set of his mouth forming into a smile when her gaping became a beam. Unbeknownst to her, he had also felt that spike of fear hit him, the rejection hovering between them unseen. With it banished thoroughly, he gathered her into an embrace, holding her close in a way both had thought to be off limits to them. Later, they would have to figure out the logistics of pursuing a romantic relationship as technical coworkers (there weren't any explicit rules against employee fraternization, but it was a touchy subject, regardless). At that moment, with joy filling them, it did not matter.

A long time passed in each other's arms before Steve stepped back, taking her hands in his and giving her a goofy, lopsided grin to match hers. He cleared his throat, attempting to look stern during his next proclamation.

"If we're going to do this, we are going to do this properly."

Holly's eyebrows inclined. "Properly?"

"Yes. You, me, a date." He squeezed her fingers gently, which she reciprocated in kind. The severity of his countenance melted away as he went on, "Not coffee, no shoptalk. Would you like to?"

She nodded, the beam coming back full force. "Yeah, I would, Steve."

"Okay." He let out a sigh, almost one of relief, and she couldn't help but giggle at it. Turning to look over his shoulder at a battered digital clock on the nightstand between the beds, he asked, "Tomorrow, or I guess today, too soon?"

"Not at all," she replied, shaking her head in emphasis. At that moment, a long yawn crawled out of her mouth, one that Steve could not stop himself from doing, too.

"I suppose we should get some sleep before that," he murmured, giving her fingers one more squeeze before letting go. The details could be hammered out later in the morning, though he was unsure if he really would be getting any rest now. He took a couple steps back, so unwilling to leave, but he knew he had to go. Smiling at her once more, he pivoted on his heel and moved towards the door, bidding her. "Good night, Holly."

His palm barely closed around the handle of the door before her voice broke the quiet farewell.

"Wait."

Pausing, he circled to face her again, confusion in his expression.

"Hmm?" he hummed, wondering what was left to say in that instant. The response from Holly was not a verbal one. Instead, she strode right up to him, placing her hands on his shoulders and rising on the balls of her feet. On instinct, Steve held her waist to support her, stepping into her embrace. Bending his head, he met her halfway for a kiss, one that had been held back on for too long in their opinions. It started sweet, with them slowly taking in the moment, but once Holly's lips parted beneath his, he couldn't stop a groan from rumbling in his throat. He pulled her to be flush against him, her arms moving to wind around his neck as he gathered her up. Long-withheld passion rose, the tide changing and sweeping them away with it. It would have been so easy to fall over the edge, but deep down, both he and she knew it was not yet time to do so. Once the wave passed, the pair had to catch their breath. Bracing his forehead against hers, Steve muttered, "I was gonna wait until after the date for that."

An airy giggle, and Holly's lips brushed over his again. "Incentive to go through with it."

As he pulled his head back to look down at her, she could see the blown state of his pupils, the blue slowly returning even as he kissed her forehead.

"I don't need incentive," he breathed, another kiss dropped on her lips along with a farewell. "Good night."

"Night," she replied, planting a last peck on his cheek before stepping back and allowing him to slip out the door. Sliding the bolts back into place, she leaned her back against the panels, chin rising and her gaze searching the ceiling as she grinned almost stupidly upward. This was mirrored by Steve in the hallway, neither of them knowing the other had done so.

A/N: Happy holidays and happy New Year, everybody! Hope you had a great time with it all. Or that it was at least tolerable. :-)

So, Holly and Steve finally admit something is there, after basically a canonical six or so months. I didn't see the sense in waiting too much longer, so eh, why not? More change for the pair, but change isn't always a bad thing. Let's see where this goes from here.

Also, wanted to give a little nod to Bucky's (Mr. Stan's) rubber arm to simulate metal plating. I'm sure he is relieved to not have that be part of his body in reality.

Just as a reminder, I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text.

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