Chapter 15 - Stevie

January 10, 2014, 1 p.m.

Natasha used the "sick baby" excuse with this bus driver as well – word for word, the same as the last time she had. Even her inflections were identical. This time, Maggie was working overtime to help out, red face screwed up in anger as Stevie ineffectually tried to soothe her.

"You sure you want to get out here?" The bus driver asked, looking out skeptically at the neighborhood around them, with its boarded windows and bums gathered in corners.

Natasha assured him that her sister lived close by. He shrugged and let them out.

They ducked down an alley. A pair of ragged looking people sat on a stoop, staring vaguely into the distance. Natasha walked up to them and held out two twenty dollar bills.

"Gentlemen," she said. They looked up at her with confusion and guarded interest. "We need your coats."

Stevie had found no bedbugs in the dingy motel room, despite her thorough search, but she still wasn't entirely convinced that the ancient crib the man had given her wouldn't give Maggie tetanus. Natasha had gone out for "supplies" over a half hour ago, and nothing Stevie had done had been able to soothe her daughter, who sobbed with a single-minded tenacity that would have impressed Stevie if it hadn't been so goddamn irritating.

"Shhhh, shhh...you're okay. You're okay," she murmured, patting the girl's back as she howled.

Stevie almost felt bad for the couple in the room next door. Then the half-heard voices turned into moans and rhythmic thumping and her sympathy evaporated.

"Oh, for crying out loud," she muttered, punching the buttons on the remote with unnecessary force as she bounced Maggie on one hip. A cartoon with a horse-headed man, a red-haired young woman pouting in a short skirt, unrealistically handsome doctors – also pouting. Finally, she stumbled across something in black and white. It was The Count of Monte Cristo from...was it 1934? She'd made Bucky read the book after they watched it. He'd said it was okay, but "too damn long."

"How many times can you describe a man getting whipped? I felt like I was in jail, reading it."

"That's the point!"

Stevie turned up the volume to drown out the couple's activity. Maggie raised her own sobs accordingly.

Stevie felt something inside her snap. She threw the remote against the wall and held Maggie in front of her at arms' length.

"Can you just be quiet for one goddamn second? Please!?"

The girl quieted for a moment, little eyes wide in surprise. Stevie realized she'd been shouting, almost shaking her. She felt a wave of guilt crash over her like nausea. Stevie left her in the rickety crib and almost ran out the door, sliding down it and resting her head on her knees. Inside the room, Maggie's cries resumed, high and desperate.

"Hey."

Stevie opened her eyes. Between her own feet were the scuffed toes of Natasha's boots.

"Sounds rough in there."

Stevie closed her eyes again.

"I'm a monster," she muttered into her knees.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that." Natasha sat down next to her on the balcony. Stevie heard the dry-leaf rustle of plastic bags shifting, the hiss of a soda bottle opening. When she didn't look up, Natasha poked her hard in the shoulder.

"Ouch."

"Drink it."

Natasha handed her a bottle of Coke – tall and cold. Stevie downed it in one long swallow.

"Good, huh? Mexican. Real sugar – none of that high-fructose corn syrup BS."

The door next to theirs opened, and a woman emerged in a fluffy pink bathrobe with tousled hair.

"Hey," she said. "Could you shut that baby up? We're trying to have some rest and it's..."

The woman had obviously caught sight of Natasha's face, and her voice died to silence. A heavyset man emerged behind her, pushed his girlfriend aside.

"You bitches need to calm that brat down. I paid for this room and..."

Natasha smiled at him. He slammed the door and Stevie heard the bolt shoot home. How does she do that? Natasha was already pulling foil-wrapped packages out of her bags.

"Dollar Menu cuisine," she said. "Want the double bypass or the triple bypass? I got some chicken nuggets and Go-Gurt for Maggie if you think food would help."

Stevie was suddenly ravenous. She ate three fried chicken sandwiches, barely registering their contents.

"The downside of the supersoldier metabolism, huh?" Natasha said, as Stevie wiped ketchup from her chin with the back of her hand. Inside the hotel room, Maggie was finally silent. Only the sound of Robert Donat's voice came through the door.

While Maggie slept, Natasha dyed Stevie's hair brown.

"That Elsa braid is a dead giveaway."

"You're one to talk," Stevie said. "There aren't that many gorgeous redheads in DC."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Natasha said. She took a pair of hair scissors from the counter. "Towel off. The color change isn't enough."

Stevie sat on a rough hotel towel at the edge of the bed, as Natasha cut her hair to right below her chin. It hadn't been that short since Kreichsburg, when a fireball had burned off her braid. Stevie closed her eyes and remembered Peggy cutting her hair, her deft hands, her soft voice. How Stevie missed her, the young Peggy, calm and capable and absolutely trustworthy. Now, if only to herself, Stevie could admit that she missed the war itself.

Right and wrong, she thought. So easy to decide.

She wasn't cut out for this cloak-and-dagger stuff. But that didn't matter. Something terrible was about to happen, and she might be the only person who could stop it.

"So. Our next move." Stevie said, softly, so as not to wake Maggie. "We need to read the drive. Somewhere that it can't be traced."

"Mm-hmm," Natasha said, shaking out the towel into the bathtub. "But you know what our real next move is?"

"What?"

"Order us a pizza. I'm starving again." Natasha tossed her the room phone and Stevie fumbled to catch the headset as it slithered off.

"Ham and pineapple okay?" Stevie asked as Natasha started the water in the bathroom. She re-emerged with a towel wrapped around her neck and pointed her scissors at Stevie threateningly.

"Don't. You. Dare."

Hi everyone! Some chapter notes - every new parent has had that moment where they snap at a crying baby and then feel terrible. I certainly have! Frankly, I'm surprised it took Stevie this long.

As for ham and pineapple - your own preferences aside - Stevie comes to us out of the Great Depression, which produced some truly bizarre foods. Can I interest you in peanut butter stuffed onions? Bologna casserole? Vinegar pie? Modern food is all just an extravagant celebration for her. :-)