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cuthian · 6 years

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In Hell, We Stand by You Chapter Seven

Hi! *waves*

I'm sorry for the delay, but as I said, most of this chapter needed to be rewritten to fit the storyline properly. I hope you guys enjoy! I am going home from Vienna tomorrow, which is a fifteen-hour busride, so I hope I'll be able to do most of the work that still needs to be done on chapter eight then!

In the mean time, enjoy the extra long chapter, and thank you for sticking with me!

Love, Annaelle

PS Much, much love to @juuls for putting up with me and beta'ing this monster! I couldn't do it without you, doll <3

Chapter Seven

—————

Passes to the opening gala for Kunst Halle Planie’s new exhibition, ‘die Altes Kunst des Mesopotamie’, sold out like hotcakes three hours after they had been made available to the public. It was Stuttgart’s most anticipated event, both by art history enthusiasts and historians alike, with planned guest speakers such a Dr. Heinrich Schäfer, who was instrumental in restoring some of the Mesopotamian artwork displayed, and Dr. Richard S. Ellis, who wrote extensively on the subject of Mesopotamian art and its archaeological impact.

…Once inside, however, the main attraction did not turn out to be, as expected, the artwork and the carefully planned speeches, but rather an as of yet unknown man who attacked Dr. Schäfer in the middle of the man’s speech. In a rather gruesome turn, Dr. Schäfer’s eye was gauged out and the man, who clearly displayed some sort of superhuman ability, subdued the frightened crowd.

…Our reporters were not at the scene, but eyewitnesses speak of blinding lights and the same man appearing before them in an outfit which would not have been out of place at a Renaissance fair. All seemed quite hopeless until one man stepped in…

Captain America himself.

There has been no confirmation whether this man was sent by the U.S. government or if the mantle of Captain America has finally been taken up by someone else after seventy years, but whoever he was, he did not seem to be a match for the unknown man until none other than Tony Stark’s Iron Man stepped in and the unknown man was taken into custody.

…Many unanswered questions yet remain, but one thing is certain, Kunst Halle Planie’s gala will not soon be forgotten.

—S. Auerbach, Der Spiegel, ‘Artful chaos at museum gala’

—————

S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, International Airspace Steve

Steve’s entire body was sore, and he felt like he could easily sleep an entire day away. He took great care to hide that exhaustion, eyeing the screen that showed Fury conversing with Loki.

The alien God’s smug disposition made Steve’s skin crawl and he had to actively fight the urge to yank at the tight uniform he’d been squeezed into, to rid himself of the proverbial box Loki had shoved him into with nothing more than a few careless words.

The soldier. A man out of time.

Steve hadn’t felt like he was a man out of time since the first few weeks after he’d been defrosted, before he’d moved in with Becca and before he’d started therapy.

He’d been doing good.

He hadn’t felt out of place in a long while, but Loki’s words had somehow shoved him right back in that destructive mindset, and he was struggling to pull himself out before he became compromised.

It was like Loki saw past all of the progress he’d made, past all of the carefully-erected barriers he had pulled up around the wounded remains of the man he used to be, the man he’d always wanted to be, and saw right into the core of who he actually was—who he had always been.

It was entirely unnerving.

He shifted his seat back a little and glanced towards Becca, who was chewing her lower lip and glaring at the tiny Loki on the screen as her hands curled into loose fists on the table. She was paler than she had been when they’d arrived and she looked about as exhausted as Steve felt. She had, thankfully, not been beaten up by a Norse God, so far, so Steve considered that a win.

He could tell she was still worried though, her concern for Clint outweighing her rational thinking. Coulson and three other agents had been forced to hold her back when they escorted Loki to his cell.

Steve couldn’t blame her.

He’d probably try to beat answers out of Loki too, if he thought it would actually help save lives.

They’d only been on this mission for less than twelve hours, but Steve already felt like several weeks’ worth of events had taken place, shattering the little bubble of peace he had created for himself.

Lord, he was tired.

The monitor went black and it almost felt like some of the tension lodged between Steve’s shoulders dissipated along with the image of the dark-haired God, although the atmosphere at the table remained tense. They had all been taken aback by Loki’s easy surrender in Stuttgart and Thor’s sudden appearance midflight, and it showed on the faces around the table.

Becca’s sharp focus on Loki notwithstanding, even Agent Hill, who Steve had actually met once on a run, unaware of who she was—he’d done an actual double-take when he’d been introduced to her on the bridge—looked like she was trying to solve an intricate, complicated riddle, tapping at the screen of her tablet impatiently.

Romanoff almost looked indifferent, but Steve spotted her fingers twitching against her upper arm a few times, almost like she wanted to reach out and punch Loki as much as the rest of them did.

Thor looked most disturbed by the conversation and was frowning something fierce, and Steve wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about this other God. Coulson had sworn up and down that Thor was to be trusted, that he had already proven himself an ally to earth, but Steve was still doubtful.

There was something about the taller man that unnerved Steve entirely.

Something that had made his mouth go dry the moment he had actually gotten a chance to look at the new, possibly slightly less homicidal, Asgardian arrival. Something that made his heart pound in his chest so loudly he was almost sure Thor would have been able to hear it when he shook Steve’s hand. It was something Steve hadn’t felt since before he had been forced to watch the love of his life fall off a cliff when Steve failed to save him.

He’d found his eyes lingering on the other man’s—admittedly incredibly impressive—biceps for just a beat too long, and it made him feel nauseous. He didn’t want to feel attracted to anyone but Bucky.

“He really grows on you, doesn’t he?” Dr. Banner drawled sardonically, stalking away from the monitor with jerked, short movements, drawing Steve’s attention back to him. The doctor had been relatively quiet up to this point, and Steve had to admit the doctor’s levelheaded temperament surprised him greatly, after everything he had heard so far.

“Yeah,” Becca snorted beside him, kicking up her foot to rest against the back of Steve’s armrest. “Like a fucking fungus.”

Steve’s lips curled up into an involuntary smile before he forced himself to focus on the problem at hand. He sighed and looked up at Thor, who still stood at the head of the table, hands clenching into fists uselessly. “He’s gonna try to drag this out, isn’t he?” He waited until Thor’s eyes met his and shook his head a little. “What’s his play, Thor?”

Everyone collectively turned from the screen to look at the tall, exceptionally handsome—and Lord, he needed to get his head back in the game, because this was not the time—God of Thunder.

“It seems he has procured an army, called the Chitauri,” Thor finally spoke with a heavy sigh, his tone grave as he crossed his arms across his chest. “They’re not of Asgard or any world known. From what we understand, he means to lead them against your people.” There was a note of sorrow to his words, something deep and painful that made Steve feel a little queasy. “They are to win Earth for him,” Thor continued, shaking his head sadly. “In return, I suspect, for the Tesseract.”

“An army…” Steve sighed and leaned back in his seat. “How do you know about this? You said, earlier… you said you thought he was dead for over a year.”

Everyone at the table froze, and Becca’s foot dropped back to the floor with an audible thump. Steve could tell everyone was surprised that he questioned the man further, but he’d learned a long time never to take information at face value.

Not checking someone’s motivation for volunteering information could get him and the others killed—it had gotten others killed in the past, during… before.

Thor, however, didn’t seem at all put out by Steve’s insistence on questioning him further—he seemed pretty damn delighted—and beamed a bright grin at Steve. “A most astute observation, Captain.” He sobered quickly, fingers twitching towards his neck in an aborted gesture Steve recognized all too well before he spoke again. “I believed my brother dead for… too long. My mother...”

He took a deep, shuddering breath and smiled weakly. “Our mother and Loki share a connection I cannot understand. She knew he was alive, and it was she who uncovered his plot. Father and Heimdall sent me here as soon as we realised he had already begun his assault on Earth.”

Thor kept his gaze on Steve as he spoke, his tone even other than the moments his breath hitched in clear emotional distress. Steve appreciated the God’s candor, and though he could tell the man was being truthful, there was something he wasn’t telling them too. The look in Thor’s eye was one Steve recognized, though, and he was loathe to push someone to open up about their grief.

He couldn’t imagine finding himself in Thor’s shoes.

Slowly, he leaned back in his seat and offered the other man a tight smile. “Okay. So, an army?”

“From outer space, no less,” Becca piped up beside him, and Steve could see her leaning forward eagerly from the corner of his eye. “How is he doing that?”

The discussion rapidly devolved into a series of back and forths with scientific terms that flew right over his head, but the implication sank in nonetheless. If Loki managed to get the things that he needed to open the portal, he would be able to bring an army of monsters to Earth to destroy and take over everything Steve had fought for—everything he was still learning and growing to love.

The nausea he’d felt earlier welled back up again at the thought of Becky’s cozy little home being torn apart by monsters, of his family—the little he had left—being taken from him…

Was he destined to lose everything he cared about twice?

Because of one man’s delusions of grandeur?

Eighty people were already dead, and Loki had only been on earth for two days.

Imagining the amount of havoc he could wreak with an entire army backing him up and unlimited time in their world was downright terrifying.

He was abruptly drawn from his thoughts when Tony Stark flounced inside, immediately engaging Dr. Banner before Becca dropped the thin veneer of professionalism and launched herself off her seat and into the dark-haired man’s arms with a sound that Steve could only describe as a squeal.

The sight of the genius stumbling back a step or two, arms sticking straight ahead for a few seconds before he folded them around Becca and patted her back lightly was nothing short of comical.

Steve had heard a few things about Tony from Becca over the weeks they’d lived together, and though they may not have gotten off to the best start in Stuttgart, it was easy to see the open affection on the billionaire’s face at Becca’s enthusiasm, even if the hug itself seemed to make him slightly uncomfortable. “Hey kiddo,” Stark said quietly—so quietly Steve doubted anyone but Becca and Steve himself had heard him—as he pushed her off gently.

“Is that your gear for the field—this… this isn’t even bulletproof,” he tugged on the strap of Becca’s vest with a sneer, shaking his head decisively. “Becs, that won’t do. I can do better. You need to come by the Tower, I’ll make you something better. You need new toys, and Aunt Peggy would kill me if I let something happen to her favorite godchild.”

Steve narrowly suppressed the urge to chuckle at the downright offended look on Agent Coulson’s face, but the casual mention of Peggy made his heart clench and drew his attention away again.

He knew she was alive.

It was one of the first things Becky had told him when he’d emerged from his self-imposed exile again.

He hadn’t seen her. She lived in England, and though he had heard Becca talk to her on the phone several times, he’d declined every time she offered to let him speak to her as well. He didn’t think… he didn’t think he could handle hearing Peggy’s voice, cracked with age, so unlike the vibrant young woman she still was in his mind.

He’d seen her only a few months ago—seen her as a beautiful twenty-four year-old woman. He didn’t think he could handle seeing her as a ninety-three year-old yet.

He watched, feeling slightly detached from the entire situation, as Stark patted Thor’s massive bicep with slightly widened eyes—and Steve felt an odd sense of vindication to know he wasn’t the only one affected by the god's… exceptional appearance—before moving on to tap at every screen he passed, blathering on about something or the other before calling out a S.H.I.E.L.D. tech for playing…

Steve honestly didn’t know what the young man was supposedly playing, and he didn’t really care.

He glanced down at his tablet and tried to make sense of the scientific notes Becca had sent to him, but they went way over his head, again. He’d tried not to feel out of his depth before, but after facing Loki and getting his ass handed to him, after nearly being electrocuted by Thor and after hearing the kind of science Dr. Banner and Stark talked about like they were simply discussing their favorite TV show…

He glanced around the table surreptitiously, eyeing the spies, the agents, the god, the geniuses, and he wondered where the hell he came in.

He looked down at his tablet again and sighed.

What the hell was he doing here?

—————

Steve

He’d sequestered himself in an abandoned little corner of the Helicarrier as soon as he could reasonably excuse himself, his hands trembling by the time he’d managed to find the privacy he’d been desperately craving.

Before he’d been able to escape the frenzied melee of the bridge, a bright-eyed, fresh-faced S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had appeared before him, stuttering and blushing as they offered him a small moleskin notebook full of their favorite movies, books, TV shows and music.

“Suggestions,” they’d said with bright red cheeks. “For things to try in the 21st century.”

It had been a gesture of kindness, Steve was sure, but after Loki’s words, the little black book served only as a further reminder that he wasn’t home. He didn’t belong here, in this century, and he hadn’t felt that this keenly since the first day after he’d been… woken up.

He had smiled, though, and taken the notebook with forced cheer, words of thanks falling from his lips without much thought or sincerity behind them, before he’d been able to slip away.

The little nook he’d found was not too far from where the prisoner—Loki—was being held, so he’d be available right away if there was any kind of emergency, but isolated enough that he wouldn’t be disturbed until he was good and ready to face another person.

He’d initially planned to stick to his intended path, deeper into the bowels of the Helicarrier, but he’d been sidetracked by the raised voices by the door where Loki was being held. He’d intended to go inside, to see why someone was stupid enough to provoke the very dangerous, very volatile prisoner, but had backed off almost immediately when he recognized Thor’s voice and hid in his easily-overlooked alcove around the corner.

He may not have been privy to their family issues, but he understood enough to realise that if anyone would be able to get what they needed from the Trickster, it would be Thor.

“Please—be—think—Loki!”

Even with his enhanced hearing, Steve could barely make out Thor’s impassioned words, and with some difficulty, he managed to draw his attention back to himself, his breath punching out of his lungs in a quick, sharp exhale when he realized his trembling fingers had taken the pencil and paper in his hands as permission to begin sketching again.

Bucky’s eyes—a messy, slightly skewed rendition—stared up at him from the page of the little notebook, and Steve suddenly felt lightheaded, small and weak like he hadn’t felt in years.

“Was this what it was like?” he whispered to the doodle of Bucky’s eyes, helpless tears burning in his eyes. “Was this what you felt like when I got the serum?” He knew Bucky had struggled with reconciling the idea of his skinny little fella back in Brooklyn with the tall, muscled soldier that had pulled him out of the factory in Azzano at first; that the protective instinct Bucky had nursed for nearly a decade and a half had been difficult to shake—if not impossible.

He’d told Steve, once, that it was ridiculous, trying to wrap his head around Steve being stronger than him when he’d been able to pick Steve up with one arm for most of their life together.

Steve had never really understood the feeling.

Until now.

He’d always been the strongest in whatever fight he picked after he’d received the serum.

He hadn’t been outmatched by anyone since 1944, and he couldn’t quite wrap his head around being so entirely out of his league when it came to Loki—and Thor, by extension.

The god had tossed him around like a damn ragdoll.

He was so ridiculously out of his league it was almost laughable.

When he looked down at the little notebook again, he realized he had doodled a fairly accurate depiction of Bucky’s face, down to the slightest hint of the pout of his lower lip which Steve had always been powerless to resist. “Lord, I miss you,” Steve breathed, trailing his fingers across the sharp line of Bucky’s jaw. “I’m outta my league, Buck. I don’t know what to do.”

His drawing of Bucky, of course, didn’t reply, nor did it give him any sudden insights.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes slipping shut as he took a few deep breaths to steady himself, as Karen-the-therapist had taught him to do when he felt overwhelmed.

Before he could properly steady himself, though, the door to the room Loki was being held in slammed open, banging against the metal wall with such an almighty bang! it made Steve jump, hitting his head against the top of the little alcove hard.

“Damn it!” he cried out, dropping the notebook and pencil as he fell back, cradling his sore head in his hands with tears of shock burning in his eyes.

“Captain!”

Through blurred eyes he watched as a large, blond blob with Thor’s voice hurried towards him, settling on his knees before Steve. “I did not mean to startle you. I apologize. I hope you did not injure yourself severely?” The words were phrased as a question, but Steve could feel Thor’s fingers gently push his own aside to search for injuries along his scalp.

He diligently ignored how good it felt to be touched with tenderness by someone other than Becca or Becky—something Karen-the-therapist had pointed out he might benefit from.

“I’m fine,” he told Thor slightly sourly, closing his fingers around the god’s thick wrists and pulling them down. “It’ll barely leave a lump.”

Thor sat back and smiled brightly, nodding happily. “Excellent. I shall not detain you any longer, then.” The taller man made to get to his feet, likely to leave Steve to his solitude and his increasingly loud thoughts, and suddenly Steve couldn’t stand the idea of being alone anymore.

“Wait,” he blurted, hand shooting out to curl his fingers around Thor’s wrist again. “I heard you…” He nodded towards Loki’s cell sheepishly and smiled tightly when Thor looked at him with wide, alarmed eyes. “I ain’t no snitch,” he said quickly. “I doubt S.H.I.E.L.D. has any business putting their noses in the mess between you and him, but…”

He bit his lip and shrugged. “I get what it’s like to be… the odd man out. If you needed someone to talk to, without judgement...” His cheeks burned and he was almost afraid to look up at Thor, but he did so anyway, because Sarah Rogers didn’t raise no coward. “I’m willing to listen.”

He wasn’t sure why he’d extended the invitation—he hardly felt like good company at the moment—but he was pretty sure Thor wouldn’t care all too much.

Something told him that the man would have very few preconceptions about Steve, and that if he did wish for Steve’s company, he’d want it because he liked Steve Rogers, not Captain America.

It was a refreshing change.

Even with the Barneses, there was a certain amount of expectation, a certain image he had to live up to, regardless of how many times they’d tried to tell him he didn’t—

He was so tired of trying to be several versions of himself.

Thor was silent for a few moments longer before he nodded, settling himself cross-legged on the floor before Steve. “Much appreciated, Captain.” He reached out and retrieved the notebook and pencil from where they’d landed when Steve had dropped them, eyes lingering on the sketch of Bucky before he handed it back to Steve with a sad smile.

“Your fallen mate, I take it?” Thor asked with a gentleness that belied the directness of the question.

Steve nodded jerkily, dragging his fingers across Bucky’s likeness one more time before he snapped the book shut and refocused his attention on Thor. “It’s been a long time.”

“Not, I think, for you.” Thor said softly, patting his hand on top of Steve’s, the sadness in his eye reflecting and mirroring Steve’s own. From what Steve had gathered, Thor’s own loss was felt as keenly as Steve’s, even if his brother was still alive and breathing on the other end of the door.

“No,” Steve admitted quietly. “Not for me.”

Thor nodded in understanding and sighed heavily. “It is, sadly, a feeling I know too well.” He glanced over his shoulder, in Loki’s general direction before he continued. “I mourned my brother for a year before I learned he lived, but now… You must understand.” He leaned forward and looked at Steve pleadingly. “I have spent over a thousand years with Loki by my side. I know him better than he knows himself—I knew of his jealousy, his hurt, his designs on the throne, and I failed to take them seriously… but I have never seen him like… like this.”

Thor waved one large hand in the Trickster’s general direction before dropping it again.

“Loki has always been many things,” Thor sighed, “but he has never been a cold-blooded killer.”

Steve opened his mouth, though he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, but Thor interrupted him before he could speak, a look that was disturbingly human and relatable flashing across the god’s features before vanishing entirely. “I know, I’ve been told of his various misdeeds in the past two days, but he is not like himself. Something is odd about my brother, and I do not know what it is.”

Steve fell silent, unsure of what to say to that.

He knew, intimately, what it felt like to have the most important person in the world to you ripped away, and it wasn’t a feeling he wished on anyone.

“Have you raised your concerns with Fury?” he asked, instead of questioning Thor’s judgement, because Steve was pretty sure he wouldn’t listen to anyone if they tried to tell him Bucky was evil either. Thor had spent the better part of a millennium with Loki—who the hell was Steve, a stranger who hadn’t even lived three decades, to tell him he was wrong about the man?

Thor frowned impressively and nodded. “He insisted my judgement was awry, but I am not some young whelp. Despite my faults, I know him. I snuck in to speak to my brother myself, to convince him to undo this madness, but it is as though it has mingled with his blood and burned itself into his bones. I do not know what madness grasps my brother, but I know it is not his doing. Not entirely.”

Frustration towards Fury boiled to the surface of Steve’s mind again, and his hands curled into fists before he calmed himself. He didn’t need to trust Fury to help the rest of the team get the Tesseract back and ensure it fell into the right hands. He certainly didn’t need Fury’s opinion to listen to Thor and believe the other man.

He reached out and clasped Thor’s forearm, squeezing his fingers lightly. “You don’t need to convince me. It’s like you said: we don’t know Loki, you do, even when he is… whatever he is right now. What do you need me to do?”

Thor’s forehead creased into a frown and he shook his head dejectedly. “I do not know,” he said honestly. “I feel I am at a disadvantage in this world. I do not know enough of Midgardian customs to deduce my next move.” It was an unreal sight, the tall Asgardian, who was bigger than Steve, hunching in on himself as he tried to think of a way to end a war before it had well and truly begun.

Steve bit his lip and frowned when he remembered his earlier conversation with Dr. Banner and Stark.

“Well,” he drawled. “I might have an idea on where to begin.”

—————

Steve

He hadn’t been this angry, this fueled with unbridled rage since he had woken up, and he had almost forgotten how it made his skin crawl and his entire body itch for a fight.

Hydra weapons.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had been messing around with Hydra weapons and using the cube to make more.

The automatic rifle was heavy in his hand and his mind was spinning with the implications of what he had found, of what Tony Stark had implied, and he had no idea who to trust anymore. He tried not to think about whether Becca had known what S.H.I.E.L.D. had been doing, tried not to think about if she’d deliberately been keeping it from him, because he liked Becca, and he wanted to trust her more than anything—but he had only known her for a few weeks, hadn’t he?

For all he knew, everything she’d done for him, everything that had happened since she’d ‘taken’ him from S.H.I.E.L.D. custody, could have been planned to make sure he’d trust her.

They could have used Becky to make him trust them.

He couldn’t—couldn’t—consider the possibility she was in on it, too. Becky had been his and Bucky’s favorite girl when they’d been kids. She was their little sister, and Steve can’t imagine that that sweet girl—woman—would agree to do something like this to him.

He just couldn’t.

He rounded the corner, hardly waiting to see if Thor was still following him, and stomped into the lab without slowing down, not even a little bit fazed at finding Fury arguing with Stark and Banner.

“What is Phase Two?” Stark asked, head tilted to the side as he looked at Fury.

Steve dropped the assault rifle on the table with a loud clang, making sure every eye in the room was on him as he seethed, “Phase Two is S.H.I.E.L.D. uses the cube to make weapons and ignores Thor when he says there’s more going on here.”

The god trailed up behind him, silent support, but Steve didn’t have to look to know he’d be frowning at Fury. Thor had been mostly silent after they’d uncovered the crate of weapons, but Steve had made sure he understood the implications of what they’d found.

He couldn’t fucking believe this.

Stark’s eyes were wide as he glanced between Steve and Thor intermittently, and Steve narrowly suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at him.

He’d never been that fond of Howard, regardless of the other man’s clear fondness of him—and Bucky, despite his sneering at their lack of higher education—and he wasn’t sure why he’d expected he’d feel so different about his son. Clearly the younger Stark hadn’t bothered to actually listen to Peggy and Howard when they spoke about him, rather than Captain America.

“Sorry,” he offered insincerely. “Computer was moving a little slow for me.”

He drew his eyes from Tony slowly and turned his attention to Fury, who was already moving towards him with placating words that did nothing to soothe the burning embers of Steve’s rage. “Rogers, we gathered everything related to the Tesseract. This does not mean we’re—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Nick,” Stark interrupted with a raised eyebrow as he swung the large computer screen around so they could see the blueprints it showed. “What were you lying?”

Steve scoffed at Fury and hooked his thumbs in the stupid belt on his stupid fucking suit. “I was wrong, Director. The world hasn’t changed a bit.” Before any of them could say more, Becca strode in, followed closely by Agent Romanoff, and Steve’s entire focus narrowed onto his roommate.

“Did you know about this?” he demanded angrily as he stepped towards her, gesturing towards the computer screen. “Were you keeping this from me?”

He felt momentarily guilty when Becca stumbled back a little, obviously taken aback by his hostile attitude. Her eyes—so much like Bucky’s, damn it—widened and she stared at the screen in confusion, eyes darting over the details lightning-quick, before turning back towards him with a determined expression. “No, of course not. What is this?”

“Rogers, Agent Barnes didn’t have the clearance—” Fury started, but Steve didn’t want to hear it, because nothing he’d been told seemed to be the truth, so why the hell would this be?

“Steve,” Becca tried, stepping towards him with her hands raised in a placating gesture and damn if it didn’t piss him off more.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed, yanking his arm from her reach as he glared at her, ignoring the way she almost flinched back from him, no matter how it made him burn with guilt. “Is anything you told me true?” His mind was filled with memories of their conversations over the past three weeks, of the way he had confided in her, and he was horrified by the idea that Becca might have been following Fury’s orders all along.

“Hey, come on, Capsicle,” Stark jumped in, resting a hand on Becca’s shoulder to pull her back a little, almost as though Steve was the dangerous one.

He stepped forward again, angry words on the tip of his tongue when Agent Romanoff cut in, eyes on Dr. Banner, who stood tense and angry at the far end of the lab. “You wanna think about removing yourself from his environment, doctor?”

“I was in Calcutta,” Dr. Banner replied scathingly. “I was pretty well removed.”

Steve lost interest in their end of the conversation pretty swiftly, eyes drawn to where Becca stood with Tony, the billionaire’s hand still on her shoulder as they both stared at Banner and Agent Romanoff.

Steve wasn’t an idiot, contrary to popular belief, and while he may not always have been the brains behind the operations with the Howlies, he was no slacker, and he had not been blind to the way Stark had glared at him when Steve had turned to Becca earlier, when he had put his hand on her arm to check on her. Though Steve was still mystified by their interaction, he gathered it meant the billionaire cared about Becca, at least.

He wasn’t sure why that idea bothered him so much, now.

“The world’s filling up with people who can’t be matched,” Fury exclaimed exasperatedly, as though that was supposed to make his experimenting alright. “People that can’t be controlled.”

“Like you controlled the cube?” Steve hissed scathingly, ignoring the way the anger burning through his veins felt off, because he was just so done with the way S.H.I.E.L.D. was handling this whole damned thing, and he just wanted to be back at Becca’s old little apartment with the sagging couch and the computer she’d hooked up to the television so Steve could google Youtube videos easily.

He just didn’t want to be here.

“Nuclear deterrent,” Tony deadpanned, and much as Steve was inclined to hate the man based simply on his wealth, he agreed with him there—even if he still wasn’t entirely clear on what nuclear weapons were. “Cause that always calms everything right down.”

“Remind me again how you made your fortune, Stark?” Fury sniped, raising a single eyebrow at Tony.

Steve couldn’t help but sneer, despite his unvoiced agreement with the man from the moment before, “I’m sure if he still made weapons, Stark would be neck deep—”

“Wait, wait, hold up,” the older man started forward, waving his hands in an approximation of confusion that pissed Steve off more than anything else Stark had done so far. “How is this now about me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Steve mocked, turning towards the dark-haired man again. “Isn’t everything?”

Something close to satisfaction warmed him when Stark reeled back as though Steve had slapped him, but his mind felt clouded and he couldn’t quite remember why he wanted to piss Stark off so badly. He was just so fucking frustrated.

“Steve!”

He snapped his head to the side when Becca slapped his arm, something ugly in the back of his mind sneering at her confused expression. “Come on, that’s not fair.”

“Like you’ve been fair to me?” The words fell from his lips without his express permission and, in the back of his mind, he cringed at the hurt expression on her face—but he didn’t stop. “How do I know you’ve not been lying to me?”

Stark scoffed at him and wrapped his fingers around Becca’s wrist to pull her back towards him. “Ignore Golden Boy, Becca,” he sneered. “Clearly he needs to get laid more. Too uptight.”

“Tony!” Both Becca and Dr. Banner turned to glare at Stark, but Steve didn’t care, because that rich son-of-a-bitch just kept pushing every single button he had. “I swear to God, Stark,” he hissed, “one more stupid crack—”

“Threatening!” Stark shouted dramatically. “I feel threatened!”

The situation only devolved further, and Steve wasn’t even sure who he was arguing with anymore, only that every single person in the room was pissing him off so much that he had to restrain himself from punching all of them through the goddamned wall.

Agent Romanoff’s clear, seemingly unaffected voice pierced through the haze of anger that clouded his mind, and he turned towards her subconsciously, even as she addressed Dr. Banner.

“You need to step away,” she enunciated slowly, eyeing Dr. Banner meaningfully, and though he was still angry, he couldn’t disagree with her logic. The last thing they needed was the fucking Hulk tearing through the air… ship… whatever.

“Why shouldn’t the guy blow off a little steam?” Steve’s blood nearly boiled when Stark tossed an arm around him in a gesture that was too reminiscent of the way Bucky used to before he’d drag Steve in for a playful kiss, before—

“You know damn well why,” Steve snapped, shoving Stark back a little harder than he intended to, but damn it he didn’t want anyone else to fucking put their hands on him like that. “Back off!”

The rest of the room faded a little bit when Stark swaggered back towards him, stepping right up into Steve’s personal space—and Steve was completely taken aback to realise that Stark was not… unfortunate looking. “Oh, I’m starting to want you to make me,” Stark shot back challengingly.

Steve’s heart pounded, and he couldn’t suppress the thoughts of his fights with Bucky, of the way his best guy had been able to make him burn with anger as well as desire, and of the way this—this—felt frighteningly familiar.

It pissed him off beyond anything he could even comprehend.

“Big man in a suit of armor,” he hissed, frightened by how much Stark was able to rile him up. “What are you when you take that off?”

Stark scoffed, but his reply came so swiftly Steve almost believed him capable of reading Steve’s mind and fucking preparing for his question before he’d even spoken it aloud. “Genius, philanthropist, reformed playboy, billionaire,” the other man finished smugly, and it pissed him off.

What—did Stark honestly believe that having money made him better than everyone else?

“I know guys with none of that worth ten of you,” he spit, the faces of the Howlies stuck in the forefront of his mind, the way they’d all had a little too much experience with being barely able to scrape up enough money to get by, to feed themselves and their families.

Howard had been just like this.

More money than God and tossing it around like it meant nothing.

Like the five dollars Bucky had worked himself to the bone for, to pay for Steve’s medicine, were worthless. Like it meant nothing, when it meant everything.

Of course his kid would end up the same.

“Steve, come on, that’s not fair,” Becca piped up, pushing past Stark and pressing her hand against his chest almost like she was trying to hold him back from—from what? Telling Stark the fucking truth for once in his stupid, spoiled existence? “You don’t know Tony, he’s—”

“Please.” He shoved her aside—slightly more gently than he would with anyone else, he wasn’t that much of an asshole—and glared at Stark. “I’ve seen the footage, I read the file. The only thing you fight for is yourself. You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play—to lay down on the wire and let the other guy crawl over you.”

He’d seen situations like that all too often in the war, had seen friends shove others out of the way and save their lives at the cost of their own—he’d lost Bucky because the other man had taken up the shield to defend Steve when he was down…

Every single one of those men and women, who risked their lives, who gave their lives to save others…

They were the heroes to Steve.

Not the fucking billionaire in an iron suit.

Stark, however, didn’t seem too perturbed and shrugged. “I think I’d just cut the wire.”

He had, as Steve expected, entirely missed Steve’s point. “Always a way out, isn’t there?” Steve smiled wryly, shaking his head. He didn’t really know why he’d hoped Tony would prove to be smarter than his father had been in that department. “You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero.”

He almost expected Becca to butt in again, but when he looked to the side, she’d been caught up in a fierce argument with Agent Romanoff, and before he could determine what they were talking about, Tony pushed forward into his space and poked at his chest angrily.

“A hero? Like you?” Stark scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You’re a fucking lab rat, Rogers. Everything special about you came from a bottle.”

Steve reeled back, struck by Stark’s words more than he wanted to admit—it hit right on the old insecurities he’d been wrestling with his entire life that doubled after the serum and, somehow, people liked him; Steve never stopped wondering how many of the people he met, how many of the friends he’d made would’ve been his friends if they’d met him when he was still scrawny and sickly—but Stark just pushed on, a glint in his eye telling Steve the other man knew exactly how much those words hit home for Steve.

“Too bad the bottle came from a Stark, too, isn’t it?” Steve’s mouth opened, but no words fell from his lips, and Stark just smirked at him. “Can’t even pick your own girl.” Steve’s eyes went wide as Tony gestured towards Becca with a careless gesture. “Had to run with my sloppy seconds there, too.”

Steve wasn’t sure if it was the implication that he was sleeping with Becca—something the entirety of S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed to have convinced themselves of—or the callous way Stark spoke of her, but his hands had curled into fists and he’d taken a step towards the shorter man before he could stop himself, halted only when Thor reached out and curled his hand around Steve’s bicep.

Too late, Steve realized the others had fallen silent, too, and he turned to find Becca staring at Tony with wide, horrified eyes. “Tony,” she breathed, hurt and anger both evident in her tone, and Steve was baffled to see Stark look as though he, too, had been surprised and a little appalled by his own words—but he didn’t move to take them back.

“Put on the suit,” Steve hissed, the look of utter hurt and betrayal on Becca’s face making him ache somewhere deep inside his chest as the argument around them slowly resumed, the fiery anger he’d been feeling since he’d found the weapons rearing back up. “Let’s go a few rounds.”

He glared at Stark, puffing up his chest a little, because he would not fucking let this jumped up asshole win, damn it. He didn’t take his eyes off of Tony’s—and a distant part of his mind noted that he’d never seen that shade of brown before, with just that hint of orange shining through—until Thor piped up behind them again and Stark looked away, rubbing at his eyes blearily.

Steve lost the thread of the conversation again when Becca tried to push past him, towards Tony. Before he could stop himself, he curled his fingers around her wrist to hold her back, because he’d seen, he’d seen how much Tony’s words had hurt her and, even though he was still pissed off to high fucking hell, he was reluctant to let her near the other man again.

“You can’t, I tried!”

The words pierced through their argumentative haze, and Steve’s head swiveled around to Banner, who stood by the scepter, sheepishness and anger warring for dominance in his expression. “I got low,” he continued when everyone stopped to stare at him. “I didn’t see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy spit it out!”

Steve winced and tightened his grip on Becca’s wrist, because his anger was rapidly ebbing away and he remembered enough of Becca’s vague tales of her first few months after she’d been discharged from the Army to know she’d been that low, too, and that she’d tried that once.

He very definitively did not think of how low he had found himself after Bucky had died.

He hadn’t been suicidal, per se, but when the opportunity had come, he hadn’t fought to get away from it—crashing the Valkyrie had been a way out, too.

He understood.

Dr. Banner swallowed thickly before he continued, and Steve tensed a little when the other man’s hand crept towards the scepter, almost like Banner himself didn’t even realise what he was doing. “So I moved on. I focused on helping other people. I was good, until you dragged me back into this freak show and put everyone here at risk! You wanna know my secret, Agent Romanoff? You wanna know how I stay calm?”

Before Banner could step forward and do something he’d likely regret, Steve stepped forward, well aware that every single agent in the room had their hands on their guns. “Dr. Banner,” he began gently, raising a hand in what he hoped would be perceived as a peaceful gesture. “Put down the scepter.”

Before Banner could say anything or anyone could move, the computer beeped loudly, and both Stark and Banner immediately swerved towards it, eyes wide and intrigued. “Sorry, kids,” Banner said gruffly, setting down the scepter. “Guess you don’t get to see my little party trick after all.”

“Have you located the Tesseract?”

Fury sounded both exasperated and eager, and Steve finally released his grip on Becca’s wrist so they could move closer to look at the map splayed out across the monitor.

“I can get there faster,” Stark exclaimed after spending all of four seconds looking at the screen, spinning on his heel towards the door before Becca caught his arm.

“Tony, that’s really not—”

“Look, Stark,” Fury cut in almost simultaneously. “All of us—”

Stark just disregarded all of them and flounced towards the door, and Steve had been right, damn it, Stark was not a team player and he was only doing this to get the credit in the end. He grabbed at Stark’s arm, dragging the shorter man back with ease. “You’re not going alone, Stark.”

“You gonna stop me, Capsicle?”

Steve sneered at the man and pushed forward into Stark’s personal space again. “Put on the suit. We’ll find out,” he taunted.

“I’m not afraid to hit an old man,” Stark answered derisively, poking against Steve’s chest aggressively.

“Put. On. The. Suit.”

Before anyone could do anything else, there was an enormous explosion, rocking the Helicarrier sideways violently. Steve felt the heat of the fire burn on his skin, and windows shattered as smoke and fire blew out through the openings. Thousands of pieces of glass and steel rained down on them and alarms—shrill and deafening to Steve’s sensitive ears—erupted into shrill squeals, as though they wouldn’t be able to tell something bad had happened by the way the Helicarrier tilted alarmingly to the right now.

Steve struggled to his feet, doing his best to ignore the blaring alarms, and helped Becca up, concern aching in his chest when she looked at him, expression dazed and bleeding from a cut on her head.

There was a gaping crater in the middle of the floor, and neither Agent Romanoff nor Dr. Banner were anywhere in sight, though Stark was already stumbling back to his feet next to Steve, reaching for Becca in concern, too, as soon as he got his feet under him.

The others remained on the floor for a heartbeat longer, curled in a fetal position to protect their ears and vital organs as they tried to regain their bearings.

“Becca,” Steve wheezed, returning his attention to his roommate, ignoring Tony’s shaking hands pushing her hair from her forehead to look at where she was bleeding, shaking her shoulder a little to get her to focus her misty gaze on him. “Becca, are you okay?”

“Dizzy,” she replied fuzzily, but before either Steve or Stark could say anything, Fury pushed between him and Stark and shoved them from Becca’s side.

“Go. I’ve got her, Captain. Go help the others.”

He blinked at Fury slowly for a long few moments before he nodded, clumsily patting at Tony’s shoulder until he could draw the other man towards the door. “Put on the suit,” he ordered blearily, stumbling into Stark a few times as they tried to leave the room without falling over.

#In Hell We Stand By You #IHWSBY #stucky #stucky fanfic #my writing #lisa writes #fanfiction

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cuthian · 6 years

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In Hell, We Stand By You Chapter Five

Hi there, guys!

Just a quick FYI for all of you. The last two chapters of this part are still in editing and rewriting, so after the next chapter on tuesday, I will pause updating for a week or so, until my last exam is done and I will be able to spend some more time on actually writing.

It won't take more than a week, maximum two, I'm sure, to have the last two chapters up to where they need to be before I can update them.

Thank you for all the support so far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Love, Annaelle

TRIGGER WARNING: Steve briefly thinks about suicide and dying, but ultimately doesn't do anything and talks about it with a healthcare professional.

Chapter Five

—————

The war against Iraq has been a part of many Americans’ reality for some time, but it truly hit home for the Barnes-Proctor family six months ago, when news broke that their youngest granddaughter, Capt. Rebecca Barnes, was captured by a faction of Al’Qaeda. Capt. Barnes’ capture was not made public knowledge until two months ago, when images of Capt. Barnes being rescued from her cell by U.S. Army soldiers, guided by Iron Man, flickered onto TV screens and internet sites.

The images of Barnes, 22, shocked Americans, and Barnes’ family specifically, deeply.

…In all, 34 soldiers from Barnes’ unit were unaccounted for – either captured, dead, or missing – after fierce fighting at Basra in south-east Iraq, but Capt. Barnes is as of yet the only known survivor. From the single image that has been released, it seems obvious that Capt. Barnes’ rights as a POW were severely violated, and the fact that her return to the U.S. needed to be delayed by two months until Capt. Barnes was stable enough to withstand transport only reinforces such ideas.

…Barnes, the granddaughter of State Senator James Proctor and Doctor Rebecca Proctor, joined the Army in July 2004 after high school to gain life experience and, to paraphrase Dr. Rebecca Proctor, to “pay her dues to her country as all those in our family have done”.

…“Becca has always been strong,” Dr. Proctor said at a press conference last month. “We have no doubt that she will pull through and return to the U.S. as the hero she now is.”

Capt. Barnes’ ordeal, to which we can only speculate based on a singular image, will certainly keep the nation enthralled for weeks to come, as Capt. Barnes is prepared to return to U.S. by medical envoy.

—M. Pleadt, CNN, ‘Captain Rebecca Barnes to return to the U.S. after time as POW’, 2008

—————

Rebecca Barnes’ residence, Brooklyn, New York City, New York, United States of America

July 2011 Steve

The light that filtered through the thin, gauzy curtains was still faint and pale, and Steve blinked lazily at the clock on the opposite wall. It ticked on merrily, undisturbed by his heavy gaze, showing a time that was far from socially acceptable to be awake. Steve hadn’t slept through an entire night since he had received the serum though, and after he’d been forced to watch Bucky fall to his death…

Closing his eyes…

He swallowed thickly and shook his head.

The thoughts and images that haunted him did not bear thinking of in daylight.

He shook himself again and summarily focused on piece of paper on the fridge, listing his schedule for the day. It was a simple schedule, and he’d only complied in making it because he’d learned, in the weeks since he’d moved out of Becky’s spare bedroom and into the second bedroom in Becca’s apartment, that it was a really great motivator to get out of bed.

One step at a time.

Day by day.

Hour by hour.

Minute by minute.

After Becca had returned Bucky’s dog tags to him, Steve had made a conscious effort to get better.

The twenty-first century terrified him on a daily basis still, but he’d found that it wasn’t so overwhelming once he found the right friends to help him adjust. When he had shown Becca the article on the Smithsonian exhibit, tears of anger and frustration burning in his eyes at the thought of his drawings of Bucky being on display like that, she’d assured him she’d find a way to take care of it.

Two days later, a tall, beautiful woman with strawberry-blonde hair and an impeccable suit had shown up in Becky’s living room with a pile of papers that he needed to sign.

She’d explained that, while no one had been informed he was actually alive, she could put things in motion to have his driver’s license validated, his passport updated and his back pay from the Army released. It had all sounded like a load of hogwash to Steve, but it had been the papers he needed to sign saying he did not consent to his private property being used in a public display that nearly had him bursting into tears again.

The woman—Ms. Potts, as she’d introduced herself—had patted his shoulder kindly and explained that no museum had the right to exhibit his personal belongings without his express permission, but that such technicalities were often overlooked when there wasn’t a family member alive to legally object to the exhibit. He’d never signed anything as fast before.

A day later, Ms. Potts had called him to tell him the exhibit had been temporarily postponed, and she was working on getting the museum to return all of his personal belongings to him.

It had also been the day Steve had caught himself sitting on the bathroom floor with a razor blade slipping between his fingertips, the metal cool and sharp where he had it pressed up against the thin layer of skin covering his ulnar artery.

It had been, quite honestly, a terrifying experience.

He didn’t want to kill himself—not truly.

He didn’t always see the point of being alive when none of his loved ones were anymore, but he’d never actively tried to take his own life before.

He’d confided in Becca first, to his own surprise, counting on the fact that the other woman had been in his shoes—somewhat, anyway—to help her understand his reluctance to admit the weakness he’d discovered in himself.

The thought of having to vocally admit to a weakness like battle-fatigue was petrifying.

He was, for all intents and purposes, still Captain America.

Captain America was never meant to succumb to an act of cowardice as vile and inadequate as battle fatigue. He’d brought it up with Becca for that purpose alone—he knew she would have to understand what it would mean, having been in the Army herself.

He didn’t think Becky, for all that she was immensely knowledgeable and understanding, would know what accusations of such nature could lead to if overheard by the wrong person.

Steve, however, did. He was intimately and painfully aware of what happened to soldiers who succumbed to the weakness. He’d seen good men lead before a tribunal, accused and condemned for something Steve didn’t think was fair—no one asked to see the things they did in war. No one asked to be in a war in the first place; but nonetheless, those that didn’t know how to cope as well as others were ostracized and kicked out…

He’d even seen a man executed for it once.

It had not been common in their ranks, but Private Lucas O’Geary’s terrified, wide eyes as he was led before a firing squad were burned into Steve’s memory.

Becca had, gently and calmly, explained that things weren’t done like that anymore, and that it was no sin nor cowardice to admit to what she called PTSD. She’d told him of the therapist she talked to once a week, and the group meeting she frequented, where she was able to share her experiences with others who had gone through the same thing.

The idea itself was comforting, but it had still taken him several days to take her up on her offer to accompany her to one of said meetings, and a few days more until he relented and called the phone number she had given him—a therapist who was trustworthy and good, and willing to help him.

It had been one of the most terrifying experiences of his life, but there was something reassuring about knowing there was someone other than Becky or Becca to call when his own emotions and the world itself would completely overwhelm him again.

The therapist, a kind, seemly woman named Karen with thick copper curls and a friendly smile that reminded him of his mother so much it ached, had taken everything that came with Steve’s unusual background in stride and had focused, first and foremost, on ensuring he was comfortable.

She had signed the paperwork Becca and Ms. Potts insisted upon without a fuss, and had helped Steve talk through his life before the war, and how it still affected him—when he’d tried to deflect and tell her it was, apparently, all required reading in high school, she easily countered his point and reminded him that none of the historians who wrote those textbooks were him.

She wanted to hear from him.

It had been Karen who suggested mapping out each day, giving him a reason to get out of bed each morning, regardless of the dreary weather or his own dreary mood.

It had, to Steve’s greatest surprise, helped more than he cared to admit.

It had also been Karen who suggested he move out of Becky’s spare bedroom and into an actual apartment, where he could legitimately build himself a home. Becca had offered the second room in her apartment, citing she needed a roommate anyway, and Steve might as well start out with someone he could actually trust.

Living with the youngest Barnes had been… it had been a revelation, to say the very least.

He’d been shocked to his core on the first morning after he had moved in, when he had walked into the kitchen to find Becca eating a bowl of a sugary concoction she claimed was cornflakes dressed in nothing but a skimpy pair of panties and a tank top that honestly revealed more than it covered.

Steve was fairly certain he’d never blushed so hard in his life.

He’d also run into the doorpost trying to walk right back out of the kitchen and had been forced to sit through the most embarrassing ten minutes of his life while Becca’d applied butterfly Band-Aids to the cut above his eyebrow—still dressed in nothing but the top and her underwear—and Steve had tried to look everywhere but at her.

Steve grinned at the memory now, weeks later, after Becca had slapped him up the head and told him to get his head out of the gutter and had reminded him that, “you were like basically married to my great-uncle, or something. Would have been if had been legal. Whatever. It’s weird. You’re hot, but I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole, buddy.”

It had made a whole lot more sense when she had been dressed and poking him in the chest until he agreed with her. Once that issue had been cleared, Steve and Becca had fallen into a routine so smoothly, Steve found it difficult to believe he’d been here less than a month.

He had learned to work Becca’s coffeemaker on his second day in the apartment, when it became apparent that Becca didn’t really function as a human being before her third cup of caffeine.

She had shown him how to work the complicated monstrosity before sitting him down and suggesting he and Karen-the-therapist talk about healthy ways to go about trying to catch up with the twenty-first century. It had helped, to have a few different suggestions, to figure out what best suited him.

He’d began with day-to-day things, to ensure he could live without feeling completely out of his depth.

From there on, Becca had helped him choose some books and films to watch, to slowly immerse himself in pop culture until he felt less like he didn’t understand a single word anyone was saying. He quite enjoyed animated movies, and he’d been stunned to watch the progress of Disney movies from Snow White—which he remembered seeing with Bucky in ’37—to newer ones like Moana and Brave.

Neither Becca, nor Becky or Karen-the-therapist ever made him feel like he was an idiot for not understanding every reference or for not being able to navigate his way through life as smoothly as he should be able to, and it meant more to him than he could say now.

He’d felt much like a child, stumbling along in the dark while trying to learn how to walk, before Becca and Karen-the-therapist and Becky had taken his hands in theirs and guided him back out into the light.

He’d learned so much.

He’d learned that the world was a much bigger, but simultaneously a much smaller place now, and that women, people of color and openly queer people could practice any profession they liked, and that Becca liked to flirt with everything that moved when she was sober, and tended to include things that didn’t move when she had had a few drinks.

He learned that it was quite alright for women to have a social life as thriving as Bucky’s had been, back before he had been shipped out and they had to have a cover in place so people wouldn’t be suspicious of the two young, single men living together in a one-bedroom apartment.

He’d learned that Becca’s social life was more than thriving.

She had taken him out for drinks—disregarding his protests about not being able to get drunk—and had introduced him to the bartender in the club nearest to their apartment and her friend, fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and general human catastrophe Clint, before proceeding to get absolutely hammered and dancing with anyone who caught her eye.

Steve had loved it.

He had loved the freedom and the beauty in Becca’s behavior, he’d loved the way she spun both men and women around the dancefloor confidently, without so much as a hint of fear.

He’d loved the way Clint knew sign language and helped him remember and expand his vocabulary before promising to take Steve out to show him real coffee.

He had especially loved her hilarious one-sided conversation with the potted plant in the lobby when they returned home that night, and had almost laughed himself silly before he’d been able to pull himself together enough to get Becca up to their apartment and into her bed without further incidents.

It had been a good night.

Steve smiled wryly now, clenching his fingers around his mostly-empty cup.

It had been a really good night, followed by a series of increasingly terrible days. Days where he couldn’t, where he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find the will to eat…

He didn’t have many of those days anymore—but they still remained.

Both Becca and Karen-the-therapist had told him it was no more than normal, and Steve believed them—he did—but he still felt so tired.

His lack of sleep was usually to blame on his overly active mind and his nightmares, but every now and then, Becca’s active social life succeeded in keeping him wide awake too. Such had been the case tonight, when Becca and her date of the evening had stumbled into the apartment around one AM, giggling and stumbling over furniture and against the wall until they’d reached Becca’s bedroom.

Steve had felt it prudent to leave his bedroom to avoid hearing anything that might scar him for life.

As if on cue, Becca stumbled into the kitchen, her hair snarled, thrown into a messy knot with strands slipping down to curl against her neck. She was wearing a shirt that Steve was sure was one of the shirts she bought for him before she’d stolen it and shorts that ended mid-thigh and she looked like she wasn’t quite sure why she was conscious.

Steve smiled into his cup as she collapsed at the kitchen island, pillowing her head on her arms, before getting to his feet to get Becca a cup of coffee and to refill his own.

“Good morning,” he drawled playfully, pushing her favorite mug in her hands before retaking his seat.

She groaned wordlessly in response, but after a healthy gulp of her coffee, she glared at him balefully and moaned, “Shut up, Rogers. How are you so perky in the morning? Is it the serum? That’s cheating.”

Her lethargy was almost comical, and Steve couldn’t help but smile at her, because he saw Bucky in her, whining and moaning after he’d gone dancing, and though it hurt, he didn’t mind the ache so much anymore. It meant he was still capable of feeling.

He’d been afraid of losing that permanently for a while.

The ache felt good now—a reminder.

A reminder that though he’d lost something—Bucky—everything—it had been real.

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

“Drink your coffee,” he told her gently, nudging her protruding lower lip with the tip of his finger playfully. “Gotta tell me about your date. Went pretty well, from what I heard,” he added, chuckling slightly when her eyes widened in surprise and then horror.

“You heard us?” she squawked indignantly, cheeks flushing with aghast embarrassment.

Before he could reply, Steve caught sight of a slim, beautiful woman in a tight black dress with straps slipping down her shoulders and high heels with red soles dangling from her fingers by the strap, her short red hair almost as wild and tangled as Becca’s long locks. The woman paused in the doorway, eyes widening as she took both him and Becca in, before she raised an eyebrow at him.

It almost felt like a challenge.

“I didn’t hear anything too scarring,” he said slowly, both to his roommate and the woman in the doorway. “But the fact that she’s standing in the doorway’s a pretty good indicator too.”

Becca sat bolt upright and swiveled around in her seat to look at the other woman, who now leaned against the doorjamb with something akin to a sheepish grin on her lips. “I promise I wasn’t sneaking out,” she said, slipping the slipping strap of her dress back onto her shoulder. “I have work in a few hours, and I assure you my boss would never let me live it down if I turned up like this.”

There was a distinct lack of accent to her words, and it rubbed Steve the wrong way—usually, with his enhanced hearing, he was more than capable of discerning accents, however faint.

The fact that he couldn’t with Becca’s hook-up bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

“You don’t have to go,” Becca said quietly, slipping off of her stool to approach the other woman, trailing her fingers down the redhead’s arm in an intimate gesture that made Steve flush and look away. “Stay for breakfast,” he heard her say as he turned to the ice box, opening it partially to get started on making aforementioned breakfast, and partially to pretend he wasn’t listening in on the two women.

He did not feel awkward about the fact that Becca had someone over—it had happened once or twice before—but more about the fact that this woman seemed to have no compunction or shame about walking into their kitchen the next morning.

Becca’s usual type snuck out the door while they had breakfast.

He and Becca had had several conversations about it, actually, and though Steve couldn’t imagine feeling content with strictly sexual encounters, he understood that Becca had no need for romantic relationships in her life right now.

The thing that felt most odd for him was how little concern she displayed in regards to her sexuality.

It was, however, comforting to have someone to confide in about his own experiences, someone with similar issues and who understood what it meant to struggle with one’s sexual identity.

Of course, his experiences were limited to Bucky and having to hide what they were to each other for fear of being persecuted and hurt, and Peggy, and the terrifying, new way she had made him feel, even if nothing had ever happened between them.

He set out the carton of eggs and the wrapped plate of bacon, briefly contemplating whether to make French toast too, before discarding the idea. He was the only one that ate more than a regular person, and experience had taught him that Becca ate like a sick bird in the mornings—something about her stomach not tolerating food before noon.

He’d just make one or two eggs extra, a few more slices of bacon and toast, and they’d be fine.

When he let the door fall closed, he caught a glimpse of the two women, entwined in what looked like a very passionate embrace, with Becca’s back pressed against the doorframe and the redhead’s fingers in her hair. Steve coughed awkwardly, averting his eyes as they jumped and broke apart. “Sorry to interrupt,” he deadpanned, biting his lower lip to hide his grin when Becca blushed. “Just checking if you’re actually staying for breakfast.”

“I suppose I could,” the other woman smiled tightly while turning to Becca. “If you wouldn’t mind lending me some clean clothes and your shower?”

Becca looked back at the woman with an expression on her face that reminded Steve all too much of the way he’d used to look at Bucky, or even Peggy. It was an expression filled with awe and fondness, and it made Steve ache nostalgically.

It was odd to see it on Becca’s face, especially considering her feelings towards romance.

He watched as she ushered the other woman back to her bedroom nonetheless, presumably to provide the aforementioned clothing, before turning back to his eggs and bacon and getting to work.

It’d been the deal they’d established when he first moved in; he did not have a stable income yet, so he couldn’t contribute to the rent yet, and he didn’t like doing nothing, so he’d taken over cooking in the apartment. It wasn’t like Becca couldn’t cook or was a bad cook—she’d made it clear she just preferred not to cook, and was happy to relinquish these duties to Steve instead.

He moved to the oven and popped in a couple of slices of bread to lightly toast them before moving back to the stove and getting started on the bacon as Becca walked back into the kitchen, moving around him smoothly and quietly to fetch plates and cutlery.

They moved around each other fluidly, in a dance born of fond familiarity, and it never ceased to amaze Steve. He’d fallen in with Becca and the extended Barnes’ family so easily it almost felt like breathing.

It wasn’t truly like feeling at home—because he didn’t think he could truly feel at home without Bucky at his side—but the sense of belonging and family they gave him made it easier to get up each morning.

The schedule had helped too.

He and Becca had dinner with Becky every Thursday, and he joined Becca at her VA meeting once a week. He met Karen for a therapy session three times a week, usually right after he’d drop Becca off at S.H.I.E.L.D. so he could use her car to drive up to Queens. Clint insisted on bringing him coffee at least a few times a week too.

Last week, he had added boxing at a local boxing gym twice a week to the schedule, because he’d missed boxing, had missed punching stuff when he got pissed off, and the grimy little gym he’d found reminded him of Goldie’s Boxing gym, where Bucky had taught him how to box.

He smiled sadly before refocusing on cooking breakfast, Becca and her guest.

He waited until he could hear the pipes groan as the shower turned on before he turned to Becca, offering her what he hoped was a cheeky grin and raised an eyebrow. “So?” he asked playfully. “Having fun? I thought you preferred it when they didn’t stick around.”

The flush on Becca’s cheeks was very nearly hilarious, but he listened nonetheless when she spoke, shyly, in a tone he’d never heard from her before.

“I know,” she admitted, setting the plates on the kitchen island before fiddling with the cutlery. “I don’t know what it is… she’s…” Becca shrugged helplessly and grinned in the direction of her bedroom. “She’s really cool. And just—” Steve barely managed to suppress the urge to chuckle when Becca flapped her hands desperately. “She’s really, really awesome.”

And though it ached, seeing this… this expression of youthful infatuation on Becca’s face, it made him inexplicably happy for her too. She had been nothing but kind to him, and he was pleased she’d found someone who could make her smile.

“I’m sorry we kept you up though,” she frowned, and Steve hated the way the smile immediately disappeared from her lips. It reminded him all too much of all the times Bucky had lost that smile—that radiant, beautiful smile that seemed to run in the Barnes family—because Steve had needed caring for, because he’d made Bucky worry—

“Becca,” he sighed heavily, turning to the table with the frying pan in hand, evenly distributing the eggs and bacon on the plates before setting it back on the counter. “We’ve been through this. It’s still your apartment. You get to do whatever—and whoever—you want.”

Becca just grinned dopily at him, and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he turned back to the oven to pull out the bread. “...did you make a joke? Did Steve Rogers, Captain fucking America, make a joke about my sex life? Holy shit!” Steve groaned as Becca poked at him, but he couldn’t quite suppress the smile that tugged on his lips at her teasing.

“Just,” Becca shook her head and wrinkled her nose as she sipped at her forgotten cold coffee. “Steve. Stevie. C’mon. We’ve been over this. This ain’t just my place anymore. You live here too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve swatted at her half-heartedly and vaguely listened to see if the shower was still on before he took a seat at the kitchen island and gestured at the plate of eggs and toast. “Eat your food,” he told her sternly, wrinkling his nose when she stuck her tongue out at him before complying.

They ate in silence for a while before Becca frowned and glanced towards the bedrooms. “Is it me or is she taking a long time?”

Before he could contemplate her question, there was a firm knock on the door.

Steve looked at Becca quizzically, but her expression was just as comically puzzled as his own undoubtedly was. He hardly thought visitors at six-thirty in the morning were common in this era; they certainly hadn’t been in the time he had been here.

“You expecting more guests?” he asked, aiming for playful, though he could tell the tone fell flat. Becca shook her head wordlessly, frowning in confusion, and rubbed her fingers through her hair, tying it up again in a marginally less messy knot before she padded out of the kitchen to open the door.

Steve remained seated at the table for another few seconds until he pushed himself to his feet, wandering out into the living room to see who had called upon them so ridiculously early in the morning.

He froze halfway between the kitchen and the living room, one hand braced against the doorframe as he stared at the tall, dark skinned man that stood before Becca, looking hilariously out of place in his dark leather trench coat, eyepatch and boots beside Becca, who was still rumpled with sleep and dressed in her pyjamas.

Steve had never met another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent beyond Becca and her friend Clint, but this man breathed authority and Steve barely even had to look at Becca to realise that whoever this man was, he was high up in the chain of command.

He knew S.H.I.E.L.D. would be looking to recruit him, had expected as much after everything he had found out about it in the weeks since he’d been awake, but he hadn’t quite expected them to show up at six-thirty on a Wednesday morning.

He hadn’t quite expected that level of desperation.

“Ah, Captain Rogers,” the man said, eyeing Steve with the one eye—Christ—in a way that made his skin crawl and made him feel entirely too self-conscious in his own soft pyjama pants and Star Wars t-shirt Becca had insisted upon. “Just the man I was looking for.”

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” Steve said slowly, frowning as he tried to decipher the look on Becca’s face, stepping closer cautiously. He had had his fair share of experience with overbearing officers and higher-ups—senator Brandt had been the least of his concerns at times—but he had to admit that showing up at someone’s private residence at the crack of dawn was beyond anything he’d imagined possible, even in this century, where privacy seemed like a farfetched illusion at times.

“Steve,” Becca spoke up hoarsely, frowning impressively as she glanced towards the bedrooms. “This is Director Fury. He’s the man I told you about.”

Steve stiffened and glanced back to the tall man with new apprehension.

Not just an overbearing superior then—the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. himself. Becca had, in fact, told him about Fury, and how she supposed he would try to recruit Steve as soon as Becca gave him an inch.

It seemed he did not even wait for Becca to give him the inch.

“What brings you here, Director?” Steve demanded, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorpost, eyes firmly on the Director’s.

There was an air of authority to him that made the soldier in Steve want to straighten his back and snap into position, but he purposefully suppressed the urge. He was not a soldier right now, and he was going to make damned sure Director Fury knew that too.

Steve didn’t miss the way the older man glanced towards Becca with an almost peculiar look on his face before he replied succulently, “I don’t believe Agent Barnes’s presence is required.”

“Excuse me?” Becca hissed, pushing herself away from the front door, and Steve barely managed to put himself between them—it was Fury’s own fault, really. Steve expected the leader of what appeared to be an organisation filled with an assortment of spies and former military personnel to have figured out that it was never a good idea to antagonise someone before their second cup of coffee.

“Becca,” he said softly, curling his fingers around her upper arm delicately—the last time he had grabbed her without thinking, she had carried finger-shaped bruises for a week—to draw the heat of her infuriated gaze back towards himself. “It’s okay.”

The anger in her eyes very swiftly gave way to worry, and that made him feel a little queasy in itself, because he hated when people worried about him.

He nodded towards the bedrooms, where the shower had finally stopped running, and gave her a nudge in that direction. He’d much rather she tend to her guest while he tended to his so they could get back to their damned breakfasts than stand here and argue.

They looked at each other in silence for another moment, and though Steve was uncomfortably aware of Fury’s eye upon them, he didn’t look away from Becca until he saw acceptance bloom in her eyes. She clenched her jaw in defiance and glared at him, but didn’t protest further and stomped towards her bedroom, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

He stared after her for a moment before Fury cleared his throat, and Steve turned back to him reluctantly.

“You’re up early, Captain,” Fury finally said, stopping and turning towards Steve with an inscrutable expression on his face. “Trouble sleeping?”

Steve was, contrary to popular belief, far from innocent and had engaged in plenty of things that would make even Becca blush—not in the least because he’d engaged in most of those things with her late great-uncle—and he didn’t miss the pointed look Fury gave the bedroom door Becca had just closed.

He did not appreciate the wordless implication.

“I slept for seventy years, sir.” He bit back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think I’ve had my fill.”

The other man inclined his head towards Steve, conceding his point, and followed him into the kitchen when Steve retreated there, his stomach growling something fierce, clearly unhappy at not being fed breakfast—Steve couldn’t say he disagreed there.

“Then you should be out, celebrating,” the director insisted, “See the world. I’m sure Agent Barnes would be willing to show you whatever you desire.” It was the third implication to his relationship with Becca that the man had made since he’d stepped foot inside, and it rubbed Steve all the wrong ways.

He ignored the urge to lash out at the man and eyed him speculatively.

“You here with a mission, sir?” Steve leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter as he eyed Fury intently. It was the only reason he could think of for the other man to be insistent on seeing him at 6 AM on a regular Wednesday.

Fury raised an eyebrow, but nodded nonetheless. “I am.”

Steve frowned, unsure of what to do with that information or why Fury would think he would want a mission. “You trying to get me back in the world?”

Fury shrugged and handed him a folder—Steve didn’t even want to know where he’d pulled that thing from—before he said, “I’m trying to save it.” The folder was deceptively thin and light, and Steve was sure he was not going to like what he was going to find inside.

He was right.

He narrowly avoided using some of the finer creative curses he’d picked up from the Howlies when he flipped to the first page and his eye fell upon the fucking cube.

“Hydra’s secret weapon,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Tell me you haven’t actually been using this.” He looked up at Fury angrily, fingers tightening on the fragile paper of the folder. “Please tell me you knew better than to use their secret weapon.”

Fury shuffled a little, and the look on his face was the first hint of actual human emotion Steve saw on it, even if it was only mild awkwardness. “Howard Stark fished that thing out of the ocean when he was looking for you,” Fury said, nodding towards the picture. “He thought what we think; the Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy.” He must have read the confusion from Steve’s face, because he simply shrugged and added, “It is something the world sorely needs.”

He leafed through the limited number of pages in the folder, shaking his head. “Who took it from you?”

“He’s called Loki,” Fury sneered, and Steve was both impressed with and wary of the man that somehow managed to put a crack in Director Fury’s implacable expression. “He’s… not from around here,” the Director continued. “There’s a lot we’ll have to bring you up to speed on if you’re in. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know.”

Steve snorted and thought about some of the websites he had accidentally stumbled upon after Becca had shown him how to Google things and how to order things online. “At this point, sir,” he smiled wryly, “I doubt anything would surprise me.”

Fury grinned sardonically. “Ten bucks says you’re wrong.”

Steve sighed and eyed the folder again. Much as he did not want to fight anymore, he could not ignore something like this—and he was fairly certain that Fury knew he couldn’t too. “If I do this,” he began, tossing the folder onto the counter and tapping his finger on it pointedly. “I want Agent Barnes with me.”

Fury smiled at that, a sagacious kind of smile, that made Steve’s skin crawl a little. “I expected as much. Tell her debriefing packages will be waiting for you both at her desk.” With that, he turned and headed for the door, stopping short to glance over his shoulder. “Is there anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?”

Steve glanced back at the folder and sighed. “You should have left it in the ocean.”

#In Hell We Stand By You #IHWSBY #stucky #stucky fanfic #my writing #lisa writes

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cuthian · 4 years

Text

Dancing in the Rain Chapter Five

Hi again guys!

Thanks for sticking around so far :) I imagine this is the chapter everyone has been waiting for.

Please, read the tags again before reading this and the next chapter. Please feel free to DM me about any concerns you have!

As always, much thanks to @juuls, who has helped me make this entire series a reality!

Lots of love, Annaelle

Chapter Five

UNKNOWN KIDNAPPERS LIVESTREAM THREATS TO REBECCA BARNES

Just a little before midnight today, several social media platforms and news channels picked up on an online video feed that went live with footage of Rebecca Barnes – former U.S. Army Captain, former ambassador to Asgard and S.H.I.E.L.D. liaison to the Avengers – tied to a wooden chair in a non-descript room, clearly beaten and roughed up as several unknown men taunted her and the viewers.

The video ends abruptly after three minutes and forty-seven seconds when a commotion behind the camera leads to said camera being knocked over before the feed shuts down after what seems to be a gun is fired.

The kidnappers seem under the impression that the Avengers were also watching the footage and uttered a threat specifically addressed to Captain America in the name of a Nazi-cult Captain America fought and died to stop during the Second World War, named Hydra.

[…] Barnes attended a charity gala with close friend Captain Steve Rogers earlier tonight. It is currently unknown how and where Barnes was taken. All we know at this time is that around ten p.m. a sudden, unannounced thunderstorm hit New York city that intensified abruptly during the broadcast and has yet to let up. […] weather experts have no other explanation for the storm than Thor’s potential and likely influence—not without considerable provocation.

[…] no official statements from the Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. yet, although many of the Avengers’ and Barnes’ fans have already picked up on the footage and are running through it with a fine-tooth comb and now have started launching large-scale search parties. […] several independent sources have also picked up the footage and are calling into question the authenticity of the video.

—P. Adams, “Rebecca Barnes Kidnapped by Hydra?”, Daily News Online, 3 April 2016

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Avengers Tower, New York, Manhattan, New York State, U.S.A.

12:14 a.m., 3 April 2016

Tony

While Steve was off trying to find the nearest uniform to squeeze himself into, the Widow sidled up to him and handed him a flash drive. He eyed her before frowning at the flash drive in distaste. “I don’t like being handed things,” he said reflexively, but he didn’t set it down.

If she made a point of giving it to him, there was a good reason.

“Look at what’s on there,” she said. “I haven’t told Steve. I don’t think we should until we’ve got Becca, at least. He can’t take much more, I don’t think.”

Tony shot a glance at the hallway, and J.A.R.V.I.S. chimed, “Captain Rogers is currently in the team locker room, changing into his suit and retrieving his shield,” before he could even ask.

God, he loved J.A.R.V.I.S.

Tony slotted the drive into the nearest USB port and blinked at the onslaught of files that popped open as soon as his computer recognized the drive and accessed it. There were dozens of documents, pictures and graphs, and the more he read, the sicker Tony felt.

Phrases like, “destabilized mental health” and “suicidal ideation encouraged” stood out to him, and he jerked away from the screen as though it had physically hurt him, turning back to Natasha incredulously.

“What is this?” he demanded shakily.

“I don’t know,” Natasha admitted, and Tony was unnerved to see she looked scared. “Steve never—he never told me about any of this, I don’t think he told Becca either. But if this is real…” She shook her head and leaned her hip against the table. “They either have someone who looks a hell of a lot like him, or they have Bucky Barnes himself. And they used him against Steve.”

Tony blinked.

“Bucky Barnes died,” he said stiffly. “Seventy years ago.”

“Yeah,” Nat said softly. “That’s what we thought about Steve too.”

Tony opened his mouth to… to say something, anything, because this was horrifying, but then Cap walked back in and Tony hastily collapsed the screen, because Natasha was right.

Cap wouldn’t take this well.

He’d nearly flipped out just by the mere mention of Bucky Barnes’ name. Tony had no idea how he’d respond to the possibility that Barnes was actually still out there. Let alone what he’d been up to.

“You ready?” Cap asked Natasha, who uncrossed her arms and nodded at him.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she said, striding over to him and leading him out of the room.

As soon as they were gone, Tony opened the screen again. “Fuck,” he sighed. “Fuck.”

------------

Brooklyn, New York State, United States of America

12:23 a.m., 3 April 2016

Loki

As always when Thor unleashed the thunder, the air reeked of burnt ozone. He waded through the rain-soaked streets of New York, each clap of thunder so loud it reverberated into his very bones. He knew the storm that raged was Thor’s doing—how could it be anything but, when the air was saturated with so much seiðr that he could very nearly taste it.

There had always been an intrinsic quality to Thor’s seiðr that Loki would recognize anywhere, even amidst the chaos of the most turbulent battle.

He could not deny, even to himself, that its familiar feel was… comforting, in a sense.

He had spent the past five years in isolation, hidden away from the mortal world in one of the few sacred places that was left on Midgard—a small island, hidden from mortal eyes, off the coast of Norway near Älesund. The land was still infused with seiðr, its roots tucked into deep, primal wells of power that Loki had not yet been able to unveil—he had, however, used said power to hide himself from Heimdall’s all-seeing eye.

He’d assumed that, as long as he refrained from using his own seiðr for more than the menial, his presence would be entirely undetectable underneath the land’s stifling presence.

Considering he had not yet been dragged from his little hiding place by Einherjar, he felt it rather safe to assume his little plot had worked.

He had spent his time there trying to learn more about the origins of the universe and the stones that he knew Thanos sought and was willing to commit genocide for. He had not learned as much as he would’ve liked, but his knowledge on the subject was, he thought, likely more extensive than most other scholars except Thanos himself.

It would, hopefully, serve him well.

Not, of course, that his knowledge of infinity stones was going to do him much good now.

He surveyed the scene before him with some disdain and refrained from shaking his head. While he may be a god of mischief and chaos, he did so dislike pointless violence and fruitless chaos. He had been summoned here, unable to deny its insistent call, and had transported into what appeared to be a small underground chamber with bodies littered across the floor, bleeding everywhere—he glanced disdainfully at the puddle of blood beneath the closest man that inched closer to his shoes—and noise.

There were two men left, fighting hand to hand with a speed that might have impressed him if he had not been forcibly removed from the comfort of his home, where he had been taking a break from his endless research to watch a few episodes of a wonderfully bloodthirsty, morally ambiguous television show called Game of Thrones.

It really was quite inconvenient, being called here just as he’d been rewatching the previous season to prepare for the new episodes in a few weeks.

“Loki.”

He glanced around until he found the source of the voice that called to him, and barely repressed a sigh. He should have known, in hindsight, that the only living being with enough sway over him was his brother-betrothed’s favorite little mortal.

He did owe her a life debt, after all.

He had also not been quite so far into isolation that he had not heard of his brother’s scandalous and lengthy affair with the mortal. It’d been easy to pretend, when he had been alone, that it did not bother him so much that Thor had been able to move on quite so easily.

It was much harder, he found, to pretend when he was standing before her and he could see the evidence of her affair with his brother-betrothed with his own eyes. She lay collapsed against a far wall, a small trickle of blood running down from the corner of her mouth to her chin, one cheek bruised rather heavily, both hands cradled protectively around her swollen belly.

There was a rather lengthy, deep wound on her upper thigh that had been crudely wrapped.

Loki had, of course, known that his brother-betrothed had done the impossible and impregnated the twit.

The pregnancy announcement had made international newspapers, and while Loki had been rather shocked—and quietly dismayed—to hear of it, he had also been entirely unsurprised at the same time.

Thor was a fertility god, after all.

If anyone would be capable of procreating with someone they should not be able to procreate with, it would be Thor.

Of course, knowing was different than seeing.

“Rebecca,” he said smoothly, strolling towards her with an ease he did not feel. The two men that were still fighting did not seem to see him, and that suited him fine—he was here for her, after all.

“Help us,” she panted, looking up at him desperately. “Get us out of here.”

The request was, as he expected, dreadfully vague.

“Are you seriously injured?” he asked, eyeing her contemplatively.

“Only a little,” she said shakily, rubbing her hand over her stomach nervously. “I don’t think—he hit me and kicked me out of the chair, I twisted my ankle, and they kicked my legs out from under me when they took me, cut out the tracker in my thigh and smashed it… My knee—it hurts, but—the baby… it’s not moving so much, but I don’t think anything’s wrong. I don’t know. I’d know, right?”

He nodded lightly, although he was altogether unsure if that were true, and bent down to set his brother-betrothed’s intended on her feet. She wavered briefly, unsteady as a newborn fawn, before grabbing hold of his arm and steadying herself.

“Very well,” he said. “I presume we are to go without arousing suspicion. Shall I dispose of those as well?” He nodded towards the two men that were still fighting, although he noted that one seemed to be tiring rapidly.

He supposed that would make things a lot easier for him.

“No!” she shouted abruptly, wavering on her feet again, startling both him and the two men. Both men turned, eyes widening when they saw him.

“What the fuck?” the shorthaired, armored man shouted, but before Loki could act, the other man, lanky and longhaired, his eyes dark and filled with shadows, snatched a weapon from one of the dead men and fired a volley of shots towards Loki—all meticulously aimed, but dodged easily nonetheless—before he turned to the man beside him and hit him square in the face with his left, metal arm.

The armored man crumpled into a heap on the floor.

Loki looked the man with the metal arm warily up and down, but he did not move against him again. “Uncle Bucky,” Rebecca said from beside him, and it took him a moment to realize she was talking to the longhaired soldier. “Bucky, it’s okay, he’s going to help us.”

“What the hell is a Bucky?” Loki uttered under his breath, but both humans ignored him.

“He’s coming too,” Rebecca told him sternly, transferring her ironclad grip to the sallow-skinned soldier’s arm, as though Loki was in any position to refuse her. He sighed again but eyed the other man curiously—there was something… oddly familiar about him, although he was certain he had never met him before.

“Well then,” he nodded, dismissing the thought. “I haven’t all day.”

He held out a hand at her and wiggled his fingers insistently.

Rebecca swallowed thickly, blinking slowly at him as she rubbed the side of her belly before she finally reached out and placed her hand in his, keeping a firm grasp on the other man’s arm. “Take us to the Tower,” she said, biting her lip lightly. “Please. I need—we need to go back to the others.”

To Thor.

She did not say his brother-betrothed’s name, but she did not need to. Thor hung heavily between them without his name needing to be spoken aloud anyway.

Loki nodded silently.

Perhaps it was long since time for him to reveal himself to Thor and to also trust that Thor would protect him from Odin. He lowered his gaze to Thor’s mortal’s swollen belly and swallowed. Perhaps it was time to face the consequences of the choices he had made.

“To the Tower,” he repeated, curling his fingers over hers. “Hold on tightly. And close your eyes.”

------------

12:34 a.m.

Tony

Thor, his friends, Steve, Natasha and the twins were still searching the city block by block, able to cover a lot of ground with Pietro’s superspeed and Thor’s ability to fly. Clint still sat ensconced, himself, in a far corner with three laptops, a tablet and a phone and had declared he was more useful contacting everyone he knew to see if there was anyone who’d heard anything.

He only looked away from his screen to glare balefully at his apparently-not-so-dead husband, who had set up operations with Fury on Tony’s conference table. Natasha had eventually gone with Cap to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid—which was probably for the best—and Bruce was quietly going through several of the files Natasha had collected earlier.

Pepper had been here for a little bit earlier, but Tony had managed to convince her to go back to bed. At thirty-two weeks pregnant, she was uncomfortable all the time, and Tony knew their doctors had specifically told her to take it easy and to avoid very stressful situations.

He had finally convinced her to go back to bed by promising to keep her in the loop on everything, and to let her call in her various contacts to see if she could find out anything more.

He was pretty sure she was talking to Rhodey now—who was flying back from his conference in Germany immediately—and he felt a little better about leaving her while she was talking to their boyfriend. Rhodey would be able to keep her calm while Tony and the others combed through the city to find Becca.

“If this is Hydra,” Bruce said quietly from his corner, looking rather green around the edges, “it’s not going to be easy to figure out what’s going on. These records go up to the highest level of the government—they go up to the World Security Council.”

“Well, when have we ever done things the easy way?” Tony said, mildly hysterical, wringing his hands together. “J.A.R.V.I.S., are you done yet?”

“No, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. intoned politely. “But you do have an incoming call from Peggy Carter.”

Tony frowned. “Aunt Peg? Put her through.”

He could do with the distraction, and he felt a little bad that he hadn’t even thought to tell Aunt Peggy and Aunt Becky what was going on yet. “Aunt Peg,” he said jovially when J.A.R.V.I.S. sounded an upbeat little beep to signal he’d connected them. “Good that you called, I’ve got—”

“Stark!” someone who was very much not Aunt Peggy barked. “It’s Sharon! Aunt Peg told me what happened—we saw the video online—you gotta—is Brock with you?”

Tony frowned. “Shar,” he said slowly. “No… I thought you were sick? Brock said you w—”

“He knocked me out and locked me in the basement,” Sharon interrupted, and Tony’s jaw dropped.

“He—what?”

“Tony, I don’t have time,” Sharon spat impatiently. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. It’s Brock—this is no fucking coincidence—track his fucking phone, it’s gotta be him.”

“Are you sure?” Clint blurted, having dropped his tablet to his lap, staring at Tony with wide eyes.

“Do you think I’d be accusing my fiancé if I wasn’t fucking sure, Barton?” Sharon barked irritably. “Go track his fucking phone, I’ll be there in five.”

She hung up.

The silence in the conference room was deafening, and everyone stared at each other for a long, stunned moment before Tony jumped into action. “J.A.R.V.I.S., notify Thor and Rogers, get them back here ASAP, and track Brock Rumlow’s phone and hack into it. I wanna know everything, where he is, how long he’s been there, what porn he last Googled—just get into his phone and find everything.”

“Yes sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

Fury cleared his throat and said, “Rumlow should be on a two-week mission with STRIKE. His personal phone will likely ping in his locker at HQ.”

“Then get me access to his work phone,” Tony said impatiently. “You heard Sharon—it’s probably—”

“Pardon the interruption,” J.A.R.V.I.S. cut in. “There is a mild disturbance in the lobby. I suggest your presence right away, sir. As well as Clint and Director Fury.”

Tony blinked. “What? What do you mean a disturbance?”

“It appears…” J.A.R.V.I.S. said slowly, “…a rift opened up, and Becca Barnes, Loki and an unknown third man have stepped out.”

-----------

12:36 a.m.

After the tensest elevator ride ever, the doors opened up into the lobby.

There was a tight ring of security guards surrounding their unexpected guests, and Tony wondered if any of what he was seeing was real. Loki was dead and Becca had been kidnapped less than two hours ago—neither of them should be standing in his lobby like nothing had happened.

Well… Becca did look paler than he had seen her in years—possibly even paler than she had been when he had blown through the metal door in the dank little prison cell they’d kept her in in Iraq.

She’d been hit, clearly, with dried blood running from the corner of her mouth down to her chin, and dark bruises were forming on one side of her face. She was leaning rather heavily on the dark-haired man clad in black under-armor, fingers white-knuckling in the black fabric, and she looked like she was about to throw up. There was a crude, bloodstained bandage around her upper thigh and Tony felt nauseated—they’d cut the tracker out?!

Said dark-haired man had a gun pointed at one of the nearest security guards with one—was that metal?—arm, the other around Becca’s waist, keeping her upright.

Loki—what the actual fuck—looked rather perturbed and was frowning at her.

“You said you felt fine when we left,” Loki said accusingly.

Well. Tony blinked and glanced to Clint, who stood to his left. He certainly sounded like Loki—but then again, Loki had been dead for five years.

“I’m just nauseated,” Becca said, wavering where she stood. “My leg hurts.”

“Becca,” Tony hissed impatiently, worriedly, raising his gauntlet to aim at the man with the gun. “Let one of the guys help you and get away from them.”

“No,” Becca refused immediately, tightening her grip on the dark-haired man’s shoulder and drawing a highly reluctant Loki closer by his hand. “He saved my life, Tony. Both of them. They’re on my side.”

Tony opened his mouth to protest—why, why did the people in his life have no sense self-preservation whatsoever—when the doors behind the trio burst open and Cap, Thor and Nat burst inside, stopping short as soon as they spotted Loki, Becca and Rambo.

Said trio turned slowly to face the new arrivals, and the metal-armed man stiffened as his eyes went wide beneath the poor excuse of eyeliner, and even Loki seemed at a loss for words. Thor looked like he was about to burst—whether into tears or laughter was unclear, and Cap looked like he’d been punched in the face.

Tony moved slowly around the group, making sure he was positioned a little in front of Rogers, Thor and Romanoff and facing Becca and her new strays. The metal-armed guy looked at Rogers in a way Tony couldn’t quite decipher though, but that looked like Rogers was both the cause and solution to every single one of Terminator’s problems, and...

Yeah, Tony commiserated with a shrug. That probably sounded right.

“Steve,” the man growled, though it looked like it hurt to speak at all, and Tony was entirely taken aback by the sound of the shield falling to the tiled floor behind him.

Cap let a sound not unlike a fucking whimper fall from his lips, and choked, “Bucky?!” and...

Oh. Oh. Shit.

Tony looked again, and yeah, now that it was out there, he definitely saw the resemblance. Barnes’ face scrunched up when Steve spoke, shaking his head jerkily as he glared at Steve.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

Oh. Well... Tony grimaced at Becca.

That wasn’t good.

——————

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Dancing in the Rain:

(1) (2) (3) (4)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr in two weeks :)

#ihwsby sequel #dancing in the rain #ditr #stucky #thor #steve #bucky #becca barnes #avengers family #my writing #lisa writes

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cuthian · 4 years

Text

Dancing in the Rain Chapter Three

Next Chapter, darlings.

Things are going to happen and happen faster from hereon out. Please keep checking the tags, and if you have any concerns, please shoot me a message!

Eternal thanks to @juuls for putting up with me.

Love, Annaelle

Chapter Three

PROJECT PHOENIX PHASE 1 PROGRESS REPORT

REPORT OF MEDICAL EXAMINATION OF TEST SUBJECT

NAME BARNES, REBECCA AGE 23 RACE CAUCASIAN SEX FEMALE

DATE OF FIRST INJECTION APRIL 20, 2008

DATE OF EXAMINATION MAY 26, 2008 EXAMINED BY ELISA SINCLAIR

CONDITION OF THE SUBJECT BEFORE FIRST INJECTION (DAY 0) EYES BLUE HAIR BROWN WEIGHT 67 KG LENGTH 173 CM

CONDITION OF THE SUBJECT AFTER FIRST INJECTION (DAY 38)

EYES BLUE HAIR BROWN WEIGHT 70 KG LENGTH 176 CM

MARKS AND WOUNDS (HEALING FACTOR)

—LAST INFLICTED INJURIES 48 HOURS AGO—

THREE BROKEN RIBS IN REMODELING STAGE OF HEALING (HEALING STAGE WEEK 6) – INDICATION OF ACCELERATED HEALING IN MINOR FORM

CLEAN BREAK IN FEMUR OF LEFT LEG (HEALING STAGE WEEK 3) – INDICATION OF ACCELERATED HEALING IN MINOR FORM

ONE DEEP PENETRATIVE WOUND ON UPPER ARM IN PROLIFERATIVE STAGE OF HEALING – FURTHER INDICATOR OF ACCELERATED HEALING IN MINOR FORM

SEVERAL MINOR PENETRATIVE WOUNDS ACROSS UPPER TORSO AND LEGS IN PROLIFERATIVE STAGE OF HEALING – FURTHER INDICATOR OF ACCELERATED HEALING IN MINOR FORM

CHAFE WOUNDS ON ANKLES AND WRISTS IN VARIOUS STAGES OF HEALING – FURTHER INDICATOR OF ACCELERATED HEALING IN MINOR FORM

RECOMMENDATIONS FOR FURTHER EXPERIMENTATION

SUBJECT IS SUITABLE TO PROCEED TO PHASE TWO OF PROJECT PHOENIX

MOVE SUBJECT TO SECONDARY BASE FOR INTERACTION WITH THE WINTER SOLDIER AND FURTHER CONDITIONING

DATE MAY 26, 2008 SIGNATURE ELISA SINCLAIR

----------------

Tony Stark’s Personal Lab, Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, United States of America

30 April 2016Steve

Steve sat on a chair in the far corner of Tony’s lab, arms wrapped around his torso as he watched the others file into the lab. They’d spent most of the night combing through the data J.A.R.V.I.S. had collected and had, together, decided that it was in everyone’s best interest to call in the rest of the team to share what they’d found.

What they’d possibly found.

Steve understood why Tony… why Wanda thought that the terrorist group they’d been chasing might be Hydra. He saw the same patterns they did, he saw the kind of brutal effectiveness and zealotry that he’d only seen during the war in Hydra, and he saw.

He saw what Wanda meant when she had described her and Pietro’s experience with them, when she had talked about how they’d been meant to become tools to shape the coming century, to sow chaos so humanity would see they needed a strong hand to guide them. It sounded like things Schmidt would have said, like justifications Zola would have spouted for his sick human experiments—

He understood.

That didn’t mean he agreed.

There was nearly no direct evidence, nothing that pointed towards Hydra directly—no double salutes, no glowing blue weapons or secret bases with scarily advanced technology—nothing but rumors of misconduct, suspicious disappearances and something that, he had to admit, didn’t really add up with anything else.

Still, it was hard to believe that Hydra could’ve survived all this time—

That all he’d done would’ve been in vain.

“Why’re we here, Tony?” Becca asked when she walked in, rubbing her hand lightly over her belly. Thor followed her closely, waiting until she had taken a seat to press in behind her, letting her lean back against him. Natasha and Wanda were still sitting on one of the lab tables, leaning against each other tiredly, and Pietro was bouncing on his toes beside them.

Bruce and Tony were both wandering around the lab, tinkering and chatting distractedly.

“We should wait for Sharon, shouldn’t we?” said Tony questioningly, dropping the wrench he had been waving around for the last thirty minutes. “I mean, we’ve agreed to start trusting her, right? She’s gonna be our Becca for at least six months, she should be brought into the loop, shouldn’t she?”

Becca shook her head. “Sharon’s pretty sick, she’s not gonna be in today. Sore throat, ugly coughing, stuff like that. Brock called this morning, said he’s gonna take her to a doctor and let us know.” She leaned back into Thor again and winced a little, rubbing her hand over the side of her stomach where, Steve assumed, the baby had delivered a particularly hard kick.

“Okay,” Tony said. Then, “I have doctors on retainer for my staff. She could come here.”

“I’ll be sure to pass it along,” Becca said dryly. “Now why are we here?”

Tony heaved a sigh and spun on his heel, gesturing wildly at Steve, and Steve couldn’t help but smile, despite the grave subject. He pushed up, off his chair, and leaned against the table Nat and Wanda were sitting on. “We found something,” he said. “Well… Wanda and Nat found something.”

“Full disclosure,” Natasha said slowly, “We’re not a hundred percent sure, but…”

“We think Hydra might not be as dead and gone as we thought after all,” Tony blurted—again, Christ, Tony—before wincing and clapping his hand over his mouth again, like he had the previous night when he’d told Steve.

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away as a deafening silence rang in the lab.

“I—what?!” Becca sputtered, eyes wide.

Thor leaned forward. “This is a very serious claim,” he said calmly, although his forehead was creased with concern. “Steven has told me much about these foes. If they are truly undefeated…” He did not finish, but he didn’t need to—the implication of Hydra’s return hung heavy in the air.

“We never knew what they were called,” Pietro said, and Wanda shook her head. “All we knew was that they lied to us,” she said, rubbing her fingers over the scars Steve knew lay hidden beneath her long sleeves. “They took many like us; willing, young… foolish. Others…” She bit her lip and chanced a glance at Steve. “Perhaps not so willing.”

“Regardless,” Steve said, and he hated that his voice was hoarse and unsteady. “We’re not sure that it’s Hydra, but we’re sure it’s something. And it goes up high. What we’ve found indirectly implicates senators, actors, ambassadors… even the World Security Council. We already knew this was bigger than them trying to frame Sharon, but…”

He sighed.

“This is much bigger than we anticipated.”

J.A.R.V.I.S. helpfully projected digital copies of the files they’d managed to collect in front of the others, and Steve watched as everyone began to sift through the collected documents and articles in there, every single one of them paling significantly as they did.

Steve knew the feeling.

Bruce looked faintly green around the edges, and Steve would be more concerned about him potentially hulking out if he didn’t have more faith in Bruce’s self-control. “What are we going to do?” Bruce choked. “What can we do?”

“Steve,” Becca said slowly, trembling fingers hovering over the digital file, “Why is my—the—why am I in here?”

“There seems to have been more to the attack that took out your squad than we thought,” Tony answered for him, voice gentle as he approached his godsister. His voice and expression were haunted. “There’s been a lot of suspicious activity around there since then too, and it just keeps happening. And…” He hesitated, looking to Steve helplessly.

Steve sighed and moved towards Becca, settling on the seat beside her and taking one of her hands in his. “We found files, detailing… detailing torture and experimentation that sounds a lot like what was done to you while Al ’Qaeda had you.”

Becca looked downright nauseated. “So you think it was Hydra?” she choked. “That they experimented on me?”

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head. “No. I mean, I don’t know. I just know that there might’ve been more to it than we originally thought. Than you might’ve thought.”

Becca swallowed thickly.

Thor rested a hand on her shoulder, rubbing a thumb over the tense line of her shoulder soothingly. Becca didn’t relax, per se, but she did exhale roughly. “Okay,” she said quietly. “So what else do we have? What are we doing? What’s our next step?”

“We need more intel,” Natasha said simply. “Steve got an invitation to a gala in a few days where a lot of the potentially incriminated ambassadors will be. We’re especially looking to talk to Julien Beckers,” she pulled up a picture of a sandy-haired man in a suit and a tie and continued, “the Belgian Minister of Foreign Affairs. He’s implicated in a lot of shady stuff, and apparently loose-lipped when plied with enough alcohol.”

Bruce frowned. “That seems like a pretty poor quality for someone involved with shady stuff.”

Tony nodded vigorously and pointed at Bruce. “And that’s why he doesn’t drink at public functions. The trick will be to get him drunk without him knowing, without arousing his suspicions.”

Bruce nodded. “That’s easy enough to arrange. All we need to do is sneak someone into the serving staff and make sure there’s some kind of undetectable drugging agent in his drink.” He frowned. “It’d probably help if someone was distracting him too.”

Natasha nodded. “Which is where Steve comes in,” she said. “And…” she looked towards Becca. “You, if you and Thor feel comfortable with it.”

Becca blinked. “Me?” she said, pointing at herself quizzically. “But I’m pregnant.”

“Yes,” Natasha nodded. “Which is why no one would suspect us of actually running an op if you’re there. No self-respecting first world country would put their visibly, famously pregnant agent on an active op in the field.”

“With good reason,” Thor said, frowning severely.

“She wouldn’t be in danger,” Steve put in immediately. “I’d be with her the entire time, and we’re just going to a party to talk to someone.” He looked at Thor seriously, imploringly. “I’d never put her in danger, Thor. Either of them.”

“She is right here,” Becca said impatiently. “And I can speak for myself.”

Steve abruptly looked at his best friend and winced. He had been out of sorts since Tony had told him about… about all of this, and so busy trying to figure this out that he’d just… forgotten Becca was sitting right in front of him and wasn’t going to let anyone—even Thor—tell her what to do.

“Sorry,” he said shortly. “I’m sorry. If you think you’re up for it, I could use your help.”

Becca looked at him intently, and he just barely managed not to squirm beneath her gaze before she asked, quietly, “And… you’re sure it’s safe? That nothing will happen?”

“As sure as we can be,” he nodded. “And Clint will be right with us, he can get to us faster than anyone should something go wrong.”

Natasha nodded intently, and Becca looked a little more reassured by that.

She looked up at Thor, questioning, and Steve looked away abruptly.

He’d… he’d been able to communicate with Bucky by just looking at him too, and he… while he was doing good, he still wasn’t great at watching someone else have what he’d lost.

“I’ll do it,” Becca said.

Steve swallowed thickly and nodded. “Okay.” He looked up at Tony. “Well. What’s next?”

Tony clapped his hands gleefully. “Shopping!”

------------

INTERNAL MEMO “The Thule Society Future Debates: Results and Actions”

SESSION NOVEMBER 1991 VOLUME 1

COUNCIL OF REPRESENTATIVES OF CONTINENTAL FACTIONS

Monday, November 30, 1991

ASIA

The dissolution of the U.S.S.R. seems imminent. Local chapters of the Society have prepared for all eventualities and are imprinting new codes and failsafes into each of the Widows to ensure the continued longevity of the program.

EUROPE

The Society has gained foothold in Belgium after the general elections – traditional Christian parties and Socialist parties have lost significant amounts of seats in the House of Representatives to Society sponsored party Vlaams Blok.

Society partners are now hopeful to continue to gain access to several international agencies through their now established foothold in Belgian parliament.

AFRICA

Society groups have successfully destabilised government in Somalia and are currently feeding into the established chaos to continue spreading civil war into the surrounding nations.

NORTH AMERICA

The North American Society has learned of a potential opportunity to obtain the serum needed to proceed with Project Phoenix, provided a suitable genetic match for the Soldier can be obtained.

Recalibration and conditioning of the Soldier has been successful thus far – the Soldier will be sent to eliminate all targets and retrieve the serum. The Soldier’s new handler has assured the North American Society the incident from ’79 will not be repeated.

If proved successful, further responsibilities will be assigned.

Common Floor of the Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York City, U.S.A.

3 p.m., 2

April 2016Steve

“I hate this,” Steve said glumly, staring down at himself with all the air of a defeated man.

Becca snorted a laugh from her seat at the vanity, where Natasha was doing something complicated to her hair. She was already fully dressed, the one-shoulder dark blue gown she’d picked achieving the exact effect they were hoping for—she looked soft and unthreatening, but had a gun strapped to her thigh and a knife to her ankle, and Steve was pretty sure he’d heard Natasha mention something about narcotics hidden in the pearls in her necklace. “Don’t be dramatic,” she said, rolling her eyes at him in the mirror. “I’ve seen you wear much worse than a bespoke suit, Rogers.”

Steve pouted. “It’s just so…” He ran his hands down the soft fabric of the waistcoat. “Fancy. Expensive. I think this suit cost enough to have fed Bucky’s entire family for a month when we were kids.”

Becca shook her head at him and Tony, who had just entered the room, barked a laugh. “Far be it for me to break your socialist little heart, Cap,” he joked, “but you’ll stand out more if you’re less fancy.”

Steve glowered at him but accepted his fate and sat on the large pouf to tie his ridiculously shiny, dark leather shoes. Thor, who had been mostly silent through the entire process, chuckled at Steve’s reticence and pronounced, “I think you look rather dashing, my friend. Shame you could not be adorned in the Aesir formal wear I had fashioned for you, but… This will do.” Steve wrinkled his nose and Thor laughed, clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder companionably. “You cut an impressive figure, and you will do very well to escort my Rebecca to the gala tonight.”

Becca beamed at him from where she sat on her stool, Natasha’s hands still buried in her hair, twisting it onto the top of her head in a complicated mess of intricate braids and loose curls.

Steve grinned lightly and shook his head. He thought he may actually have felt more comfortable in the formal wear Thor had fashioned for each of the Avengers—he was far more used to standing out due to ostentatious and unconventional clothing than due to well-tailored and hideously expensive clothing—but he’d been outvoted.

“Plus, it’ll be a great opportunity to listen in on what Julien Beckers has to say,” Tony pointed out. “If he really is in with Hydra—or whatever it is,” he conceded when Steve made a protesting noise, “he might slip up if we get him drunk enough.”

“What if he switches to Dutch when he’s drunk though?” Steve pointed out reasonably. “I know a little, but mostly curse words and directions.”

Tony snorted derisively and waved his hand lightly. “J.A.R.V.I.S. is programmed into the comms units, so he’ll provide translations if you need any.” He frowned at Steve and added, “I can’t believe you thought I didn’t think of that. I’m hurt, Steven, hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve waved his hand dismissively and slipped into his suit jacket. He moved to stand in front of the full-length mirror and looked at himself, rubbing his fingers over the light stubble that he’d uncertainly not shaved today. Natasha had insisted, said it made him look less threatening, less All-American goody-two-shoes, and Steve had long since learned not to question her.

He looked… polished. Older.

Not like himself at all.

Becca sidled up next to him, her dress falling over the swell of her belly in smooth, soft folds of dark blue fabric, hair piled on her head in a mess of braids and curls, and she leaned against him playfully, linking their arms together and grinning at him in the mirror.

“We look good, Rogers,” she grinned. “We’re gonna nail this bastard.”

Steve smiled tightly. “Absolutely,” he agreed.

She was right. All they had to do was get in, get some guy drunk, and get back out.

Easy peasy.

They had this.

------------

CBS News (@CBSNews) 2 min.

BREAKING: Fire Breaks Out at The Liberty Warehouse in Brooklyn, leaving dozens of guests of the Schliemann Fundraiser Gala outside in the cold! Follow developments here: cbsn.ws/5Ght67

------------

The Liberty Warehouse, Red Hook, Brooklyn, New York City, U.S.A.

9:47p.m., 2 April 2016Steve

The fire alarm was still blaring by the time first responders arrived and began ushering frightened, drenched guests dressed in expensive—and now ruined—silks and satins away from the terrace, out into the street and towards the awaiting ambulances. Most were clustered together in little groups, whispering frantically, pointing their phones at the broken glass on the sidewalk and the smoke billowing out from the windows nearest to the second-floor balcony.

Steve stood amidst the chaos and blinked, confused—unsure about what had happened.

Everything—everything had gone so fast.

One minute, he had been dancing with Beckers’ date, trying very hard not to tread on her toes, while Becca chatted happily with the man and plied him with specially developed alcohol provided by Clint, and the and the next, the fire alarm had been pulled, water was spritzing everywhere and he had lost Becca in the urgent throng of people.

He couldn’t see Clint either, but he knew the archer could take care of himself, even though he was somewhat of a human dumpster fire most of the time.

He frowned a little as he moved through the crowd of gossiping partygoers, glancing left and right to try to find Becca. His suit was uncomfortably wet, chafing against his skin as he walked—even his socks were wet—and he really just wanted to find Becca so he could call Happy to take them back to the Tower.

He wasn’t worried about her or about them getting separated—it made some sense.

When the alarm went off, he’d been on the dance floor and had gotten swept out the west fire exit with a group of others who’d been on the dance floor, while he presumed the people at the bar had been led out of the north exit.

He just needed to find someone who knew where the groups of evacuees that had been at the bar had been sent, so that he could find Becca.

The loud blaring of the fire alarm, coupled with the ringing sirens of emergency services, were loud enough to drown out anything Clint or Becca might’ve tried to say to him over the comms, and there’d been something about the building that interfered with their connection in the first place, so he couldn’t even call her, anyway.

A little annoyed, he pulled his phone from his pocket. He exhaled in relief when he noticed he had full bars, and he could text her despite whatever was blocking their comms; although he didn’t expect a response immediately—her phone was in her purse, and Steve wasn’t sure if she’d have thought to grab it off the bar when they were being ushered outside.

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he told himself sternly as he walked around the building slowly, coming across several more groups of guests, none of which contained Becca. ‘She’ll be somewhere around the corner, chatting up Beckers like nothing’s wrong.’

Besides, he reasoned, it wasn’t like she’d activated any of the distress signals Tony had built into her bracelet, earrings, or shoes.

There was probably a really good reason he hadn’t found her yet.

Maybe she was running around the building trying to find him.

Maybe she’d been taken into an ambulance because she was pregnant, to be checked for smoke inhalation, to make sure everything was okay.

He’d find her.

He rounded another corner and breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted Beckers, facing Steve and talking to a woman with messy dark hair and a long, one-shoulder dress, who stood with her back to Steve.

Becca.

He exhaled sharply in relief and rushed forward, grasping at the woman’s shoulder and turning her around. “Becca,” he said in a rush, “I’ve been looking everywhere—”

He stopped short as the woman, who was taller than Becca, now that he looked closer, and very much not pregnant, blinked at him in surprise. “Sorry,” he said in an exhale, letting go of her immediately. “I thought you were…” He turned to Beckers, who was also regarding him with wide eyes, and demanded, “You were talking to my friend, earlier, before the alarm. Have you seen her? Did she come outside with you?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Beckers replied, looking convincingly puzzled. “She went to the bathroom shortly before the alarm went off, said something about the baby standing on her bladder. I didn’t see her again. Perhaps she is with another group?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, breathless, dread coiling in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah, probably.”

He turned away and looked around, feeling a little helpless when he still didn’t see her. His hands were trembling a little as he pulled out his phone again.

The message he’d sent to Becca was still unread.

“Fuck,” he said softly, before thumbing through his contacts until he found the one labelled ‘Sugar Daddy’—Tony thought he was funny—and pressed call.

“Spangles,” Tony crowed when he picked up. “What’s going on? Leave it up to you to ruin a perfectly good party by setting the building on fire, honestl—”

“Tony,” Steve interrupted impatiently. “Look, I’m—I’m probably overreacting. It’s pretty chaotic out here, but can you… Can you just have J.A.R.V.I.S. ping Becca’s tracker? I can’t find her, and… God, maybe we’re both trying to find each other and keep missing each other, but—for my peace of mind, can you just—”

“Yeah,” Tony said, and Steve could tell he was trying to sound calm. “Yeah, I got this.”

It only took a few seconds, but in those few seconds, the blaring fire alarm finally cut out, and Steve’s ears were ringing in the silence, his own breath absurdly loud in his ears, before Tony said, “Cap… Steve. Her trackers are all offline.”

The bottom of his stomach fell away.

There wasn’t a way to accidentally disable the subdermal trackers—they had to be cut out and smashed.

“Call in everyone,” he told Tony automatically, unthinkingly, swerving around to survey the crowd again, trying to see if Clint—probably still in disguise—was among them. “I’ll get Clint, we'll canvas the building and the streets, then get back to the Tower ASAP. Maybe she’s just… just around somewhere, or in the building still.”

“Steve,” Tony said, voice low and distressed, and Steve’s stomach twisted.

“I know,” he said shortly. “I know. Get the others.”

“Yeah,” Tony said shakily. “Yeah.”

He hung up and Steve looked around again. How the hell had this night gone so wrong so fast? And who the hell would want to kidnap Becca, of all people, at a gala with a guest list filled with foreign dignitaries and New York’s rich and famous?

And, Steve swallowed thickly, what would they do to her?

--------------------------------

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Dancing in the Rain:

(1) (2)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

#stucky #Stucky fanfic #Bucky barnes #Steve rogers #Thor #Rebecca Barnes #avengers family #Lisa writes #dancing in the rain #IHWSBY sequel #my writing

5 notes · View notes

cuthian · 4 years

Text

Dancing in the Rain Chapter Six

Hi everyone!

I hope everyone is doing okay and you're all able to stay safe! <3

This is the last chapter of this part.

Thank you all so much for sticking with me for so long! There will be one more (short) work wrapping things up, with Bucky and the others recovering and tying up things neatly (possibly) that I'm working on right now.

Please, read the tags and be sure to leave a comment with your thoughts!

Love Annaelle

Chapter Six

Thule Society Project Persuasion

[United States of America] Mission date(s): [07/27/2011] to [09/15/2011]

Mission objective

Remanding of the Target to Thule Society custody for optimal reconditioning

Destabilisation of target’s mental health by use of Asset’s previous relation with the target – stage sightings of the Asset to ensure a shock to the target’s system and proceed to further intimidation (scripted recordings) until the target is suitably malleable and open to recalibration.

Mission target

Captain Steve Rogers – threat level 9

Status: extremely enhanced

Mission dates

27/07/2011

- Establishing surveillance in target residence

- Briefing Asset

[…]

19/08/2011

- Mission progress report Asset

- Reconfiguration and recalibration Asset

[…]

15/09/2011

- Progression to Phase Two

[…]

Team members

Brock Rumlow – STRIKE handler

Alexander Pierce – Asset primary handler

Jasper Sitwell – mission planning

ELISA SINCLAIR – head technician and physician

-----------

Lobby of the Avengers Tower, New York, Manhattan, New York State, U.S.A.

12:24 a.m., 3 April 2016

Bucky Barnes / The Asset

The Asset eyed the large blond man dressed as a walking flag in confusion.

The woman—sister, Rebecca, Becky, little Cece—leaned heavily on the metal shoulder, and the Asset briefly considered that that could not be comfortable before his eye was drawn back to the walking American flag, who looked alarmingly like he was about to burst into tears.

“Bucky,” the man said again, blue eyes wide and watery. “You’re Bucky.”

The Asset blinked. The name did not mean much to him, but there was something about the blond man—Steve, Stevie, Captain, sweetheart—that made the Asset’s insides churn and twist, that made his flesh hand itch to reach out to him, to touch and soothe, to…

He—it was a weapon.

It could not soothe, it could not comfort, and it couldn’t find the small ticklish spot just above the blond man’s left elbow and press his fingers to it.

“You are,” the woman—Rebecca, a little voice in his head supplied again, Becky—said to him, her fingers digging into his flesh arm. “Bucky Barnes. Remember?” The Asset—Barnes?—looked down at her, wrinkling its nose in confusion before it decided that there were more pressing matters at hand; mainly that the—Rebecca, that Rebecca seemed to be resting more and more of her weight on him.

“You are injured,” the Barnes-Asset pointed out. “You require medical assistance.”

Rebecca looked up at him blearily. “Alright,” she nodded, before turning to the strange man in green who had taken them from the facility and brought them here. “You need to—you need to keep him safe. Make sure no one can hurt him anymore—protect him.”

The man looked quite baffled, but—to the Barnes-Asset’s surprise—only nodded.

“Okay,” Rebecca said. “Okay, good. Bu—Bucky, you go with him. He’ll keep you safe.”

Barnes-Asset frowned. “The Asset is required to remain in close proximity to ensure your safety,” it protested lightly. “The Asset is not efficient when it is not within range.”

“You don’t need to protect me,” she said immediately, although the Asset privately thought the argument lost most of its merit when she swayed so violently both he and the man in green needed to take her arms to steady her. “Others will take care of me,” she continued, although the Asset noted she was paling rapidly and swaying again.

“Rebecca,” the other, bigger blond carrying a large hammer called out, voice wavering, and when the Barnes-Asset looked at him, the man had moved forward a few paces, holding out a hand towards Rebecca, expression pleading. “Please, let me—”

“Thor,” Rebecca breathed, and she started forward, out of the Barnes-Asset’s grasp, stumbling forward into the large man’s waiting arms. The Barnes-Asset watched as she clutched at the large man’s impressive bicep with one hand, dropping the other to her swollen belly. “We need Eir,” she told the man seriously. “I really don’t feel good, and I need Eir—now.”

Before anyone could say more, she went limp in the other man’s grasp.

There was a beat of silence before thunder outside roared and the big blond man bellowed “Heimdall!”

An explosion of colors filled the entire space abruptly and the sound of it—oddly silent but inexplicably loud at the same time—thundered and echoed in the Barnes-Asset’s skull, leaving its ears ringing and its body sluggish and creaky.

When it looked up, the spot where the bigger blond and Rebecca had stood was empty, an intricate symbol burned into the tiled floor where they had stood. The Barnes-Asset looked at his own big blond, who was gazing between the Asset and the spot where Rebecca had stood with a torn expression and swallowed thickly.

“Well,” the man in green said. “That was dramatic.”

------------

Steve Rogers, Becca Barnes and Thor’s Floor in the Avengers Tower, New York, Manhattan, New York State, U.S.A.

3:02 a.m., 3 April 2016

Steve

Steve felt like he’d aged twenty years in the past five hours.

He felt wrung out and exhausted, his body sore and sluggish like it hadn’t been since before he’d received the serum. He would probably have to call Karen-the-therapist soon, would need to schedule more sessions than he’d had in the past year…

He heaved a sigh and ran a hand down his face.

He had no idea what would be happening now.

He wasn’t sure if Becca and Thor had made it to Asgard alright, or even if Becca was alright—Loki had been frustratingly uninformed on her physical condition, and Bucky hadn’t been able to provide more than a cursory “in need of medical attention”—and yet he found it incredibly hard to care.

He found it so insanely difficult to focus on Becca when Bucky was sitting next to him, breathing and alive and real. He looked to the other man, who sat stiffly on one of the highbacked chairs in his kitchen, eyeing everything and everyone in the room with a great deal of suspicion.

He was afraid to think very hard about the circumstances that had led to Bucky sitting alive, breathing and confused on one of Steve’s dining chairs.

He was pretty sure that if he did think about it too deeply—if he did consider what caused the vacant look in Bucky’s eye, what had happened to him that made him look at Steve with a confused frown—he would lose his marbles and go on a killing spree to murder every single one of the sick sons of bitches that had ever dared lay hands on his Bucky, and Steve couldn’t.

Bucky needed him here, not off in the world burning down Hydra bases.

“I will help him sleep,” Loki spoke quietly, drawing Steve’s eyes to where the God of Mischief stood, still as tall and healthy as the last time Steve had seen him. Steve wanted to marvel over Loki’s miraculous revival, his stunning appearance, but he found he barely had the energy to care overly much anymore.

Bucky, who had since moved from his perch on the dining room chair and was prowling around the room, examining corners and books and everything he could get his hands on, looked up at Loki when he spoke, blue eyes wide and apprehensive.

He had not spoken since the lobby, since he had told Becca that he needed to stay close to her to protect her, since she had told him Loki would care for him.

He looked so scared and lost it made Steve’s heart hurt.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded mechanically. “As long as he’s… He’ll be safe, right?” He looked up at Loki with tears still burning in his eyes, breath wheezing in his lungs.

The god nodded, face twisting into an expression of compassion. “I owe Rebecca a debt. I will not let any harm come to him, I assure you.” They were both silent for a moment before Loki spoke again. “I remember what it is like to be unmade. To be… ripped apart and put back together into something you are not. I will not allow him to suffer. I give you my word, Captain.”

Steve nodded jerkily and swallowed thickly, wrapping his arms around himself to… to keep himself from falling apart all over again. “Just…” Steve hesitated. “Ask him. If he wants—don’t just… He deserves to have choices.”

He watched as Loki approached Bucky, offering the other man a smile and a few words, to which Bucky nodded jerkily before Loki waved his hand and Bucky’s head slumped back, his entire body relaxing into what Steve hoped was a peaceful, dreamless sleep as Loki manoeuvred him onto the couch.

“Why didn’t you tell Thor you were alive?” he blurted, wincing a little at his own lack of tact when Loki spun around with an incredulous expression on his face.

“It was too dangerous,” Loki finally allowed, wrinkling his nose a little as he moved back to the kitchen, where Steve stood leaning against the counter. “The All-Father would have me executed for treason in a heartbeat should he find me, and Thor along with me if he tried to hide me.”

Steve opened his mouth, but he found he really didn’t have the words to express what he needed to say. “I’m sorry,” he finally settled on, softly patting his hand on the back of Loki’s shoulder after a brief moment of hesitation. “That must’ve been an incredibly difficult decision to make.”

Loki looked at him as though he’d grown two heads for a long, tense moment before he nodded. “It was. It helped, knowing Thor had the Warriors Three, Sif and you and Rebecca to care for him.”

Steve looked down and sighed, rubbing his hand through his hair when J.A.R.V.I.S. chimed apologetically from the ceiling, “I apologize for the interruption, Captain, but the Lady Carter has requested you join her on the common floor for a short moment.”

He’d forgotten Peggy and Sharon were on their way here at all, too caught up by Becca showing up in the lobby with Bucky and Loki of all people, and he immediately felt like the worst friend in history, because as much as he loved Peggy and liked Sharon, he wasn’t sure he’d be able—and, God forbid, willing—to make time for them right now… now that Bucky was back.

If the glimpses Loki had caught in Bucky’s mind were any indication, Bucky was going to need all the support in the world to recover from his ordeal, and Steve couldn’t imagine a world where he wouldn’t provide any and everything Bucky could ever need.

Steve just didn’t know how to fit his other friends in there too.

“Go,” Loki said calmly, slipping onto one of the barstools and raising an eyebrow when Steve didn’t move. “I’ll keep watch. No more harm will come to him.”

Steve nodded mechanically, moving towards the door even though there was nothing he wanted to do less. He didn’t want to see the others, didn’t want to see Peggy or Sharon, didn’t want to have to deal with the unavoidable fall-out of Steve’s formerly-dead boyfriend suddenly turning up again.

He just wanted to stay here and sit beside Bucky, run his fingers through that long, unkempt hair and make sure that Bucky wasn’t hurting anymore.

He got onto the elevator anyway.

—————

Natasha

Rebecca Barnes Sr. paced around the couch impatiently, tutting disapprovingly every time she passed the elevator. Sharon sat beside her aunt on the couch, a nurse from the medical floor kneeling by her feet with a medical bag folded open to display an array of bandages, band-aids, disinfectant and cotton balls, checking her for more injuries and helping her care for the minor scrapes and bruises that littered her skin.

The sight of the wounds made something deep in Natasha howl with rage, because the other woman was her friend and a good person, and she’d deserved much better than her fiancé cracking her head open on the dresser and locking her up in their basement.

The nurse had already stitched up the large, deep gash that ran diagonally up from Sharon’s left eyebrow into her hair and applied a cooling gel to the swelling around her eye. “You’ll need an x-ray,” the man said in a soft, calming voice. “I don’t think it’s broken, but there might be hairline fracture or a crack that I can’t feel.” He gently pressed his fingers to the bruised and swollen skin just below Sharon’s eye and sighed. “Just to be sure.”

“I’m not going now,” Sharon said, her voice steely, avoiding the nurse’s eye steadily. “I’m fine. We have other things to worry about than whether or not Brock cracked my eye socket.”

“Miss Carter,” the nurse said slowly, but Sharon shook her head sharply, pushing his hand away.

“I said no,” she bit out. “If he did, it’s been broken for at least forty-eight hours. I’m sure I’ll be fine if I wait a few more hours to get it checked out.”

The nurse stared long and hard at her, and Nat was a little impressed that the man didn’t even flinch when Sharon glared back at him, before he sighed and relented. “Alright,” he said. “Fine. But I expect you down at medical by the end of the day.”

“Fine,” Sharon said, staring ahead again, eyes hard and focused on the picture of the entire Avengers group and most of their friends and family at the last 4th of July/Steve’s birthday barbecue, ignoring the nurse as he reached out to tend to her split lip and visibly forcing herself not to respond as her aunt patted a comforting hand on her thigh.

The man heaved a sigh, but accepted defeat and stood, packing up his medical bag.

“End of the day, okay? We gotta check out your eye,” he told Sharon sternly, pointing at her until she nodded grudgingly. The man sighed again but turned and left without further comment.

When the elevator doors closed behind him, Tony turned and looked at her, frowning severely, and Natasha sighed too. She’d prefer to wait until Steve was here to discuss everything she and Tony had found, but there were a few things they needed to get out of the way without him interrupting every five minutes to correct them.

“We have to talk,” she said, stepping forward so all eyes were on her.

The room was full. Bruce and Clint had followed her and Tony up here once Steve had taken Barnes and Loki up to his own floor, and Sharon, Peggy Carter and Becky Barnes had arrived not ten minutes later. Fury, Maria and Phil had, thankfully, let themselves get booted from the Tower, although Natasha didn’t doubt they’d be back—if not for Loki, then for Barnes.

“I imagine we have to talk about a great many things,” Peggy Carter said kindly. “But I suppose you have something specific in mind, dear.”

“Yes,” Natasha said curtly, turning to Tony.

They’d not really discussed how much they would tell the others—not without Steve present.

“The man upstairs with Steve,” she said slowly, “he might be more than just Bucky Barnes.” She and Tony exchanged another glance, and she plowed on before the others could cut in with questions. “We think he might be the Winter Soldier.”

Sharon and Peggy Carter both inhaled sharply, and Clint startled, but the others looked a little uncomprehending.

“He’s…” Nat sighed.

“He’s a myth,” Peggy said sternly. “I looked for the Winter Soldier for the last twenty years of my career—he’s a ghost.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony interjected, pulling up a holographic screen with the documents Nat had given him earlier. “Whatever he is—whatever he became with them… they used him to try to break Steve.” Peggy let out a dry sob and pressed trembling fingers to her mouth, reaching out to pull the holographic screen closer, to read through the horrifying content of the reports.

“Are you sure this is about Steve?” Sharon asked skeptically. “All the names are redacted.”

“The dates match up,” Tony said. “With his breakdown. Before he tried to jump off the Tower. The dates, the times—all of it. I called his therapist, but she wouldn’t say if he ever discussed seeing Barnes with her without his permission, so…”

“We’ll have to bring it up with him,” Clint said.

Tony nodded with a grimace.

“You’re sure?” Becky Barnes said quietly. “Is it worth exposing him to a trigger?”

“We have to know,” Natasha said quietly. “And he needs to know. Think of what this means,” she gestured to the documents. “If it really is Bucky Barnes up there, and this document is real… Think of what they’d have to have done to him to make him consciously hurt Steve, of all people. We need to be prepared for the possibility that…”

She bit her lip and glanced towards Becky Barnes—who was, she realized with a jolt, Bucky’s little sister. “…not everyone who has been exposed to that level of brainwashing can recover.”

“He’s my brother,” Becky Barnes said in a small, soft voice. “And Steve loves him. We can’t—we can’t give up on him.” She looked around at the others when no one spoke, and Natasha felt a great wave of sympathy for the older woman. “We’re not giving up on him before he’s even had a chance,” Becky Barnes said again, sternly.

“No one’s giving up on him, Aunt Beck,” Tony said. “But we have to consider the possibility.”

Bruce heaved a sigh. “Depending on the kind of neurological damage they inflicted on him, it is a valid concern.” Natasha eyed the scientist concernedly—it didn’t look like he’d slept at all in the past forty-eight hours—before she turned her gaze to the twins.

They’d been silent the entire time, and since they were the only ones who’d been—however unwittingly—a part of Hydra recently, they might have valuable insights.

Wanda, who undoubtedly felt her gaze, looked up.

“I remember they spoke of a chair,” Wanda said. “That’s why we ran from them. They thought I didn’t understand if they spoke English—they talked about a chair to make us comply. Maybe that’s what they used on him.”

“Maybe,” Nat conceded. “We’ll have to see what he remembers.”

Everyone fell silent, and Nat noted absently that Sharon had swiped one of the nurse’s cotton balls and was dabbing at her split lip and scraped chin lightly. “J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Tony said after another beat, pacing restlessly behind the sofa, his hair standing up in tufts and dark circles lining his eyes. “Is Cap coming down here or what?”

“Yes,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied pleasantly as the elevator doors opened and Steve emerged. Nat was actually vaguely impressed that they’d been able to pull Steve away from Barnes—if the man upstairs was indeed who Becca, and now Steve, seemed to think he was.

She had seen Steve grieve Bucky Barnes for years, had been privy to and part of a few private conversations about Steve’s previous relationship with him, and she knew that prying Steve away from Barnes now would likely require a crowbar and more than a few bribes.

Or, apparently, a request from Peggy Carter.

Steve walked out of the elevator looking decidedly worse for the wear already, and she hadn’t even brought up the reports they’d found yet. His eyes were rimmed with red and stained with dark circles and his hair was messy. He had only changed out of the top of his uniform, which left him in his dark blue uniform pants and boots and a dark, tight compression shirt—something that attracted attention of everyone in the room even in the current situation.

Natasha barely refrained from rolling her eyes.

They had more important things to deal with than the potential impropriety of Steve’s wardrobe.

“Steve,” Becky Barnes said immediately, springing back up from the couch with surprising vigour and flexibility for a ninety-year-old. “Is it really—how—how’s he—how, Steve?” She grasped at Steve’s forearms and he held her steady with soft, careful hands.

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted, sounding small and unsure, and for the first time in years, Natasha remembered how he’d looked in those first few months after they’d gotten him out of the ice. “Loki’s—Loki’s watching him. He helped him sleep.”

“I want to see him,” Becky told him mulishly, and for the first time Nat really saw the resemblance between Becky and Becca. They had the same stubborn set to their jaw, and Steve reacted almost exactly the same way to Becky’s stubborn glare as he did to Becca’s. If the situation hadn’t been quite so dire, she might’ve smiled.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, a deeply resigned expression on his face. “Okay. Has anyone heard from Becca and Thor?” He looked away from Becky, glancing at Nat and Peggy in turn, before looking at Tony. “Anything at all?”

“No,” Tony shook his head. “Nothing.”

Nat ignored the painful twist in her chest at the reminder that no one actually knew how Becca was doing and focused instead on the problems that she could fix.

Steve guided Becky back to the couch where Peggy sat before he shuffled over to the twins and unceremoniously dropped himself on the seat between them. He grinned tiredly at Pietro when the youth stuck his tongue out at him and slung an arm around Wanda when she leaned into him.

It was sweet, Natasha realized with a pang, to see him with them.

They looked up to him, had trusted him before they’d trusted any of the rest of them. Wanda had confided to her once that Steve was like the big brother she and Pietro had always wanted, and Nat really saw that now—Steve was drawing as much comfort from their proximity as they were from his.

That was… that was good, considering the conversation they needed to have.

Sharon set down the cotton ball she had taken from the nurse, apparently entirely unaware of the thin trickle of blood that ran down from her lip to her chin immediately. Instead, she leaned forward, eyeing Steve with a breathless kind of intensity that Natasha recognized all too well. She had spent enough time focusing on the mission, on her tasks, on erasing the red in her ledger, to know when someone was trying to avoid thinking about their personal burdens by focusing on work.

She didn’t begrudge the woman her focus.

If anything, she understood.

“We have some things to discuss,” Natasha said, determinately ignoring the feeling of déjà-vu that hit her abruptly. She took a seat beside Sharon and directed her gaze towards Steve. “It’s not… it’s something that might trigger you—but we think you need to know.”

Steve looked at her with wide, blue eyes, chewing on his lip for a second before he said, “Tell me.”

Tony stepped forward and drew up another holographic screen, this one a lot smaller, more discreet, and pushed it towards Steve. “We found this,” he said slowly. “The dates… I know it’s really hard to talk about, to think about, but…” Tony cut off and Natasha sighed, stepping in smoothly.

“Steve, this implies that they used Barnes to destabilize your mental health. And we—” She glanced towards Tony. “Did you see him? Is that why… is that how—”

Steve looked like a deer caught in headlights, his eyes wide and startled, and Natasha felt horrible for bringing it up, but they needed to know. If Hydra had brainwashed Barnes to the point that he was willing to hurt Steve of all people, they needed to prepare to deal with that.

“Before we get into that,” Peggy cut in, and Steve looked so relieved he might cry, until Peggy—delicate as ever—said, “The man upstairs… How sure are we that he is, in fact, Bucky Barnes?”

“I know,” Steve insisted passionately. “I would—I would know if it wasn’t him.”

“Steve,” Becky Barnes said. “We have to know for sure. What if he’s a clone or something?”

“He isn’t,” Loki said, suddenly appearing in their midst with a flash of bright green light. Clint shot off an arrow that passed right through the god without doing any damage whatsoever before Natasha had a chance to shoot him, and when she looked, everyone except Steve and Becky Barnes had drawn some sort of weapon and had it aimed at Loki.

The man barely even blinked. “Honestly, no need for those. I am here on behalf of Rebecca, and as long as I am under her command, I am of no danger to you.” Clint scoffed loudly and Natasha could see his and her own scepticism mirrored on several of the faces in the room.

“He owes her a life debt,” Steve piped in. “He’s telling the truth. She told him to protect Bucky so that’s what he’ll do.”

Loki grimaced in distaste but didn’t contradict Steve either.

Huh.

Nat eyed him. Interesting.

“How do you know it is Bucky Barnes?” she asked him cautiously. “You never met the man.”

“Because,” Loki drawled, gesturing towards Steve with a bored expression. “He is whole when he stands beside Barnes. It was a rare thing, you know, to see a man alive in lìkami and munr, absent hugr. Now that Barnes is beside him, his hugr is returned, and he is whole. Surely even you can see it.”

Natasha blinked.

She’d only understood about half of what Loki had said, and yet, she knew what he meant anyway. There was something different about Steve—she hadn’t noticed before, but… she had never noticed that he slumped his shoulders, before. She’d never quite noticed that he tried to make himself smaller, that he seemed dimmed, whereas now…

It was like he was lighter, like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Okay,” Nat said, and though Clint and Tony both looked at her incredulously, she turned back to Steve. “Okay. So he’s really your Bucky Barnes. She gestured towards the documents still displayed on the holographic screen and said, gently, “Did you see him? Is that why you felt so horrible?”

Steve bit his lip harshly, and he seemed to shrink in on himself before he whispered, “I thought… I thought I was imagining it. Karen said it was normal, to see the people you’d lost, so I thought—I just thought I was going through something normal.”

Wanda rubbed her hand over Steve’s arm, and Pietro leaned against him, and Natasha felt almost bad for asking, but this was what they needed to know.

“He started whispering things,” Steve admitted in a small, trembling voice. “Played into the survivor’s guilt. He told me he was waiting for me, that… that I shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer, and that all the others were with him too, that my mam—”

He broke off abruptly and looked away, and Natasha diligently pretended she didn’t see him wipe away the small tears that had run down his cheeks.

“That’s enough,” Becky Barnes said. “Does that match what the file said?”

“Yes,” Natasha nodded. “Hydra used him against you. They knew who he was to you.”

Steve snorted a weak little laugh. “Well, at least they’re quicker on the uptake than the rest of the U.S. I’m pretty sure our relationship was the worst kept secret in the Army—I was so surprised people didn’t actually know when I woke up…”

Nat smiled a little.

“He is the Winter Soldier,” she said. “A ghost story.” Steve looked at her with those wide, baby blue eyes of his, reminding her distinctly of a confused puppy, and she huffed a sigh. “Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists. He’s credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”

Steve looked distinctly nauseated. “How—how do you know it’s him?” he stuttered. “If he’s a ghost story… How do you know that it’s him?”

She hesitated.

This would not be an easy thing to explain to Steve. Not, she thought, because he would react poorly or because he would not understand, but because she was sure it would break his heart.

“We have a history,” she finally said. “Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran, somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff, I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him straight through me. Before that…” she stilled and looked down at her hands, feeling distinctly vulnerable and exposed. “…Before that he and I were in the Red Room together. They let him train us.”

She had been right.

Steve looked faintly green.

“Nicholas is pulling up everything S.H.I.E.L.D. has on the Winter Soldier,” Peggy Carter said primly, leaning forward a little. “But we need to decide if we want to keep this under wraps, and if so, how.”

“What do you mean?” Steve croaked, and Nat diligently pretended not to notice that his eyes were bloodshot and shiny.

Sharon huffed and shook her head. “Think, Steve. Use that big, strategic brain of yours. Barnes obviously wasn’t supposed to saveBecca, and he clearly wasn’t supposed to be discovered. We need to figure out how to handle the media angle if this gets out, and we need to know what to tell other letter agencies when they inevitably come knocking.”

“What we need to know is who was aware of Barnes’ real identity,” Natasha pointed out.

“Well, Brock knows,” Sharon bit out angrily, tossing the cotton ball she’d been using to disinfect her split lip and scraped chin in the little waste basket next to the table.

“We need more information before we can make any decisions,” Steve pointed out, and Natasha noted that he carefully didn’t reply to Sharon’s outburst. “We need to figure out who Brock was working for, why he took Becca, what he was trying to achieve, and how he got his hands on Bucky.”

“How did he survive?” Peggy Carter piped up. “You said he fell off a cliff—no normal person could’ve survived that fall.” She frowned. “Your report mentioned that specifically.”

Nat eyed Steve shrewdly. She didn’t think he would’ve left Barnes unless he was absolutely sure there was no way the man could’ve survived—and yet he had. Carter was right, they did need to know how Barnes had gone from dying at the bottom of a ravine to the most feared assassin of the 20th century.

“Zola,” Steve breathed, his eyes widening with horrified realization.

Natasha frowned in confusion, but Carter—senior—nodded in silent understanding. “Azzano,” she said slowly. “Barnes was experimented on.”

Steve nodded slowly. “They must’ve given him a version of the serum.”

“That would explain a lot,” Peggy Carter agreed, and Natasha nodded in agreement.

The man she’d known had been far too strong to be merely human, and now that Steve mentioned it, she remembered a few instances where the Soldier had been injured on a mission and had shrugged it off like it was nothing—his stoicism had been held as an example for her and the others, and they had fought long and hard to emulate it, but none of them had been quite capable of doing so.

The Soldier had been able to shrug off physical injury like it was nothing—like she had seen Steve do during their longer, more difficult battles.

The Soldier being enhanced too would make a lot of sense. The ultimate counter-weapon.

“Until we know more,” Peggy said slowly, “I think caution and discretion are our best friends. We should keep Barnes’ survival under wraps until we know more, either from him or from other sources.”

“I guess that’s as good a plan as any,” Clint agreed from his spot in the vents, and Natasha nodded while the others made consenting noises. Steve nodded curtly before he rose from his seat and said, stiffly, “I’m going back up. If there’s—if we hear anything more from Thor and Becca—”

“We’ll let you know,” Peggy Carter nodded with a patient smile. “Go see to Barnes, Steve.”

Steve nodded jerkily and stood, but Becky Barnes immediately burst, “I’m coming with you, Steven.”

“Cece, he’s just sleeping,” Steve said beseechingly, but it didn’t seem to deter the older woman, who got to her feet and wobbled over to Steve determinedly.

Natasha watched them, feeling oddly detached, as they disappeared into the elevator.

She kept staring after them for another moment before she dropped into the seat beside Sharon and picked up an abandoned swab to clean up the little streak of blood on her chin.

“Now,” she said as the others gathered around them. “Tell me everything that happened to you.”

------------

Fensalir, Valaskialf, Asgard5 April 2016 – 9:02 a.m. ((Earth UCT+1)

Thor

A hushed silence lay across the lush green gardens Thor’s father had once planted for his mother. A deep, mournful silence that draped across Thor’s shoulders like a well-worn cloak, almost as though the latent seiðr in the gardens sensed his downcast mood and acclimated itself to him.

He had always felt at home in these gardens.

Safe. Sheltered. Cherished.

His mother lingered in these gardens. Her touch, though distant, was what had given life to most of the things that bloomed in these fields, and he could feel her lingering, could feel her, however faintly, and took comfort in her presence.

He had long since lost track of how long he had been sitting in the gardens, his back pressed against the rough trunk of a tree with a base wider than he was tall. He clutched the looking glass that Eir had enchanted for him in one hand, casting furtive glances at it every few heartbeats, although the image remained unchanged since Eir had banished him from the infirmary.

In the end, he had only conceded because she had enchanted the mirror for him.

He’d not have left Becca’s side if he’d not been able to look in on her the entire time. Eir had propped up its twin beside the bed Becca slept in, so the looking glass always gave him an unobstructed view of her. He would be able to see when she started to stir, so he could be there when she opened her eyes.

So he could be the one to tell her that… to… he exhaled shakily and set the mirror down on the grass, rubbing both hands across his face.

Eir had confirmed what he had feared from the moment Becca had stumbled into his arms back on Earth. He’d not needed her to confirm it—he… he was a God of Fertility.

He had known, however instinctively, that Becca carried his child, and so he had also known that the life in her womb was no more, even before Eir had mournfully informed him that there was nothing more she could do. According to the healer, the men who’d kidnapped her had dosed with a kind of Midgardian drug to keep her compliant while they took her—a drug that had been entirely unsafe for the baby.

Coupled with the physical trauma she’d sustained…

There hadn’t been anything—there wasn’t anything they could do.

Thor felt oddly numb.

He’d thought, before, that he knew what grief was… that he knew what heartbreak was.

When Loki and his mother had been torn from him, he’d felt as though they had taken the very air that he breathed with them. For a long while, he had felt as though he had very little to live for anymore—and indeed, it seemed the very Norns themselves agreed with him, because the food he tried to consume thereafter tasted like ashes in his mouth and however much he drank, he was never able to satiate his thirst.

There had been a large part of his soul missing, but, in time, he had grown used to the constant ache and constant yearning to see them again.

He would have given anything for just one more hour with his mother, for one more chance to embrace Loki, but now… now he had Loki returned to him, but he had lost his firstborn, and he didn’t think it was a trade he would ever have considered.

Damn the Norns for ever treating his desperate pleas as true requests.

He found it difficult not to linger on… on what-ifs and should-haves. He had run over the events of the night a million times, had considered the many, many different ways he and the Avengers could have gone about rescuing Becca, had considered what forbidding Becca from doing the mission would have meant for their relationship…

There was little to be said and even less that he could do now.

Perhaps if he had not stalled, in the tower, if he had been out searching from the moment she had been taken—perhaps he’d have found her sooner.

It still would not have saved their child, but… perhaps they could have done more.

Perhaps he could have done more.

He should have done more.

He’d known Becca was… a little concerned about taking the mission, but that she’d had enough faith in Steve and the others to set those fears aside and take the mission anyway and that he probably should have insisted she defy the others, but he had believed Steve when they promised it was not, by far, a dangerous mission.

By all rights, it should not have been.

But it had been, and it had left his beautiful mortal in a broken, vulnerable state, and he was powerless. He’d not had much experience feeling thusly, and in this situation he had absolutely no idea how to handle the influx of feelings it brought.

He barely had any idea how to deal with the grief of losing their child. He did not know if he could cope with the knowledge that he could have prevented all of it too.

He both feared and anticipated the moment Becca should awaken, for he was sure she would agree.

Heimdal had told him his Midgardian friends were concerned about Rebecca, and that Loki—and Norns, he’d barely even begun to think about that—was still with them, keeping watch over the other man that had saved Becca—the man she had called Bucky.

Thor had been rather preoccupied at the time, of course, but he did vaguely recall the familiar hue to the man’s hugr. He wasn’t sure why Loki had accepted Becca’s orders as absolute, and he certainly didn’t know what to think of Loki’s decision to hide, to let Thor grieve him, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear it.

Thor did know that when the time came, he wished to hear the words directly from his brother.

But now… his glance strayed back to the looking glass, to where Rebecca lay, small and weak. He couldn’t deal with Loki now too—not while Becca was so weak and ill, not when he would have to tell her their child had passed when she woke…

Not when he did not know how to say the words aloud himself yet.

His eyes fell upon the looking glass again, and he noticed the slightest stir in Becca’s features. He had been sleeping beside her for the better part of four years—he knew her tells. She was waking up, and he needed to return to her side.

He reached out to touch the warm glass. “I’m here, Krúttið mitt. You’re in Asgard, you’re safe.”

He stood, very deliberately trying to shake off the melancholy that wrapped around him like a particularly constricting cape, and made his way back to the palace, walking through darkened hallways and deserted corridors, and praised the Norns for not putting anyone in his path right now.

He did not think he could stand having to speak to anyone right now.

The infirmary was, mercifully, also empty—save for Lady Eir, who eyed him meaningfully—and he was able to move into the sequestered alcove where Becca slept unhindered. He stared down at Becca and swallowed thickly, unable to stop himself from reaching out to touch her, to take her hand in his and to rest his other hand on her belly.

Their child still rested there under a spell of preservation, and would until Becca was strong enough to survive the birth.

He did not tear his eyes from her—from his brave, sweet, strong Midgardian—until he heard someone come up behind him. Sif’s warm, calloused hand fell onto his shoulder, and he looked up to find her looking at him with sadness in her eyes. “Have you slept at all?”

“No,” he admitted. “No, I don’t—I couldn’t. I can’t risk not being there when she wakes.”

Sif eyed him shrewdly before she sighed. “You need to sleep,” she insisted quietly. “And eat. Keep up your strength. You’ll need it.”

“For what?” he replied listlessly, eyes still locked on Becca’s still form. “For what, Sif?”

His eyes burned with unshed tears, and he found, not for the first time, that he couldn’t breathe. Becca was unconscious, in critical condition still, Loki was alive and his child—his baby—his firstborn—was dead. His father would probably be delighted.

“I should’ve…” He choked back a sob and shook his head. “I should’ve felt something. I should’ve noticed that something was wrong—I should never have let her go—”

“Thor,” Sif whispered, softly, brokenly, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t stop—

“What good is being a god,” he cried, “if I cannot even protect my own child? My own kvàn.”

He barely heard Lady Sif’s hurried assurances, the empty platitudes meaningless. “It’s not your fault, Thor,” she insisted. “None of this is on you. You did everything—”

“Everything,” Thor repeated hollowly, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Everything in my power. And yet my child will never draw breath. Rebecca may never speak to me again. How am I supposed to…” He shrugged helplessly, and for all that he had been alive for fifteen hundred years, he had never felt more like a powerless child.

“How am I supposed to tell her? How am I supposed to tell her that—that our—that it’s just—”

“I don’t know,” Sif whispered. “I don’t know.”

She let him lean on her for a while, let him grieve and sob until he was… well, not better, but certainly more in control of his emotions. “I’ll need to go to Earth,” he croaked. “Tell our friends what happened.”

“I can do that,” Sif said kindly. “Rebecca will need you here. That is what you must be strong for. I’ll speak to your Midgardians.”

Thor looked up at his friend with an unimaginable amount relief. “Thank you.”

Sif patted his shoulder. “I know there is nothing I can say to ease your suffering, but this I can do.” She squeezed his shoulder again in support before she left, her footsteps echoing just a little in the empty space before the door fell shut behind her.

A part of him wanted to start crying again, wanted to break down and sob and rage and scream and raze the entirety of the villainous Hydra to the ground, burn it all until there was nothing but ashes left—but he could not go.

He could not leave Becca when she would need him.

He rubbed his thumb across her belly in an unconscious gesture he’d repeated a hundred times before, tears burning anew in his eyes. He would never get to sit upon his father’s throne with their child on his knee to claim her—for it was a girl, they’d have a daughter—as his own. He would never partake in the vatni ausinn with her, would not get to bestow the name he had chosen on her—would never get to see his daughter grow up.

He wouldn’t get to introduce his firstborn to their people and wouldn’t get to see Rebecca take on the role of a mother—one she had never let herself want before.

A role he knew she’d been looking forward to, even though it terrified her too.

Tears ran down his cheeks as he bent forward, resting his forehead against the curve of Becca’s belly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, both to Becca and their daughter. “I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you.” He exhaled a shaky laugh and continued, “You surprised us—your mother and I—but I was so happy as well. I wish I could’ve met you, my bumbubúi. I wish I could’ve told you everything I planned, that I could’ve… could’ve taught you all the things I wanted to. I love you so much, bumbubúi and I’m so, so sorry that I couldn’t save you.”

Becca stirred again, and he pulled away, wiping a hand across his face to dry his tears before her nose crinkled as she turned her head into the pillow, huffing a tiny sigh. “—hor?”

“Yes, Krúttið mitt,” he whispered, lifting her hand to his lips. “I’m here.”

Her eyes weren’t quite open yet, and Thor was fairly certain she wasn’t quite awake, but her brow was furrowed, and Thor couldn’t resist the urge to smooth out the little wrinkle with his thumb. Becca huffed another sigh, but turned her face towards him nonetheless.

Thor smiled despite himself and pressed another kiss to her hand before squeezing it to his cheek, relishing in the warmth of her skin against his.

She woke slowly, gradually, and a slow, sweet smile tugged on her lips as her eyes fluttered open. “Thor,” she said again, her voice low and rough with disuse, and sweeter than anything he’d heard in hours—he hadn’t realized how afraid he had been of losing her as well, of never hearing her speak again, until she spoke again. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he said again. He pressed another kiss to her hand. “I love you. I love you so much.”

------------

Undisclosed Hydra Base, New York City, New York, United States of America

5 April, 2016 – 5:32 PM

Alexander Pierce

“You lost the Asset?”

Pierce made sure his voice was level, perfectly calm as he stared down the man that kneeled at his feet. Brock Rumlow looked distinctly worse for the wear, his face swollen and beaten—and Pierce wondered how many of those bruises had been put on the man’s face by the Asset and how many by the loyal men he had sent to retrieve their rogue agent.

“It’s not my fault,” Rumlow spat. “That bitch had magical fucking back-up! And how was I supposed to know that the Asset would break free?”

Pierce didn’t deign that with a response and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Was a little competence so much to ask?

He was tempted to shoot the man right then and there, because he had been far more trouble than he was worth and Pierce was disgusted with Rumlow’s impulsiveness and downright stupidity, but he refrained. Barnes would’ve known it was Rumlow who’d taken her, since the Asset had ripped off his mask, and even if she didn’t, there was fucking Carter to consider.

No, it’d be far more advantageous to him to arrange for Rumlow to perish at a more convenient time.

His death could be used to secure the Avengers’ gratitude.

“Throw him in the deepest, darkest cell we have,” he told Rollins, who stood just behind Brock, holding the man down on his knees with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I’ll decide what to do with him later.”

Rollins nodded curtly, and he and two other men dragged Rumlow—who was still spitting inane justifications for the clusterfuck he had left Pierce with—out of his office. “Get me Zola,” he told a technician, who cowered in the corner. “Get me a direct connection to Lehigh. We need to coordinate this mess and control the narrative before it controls us.”

He pulled out his phone and dialled the number of the only person who might give him insight into what the Avengers knew—who might slip up and tell him if they had the Soldier.

“Nick,” he said concernedly as soon as Fury answered. “I just flew back in from L.A. and I heard about Barnes’s kidnapping. She’s been a tremendously loyal employee for us in the past decade—I want to help any way I can. Is there any news?”

To Be Continued

---------

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions:

(1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Dancing in the Rain:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D

#dancing in the rain #ditr #ihwsby sequel #stucky #stucky fanfic #Steve rogers #Bucky Barnes #Thor #RebeccaBarnes #tw:miscarriage #tw: canon-typical violence #tw: gaslighting

2 notes · View notes

cuthian · 4 years

Text

Dancing in the Rain Chapter One

Welcome to the piece you've all been waiting for so very patiently!

This piece /can/ be read as a standalone piece, but should you have any questions if you do, be sure to ask in the comments, I'll reply as soon as I can :)

This entire work has been written and edited already, and will be updated on Mondays :D

As always, much thanks to Juulna for putting up with me!

Lots of love, Annaelle

Dancing in the Rain

Life is not about how you survive the storm It is about how you dance in the rain —Unknown author

Chapter One

REBECCA BARNES RESIGNS AS EARTH’S AMBASSADOR TO ASGARD AFTER PREGNANCY LEAK

Move comes only days after The New York Times published an article ‘outing’ Rebecca Barnes’ pregnancy, based on the say-so of Barnes’ former obstetrician, who says she was fired after Barnes filed a baseless complaint about the care she provided.

In a move that was predicted by several political experts following the tell-all article, Rebecca Barnes confirmed today that she would be resigning from her post as Earth’s Ambassador to Asgard—less than a year after her initial appointment. […]Ambassador Rebecca Barnes’ decision today came after several politicians from across the globe expressed their concern about Barnes’ ability to remain impartial and to represent Earth.

Barnes released a pre-recorded statement, in which she confirms that she is, indeed, pregnant, and that she will be stepping down from her post as ambassador. […]also distances herself from the statements made by her former obstetrician, confirming she chose to switch to a different doctor due to irreconcilable differences in opinion.

“I have always taken [her duties as ambassador] very seriously,” Barnes said in her statement, “and it is with a heavy heart but a clear conscience that I now resign from those duties. My relationship with the Aesir now runs far deeper and more intimately than anyone thought it would, and as such, there would always be a fear that my opinions and actions would be biased. This can be a very good thing, but it’s also only right that we do the correct thing and have an Earth-focused ambassador. Someone focused on the big picture instead of… well, instead of the small, the personal.”

[…]mixed response to Barnes’ announcement and resignation. Various media outlets have latched onto the story and have begun spinning various iterations of the same question: now that Barnes is—most likely—expecting long-term boyfriend and Prince of Asgard’s first child, will the couple finally be tying the knot? And, if so, does that make Barnes the first human princess of Asgard? Will their child(ren) be recognized as an heir to the Asgardian throne?

“[…]must be something in the water over at the Avengers Tower,” talk show host Jay Leno also joked during his latest broadcast. “First Potts, now Barnes—what’s next, Captain America going for his daily Central Park run with a stroller?”

Leno’s remarks were likely partially inspired by recent pictures of Captain America reading “What to Expect when You’re Expecting” and other varied baby books in several coffee shops and parks across Manhattan and Brooklyn, and tweets by Pepper Potts detailing the Captain’s dedication to helping her out however he can, more so than even her own partners.

[…]not clear when a replacement ambassador will be elected. There is much discussion amongst the various governments of the world about which government, if any single one, should be allowed to elect one of their own, or if the many governments of the world should form a council of representatives not unlike the European Union or the United Nations solely dedicated to communications and relations with extra-terrestrial nations.

—Max Colchester and Jason Douglas, The New York Times, “Rebecca Barnes Resigns as Ambassador”, January 2016

——————

Chicago, Illinois, United States of America April 12

, 2016 Steve

“Captain America!”

“Captain America, a statement, please?”

“Captain America, anything to say to reports that the Avengers orchestrated this attack to be able to save the day again, to get good press going for them?”

“Captain, any word on why Thor hasn’t joined the fight today?”

“Captain, captain, is it true Thor has threatened to cut ties with Earth if Rebecca Barnes’ child really is yours instead of his?”

There were a passel of shouting reporters standing by the barricades, barely held back by several police officers in—somehow—pristine blue uniforms, cameras flashing and microphones held out as far as they were able to reach.

Steve heaved a sigh, unclipping his helmet and running a hand through his dirty, sweat-soaked hair before he chanced a look at himself. He was covered from head to toe in fine dust and dirt, splashes of blood streaking across his thighs and chest—that seemed about right.

The giant insects that some wannabe supervillain had set loose on an unsuspecting Chicago had been hardy and mean, and it had taken him and the other Avengers—minus Becca, who’d been benched as soon as they all learned she was pregnant and was now holed up in the Tower with Pepper, shouting at them over the comms, and Thor, who had been called back to Asgard—well over seven hours of constant fighting to exterminate them all, even after Natasha had gotten her hands on said wannabe supervillain.

He was tired, he was sweaty and covered in dirt and blood, and all he wanted was to go home to the Tower and take a hot shower and then sleep for twelve hours—but someone had to talk to the media, and it looked like it was going to be him.

He sighed again and trudged towards the reporters, mentally trying to brace himself for the vastly inane questions he’d be getting about his supposed love affair with Becca that had now culminated in her pregnancy and his passionate tryst with Pepper, that had somehow also resulted in pregnancy.

Because apparently, in the twenty-first century, it seemed entirely implausible to the reporters that people actually remained faithful to their partners, rather than sleep around with the first reasonably attractive person in the near vicinity.

It was ridiculous.

Pepper had told him to ignore the rumours, that they’d go away as soon as the next big news broke, but it bothered him nonetheless. He didn’t like that people thought he was the kind of person that was okay with cheating on his friends, didn’t like that people thought him capable of something like that—and he hated most of all that the media still insisted on pairing him only with women.

It wasn’t like he was being subtle, or that his bisexuality was a secret.

He went to Pride parades dressed in a Captain Bi-merica suit every year, volunteered at several LGBT+ shelters and donated almost half of his Avengers income to various charities dedicated to at-risk LGBT youth. Everyone in his life knew that he and Bucky had been together, and everyone in the war had known too—even Peggy had known.

It’d been the worst kept secret in the U.S. Army—Captain America and Bucky Barnes were queer for each other, and entirely unapologetic about it too.

He wasn’t sure how that tidbit of knowledge had gotten lost over time when they remembered the fucking song.

The shouting got more frantic the closer he got, and he narrowly resisted the urge to turn on his heel and run the other way as fast as his serum-enhanced legs could carry him.

“Everybody,” he said, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the din. “I don’t have much time before I’m needed back, but I can tell you that we have successfully contained the threat and have taken the culprit into custody. We are currently coordinating relief efforts for affected families with local authorities. We expect displaced families to be able to return to their homes sometime tomorrow.”

“Captain,” one of the bottle-blonde women with far too much make-up caked on her cheeks demanded, “Is it true this attack was orchestrated by S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers to round up more sympathetic press in the wake of your scandalous affair and love child with Rebecca Barnes and Pepper Potts?”

Steve blinked at her.

“Tell me you're shitting me,” he deadpanned, barely even registering the way all of the reporters gasped. “Fifteen people lost their lives today,” he continued, maintaining direct eye contact with the woman who’d asked this fucking stupid question. “Fifteen people. Do you even know their names? I do. And I’m going to remember them for the rest of my life, because we didn’t get here fast enough—and not because of some imaginary sex scandal that exists absolutely nowhere but in your imagination, but because we’re only human too. We’re not here for better press, we’re here to make sure that those fifteen people are avenged. We’re here to make sure that no one else falls victim to one person’s greed, one person’s anger. Not because you’ve somehow got it in your head that I’ve been sleeping with the girl that may as well have been my own niece, if Bucky hadn’t died and if I hadn’t gone in the ice, and if I’d been allowed to keep the love of my life.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in, even for him, and though he wanted to groan and curse himself for losing his temper, he stood by his words.

He'd pretended to be their perfect little soldier—a dancing monkey—long enough.

He was fucking done.

He shot the wide-eyed, stunned woman an icy glare and said, “No further comment,” before he turned on his heel and walked away the way he’d come.

——————————

Cuthian:

Uuuhhhmmm… So tell me someone else saw this interview with Cap today?!?! @juuls, @betheflame ARE YOU SEEING THIS?

juuls:

YES @cuthian, I’m definitely seeing this. HOLY CRAP. We called it—we SO called it.

betheflame:

I SAID he’d slip it in during an interview! I WIN THE BET!

KlaudiaForPresident:

I’m so glad that we have someone as good and morally strong as Steve Rogers to represent us finally, but can we please talk about the way he was basically bullied into coming out of the closet?

There’s no way he felt comfortable sharing something so personal like this—just look at his face at 4:33, he said it in the heat of the moment, not because he was planning to tell us; and why would he?

It’s not like the media has been kind to him about his personal relationships since he’s been in the future. He’s been linked to nearly everyone he’s ever had a conversation with, and we need to acknowledge that that’s not cool.

Imagine how UNCOMFORTABLE it must be for him to constantly have to defend that he’s not sleeping with a girl he sees as a little sister, or a cousin—family.

Let’s just let him have his privacy, okay?

Even if we’re all ecstatic that he’s admitted his—potential—bisexuality, let’s not forget that he still lost the person he saw as the love of his life. He’s probably still grieving.

Let’s allow him to grieve and not push.

#Captainbimerica #stucky #totallycalledit #birepresentation #thisismycaptain #captainamerica #psa #leavethepoormanalone #mediasucks

——————

Lagos, NigeriaApril 15

, 2016 Steve

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he told Becca after he’d switched his comm to their private channel, watching as Wanda, Nat, and Pietro moved into position on the small square between the Center of Infectious Diseases and the local police station. “Feels too easy.”

Becca hummed in agreement, and Steve didn’t need to see her to know she was sitting cross-legged on one of the extra-wide, extra-comfortable desk chairs Tony had designed especially for Pepper and Becca, frowning at her screen, keeping an eye on the security footage the same as him. She’d been on desk duty since she’d hit twelve weeks in the pregnancy, when the small but unmistakable baby bump became visible to everyone.

Thor had—understandably—been entirely unable to focus on the battles they fought while Becca was still in the field with them, and after he’d taken a harpoon to the arm because he’d been too busy covering Becca to cover his own ass, the rest of the team had voted unanimously to have Becca on desk duty for the rest of her pregnancy.

Becca, while grumpy, had not put up much of a fight about it.

“I’ve ran all the background checks imaginable on our informant though,” she replied calmly. “Nat and I went over all of the intel with a fine-tooth comb. It’s legit, Steve, you know that.”

Steve harrumphed grumpily and crossed his arms over his chest. “That doesn’t mean it’s not a trap,” he retorted, watching as Wanda ordered a cup of tea, keeping her—by now recognisable—face covered with the clever sweep of her hair and the slightly dramatic make-up she and Natasha had spent almost an hour applying. Pietro was hovering just out of sight in the alleyway, nearly vibrating out of his skin, as he always did when he had to stand still for longer than a few minutes.

“Oh, it’s definitely a trap,” Becca said in his ear cheerfully. “But that just means we’re making them nervous—means we’re closer than we thought we were.”

Steve sighed.

She was right, of course. The intel had come rather unexpectedly—while they’d been able to clear Sharon of the murder she’d been accused of, it’d been more by chance than by design of any kind. They’d stumbled across footage of Sharon at a gas station nearly forty miles away at the time of the murder, and through the footage several witnesses who swore she’d been there.

The matter had been dropped relatively quickly after that.

Still, whoever was running this show was good—good enough that Tony’s various algorithms and even J.A.R.V.I.S. hadn’t been able to pick up on much more than the vague pattern that Natasha had initially noticed. There were more cases like Sharon’s, and though the investigation against her had been dropped, and she had clearly had a lot of fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and all of the Avengers in her corner, there were a lot of rumors still flying around about Sharon’s supposed involvement with her informant’s untimely and rather gruesome death.

Steve still wasn’t sure how it’d benefit a shadowy terrorist organisation to discredit one agent—no matter how good Sharon was—but he assumed there was a reason.

There were at least half a dozen other cases that J.A.R.V.I.S. and Nat had flagged as suspicious that hit mysterious dead ends: one former A.I.M. scientist turned S.H.I.E.L.D. informant who’d been on the verge of revealing something big vanishing off the face of the Earth; a STRIKE team getting massacred after being given faulty information on an infiltration mission that should’ve been easy; and a U.S. senator who’d been known for her progressive style changing her tune entirely seemingly overnight…

Even the sudden suicide of a popular, if somewhat reclusive, wealthy murder mystery writer had pinged on their radars—the man had been researching the inner workings of police stations and its politics, and had, one week prior to his apparent suicide, rewritten his will to leave his entire family out of it, donating his entire estate, worth an estimated 60 million dollars, at least, to assorted police stations in his home state, and several police officers specifically.

Something was going on, on a large and likely unprecedented scale, and Steve wasn’t sure they were ready to figure out just how big this thing was.

They even had a mole in S.H.I.E.L.D.

One relatively high up the chain of command too, if the sort of information they had access to was any indication—Sharon’s real identity had been classified to hell and back for years. Her deep-cover missions were more intense than Natasha’s half the time, and she hadn’t gone by her own name for longer than a few weeks since she’d joined S.H.I.E.LD.

“All set,” Becca said quietly, breaking him from his musings, drawing his attention back to the security footage, showing Natasha having moved into position too.

“Okay,” Steve nodded. “Here we go.”

He switched back to their shared comms channel and watched as Wanda added a sugar packet to her teacup with calculated, graceful movements, stirring the spoon in the hot liquid before she sipped, taking the time to glance around the square surreptitiously as she did.

He barely suppressed a proud smile as she clocked several hidden gunmen—two of which he hadn’t noticed himself—and whispered their location to her brother, who moved to get them out of the way before anyone could so much as blink.

“Alright,” he said into the comms as soon as Pietro had taken the men out of commission. “Good job, guys. Wanda, keep going; what do you see?”

“Standard beat cops,” Wanda said slowly, talking into her cup so no one would see her lips move. “Small station, quiet street. Pretty good target, I can see why they picked it.”

Steve nodded. “There’s an ATM in the south corner, which means…”

“Cameras,” Wanda finished, glancing briefly towards the aforementioned corner before she returned her attention to the building in front of her. The info they’d gotten pointed to either the little police station or the Center for Infectious Diseases being hit by the as-of-yet nameless terrorist group they’d been chasing for the past six or so months.

Steve personally thought it’d be the CfID, not the little police station, but since the intel hadn’t been clear on it, they couldn’t risk losing their only chance to get their hands on whoever was planning this.

Especially considering they couldn’t find anything more concrete than a vague suspicion that things weren’t adding up. They—Pepper—had negotiated their presence there with the Nigerian government, keeping their interference on the absolute downlow.

Not even S.H.I.E.L.D. had been told.

“Both cross streets are one way,” Becca added over the comms, and Steve watched as Wanda and Pietro, once again hidden in the shadows, checked the street reflexively.

“Compromised escape route,” Pietro muttered, accent thicker still than his sister’s.

Steve nodded along. “Yep. Means our guy doesn’t care about being seen—not afraid to make a mess on the way out. A big departure from their usual M.O.”

It was true—these guys seemed to operate entirely from the shadows in every other way, and Steve wasn’t sure what it meant for them if they decided they were ready to step out of said shadows.

“It’s suspicious,” Becca insisted. “See that Range Rover halfway up the block, Wanda?”

“Yeah, the red one?” Wanda sipped her tea again. “It’s cute.”

Nat chuckled across the comms and said, “It’s also bulletproof. Probably private security, which means more guns, which means more headaches for someone—probably us.”

“Plates aren’t registered,” Becca piped in. “J.A.R.V.I.S. is hacking into a few more databases to see if he can find that make and model listed anywhere, but it’s slow-going.” She huffed in annoyance. “There’s way too many red Range Rovers in Nigeria, what the hell.”

“Eyes on the target,” Steve reminded them sternly. “This is the best lead we’ve had in months. I don’t want to lose it.”

“Aye aye cap’n,” Natasha quipped semi-seriously, and Steve laughed along with the others despite himself.

“Tony’s almost there, in case you guys need him,” Becca reminded them, “and he’s being whiny about not being on the same comms channel, so if I let him in, will you play nice?”

Steve gasped playfully. “Why, Becca, I’m offended by the implication. I always play nice.”

“You’re a little shit, Rogers,” Becca told him, before something clicked and Tony’s voice became audible. “—and I mean, I can totally dig the seriousness of this mission, I’m cool, I’m just saying a little AC/DC never hurt anyone.”

“A little AC/DC would definitely hurt now,” Steve replied, eyeing the street before him again.

“Capsicle!” Tony exclaimed. “Congrats on the coming out! Papers are all over it. The U.S. is losing its shit. I applaud you, my good man. I’ll order you a cake when we get home. Bi-pride colors and everything. We can invite Aunt Peg and Aunt Becky. Also, I think FOX News is having a meltdown. Or going on lockdown. Not sure which would be more entertaining, honestly,” he hummed happily.

Steve stopped short. “What?”

“What?” Natasha and Wanda and Pietro echoed.

“Right,” Becca said slowly. “You left right after Chicago.”

Steve’s stomach sank. “Oh, fuck,” he said empathically.

Tony gasped theatrically. “Captain, language.”

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve bit out, before sighing and rubbing a hand over his forehead. “How much of a headache is this gonna be? It just kinda slipped out.”

“Eh,” Tony said, surprisingly gentle. “I’ve caused bigger headaches. I think the conservative, racist part of the country is having a meltdown, because they can’t use you as a poster-boy for their ass backwards shit anymore, but most people are cool with it. Applauding you for being brave enough to come out for who you and Barnes were—and talking shit about the reporter that bullied you into making that grandiose speech in the first place.”

Steve groaned.

“Steve,” Becca said quietly. “You’re fine. No one is going to judge you, and people that do are really not worth your time or your consideration.”

“Uh,” Tony said. “While I totally agree, and hate to break up the moment… There’s a large group of people moving in the CfID—like abnormally. I can only see heat signatures, but I’m willing to bet these guys are armed. I’m thinking our terrorists might already be here.”

“Becca,” Steve barked, moving out the door and down the stairs of their look-out apartment before Tony had even stopped talking.

“Hacking into security cams now,” Becca replied immediately.

“Pietro, get Natasha and Wanda inside,” Steve ordered. “Then come back for me. Don’t be seen.”

“Yep,” Pietro said shortly, and Steve heard the slight rush of fast-moving air as the boy started moving.

By the time Steve’d reached street level, the other three were gone, and he barely had time to blink before Pietro blurred back into sight before him, grinning wildly. “Ready, Captain?” he asked, before putting his hands on Steve’s shoulders and moving.

The world blurred and moved, and his head spun wildly before Pietro came to a stop, hidden behind a large pillar, only a few feet from where Nat and Wanda stood, readying themselves for a fight.

Nat’s Widow’s Bites were sparking, and Wanda’s hands were already encased with that tell-tale ominous red energy. Steve checked that the straps of his shield were tight enough on his arm, and then nodded at the two women. “Definitely body armor. Possibly AR-15s—likely hand guns and knives too. I make seven hostiles,” he whispered, glancing towards the men dressed in black tac gear.

Natasha huffed and moved forwards, launching herself into the air by a graceful jump off a chair—she landed on two of the men, taking them down in a tangle of limbs and electric current, their choked off screams echoing eerily in the building.

Steve moved before the other men had had the chance to react to Nat’s sudden attack, lobbing the shield towards two of the other men, who had raised their guns to Nat immediately, knocking both of them clean off their feet. The man that stood next to them shouted in alarm, but before he could do so much as raise his gun, he was tackled to the ground by a blur of movement, and then fastened in place by an eerie red glow that spread, quickly, to encompass all other men, freezing their limbs in place.

“Good job,” Steve told Wanda when she appeared from behind the relative safety of the pillar, eyes glowing as red as the mist encompassing her hands.

“I can’t hold them long,” she told him calmly. “Natasha, you should cuff them so I can let go.”

Natasha was already moving, pulling handcuffs from wherever she managed to stash them in her skin tight outfit, when someone let out a strangled, “Stop!”

Steve spun around, finding one of the men had managed to move enough to pull his helmet off, revealing—

“Brock?” Steve said incredulously.

“What?” Becca demanded in his ear, as Natasha stepped up beside him, eyeing Brock Rumlow, who was held immobile by Wanda’s red magic in what looked like a very uncomfortable position, with a considering expression.

“What the fuck?” the other man demanded when Wanda released him after Steve nodded at her, collapsing on his knees before he managed to steady himself. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” Natasha countered. “No one is supposed to be here.”

“We got a tip,” Rumlow spat. “Jesus, Romanoff, we’re meant to catch some terrorist group that the higher ups are really interested in. You better fucking hope you didn’t scare them away! Now fucking let my STRIKE guys loose.” He glared at Wanda, who bit her lip and looked at Steve first, waiting for his approval before she did as Rumlow said and released the other men.

A chorus of groans and muffled curses followed their release, and a small part of Steve felt a little smug that Wanda had been able to keep at least ten guys—a full fucking STRIKE team—down without visibly breaking a sweat.

Take that, every asshole who ever dared imply she didn’t deserve her spot on the team.

“He’s telling the truth,” Becca said hesitantly. “I’ve got the paperwork here. J.A.R.V.I.S. just hacked into the S.H.I.E.L.D. servers. Orders came straight from Maria—probably from Fury or Pierce before it came to her. It looks legit, Steve. They got the same tip we did.”

Steve exchanged a glance with Natasha, who had her arms crossed over her chest, staring down each of Rumlow’s STRIKE guys with a blank expression that he knew was tailor-made to scare the shit out of even the bravest of men. Judging by their expressions, Rumlow’s guys may not be the bravest of men.

She just lifted one eyebrow at him, and Becca suggested, “Maybe tell him some of the truth?”

Steve exhaled slowly.

“We also got a tip,” he told Rumlow. “Couple of hours ago. It came directly to us, seemed urgent. We contacted the Nigerian government directly and flew in. We didn’t want to risk losing these guys.”

Rumlow scoffed. “So urgent you couldn’t notify S.H.I.E.L.D. at all?”

“Tell him we told Fury,” Tony butted in. “Becca, J.A.R.V.I.S. will make it happen.”

Steve didn’t question their decision to fudge the truth. They’d established Avengers Black Op on this entire mission for a reason, and much as Steve enjoyed beating the man up during his mandatory hand-to-hand combat sessions, Brock did not make the cut for trusted individuals.

Not even Sharon had made the cut.

“We notified Fury,” he said, shrugging. “Didn’t hear back from him, and the Nigerian government had already given us permission to be here, so…”

“Damn it. They should’ve run it through us, man,” Brock grumbled. “Could’ve saved us this whole thing.” He glanced toward the two men Steve had knocked to the ground and the man Nat had tased with her Widow’s bites, and groaned. “Paperwork’s going to be a bitch.”

Steve hung his head.

He hated to say it, but Brock was right, damn it.

“Get them out,” Rumlow told Rollins, who Steve had worked with on occasion, and a fresh-faced kid who was likely a new recruit, gesturing to the three men that were still on the floor. “Make sure they get medical attention and that you’re not seen.” He glanced towards Steve and the others and heaved a sigh, “tell Hill we got back up from the Avengers.”

��Actually,” Becca drawled, “Hill just sent me an Avengers Assemble alert. Looks like there’s… something going on a couple of miles from where you guys are. Some guy called…” she hesitated and then snorted, “Killmonger? I dunno, he’s American special ops, but he called in for help not even a minute ago, something about a crazy man with voodoo powers taking out his whole team. We’re the closest back-up he’s got.”

Steve groaned. “Alright. Tony, fly ahead, scope out the situation, see what’s what. Pietro—”

“Aye aye, Cap,” the young man quipped, before pressing a lightning quick kiss to his sister’s cheek and blurring out of sight.

“We got an Assemble alert,” he told Rumlow reluctantly. “Becca’s informed S.H.I.E.L.D. you need more back-up, but if anything goes sideways, hail us, yeah? Pietro or Stark can be here before you can even blink if you need them.”

Rumlow nodded. “Yeah. Let’s hope we haven’t managed to chase away our mark.”

“Let’s hope not,” Steve agreed, before turning to Nat and Wanda, nodding his head towards the exit.

He wasn’t sure how they’d managed to get their wires crossed so intensely, because he could’ve sworn J.A.R.V.I.S. had checked S.H.I.E.L.D.’s database for similar tips beforehand, but there wasn’t anything for it now. There was possibly something more going on, someone playing them all, pulling on their strings like they were nothing but puppets, but he didn’t have time to figure it out now.

Someone needed their help.

Rumlow, S.H.I.E.L.D., and everything else could wait.

———————

Fox News (@FoxNews) 36 min.

BREAKING: Captain America comes out of the closet? Has this national hero been lying to the country, or did he simply misspeak? Surely @captainRogers will clarify this misunderstanding soon.

Steve Rogers — Captain America (@CaptainRogers) 2 min.

@FoxNews Did I fucking stutter?

———————

Brooklyn V.A. Medical center, Brooklyn, New York, United States of America

April 20

, 2016Steve

Steve just barely managed to squeeze himself into the tiny little bathroom stall of the V.A. center with Becca, gamely holding his breath as well as Becca’s hair as she retched into the toilet after an unfortunate incident involving the snack table for the meeting and a stray sandwich with blue cheese.

“Ugh,” Becca groaned miserably, leaning back and wiping her mouth on a wad of toilet paper before dropping it in the toilet and flushing it. “I thought this part was supposed to be over.”

Steve smiled lightly and tugged her close so her head could rest back against his shoulder.

“From what I remember,” Steve said slowly, keeping his voice level and calm to help Becca calm down—because he remembered how much throwing up triggered Becca sometimes, and he knew how difficult the first few weeks of the pregnancy had been for her, how relieved she’d been when the morning sickness had finally abated—rubbing his hand over the swell of her stomach softly. “It can come up any time. My mom used to say it was because your senses are heightened, primed to notice anything that could be a danger to the baby.”

“That’s a nice thought, actually,” Becca nodded. “I don’t think I mind being sick if it keeps the baby safe.”

Steve smiled and leaned his cheek against Becca’s temple. “Well, I hope for your sake that you don’t have to be sick anymore.”

“Me too,” Becca hummed.

They sat quietly for a few more minutes before Becca gasped, suddenly, looking down at her belly with wide eyes. “Look,” she told him urgently, tugging on his arm urgently until he moved, and they were sitting opposite one another with their backs against the walls of the stall, Becca’s legs curled underneath her and Steve’s awkwardly stretched out.

Becca pulled up her shirt a little, revealing the pale expanse of her stomach, littered with little silvery stretch marks and a few dark, puckered marks that she tended to hide otherwise. Today, though, the marks seemed the last thing on Becca’s mind, because she grabbed his hand and pressed it to her stomach again, just next to her belly button. “Look,” she insisted.

Steve dropped his eyes to her stomach as well, and he couldn’t really stop the gasp that fell from his lips when, suddenly, the outline of what was clearly a tiny foot pressed out into Becca’s skin just above his fingertips, remaining there for a few seconds before it disappeared again. “Shit,” he laughed, looking up at his friend with a grin, “that’s so weird. And cool.” He looked down again, but the little foot did not make another appearance. “You’re actually growing a person in there,” he added breathlessly.

Becca snorted and shoved at him. “What, did you think I stuffed a watermelon under my shirt before now? You’ve felt them kick before.” She elbowed him in the side and chuckled, “You’ve read more of the parenting books than any of us have.”

“Well,” Steve spluttered, a little embarrassed, “yeah. But this is different.”

Becca laughed again, but it wasn’t mean or mocking, and Steve grinned too, despite himself.

“Steven? Rebecca?”

Thor’s voice was loud enough to drift through the walls even when he was clearly trying to be quiet, and Steve grinned at Becca when she perked up immediately.

“In here,” Steve said, raising his voice just a little—Thor’s hearing was just as good, if not better than Steve’s—as he moved to help Becca back to her feet.

Thor pushed open the door to the bathroom and leaned on the doorjamb, smiling at them lightly, although his forehead was creased into a slightly concerned frown. “Everyone alright?” he asked casually, reaching out to Becca as soon as she was within reach.

Becca grimaced but nodded, leaning into Thor’s touch gratefully. “Blue cheese,” she said, nose wrinkling in disgust, and Thor made a small sound of comprehension, needing no further explanation after the last time Becca had encountered blue cheese in the common room of the Tower, and instead rubbing his hand over her back in a soothing gesture.

“You ready, Steve?” Becca asked, turning back to him with a grin.

“Born ready,” he said confidently.

——————

Steve was absolutely not ready.

He fidgeted, his hands trembling just shy of imperceptibly when he took the microphone from Sam. The room was about as filled as it usually was for the Thursday V.A. meeting, but the thought of ‘sharing’ still reminded him of the feeling he’d had when Senator Brandt had first thrust him into the spotlight on a stage somewhere in Philadelphia, when he’d wanted nothing more than to run away, to hide so no one could see him ever again.

He’d been wishing to be seen for most of his life at that point, had wished that people would see and notice him, but it’d been nothing like he’d thought it would be.

He’d made a promise to Sam though, and he wasn’t going to back out.

Becca and Thor were tucked into a corner of the room, Thor’s hands absently rubbing across Becca’s belly while Becca smiled encouragingly. She’d shared with the group the previous week, and it’d broken Steve up to hear, first-hand, the things people had done to her—before, during and after her capture—but she hadn’t been the only one.

There’d been a young man, too young to have the same kind of shadows lingering behind his eyes that they all seemed to, who came up to her afterwards, who thanked her for sharing, and for reminding them that… that it was possible to build a life afterwards.

That it was possible to learn how to live and be happy again.

Steve had diligently pretended Becca wasn’t crying when they walked home, but he’d held her hand and hugged her close when she’d asked him to anyway.

He’d told himself that sharing what had happened to him might help someone else. He’d told Sam the same, and Sam had held him to it, inviting him up to speak after everyone who’d volunteered had had their chance to speak, because “No one wants to follow your act, Rogers.”

Steve swallowed thickly and glanced at the expectant, curious faces of their group. “Hi,” he finally said, voice cracking with nerves. “I’m sure all of you know who I am.” He grinned lightly and added, “I usually lurk in the back with my friend, eating all of the donuts, like the creepers we actually are.”

That got a couple of scattered laughs, and Becca shot him a thumbs up from her corner.

Steve exhaled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the lectern that stood at the front of the room. “I’m Steve,” he began. “I’m thirty-two, and I went to war when I was twenty-four, and sometimes it feels like I’ve never left it behind. Sometimes it feels like I never will.” There were a few understanding murmurs, and something loosened slightly in his chest.

He could do this.

“I went to war because I had to,” he continued, chewing on his lower lip. “Because there were good, healthy people dying on the front lines every day, fighting to defend us, our families, and I was dying anyway, so what right did I have to do any less than them?” He swallowed thickly. “I was dying anyway, and I wanted my death to have more meaning than my life had.”

The room had gone utterly silent, and Steve didn’t dare look up, for fear he’d lose his nerve.

“It’s a funny thing,” he continued, “to be so aware of your own mortality. I wasn’t even very angry about the unfairness of it anymore. Buck—my—the love of my life,” he admitted, still a little shy to be so public about something so private, “he was angry. He was the sweetest guy you’d ever meet, charming and handsome and kind, but he was so fucking angry at God and the universe and whatever else there was, because I was dying, and there was nothing anyone could do about it… and then they called him to war too.”

Steve blinked back a tear, a little startled by how emotional he felt, by how hard recalling the memories was. “And he went,” he said. “He went, and what else could I do than everything I could to either follow him, or to die trying?” He looked up, briefly catching Becca’s shiny eyes before his gaze fell to Sam. Sam, who’d supported him, who hadn’t let their rough start at a friendship get in the way—who understood in a way even Becca never had.

“The machine they used to give me all of this—” He gestured vaguely at his body. “It looked like a coffin.”

There were a few gasps from the group, but no one interrupted when he continued, “And I thought it would be mine. There had been seventeen test subjects before me.” He looked down. “I was the only one to ever survive, but I didn’t know that when I went in. I thought I was going to be number eighteen, the one they could hopefully learn from, so they could help people.”

“Obviously,” he said with a weak smile, “it worked. And I went, and I fought, tooth and nail, for the life I’d been real eager to leave behind, for Bucky and his sisters, for his family—my family. I fought for everyone that couldn’t, for everyone we’d already lost, and for once, I felt like a hero.” He stopped and looked down, noting that his hands were shaking so bad he could barely hold the microphone without hitting himself in the face.

“When Bucky—the mission we were on—” He shook his head and lowered the microphone, breathing in deeply to regain some measure of composure. Because, while no one here would judge him, he wouldn’t be able to finish if he let himself cry now. “He saved my life, like he always did, like he’d been doing since we were both four feet tall and getting into fights with people twice our size. I got knocked down and he picked up my shield, and—” Steve choked lightly, tears running down his cheeks despite his best efforts to hold them at bay. “We were both nearly blown off the side of the train,” he said hoarsely. “I thought—God, for a second, I thought I had him. He managed to hang on by a railing, and I was so close. His—his fingers brushed past mine when it broke off and he fell.”

The room was deathly silent, and when he looked up, he saw that several other people were nodding, crying, knowing. “I almost fell,” Steve admitted. “I almost fell too. Sometimes I wish I had.”

He was quiet for a few seconds before he whispered, “Grief… Grief is a funny thing. Grief shatters something inside of you that you didn’t know could shatter, and it seeps into the cracks, like water that slowly freezes, slowly expands into ice until it’s all you can feel—until you can’t even remember what it felt like to live without the cracks, without the grief filling up that space. I didn’t… after Bucky fell, I lost my mind a little. I froze… long before I put the Valkyrie in the ice. I fought, and I killed, and I didn’t care that I was doing it, because every single Hydra soldier was one that was responsible for the love of my life dying alone at the bottom of a ravine. The Valkyrie…” He shook his head and sighed. “Putting down the Valkyrie was a relief, because at least it meant that whatever was going to happen, Bucky would be waiting for me on the other side.”

He swallowed. “And then I woke up here. And whatever soul, whatever heart I had left, it shattered further; the grief, the ice spread further, because everyone was gone. Everyone I’d ever known, everyone I’d ever loved—even the country I’d died for. Everything.”

He exhaled shakily and looked up, meeting Becca’s teary gaze, and managing a weak smile.

“I made it through. I made it through because I still had family that needed me, that missed me, that knew me, and that refused to give up on me even when I had.” He deliberately looked at every member of their group. “Including the Valkyrie, I tried to take my own life six times. I tried to leave, tried to give up what Bucky had died to give me—and I still think about it sometimes. I’m not always okay. I sit out missions that I know will trigger me, I have three different therapists, and I have an unrelenting support network. I’m lucky—so many of us don’t have all of that. But I want you, at least, to know that you do as well. I’m just one man, even with my name and reputation, and there’s only so much I can do—but when any of us, any of you need support, even if it’s just a shoulder to cry on…”

He shrugged one shoulder and smiled. “They’re a lot bigger and stronger than they used to be. I promise there’s room to help you shoulder your burden. I want you to know that you have that support. I thought I had no one for the longest time, even surrounded by friends and family, and I don’t wish that feeling on anyone.”

He looked down again and sighed. “The ice… the grief doesn’t go away,” he admitted. “Not really. But you learn. You learn to breathe with it, rather than against it, you learn how to cope, even when you can’t understand, and that’s all anyone can ask of you. Even on days when it feels like you’ll never leave the war behind, even when things are at its bleakest, there’s going to be better days. There’s always people that’ll care, that’ll miss you, that’ll need you.”

He squared his jaw and promised, “And when you have no one, I’ll be your someone. We will be your people. We’ll miss you. We’ll need you, and we’ll drag you through hell, to show you how good life is on the other side. You’re never alone.”

——————

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

#IHWSBY sequel #Dancing in the rain #DitR #Stucky fanfiction #stucky #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Thor #Rebecca Barnes #Tony Stark #Natasha Romanov #Pepper Potts #Avengers Family #my writing #Lisa writes

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cuthian · 4 years

Text

Starting Over Chapter Eight

Alright, this is it!

The next one... the next one is the one everyone's been waiting for, babies. Working on that now, and hopefully will have that done ASAP.

Thanks for sticking with me, lovelies.

Love, Annaelle (& Juulna, who is indispensable and without whom I could never do this).

Chapter Eight

AMERICAN SUPPORT FOR GAY RIGHTS MAY LEAVE AFRICANS VULNERABLE!

By Norimitsu Onishi

LAGOS, Nigeria — Suspicious neighbors and landlords pry into their private lives. Blackmailers hunt for victims on the social media sites they use to meet others of the same sex. Police officers routinely stop them to search for incriminating images and chats on their cellphones.

Since an anti-gay law went into effect last year, many gay Nigerians say they have been subjected to new levels of harassment, even violence. They blame the law, the authorities, and broad social intolerance for their troubles. But they also blame an unwavering supporter whose commitment to their cause has been unquestioned and conspicuous across Africa: the United States government.

“The U.S. support is making matters worse,” said Mike, 24, a university student studying biology in Minna, a town in central Nigeria, who asked that his full name not be used for his safety. “There’s more resistance now. It’s triggered people’s defense mechanisms.”

[…]Four years ago, the American government embarked on an ambitious campaign to expand civil rights for gay people overseas by marshalling its diplomats, directing its foreign aid, and deploying President Obama to speak before hostile audiences[...]Since 2012, the American government has put more than 700 million dollars into supporting gay rights groups and causes globally. More than half of that money has focused on sub-Saharan Africa — just one indication of this continent’s importance to the new policy.

America’s money and public diplomacy have opened conversations and opportunities in societies where the subject was taboo just a few years ago. But they have also made gay men and lesbians more visible — and more vulnerable.[…]other African nations weighing in on the situation for LGBT+ communities in Nigeria. King T’Chaka of Wakanda, a traditionally more reclusive nation, has expressed his intention to set up an outreach center for the at-risk population of Nigeria.

“Love has been considered simply love for centuries in Wakanda,” King T’Chaka said in a press conference, where he announced that his son, Prince T’Challa, would oversee the initial preparations for the center. “If we can help others achieve such calm and such peace in their lives, it is our duty to ensure it will be so. While we appreciate the support of the American government, the time has come for African nations to support each other”—Continued on Page 49

—Norimitsu Onishi, ‘American support for gay rights may leave Africans vulnerable’, The New York Times, 2 December 2015

——————————

Personal floor Of Steve Rogers, Becca Barnes and Thor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, U.S.A.

December 3rd, 2015 – 8:04 AM

Pepper

Pepper barely blinked when Steve opened the door with his hair askew, clad in sweatpants and a t-shirt that had clearly seen better days, with thick bags under his eyes.

“You look like shit,” she told him bluntly, because while she liked him well enough, she was a little grumpy about the fact he’d insisted she come down to his floor so early in the morning. She’d spent far too long throwing up this morning to pretend to be civil, and she was certain Steve would understand.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, opening the door wide so she could come in. “I know.”

She pushed past him and walked into the apartment, stopping only for a moment to raise an eyebrow at the state of it. She’d never known Steve to be exceptionally tidy, but he was certainly not a messy person either—it was, therefore, a big surprise to see the otherwise neat room looking quite chaotic.

There were pillows and blankets strewn across the couches and floor, along with what looked like enough empty snack wrappers to feed a small army—or one supersoldier, she supposed.

“Had some fun?” she asked bemusedly, turning to look at said supersoldier with a raised eyebrow.

Steve sighed and shook his head. “Becca came home last night,” he began, pushing past Pepper to pick up some of the blankets. “She was… well, upset, to say the least.”

Pepper frowned and turned towards the bedrooms, where she assumed Becca was. “What happened?” she demanded, glancing towards Steve concernedly. “Is Thor with her?” Thor and Becca weren’t meant to return to Earth for a few weeks yet, and to hear that Becca had returned, apparently horribly upset, was more than just a little concerning.

“No,” Steve shook his head. “I mean, I think he came with her to bring her back and to make sure she was alright, but she told me she didn’t want him to stay, so he left.”

Pepper spun around. “Why would she—”

Steve raised a hand and shook his head before she could complete the question. “Look, I’ve already told you more than I intended to. Becca—Becca should tell you the rest herself. I—” He sighed. “I don’t think I’m qualified to help her in this.”

Pepper pouted, but conceded the point. If it was indeed something personal, then Becca did deserve the chance to tell her herself.

“Is she in her room?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Steve nodded wordlessly, and Pepper sighed before moving towards the bedrooms. Becca’s room was shrouded in darkness still, but she could make out Becca’s still form on the bed, hardly more than a lump of blankets.

“Is she asleep?” she whispered to Steve, who had followed her into the hallway and was leaning back against the wall behind her, looking for all the world like he was about to fall asleep where he stood.

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “Maybe? She was earlier, but she basically cried herself to sleep, so I don’t—I don’t know if she’s still asleep.”

He rubbed a hand through his hair, and Pepper was abruptly struck by how extremely tired he looked.

“Go to bed, Steve,” she told him sternly. “I’ll talk to her. We’ll be fine.”

The fact that he didn’t argue with her, only nodded tiredly before sulking off down the hallway to his own room, only reassured her that he was actually exhausted. She turned towards Becca’s room again, biting her lower lip as she tried to figure out what would’ve had the other woman so upset she’d spent the entire night crying in Steve’s arms rather than her boyfriend’s.

She would’ve assumed it a break-up, if not for the fact that she knew Becca and Thor’s relationship was about as rock solid as any relationship could be. Not only that, but if their relationship had been rockier than they’d shared with anyone else, Pepper was reasonably sure Thor would never have put so much effort into organizing the trip to Asgard.

No, the problem likely lay solely at Thor’s father’s feet.

From what she’d heard, the man had opposed the relationship for almost as long as Becca and Thor had been together, and he didn’t shy away from playing dirty to get what he wanted. She just… she couldn’t imagine what Odin could’ve said or done to make Becca decide to come home rather than stay with Thor—what he could’ve said or done to make Becca insist that Thor leave her alone.

She uncrossed her arms from over her chest and walked into Becca’s room, crawling onto the large bed with the younger woman and wriggling lightly until her head rested on the pillow next to Becca’s.

She remained quiet for a bit longer, listening to Becca’s breathing for a few minutes before she said, “I know you’re awake, Gummy Bear,” she said quietly, smiling a little when Becca huffed in annoyance before she rolled over to face Pepper.

“Hi,” Becca croaked. “Steve call you?”

Pepper nodded. “He’s worried. What’s going on, sweetheart?” She reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Becca’s ear, fingers lingering on the younger woman’s cheek before she dropped her hand to the bed. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Becca’s eyes were suspiciously shiny, and her lower lip trembled. “I don’t—I don’t know how to say it.”

“Are you and Thor—” Pepper suggested carefully, but Becca interrupted her before she even finished speaking.

“No!”

Becca blinked, and Pepper thought they were both a little startled by the harsh denial.

“We’re fine,” she continued shakily. “It’s just…” She shook her head again and rolled onto her back, pushing her hand into her messy hair. Pepper kept her eyes on Becca as the other woman tried to collect her thoughts, trying to discern anything that would give her more of a clue as to what could have happened to freak her out this bad.

Becca heaved a sigh and rolled her head to face Pepper again. “I’m pregnant.”

Pepper blinked. “Oh.”

She looked away for a second, abruptly recalling Thor’s casual certainty that the pregnancy he sensed wasn’t Becca’s—clearly, he’d been mistaken there. “How did Thor take it?” she asked carefully, because she wouldn’t ever disrespect Becca by asking if the baby was Thor’s at all.

Becca scoffed quietly. “I think he’s ecstatic. Not that he’s told me that—he’s…” she exhaled roughly, voice thick with tears. “He’s trying so hard not to pressure me, but I—” she broke off and shook her head. “I can’t make this kind of decision on my own.”

She turned towards Pepper again, tears running down her cheeks, and choked, “I don’t want to do this on my own.”

“Oh, Gummy Bear,” Pepper breathed, opening her arms readily to catch Becca when she pitched forward, bursting into tears again. She rubbed her hand across Becca’s back as she sobbed, and immediately understood why Steve had looked so entirely exhausted.

She felt instantly horrible for thinking it, and held Becca a little tighter.

“Maybe you should tell him that,” she suggested softly, running her fingers through Becca’s hair like she’d been doing since Becca was an insecure teenager with a desperate need for a female role model in her life. “He might be a god, but he can’t read your mind, Becs. Maybe he’s scared too.”

“He wants kids,” Becca whispered, not lifting her head from Pepper’s shoulder. “I know he wants them, he’s told me that he does—it just… I didn’t think I… that we would ever…” She sniffed. “After Iraq, I put it out of my mind. No use in wanting what I couldn’t have. And then with Thor, I—it didn’t matter anyway, because we couldn’t. And now I…” she shrugged helplessly. “Now I don’t know what I want.”

Pepper swallowed thickly.

She hadn’t known the full extent of the consequences to Becca’s capture and torture, but she’d known some were long-lasting. She wondered if Tony and Rhodey had known—she supposed Rhodey must’ve known, given he had been with Becca for most of her recovery overseas, and Tony had barely left her side once she’d been returned to the States—and then decided it didn’t matter if they’d known.

All that mattered was that Becca was clearly having trouble processing the pregnancy.

“How about,” Pepper suggested slowly, thoughtfully, “you and I take a few days away. I know this spa that’s perfectly safe for pregnant people—designed for us, really. We can get massages, relax, and you can take the time to think things through, without having the pressure of everyone being there to ask you about it all the time. You can talk to me, or your grandmother, or your therapist, but you don’t have to.”

Becca was quiet for a beat.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “And then I need to talk to Thor. It’s not just my life.”

Pepper sighed. “No, it isn’t.”

“I just,” Becca croaked. “I love him. I don’t want this to break us.”

Pepper tightened her arms around Becca but didn’t say anything. Offering her a meaningless platitude wouldn’t help—she couldn’t promise that this wouldn’t break Becca and Thor. Things like these were deal breakers in relationships for a lot of people, and Pepper couldn’t say if it would be one for Thor and Becca too.

She didn’t think Becca knew if it was one either.

“You’ll figure it out, Gummy Bear,” she said softly. “You’re not alone in this. We got you.”

——————————

BREAKING: “IRON MAN AND CAPTAIN AMERICA ARRESTED BY NYPD OFFICERS FOR DESTRUCTION OF CITY PROPERTY AND RESISTING ARREST.”

4December 2015 — Cities are, of course, as we all know, hard places. Filled with concrete, asphalt, wood and steel surfaces, urban centers manifest their edge physically as well as metaphorically. Much of what makes cities seem unfriendly is not happenstance; they are intentionally engineered to keep us moving. The trick to urban design that creates discomfort, known as “hostile architecture”, is that its tools are hidden in plain sight.

[…]more aggressive forms of such “hostile architecture” have been popping up in recent years, to greater protest of city residents. […]problems with architectures of control is that they don’t discriminate. An uncomfortable bench is as uncomfortable for a homeless person as it is for a tired passerby or for someone looking for a place to read. Moreover […] doesn’t address the underlying problem of homelessness.

They simply shift it from one area to another, or worst still, reduce its visibility.

There have been many widespread campaigns insisting on the removal of such blatant “hostile architecture”, such as spikes and uncomfortable seating areas, if there are any at all. Many celebrities have put their names behind such campaigns, but none have been so blatant about their support as Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man, and Steve Rogers, better known as Captain America.

[…]both men were captured on camera as they destroyed several of such spikes and broke off an uncomfortably placed seat divide, constantly insincerely apologizing to the police officers who arrived at the scene shortly after, refusing to move until they had finished thoroughly destroying every spike and every trace of such “hostile architecture”.

[…]NYPD put out a statement saying that they indeed arrested two men in relation to the incident and charged them with property damage, but would release no names with the statement.

[…]James Rhodes was seen exiting the 1st Precinct mere hours after the arrest was made, pinching the bridge of his nose, while Rogers and Stark high-fived behind him. There has been no official commentary from the Avengers Press Team, nor Stark Industries representatives.

—John Michael Kilbane, ‘Iron Man and Captain America Arrested for Destruction of Public Property’, Topic Online Magazine, 4 December 2015

——————————

Tony Stark’s lab, Stark Industries R&D Floor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, U.S.A.

December 4th, 2015 – 7:31 PM

Steve

“Uh,” Steve said, swinging his legs idly as he scrolled on his phone, frowning at the small screen in confusion. “Tony. Why is someone called Farhan Zaidi emailing me about meeting with him and a guy called Andrew Friedman at my earliest convenience?”

He was perched on one of the workbenches in Tony’s lab, where they had wisely retreated before Pepper got her hands on them—she was decidedly unhappy about the PR nightmare they’d created when they’d accidentally broken some exceptionally hostile benches and seating areas—listening to Tony’s chatter about something involving his Harley that he should probably be more concerned about.

Last time he’d given Tony free reign to tinker on his bike, he’d ended up with something that could’ve easily doubled as a rocket.

Tony looked up, hair wild and spiked in several gravity-defying directions, a smear of oil or grease on his cheek and grinned. “Because you’re the new owner of the Los Angeles Dodgers, Rogers. Gotta meet with your general manager and your president of baseball operations to talk shop. Financial projections, your yearly contribution to its funds, stuff like that.”

“What?”

Something a lot like panic burned hot in his chest, and he looked up at Tony abruptly. “Tony,” he choked. “I don’t know anything about running a baseball team! Or financial projections! I didn’t even finish high school, and I was terrible at math. I made Bucky do my homework.”

Tony looked up, likely disturbed by the abject panic in his voice, and his expression immediately softened into something more sympathetic. “Hey,” he said, getting to his feet as he wiped his hands on the nearest rag—which Steve suspected was an old band t-shirt. “Don’t worry about shit like that; I was kidding. We got other people to do that kind of stuff, alright? They probably want to meet their new celebrity owner, that’s all.”

Steve swallowed thickly and nodded shakily.

“Think of the children, Steven,” Tony said seriously, although he was barely hiding his smirk, and Steve snorted a laugh despite himself.

There weren’t a lot of things that set him off like this anymore, and most of them were triggers he hadn’t even known he had himself, so he was grateful to all of the other Avengers—and mostly Tony, who had surprised him by patiently showing him coping methods to get through the sudden panic—for not judging him when one came up so suddenly.

“Fine,” he chuckled. “Alright.”

Tony grinned when Steve relaxed, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder with the wrench he was still holding. “Also, I’m totally calling bullshit on you being bad at math—I’ve seen you calculate angles in a split second! You wield that physics defying shield of yours using the power of math, don’t deny it!”

Steve smiled and shook his head. “It’s not math,” he denied. “I mean—I just… I look, and then I know where to throw it and how to hit the wall to make it rebound.”

Tony snorted derisively. “It’s math, Rogers, don’t pretend.”

Steve chuckled and put his phone down, leaning back on his hands. “Sure, Tony.”

Tony just shook his head and retreated to the Harley, and the both of them fell silent for a few minutes before Tony piped up again. “So. You made your boyfriend do your homework. Tell me more, Steven. How did you convince him to do that? Were you able to make a compelling argument?” He waggled his eyebrows and Steve couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous expression he made.

“I didn’t have to convince him,” Steve chuckled. “He was a fucking nerd, he loved doing our homework. You realize we’re talking about the same guy that took me on a date to a science fair for fun.” He rolled his eyes at Tony and shook his head. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Stark.”

“No can do, mon capitaine,” Tony crowed. “It is my favorite summer home.”

“I’ll be sure to inform Pepper of that,” Steve deadpanned, reaching for the sketchbook and charcoal pencils Tony still denied he bought specifically for Steve, settling in to sketch Tony as he bent over Steve’s Harley again, trying to lose himself in the familiar scratch of the pencil on paper, relishing in the way it helped the buzzing in his head quiet down a little.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, Tony tinkering and Steve sketching, but when he looked up again, Tony had moved on to digging a screwdriver into one of his Iron Man gauntlets, frowning at the flickering blue light of the repulsor node as though it had personally betrayed him.

He had several completed sketches of Tony in various poses, and his hand stilled when he realized he’d somehow slipped into a sketch of Howard, bent over a workbench that held several rifles with Bucky by his side, an excited grin on his lips. Steve smiled when he recalled that day—he had been tied up in meetings for most of their stay on base, and Bucky had decided to bug Howard about upgrades to his rifle. Steve had found them six hours later, arguing heatedly about the best guns and the necessary upgrades to Bucky’s slightly alarming and continually growing weapons arsenal.

It’d been a good day.

“That my old man?”

Tony’s voice startled Steve from his reverie, and he looked up to find the man standing right in front of him, looking at the sketch with an entirely unreadable expression.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “Talking guns with Bucky. Constantly trying to make upgrades.”

Tony snorted humorlessly, tossing the rag he’d been wiping his hands on aside carelessly. “Yeah. Figuring out how to make deadly weapons more efficient. Sounds like him alright.”

Steve winced.

He knew that Tony’s relationship with his father had been strained and that Howard had not been the best of fathers to his genius son, but it was difficult, still, to reconcile the memory of the joyous, enthusiastic man he’d known—annoying and arrogant as he may have been, at times—with the cold and callous father Tony described.

“Sorry,” Tony said gruffly, and Steve looked up, surprised.

Tony rolled his eyes at him and sighed. “I’m not entirely without self-awareness, Cap. The man I knew and the man you knew were clearly different people. The war… I think the war must’ve broken him. Must’ve hardened something in him—made him obsessive, angry…” Tony shrugged helplessly. “And he hated me because I wasn’t you.”

Steve looked away and shifted uncomfortably. He’d known that Howard was fond of him and Bucky, had liked hanging around with them, talking like he was part of the Howlies, like he was one of them, even though he was never a part of the fighting, even though he only supplied the weapons and stayed far from the blood-soaked, grueling reality of war.

“I don’t think he really knew me,” Steve said quietly. “I don’t think he saw me, really.”

Tony sighed. “That makes two of us.”

They were both silent for a moment before Tony heaved another, heavier, sigh and plopped down on one of his favored wheelie chairs, rubbing his hands through his hair, making it stick up even worse than it had been already. “Was he gay?” Tony blurted abruptly, and he looked about as surprised by his own question as Steve was.

Nonetheless, once it was out there, Tony seemed determined to continue.

“Do you think?” he added, shifting restlessly on his rolling chair. “I mean, I’m sure you might not know at all, but do you think he might’ve been—do you think that’s why he was so… so obsessed with you?”

Steve blinked, entirely caught off guard by the questions—by the implication—and shook his head.

“I thought,” he hesitated, “I thought he was in love with Peggy. I was surprised to hear he married someone else, when I woke up. That he had loved someone else enough to marry her.” Steve shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know, Tony. I don’t think he was gay, though.”

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know if there was a lot of love between my parents. To be honest, I always kind of figured they got married because she was pregnant with me.”

Steve bit his lip. “I’m sorry that he turned out the way he did,” he offered.

Tony shrugged. “I’m glad you weren’t like he described you,” he finally said, refusing to meet Steve’s eye. “I kind of don’t hate your ass, Rogers.”

“Awe,” Steve crooned at Tony, because he could tell Tony was uncomfortable talking about this, and Steve was nothing if not a bit of an asshole. “I love your ass too, Tony.” He tossed the sketchbook aside and leapt off the table, reaching out towards Tony as if to hug him, relishing in the way Tony shrieked when he realized what Steve was doing, slapping at his hands ineffectively.

“No!” Tony shouted, stumbling off his chair as if it was on fire, skidding around a table to get away from Steve. “Stay there, Rogers! You’ve not unlocked this level of friendship yet.”

Steve smirked before he pouted at Tony playfully. “Awe, Tony. Lemme love on ya a bit, yeah?”

“Nope,” Tony yelled as he fled the lab with Steve on his heels, making obnoxious kissing noises.

——————————

Personal floor Of Steve Rogers, Becca Barnes and Thor, Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, U.S.A.

December 9th, 2015 – 3:01 PM

Becca

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, she exhaled, resting her back against its flat surface for a moment to gather her bearings. The spa Pepper had taken her to for the week had, despite her own expectations, helped to settle her increasingly frantic thoughts, and having Pepper to talk to had helped her sort through her thoughts and feelings about the… about the baby and what it meant for her future—with or without Thor.

She’d even talked it through with Steve a little.

She exhaled shakily and dropped her bag to the floor before crossing the room to collapse on her bed.

“Hey, Heimdall,” she said slowly, feeling a little stupid for essentially talking to thin air, but she figured it was the most surefire way to make sure Thor would get the message. He’d told her, once, that if she needed him when he was on Asgard, she just had to call for Heimdall and he would send for him.

She hoped that was still true.

“Could you—could you tell Thor I want to see him? Please?”

Predictably, there was no answer.

Becca heaved another sigh and kicked off her sneakers before wiggling up the bed until her head was comfortably situated on a pillow. She stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, hands folded together on her stomach, trying to prepare for what she needed to say to Thor when he got there.

She’d… not practiced, per se, more like... gone over what she needed to say with Pepper and Steve, but the prospect of actually having to have a serious discussion with Thor about their future for the first time in their entire relationship was scary. It wasn’t that they’d never had serious discussions, or that they avoided talking about the future entirely, just that…

Just that it was complicated.

It wasn’t just about what they wanted—their relationship had bigger ramifications than just for them. Thor was the crown prince of Asgard, and while Asgard wasn’t a human nation, she imagined their ideas about succession and heirs worked just about the same as they did on Earth.

If they kept the baby… They’d have to find out what that would mean for Asgard, for Thor, for the line of succession, and they’d have to find out how they wanted their relationship to progress from this point forward. She would have to decide if she could live with… with knowing that if she stayed with Thor, she’d be giving him a commitment for the rest of her life, knowing he couldn’t promise her the same kind of commitment.

She hadn’t… she hadn’t really let herself think about it.

She wanted Thor to be happy, of course, and if they did stay together, if Thor outlived her… she wouldn’t want him to have to mourn her forever, but…

It just felt unequal.

It felt unfair to both of them that, even if he’d want to, Thor wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of his life with her. She didn’t want it to feel like as much of a big deal as it did, because it wasn’t like this was new, or that she hadn’t known about this from the start, but here she was.

Her hand drifted down without any conscious thought, and she swallowed thickly when her fingers pressed against the slightly more sensitive skin on her lower belly. “I hope you know,” she said aloud, although she felt a little silly for talking to what was essentially a clump of cells at this point, “that whatever happens, your dad is going to adore you. And I… I will too, I think, for as long as I’m here. I just hope you won’t think too badly of me when I mess up.”

“I imagine if our child is anything like you, it could never think poorly of you, Krúttið mitt.”

She sat up abruptly and stared at Thor, who stood in the doorway, hair windblown and messy, dressed in the loose black trousers that he wore to sleep, and a long, red overcoat. He offered her a small, uncertain smile, but made no move to come closer without her say-so.

She swallowed thickly. “Hi,” she offered lamely.

Thor smiled indulgently—though nervously—and replied, “Hi, Becca.”

“I missed you,” Becca blurted, cheeks heating a little as the words fell from her lips—that was not what she’d been meaning to say. She wasn’t sure what she had been trying to say, but it wasn’t that.

True as it might be.

Thor, however, took it in stride and moved into the room, closing the door behind him.

He didn’t move to sit on the bed—their bed—and made to sit in the armchair instead, but Becca suddenly couldn’t stand the distance between them anymore. “No,” she told him abruptly. “No, please, if… you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but—can you please sit with me?”

Thor remained still for a moment, halfway between the bed and the armchair, eyes searching hers for… something, before he nodded. “Of course, Krúttið mitt.”

Becca watched, feeling far more nervous about being so close to Thor than she ever had before, as he approached the bed and crawled over to sit beside her. She exhaled shakily and leaned in, pressing their shoulders together—a simple touch that dispelled more of the tension between them than she’d expected it would.

“Have you—” Thor began carefully, “—have you been able to give our… our child some thought?”

She caught the way his hand twitched, and the way his eyes strayed towards her still-flat belly, and swallowed thickly. It took her a moment to decide to move, to decide that she needed to be able to look him straight in the eye while she said what she needed to say—

She sat up again and turned towards Thor, crossing her legs beneath her.

Thor mirrored her position without complaint and reached out to take her hands in his.

Becca swallowed and looked down at their hands for a moment before she said, “I need you to tell me what you want. I know you’ve been keeping your thoughts on… on us, on the baby, on what you really want to yourself because you didn’t want to pressure me with it, and I really appreciate that, but I need to know what you want now.” She swallowed against the tears that burned in her eyes and squeezed Thor’s fingers before she continued, “I can’t make this decision on my own, and I don’t want to either. Whatever we decide to do will have consequences for more than just us, and I think… I think we need to discuss them, at least.”

Thor nodded seriously. “I’ve not said anything to… to avoid putting more pressure on you.”

Becca smiled tightly and squeezed his hands again. “And I appreciate that. I needed the time to process this, and I have, but… I don’t think we can make a decision about this, about the future without talking about the consequences.”

“That is fair,” Thor nodded. “And I… I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t properly considered the consequences yet, but you are right in saying that we should.” He smiled at her and added, “I sense that you have questions—that there are things you need to know.” He squeezed his fingers around hers and swept his thumb across her knuckles. “Ask me what you want to know, elskan min.”

Becca nodded and looked down, thinking. “Would you name our baby your heir? Could you even do that if we’re not married? Do we need to get married—do you even want that? Was that what that dance meant, at the feast? And I mean… How would that even work, with our lifespans? And for that matter…Will the baby have your lifespan or mine?”

Thor blinked, and Becca felt momentarily bad for the barrage of questions she’d unleashed on him, before he chuckled and shook his head. “Never one to do things by halves, are you, Krúttið mitt?”

She smiled sheepishly, and Thor chuckled again before his forehead creased into a frown. “I would name our child my heir,” he said decisively. “There are no definitive laws that state that I cannot, or that I must be married to the mother of said child, although…” He hesitated and looked up at her, “I would not be opposed. I did not think I would ever consider marriage after Loki, but… The intention was what I signified to the people when I danced inn matki munr with you, and I would greatly enjoy making the suggestion a reality—ifyou wanted that too.”

Becca stared at him.

“Oh,” she choked.

She… she wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say, but it hadn’t been that. She’d been very careful not to think of their relationship as anything more than temporary because she knew how he felt about marriage after losing Loki, and because it seemed like such an impossibility for an Aesir god to want to marry a simple human.

She huffed.

This was like finding out about the baby all over again.

Maybe she should revisit her coping mechanism of not thinking about things she couldn’t have anyway—it’d blown up in her face twice now.

“Are you sure? she asked quietly. “You could marry an Aesir—someone like Sif. She’s beautiful, and I’m sure she loves you, even if you don’t think so. And I don’t think your father would try so hard to separate you as he does with us. He probably wouldn’t have you sleep in different wings of the palace, and he’d definitely acknowledge her as more than your ‘guest’.”

She snorted and shook her head.

“He’d probably rejoice. He was going to betroth you to her before Loki came along. It’d be so much easier...” she trailed off and looked away from him, her stomach tying itself in uncomfortable knots at the thought of Thor being with Sif instead.

She nearly jumped when Thor’s fingers suddenly touched her cheek lightly, tilting her chin up so she’d look at him. “Perhaps it would be easier,” Thor said frankly, softly. “But it would not be real, Rebecca. Not real like what you and I have managed to build together. I’ve told you before, Krúttið mitt, and I’ll say it again as often as you like: I’m yours. However long you want me for, I’m yours.”

She swallowed thickly, blinking back tears as she looked at him. “What if that’s for the rest of my life?” she whispered, pulling his hand—the hand that was still curled around hers—to her belly, resting it just above where their baby was growing.

Thor rubbed his thumb over her cheek tenderly and smiled. “Then we will work hard to ensure we have the happiest life imaginable. Together.”

A tear ran down her cheek, and she smiled weakly. “…and if I want you for the rest of your life?”

Thor’s smile never wavered, even as he leaned in and pressed a feather light kiss to her lips. “Then I will find a way to give you that,” he whispered against her lips, resting their foreheads together.

Becca sobbed again, dryly and tiredly, and slung her arms around Thor, hugging him close and allowing him to manhandle her until they were stretched out on the bed together, pressed together from head to toe.

“Thor?” she said quietly, leaning back a little so she could look at him without going cross-eyed. Thor moved back a little too, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear, and Becca loved him. “I think I want to keep the baby,” she told him quietly.

Thor smiled, leaning in to kiss her briefly. “Me too,” he said when he leaned back. “Me too.”

——————————

Residence of Samuel Wilson, Washington D.C., U.S.A.

December 12th, 2015 – 9:34 AM

Steve

“So are we ever going to talk about it?”

Steve looked up from where he was drowning his pancakes in syrup and blinked at Sam, who was seated across from him at the kitchen island, both of them still dressed in their running gear. They’d gone running early that morning, despite Steve’s late arrival back in D.C. for the weekend the previous night, and Steve had thoroughly enjoyed running literal laps around Sam to annoy the other man.

He’d missed their easy comradery and Sam’s good-natured teasing, and it felt good to be away from New York for a bit. He loved it still—it was his city, after all, the city he’d died to save—and he enjoyed living in the Tower well enough, because he liked being so close to all of the others, but it got suffocating sometimes too.

Sam’s offer for him to stay the weekend had come at the perfect time—now that Becca and Thor had decided on their future, it was like they’d reverted back to the early stages of their relationship, where they were utterly unable to keep their hands off of each other.

Steve was a little tired of walking in on them everywhere.

Things had been a lot less tense at Sam’s place.

Up until now, of course.

“Talk about what?” he asked, innocently blinking at Sam, because he did have some idea of what it was that Sam meant, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to address it already. Their… their thing was mostly unspoken and Steve had let it be that way because he really did like Sam a lot, and he found him very attractive, but… but he still couldn’t really imagine actually actively being with him.

With anyone.

Sam gave him a flat look, and Steve relented, putting down the syrup and leaning his forearms on the kitchen island. “Sam,” he sighed, looking up at the other man from beneath his lashes. “Do we have to do this now?”

“We have to at some point,” Sam said reasonably. “I’d rather not keep avoiding it until we start resenting each other.” He shrugged. “We gotta talk about what we want this,” he gestured between them, “to be.”

Steve sighed. It wasn’t like they were constantly teetering on the edge of being friends and being more, but there had been plenty of moments where they’d passed firmly into the gray area between friendship and… more. Steve knew they needed to acknowledge those moments, that they couldn’t ignore them indefinitely, but… God, it was just easier to let things happen.

It’d worked well enough for Thor and Becca—who said it couldn’t for him and Sam?

He caught Sam’s eye and sighed again.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “yeah, okay. Look, it’s…” He rubbed his hands across his face and groaned. “I’ve spent the last few days watching my best friend agonize about whether her future would include the man she loved, or if they were just doomed for failure, if it’d be easier on them both if they gave up now—and she picked him. They chose each other, and God, I want that.” He looked up at Sam with watery eyes and smiled weakly. “I want that, Sam. I miss that. And I want more than anything to love someone like that again, but I don’t…” he shook his head. “I don’t think I can, and I don’t think I will any time soon either.”

He was a little surprised by his own expressiveness, but he had been thinking about it for a while, despite his reluctance to actually talk about it out loud.

Sam reached out and patted his hand comfortingly. “Look,” he said slowly, “I never expected you to be able to shrug off the loss of a fifteen-year relationship as intense as yours just like that, man.” He shrugged. “Lord knows it took me forever, and Riley and I had only been together a few years. Maybe our timing’s just… off.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “Maybe.”

They were both silent for a bit before Steve continued, “So… I know we said just friends before, but… I really can’t handle more than a friend right now, so can we—can we just go to being friends for real this time? Is—is that okay?”

“Yeah, Steve,” Sam smiled, looking a little relieved, and a little sad. “That’s okay.” He grinned cheekily and added, “That does mean you should probably sleep on the couch tonight though.” Steve snorted a laugh and tossed a strawberry at Sam, who just ducked it and threw one of his own back.

They didn’t usually share the bed, but they’d both been exhausted by the time Steve made it to D.C., and Sam hadn’t made up the couch for him yet.

Steve hadn’t minded the intimacy of it.

He’d been sharing beds with people for as long as he could remember; with his ma and Bucky, and later with the Howlies too, on colder nights during the war—it wasn’t something exclusive to his relationship with Bucky, and it didn’t trigger him so much as other things did.

Steve knew that Sam wouldn’t mind sharing the bed even now, whether they were friends or more, but he could see how it would be awkward tonight. As relaxed and easy and uncomplicated as it had been yesterday, he imagined that being semi-rejected by one’s semi-love interest was something Sam probably needed to wrap his head around.

He could probably do with the privacy.

Still.

Steve was a little shit at heart, and so he couldn’t just roll over and take it. “I’ll wrestle ya for the bed,” he told Sam cheekily, dodging another strawberry neatly.

Sam pointed his fork at Steve menacingly. “I will beat your skinny white ass.”

Steve gaped at him. “I’m a supersoldier,” he exclaimed. “I can literally punch through a wall. I punched a tank once.” He winced at the memory—not because he had actually managed to hurt himself, but because Bucky had been furious with him and had spent over an hour yelling at him after shooting every Nazi in his way in the face.

Sam chuckled. “Irrelevant. I know your weak spot.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at him, because he was fairly certain no one alive knew about the ticklish spot just above the back of his left knee, but it seemed like an awful big risk to take nonetheless.

“You win this round,” he told Sam reluctantly, and pointed his fork at the other man in a way that might’ve been menacing if there hadn’t been a piece of syrup-soaked pancake speared on its tines. “But watch your back, Wilson.”

Sam just chuckled.

—————————

Undisclosed Hydra Base, New York City, New York, United States of America

December 12

, 2015 – 3:32 PM Alexander Pierce

He watched detachedly as the technicians went through the procedure of thawing the Soldier, catching the man as he fell out of the tube and dragging the limp man across the room and securing him into the chair. Thick metal bands were secured around his wrists and ankles, and Pierce raised an eyebrow when the men went a step further and secured a similar kind of metal harness around the Soldier’s torso.

“A necessary precaution,” one of the doctors told him when he saw his expression. “It’s usually disoriented and violent when brought out of cryo—more so, according to records, when it’s due for new calibration.”

“Very well,” Pierce nodded. “How long will it take to get it operational again?”

The doctor shrugged. “Anywhere between ten and fourteen sessions.” He gestured to the notes he held and added, “According to Zola’s notes from the last time the Asset had to be recalibrated entirely, it took them seventeen months to rebreak him and then recondition him.”

Pierce ground his teeth. “Very well,” he hissed. “Get on with it then.” He turned on his heel, stalking out of the room, the door falling shut behind him just as the doctor began, “Желани—"

To Be Continued in “Dancing in the Rain”.

—————————

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the sequel HERE on Tumblr :)

#IHWSBY sequel #starting over #Stucky #Stucky fanfiction #Steve rogers #thor #Rebecca barnes #avengers family #my writing #Lisa writes

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cuthian · 4 years

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Dancing in the Rain Chapter Four

Hi everyone!

Hope you're all still safe and healthy :)

Longer chapter this week, since it'll have to last you two weeks. I won't be able to post again next week due to my busy and hectic exam and work schedule now that everything is opening again here in Belgium. As always, but especially from hereon out, PLEASE mind the tags (canon-typical violence, kidnapping, angst) and if you have any concerns, please feel free to contact me (@cuthian on Tumblr).

Or yell at me in the comments.

As always, much thanks to @juulna for putting up with me and helping me whip this thing into shape.

Lots of love, Annaelle

Chapter Four

28 CELEBRITIES WHO HAVE OPENED UP ABOUT THEIR STRUGGLES WITH MENTAL ILLNESS

- Research shows that stereotypes about mental illness often prevent people from seeking treatment or speaking out about their struggles.

- In recent years, stars like Sophie Turner, Chrissy Teigen, Demi Lovato and Prince Harry have spoken candidly about their struggles with mental illness.

Despite the prevalence and global impact of mental health conditions, it’s still hard to open up and ask for help when you most need it. Research shows that harmful stereotypes about mental illness often prevent people from seeking treatment or speaking out at all.

Luckily, in recent years, we’ve seen a shift in the way people view and talk about mental health conversations about depression, anxiety, addiction and more have moved from the private to the public sphere. That’s not only important, but effective, according to mental health experts. In fact, when public figures open up about their own mental health struggles, it can help break down stigma, spark important discussions and even inspire people to seek out treatment.

Below, we’ve rounded up 28 celebrities who’ve spoken candidly about their own battles with everything from postpartum depression to anorexia and PTSD.

[…]

Prince Harry spoke to a therapist about his mental health after two years of "total chaos" in his late twenties.

[…] recently revealed he felt very close to a complete breakdown all the time, and faced anxiety during royal engagements before he finally began to see a professional to address his grief. Now “in a good place”, Harry has encouraged others to open up about their own struggles.

[…] started the Heads Together campaign with Prince William and Kate Middleton to help “end the stigma around mental health issues.” […] "The experience that I have is that once you start talking about it, you suddenly realize that actually, you're part of quite a big club," he told The Telegraph.

[…]

An outspoken advocate for mental health awareness, Demi Lovato is open about her battles with bipolar disorder, bulimia, and addiction.

[…] recently released a documentary about her own struggles, shared powerful side-by-side photos of her recovery from bulimia and entered rehab to address her substance abuse issues. "It's very important we create conversations, we take away the stigma, and that we stand up for ourselves if we're dealing with the symptoms of a mental illness," Lovato told Variety in February.

The singer continued: "It is possible to live well and thrive with a mental illness."

Steve Rogers, or Captain America, who struggles with social anxiety, depression and PTSD, once said he suffers from "a noisy brain."

[…] interview with Ellen earlier this year, the former Army Captain and Avenger revealed how his anxiety often kicks in when he is asked to speak for causes he cares about, or during press conferences. […] Rogers, who has tried everything from meditation with fellow-Avenger Bruce Banner to learning several new fighting styles with close friend Natasha Romanoff, said he’s “getting better”, but still has moments of self-doubt.

[…] Avenger also opened up about his struggles with depression shortly after he was woken from the ice. “The kindness that was shown to me by my friends—my team—as well as my family and my therapists saved my life,” he told Ellen. […] also shared an emotional letter about his PTSD following his experiences during World War II and during the several battles he has fought in the 21st century.

"There is a lot of shame attached to mental illness, but it's important that you know that there is hope and a chance for recovery," he wrote.

—Evan Agostini, Axelle Bauer-Griffin, “28 Celebrities Who Opened Up About Their Struggles with Mental Illness”, Insider.com, March 2016

-----------------

Avengers Tower, New York, Manhattan, New York State, United States of America

10:36 p.m., 2 April 2016

Tony

Tony was shaking a little, fidgeting, his heart beating unsteadily in his chest as he paced the floor again. He’d been hiding in his lab since this morning, because while he loved Pepper to pieces, and he was elated—re: terrified—that she was pregnant and that they were going to be parents, she was driving him fucking nuts.

At least while he was in his lab, he wouldn’t be shouted at for eating the last Oreo’s.

Pepper didn’t even like Oreos.

She didn’t even want to eat them.

Tony didn’t understand pregnancy brain, but he’d been informed by Google, J.A.R.V.I.S., Rhodey, and Cap that it was best to just not question it.

He also wasn’t sure why he was thinking about Oreos when Becca was potentially in very big trouble, and Steve had left the dubious honour of telling Thor to him. “J.A.R.V.I.S.,” he said, a little desperately, voice shaking. “You heard the man. Call everyone in.”

“I have sent an Alert to all of the Avengers’ personal phones,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied readily, and Tony exhaled a little in relief. Someone had clearly planned this, had gone through the effort of setting half a building on fire to keep Steve distracted and get to Becca without drawing attention to what they were doing, and Tony was a little afraid to think of who they might be—of what they wanted with Becca.

He was going to do as Steve asked, though, because he would never forgive himself if something happened to Becca and he could have done something to help, to stop whatever it was.

The way Steve had sounded on the phone had kind of… scared Tony too.

He’d not heard Steve fall back to that dull, lifeless, monotone tone of voice very often, and when he had… well… it had never meant very good things for any of them.

The last time he’d heard Steve sound like that… the last time Steve had called Tony sounding like that, Tony had had to rush Natasha to Steve and Becca’s tiny Brooklyn apartment to keep Steve from doing something drastically stupid—she’d found the war hero crumpled in a heap on the floor with tears running down his cheeks and a gun to his head, begging her to just let him pull the trigger…

To let Steve stop the nightmares permanently.

He shuddered.

Yeah… Hearing that tone coming from Steve meant something.

Tony was barely holding himself back from rushing down to the lab and throwing himself into a suit, hurtling off to… to nothing. Nowhere.

He didn’t know anything yet.

Steve didn’t know anything yet.

He’d asked Tony to assemble but had left him with no other instructions and Tony knew, okay, he knew there was nothing he could do until he had more information.

And fuck if that didn’t frustrate him more.

He was stuck, wandering his Tower while his stomach twisted at the many implications his mind was set on conjuring up, each more gruesome than the other.

The elevator let out a bright ping and Tony jumped, eyeing the sliding door nervously until it slid open to reveal Natasha, dressed in a tight tank top and leotard, her hair coiled up into a tight bun and ballet slippers dangling from her left hand.

“What was so urgent, Stark?” She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest with a frown.

He waved his hands dramatically, because he was Tony Stark and if ever there were a time he were allowed to be fucking dramatic, it would be when Captain goddamn America called him in a panic because he’d lost Tony’s little Baby-Becs, and then giving Tony a heart attack when her tracker wouldn’t work.

“Gotta get to the others first,” he said impatiently, snatching her wrist and pulling her along when he started walking again.

He led the Spider through the silent, unlit hallway, but didn’t bother asking J.A.R.V.I.S. to turn on the lights; he’d designed these hallways, he’d walked them so many times he could probably do it in his sleep—which he had a few times, when Pepper had dragged him to board meetings before he’d had coffee. The twins would likely already be waiting for them in the boardroom anyway, and after all of Thor’s dramatic appearances in the past few years—all of which had cost Tony more than a few light bulbs—he didn’t want to bother anymore.

He ignored the Widow’s cool, silent surprise and dragged her through the door, entirely unsurprised to find Wanda seated at the table in her pyjamas, spinning a thread of red light between her fingertips as she sat cross-legged in her seat, her brother next to her, lounged back in his own seat, boots propped up on his table.

“You know,” he drawled impatiently, glaring—okay maybe mock-glaring—at the silver-haired boy impatiently. “You live here for free. You could at least pretend to take care of my furniture.”

Natasha snorted a laugh and pushed past him, settling in the seat to Little Red’s left. Before the Red fucking Menace could do anything but smirk at him though, the door swung open again to reveal Bruce, dressed in an old band shirt and threadbare sweatpants, his lab coat halfway up his shoulders and his glasses crooked, almost as though he’d just rolled out of bed.

There was a single clock on the wall—for Pepper’s decorative purposes, Tony presumed—and he couldn’t quite stop himself from frowning as he eyed the clock’s hands.

10:45 P.M.

Bruce probably had just rolled out of bed then.

The other scientist had a disgustingly strict sleeping schedule.

“Why are we assembling?” Bruce groaned, rubbing his hand through his—surprisingly curly—hair, and Tony unexpectedly found his thoughts derailed from Becca and Steve to Bruce in much more pleasurable territory, fingers itching to tug on those curls and to press into Bruce’s arms, because the other scientist gave really good hugs, okay?

He’d always been a little sweet on Bruce, even if nothing was ever going to come of it.

He had chosen Rhodey and Pepper years ago, and he was pretty sure Bruce had been dating that astrophysicist girl that Thor had introduced them to a while ago anyway, but… There was a part of him that’d always be kind of weak for the way Bruce looked all adorably sleep-rumbled and soft, and the way he was one of the only people in the world that could keep up with him, one of the only intellectual equals Tony had ever met in his life.

He wasn’t going to do anything about it though.

It was a harmless crush—he was even pretty sure Bruce knew about it. Bruce was, objectively, handsome, and really fucking smart.

He hit all buttons for Tony—except that, you know, he wasn’t Rhodey or Pepper.

He shook himself, chancing one more furtive glance towards Bruce’s sleep-rumpled form before he sighed and shook his head. “Something happened at the gala,” he said. “Steve’s gonna tell us more when they get here.”

He pushed his hands into the pouch on his hoodie and contemplated waking up Pepper, but he knew well enough not to disturb her once she’d managed to get comfortable and fall sleep unless it was super urgent, and he didn’t know what this was.

What if Becca had just wandered away?

He ignored, for the moment, that her subdermal tracker—the tracker he had designed for her, for all of them, that he made sure couldn’tbe taken out unless completely smashed to bits—wasn’t working. The comms hadn’t worked in the building either; some of those older buildings were practically Faraday cages, even his tech wasn’t always good enough to get through that—for all they knew, Becca’s tracker had also been jammed.

It wasn’t worth risking Pepper’s wrath for, he thought. Not yet.

He couldn’t even call Rhodey, because he was off in Europe for the week, doing… military stuff.

Which was fine.

Tony didn’t need both of them around all the time.

He wasn’t pouting.

He wasn’t.

Romanoff snorted at him and eyed him carefully. She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, but he didn’t budge—Romanoff always liked to pretend she knew everything—she probably hated that she knew no more than the others did, right now.

“You know more,” she stated simply after a few seconds. “Is everyone alright?”

Tony opened his mouth to say “yes”, to nod reassuringly, but the word wouldn’t fall from his lips. “I don’t know,” he admitted. The atmosphere in the room abruptly went from sleepy yawns to rapt attention, and Tony fidgeted a little. “The building caught fire during the gala,” he explained. “Everyone was evacuated, but Steve lost Becca in the chaos, and now… we kind of can’t… find her…”

“What do you mean, you can’t find her?” Natasha demanded hotly, sitting up straight and glaring at him. “Activate her tracker. She can’t be far.”

Tony winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Her tracker… isn’t working,” he admitted, looking up at the Widow defiantly. “Steve and Clint are canvassing the building and then getting back here. For all we know, she got taken onto one of the ambulances, or the building interfered with the signal. The comms were spotty too; it’s why Clint went inside with them.”

Natasha hissed, almost like an angry cat, and stood, stalking up to the large holographic screen present in almost every room in the Tower and began pulling up… documents? Tony wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she seemed intent on doing it, and far be it from him to discourage the Black fucking Widow from doing what she thought needed doing.

“Have you told Thor yet?” Pietro said, glancing between Tony and Natasha nervously.

Almost like the man was summoned by the mere mention of his name, a loud clap of thunder shook them all and the giant blond god bounded inside, his smile wide and infectious.

“Greetings, friends!” The tall god beamed, and Jesus, Tony was not in the mood to deal with Thor’s sunny personality. Christ. “I apologize for the delay in my arrival,” the god boomed excitedly, thumping down his hammer on the conference table. “Heimdall did not inform me of your request until I had finished the duties the All-Father assigned to me.”

Tony half-watched as Bruce stood to shake Thor’s hand, only to be brought into a tight bear hug, a startled squeak falling from his lips before he patted Thor’s shoulder awkwardly until the taller man set him down again and repeated the hug with Wanda and Pietro, who basically threw himself in Thor’s arms—Tony didn’t miss the pointed look Wanda shot Pietro at that.

He almost jumped right out of his seat when Bruce’s knee bumped against his, his eyes drawn to the other scientist’s immediately, because obviously Tony was a glutton for punishment and he really needed to get a fucking hold of himself.

Bruce looked a little tired, but not nearly as anxious and unsteady as Tony felt, and of course he didn’t, he didn’t know what was going on, none of them did, really—

“Thor,” he exclaimed suddenly, yanking himself away from Bruce abruptly. “We gotta… Steve called, about the gala—something’s happened.” He ignored the way the rest of the team eyed him nervously and settled back in his seat with minimal fidgeting.

Thor’s smile abruptly disappeared and he sat, heavily, on the nearest chair. “Rebecca,” he said hoarsely. “The baby, are they—are they alright? Is Steven?”

“I don’t know,” Tony admitted, his leg bouncing erratically underneath the table. This was… he was doing something, even if it was just telling Thor, even if it wasn’t much, and that was better than nothing. Doing nothing drove him absolutely and entirely mad—and that wasn’t good for anyone.

“I don’t know a lot yet,” he continued. “The building… there was a fire, and everyone was evacuated, but…” He stalled Thor’s words before he’d even said them, holding up a hand as though to ward off the questions that were sure to come. “…Steve said they got separated during the evacuation. He can’t find her. Her tracker’s offline. She… She might still be in the building or somewhere around there, but…” He swallowed. “Well, it’s not like our trackers can be disabled accidentally.”

Thor looked gutted, but the expression was swiftly replaced by one of utter rage.

“Who?” he demanded. “Who would dare take her from me? From us?”

Tony’s eyes widened when lightning sparked between Thor’s fingers and thunder rumbled loudly above them. “I don’t know, big guy,” he said in his calmest voice, although it didn’t seem to be doing much to assuage Thor. The crackle of electricity hung heavy in the air and made Tony’s skin prickle and thrum—the raw power rolling off Thor was… fucking intimidating, a reminder that the man wasn’t human, and that he could likely squash them all like bugs if given proper motivation—

The door swung open again and Steve and Clint walked in, and Tony nearly choked on his own tongue, because he’d seen Steve look pretty terrible over the years—in the throes of depression, bruised and beaten after battle, but…

He’d never seen Steve look like this.

There were dark circles beneath Steve’s eyes and several cuts and bruises were in various stages of healing, but Steve’s dark bespoke suit was riddled with bullet holes and splashed with so much ash and blood and Tony really hoped it wasn’t all his.

“Steven!” Thor bellowed, leaping from his seat and crossing the space between him and Steve in a few short strides. “You wear battle upon your skin, yet Tony informed me there was none. Where is Rebecca? Have you found her?”

Tony’s eyes flicked to the door again, then to Clint, who shook his head, and his stomach sank.

“I—the—she wasn’t anywhere,” Steve finally said, his expression stony, but Tony heard the barely perceptible waver in his voice regardless, and he felt abruptly sick, keeping his eyes fastened on the door, begging for Becca to walk through at any moment, to just be there, to be okay—

Please, please, don’t let her be dead.

“Hydra took Becca,” Steve continued, and Tony’s entire world screeched to a halt for a long, tense moment, his breath punching from his lungs in a startled breath—

“Are you sure?”

“Hydra took Becca,” Steve repeated, but Tony could again hear the waver in his voice that matched the sudden nausea that crawled up the back of Tony’s throat. “Her tracker’s offline, and we came across some stragglers when we canvassed the building and the rest of the block,” Steve went on, turning his attention from Thor to the others. Tony wanted to do something, to say anything, but he wasn’t quite sure what words were for a moment there, because he couldn’t think past ‘Hydra took Becca’. “They had cyanide capsules,” Steve said. “Spitting Hail Hydra before they died.”

He took a harsh breath and looked up at Wanda. “You were right. They’re back.”

Tony’s legs gave out from beneath him as he fell backwards onto his seat. He had not even realised he had risen from his seat in the first place. “Why would they—”

“It was a trap,” Steve interrupted harshly, anger infused in his every word, but Tony could see him fraying around the edges in the way his hands trembled before Steve pressed his palms flat against the table. “It was specifically set to draw me—or us—in,” he continued tensely. “I don’t know how they knew Becca and I would be there or why they took Becca instead, but I don’t intend to let them keep her long enough to find out.”

Thunder rumbled loudly above their heads and lightning flashed through Thor’s eyes at the same time as it lit up the night outside, and everyone jumped again, turning to the God of Thunder with wide eyes. Thor looked livid, and Tony suddenly realised he had never seen Thor really angry before, not truly, not even during their most intense battles, and the sight of it was… surprisingly terrifying.

Outside, a storm unlike anything Tony had ever seen before raged, and Tony wasn’t sure what to do to calm the god down.

He was, honestly, not sure he wanted to.

Let Thor unleash his anger on the bastards who’d dared kidnap Becca.

“J,” he said briskly. “Pull up everything you can find on the gala tonight. I don’t care how many firewalls you have to bypass or how many people will know we’re looking. Just get the info.” He barely waited for J.A.R.V.I.S.’s murmured affirmation before he jumped out of his chair, pulling up a large holoscreen above the table.

“Tell us everything,” he ordered Steve as soon as he had the screen set up, whirling around to find Steve looking at him with the same kind of desperation that was burning in his own veins.

“Now, Steve,” he ordered sharply, knowing it would get through to him the quickest.

Steve faltered for another moment—which Tony guessed he could forgive him for, since he was pretty sure Steve had been up since yesterday morning—before he launched into a detailed explanation of his and Becca’s strategic plans for the gala, all the way down to the color of her dress.

Tony watched, a little lightheaded and in dire need of caffeine—or like… six 5-hour energy shots—as Steve’s plans were laid out on the holographic screen, in clear and direct terms. Clint and Thor were leaning forward, eyes flitting between Steve and the screen, and even Natasha sat, tensed, on the edge of her seat, staring intently at the screen.

His hands trembled when he swiped a picture of one of the targets to the side, and he was very much not thinking about how triggeringthe situation had to be for Becca. She’d been doing so good, and he knew, he knew his Becs was stronger than any of them, but there were limits even to what she could take. He was also very deliberately not thinking of his own issues with being kidnapped—even though he was basically an expert at it now, having been kidnapped like six times before he was even eighteen—or the way he’d found Becca in Iraq, pale and beaten on the floor in a filthy little cell.

She was important to him, always had been, even though he’d been annoyed as fuck at fifteen to be saddled with the baby at family gatherings. She was his Baby Becs and he hated the thought of someone getting their hands on her and hurting her.

He’d promised himself, the day he found her, after he’d led the Army to where she was being held, and the day he’d spent sitting by her bed after the Battle of New York, that he’d find a way to keep her safe.

It’s a pledge he felt truly shamed to have failed at.

“Wait, wait.” Bruce waved his hand slowly, pulling his glasses down his nose and pinching the bridge between thumb and forefinger and completely interrupting Tony’s train of thought. “We have good contacts in S.H.I.E.L.D. Why are we not calling them in? If we can legitimize the mission through them… Making this an official S.H.I.E.L.D. mission would make it easier, wouldn’t it? We’d have all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s resources.”

“Because revealing that S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers purposefully put active agents in that gala would have meant treading on some very powerful toes,” Fury boomed from behind them, causing Tony to nearly jump out of his skin, knocking his knee painfully into the underside of the table. “We cannot afford that right now.”

Tony swivelled around, because how the fuck did that asshole keep getting into his Tower without his goddamned permission, how did he even know—and then froze, his mind screeching to a stop as he watched Fury approach with Agent Hill—he remembered her, very pretty, badass, had a brief fling with Becca after the fiasco with Romanoff—and…

Coulson?

“Bruce, am I drunk?” he choked out, feebly patting around until his fingers found the fabric of Bruce’s shirt to clutch and hang onto. “I’m seeing dead people.” He was vaguely aware of the sound of Clint dropping his mug onto the table, but no one else said anything, and he couldn’t—

What the fuck.

“This is a whole new level of madness.” Tony shook his head dramatically. “J, call my therapist. Wait.” He frowned. “I don’t have a therapist. Damn it, call a therapist. If they’ll take me. Will they take me? Fuck. What the absolute fuck, Fury?!”

“Tony, shut up!” Steve shouted empathically, and Tony would yell back, but just then, he caught sight of Clint’s expression and oh.

Yeah.

Tony cringed. He’d only heard of Clint’s relationship with Coulson after the man had died on the Helicarrier—although not so much, apparently—but he’d witnessed Clint’s intense grief first hand. So… realising Coulson wasn’t dead after all?

Not cool.

Not cool at all.

Everyone watched, tensely, as Coulson tentatively moved towards Clint, before Natasha suddenly stepped into his path—

That wasn’t going to end well.

“Don’t you dare talk to him,” she hissed, and if Tony had been on the receiving end of that look, he swore he would have just shrivelled up and died because damn, that woman and her icy glares.

“Nat, I—” Coulson began, falling silent immediately beneath the weight of the Black Widow’s lethal glare.

“Enough,” Fury cut in, and Tony almost wanted to pout—this was dramatic as fuck and it didn’t even involve him, for once—before he remembered why they were there and promptly felt sick, because how could he—or any of them, except for maybe Clint—have forgotten, even for a second, that Becca was missing and in danger?

“Yes,” Steve boomed, face stoic but hands clenched into fists nonetheless before he lifted one hand to point at Coulson. “Enough. You… I’m glad you’re not dead. Head’s up would’ve been nice.” He turned to Fury, and Tony was impressed by the way his expression actually grew icier. “And you… when I’ve got Becca back safe and sound, you and I are gonna have a conversation you’re not going to enjoy.”

It struck Tony then, in a moment of dizzying clarity, how much Steve was struggling to hold onto the Captain America mind set, in a way he hadn’t seen him struggle in…

God, in months.

Tony hadn’t understood, initially, that Captain America was Steve’s shield just as much as his vibranium shield was. He hadn’t understood that, to deal with the expectations people put on Steve from the moment they laid eyes on him, Steve hid behind Captain America.

He showed people what they wanted to see.

Tony could tell that, in the light of Coulson’s reappearance, in the light of Becca being kidnapped on his watch and the botched mission—Jesus fucking Christ—that Steve was on the verge of losing it though.

Tony caught Steve’s eye, and the exhausted desperation in the younger man’s eye nearly made him wince. Nearly. Tony was worried about Becca too, the frantic energy humming beneath his skin nearly electric the longer he sat still, but he was willing to concede—just this once—that Steve’s nerves might be slightly more frayed than Tony’s.

Slightly.

To be fair, neither of them was quite as badly off as Thor obviously was, vibrating where he stood, lightning continually sparking between his fingers and his eyes flashing white with each clap of thunder and flash of lightning outside. But then again, it wasn’t Tony’s girlfriend and child on the line, now was it?

God, he didn’t even want to think about Pepper and the baby being in this kind of danger.

Tony could be a good teammate and take the focus off of Cap and Thor for a bit, though.

Let it never be said Tony Stark didn’t play well with others.

Tony cleared his throat loudly, effectively drawing all attention back to him.

“Not that this isn’t fun,” he drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes at Fury’s annoyed huff. “But I’d prefer to get back to why we’re actuallyhere.” He gestured back to the large screen, his heart clenching a little at the sight of the photo J.A.R.V.I.S. had pulled up—a picture Pepper had taken during one of the Team Movie NightsTony had insisted upon, catching Becca in the middle of a peal of laughter at something silly Thor had said to Steve—before he glanced back to Steve and Thor and steeled himself.

One of them had to keep it together.

Just figured it’d be him again. Tony never thought he’d be the stable one, but then…

Here he was.

Again.

------------

BREAKING: NEW YORK CITY HIT BY UNEXPECTED THUNDERSTORM

The torrential rains that have been ravaging New York City for the past few hours hit unexpectedly and, reportedly, entirely out of nowhere around 10:30 p.m. today. The rains and repeated strikes of lightning have yet to cause any real, lasting damage, but it is only a matter of time if it continues, according to experts.

[…] at least 46 people were caught entirely by surprise by the heavy rainfall and needed to be extracted by firefighters from a partially flooded subway tunnel. “[…] situation is, for now, under control, and we’re trying to help those that have been caught up in the storm, but the streets are flooding, and we recommend everyone to remain at home,” said Anahera Taumata, a senior official at the New York City mayor’s office.

[…] Military units have been deployed to assist emergency workers as they search for [missing] people and clear the streets for emergency vehicles. […] storm unlike any in living memory, according to local authorities. New York’s weather agency has reported up to 6 inches of rain fell within four hours, triggering several flash floods in various subway tunnels, and 4 reported lightning strikes to various buildings.

Amusingly, several New Yorkers have taken to Twitter to ask Thor Odinson, New York’s resident God of Thunder, to take the lightning and rain elsewhere. Interestingly, several weather experts have agreed that such a sudden change in the weather can only be attributed to the God of Thunder. […] no response from Thor or the Avengers yet, although the storm rages on.

[…] no reports of deaths or serious injuries yet.

—Pedro Isaac, “New York City Hit By Unexpected Thunderstorm”, DW.com, 2 April 2016

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Avengers Tower, New York, Manhattan, New York State, United States of America

11:57 p.m., 2 April 2016

Steve

“This has to be a trap.”

“It’s a one-way video feed,” Tony said scathingly, glaring at Fury. “It can’t be a trap.”

The tension in the room was so palpable that it thickened the air surrounding them, making Steve feel almost like he was choking. The others were spread haphazardly throughout the room, eyeing the video feed J.A.R.V.I.S. had pulled up after receiving an anonymous email with varying expressions.

“Is there any way to trace the signal?” Bruce asked reasonably, looking between Tony and Natasha with a furrowed brow. Natasha had taken control over one of Tony’s holographic screens and had, in the past hour and a half, managed to collect a mildly terrifying amount of evidence of Hydra’s continued existence. The things she had found and was currently investigating were so immensely complicated and implicated so many people that it gave Steve a minor headache at just the thought of considering it all.

She’d managed to uncover a terrifying amount of documents, video footage, photos and other evidence, which was mildly terrifying, considering how hard it had been to find even the slightest scrap of evidence before. When Steve had asked why she was finding so much now, Nat had only muttered, “It’s easy to find things when you know what you’re looking for,” before refocusing her attention on the screen.

And yet, nothing she’d found—nothing pointed towards there having been plans to take Becca.

Except… Except that there had clearly been a plan.

The security cameras in and around the building had been masterfully and methodically rerouted to replay previously recorded footage starting three minutes and forty-three seconds before the fire alarm had been triggered until seven and a half minutes after the alarm had been triggered.

In addition to that, whoever had hacked the feed had done so at the scene—which meant they couldn’t be traced through an I.P. address.

The kidnapping clearly was premeditated, but whoever had done said premeditating had not left a paper trail for them to find. They’d not left anything for them to find, other than Becca’s glaring absence and the three trigger happy goons Steve and Clint had run into when they’d canvassed the area.

And now this dark video feed.

“I don’t care what it is,” Thor thundered, eyes flashing with barely suppressed rage. “Will it help us find Becca?” A particularly loud clap of thunder punctuated his words, making his feelings on the matter abundantly clear. Of course, the thunderstorm outside had been gaining in strength since Thor had learned of the kidnapping.

Steve winced.

After their initial explanation of what had happened at the gala, Thor had simply stood, walked out, and—according to J.A.R.V.I.S.—disappeared through the Bifrost. He’d returned not ten minutes later in full armour and with his friends, who had all immediately spread out into the city to track down whatever leads they could find.

Thor had, after they’d spent a tense few minutes watching him talk to his friends, re-joined the team in the board room, although he’d barely said three words since his return, and most of those words had been used to inform them Heimdall was also searching for Becca with his all-seeing gaze.

He hadn’t spoken to Steve directly since he’d walked in.

And Steve hated it.

He hated that he’d failed Thor and Becca so badly. He’d promised Thor that Becca would be safe, that he’d be by her side the entire time—and because he hadn’t been, because he’d decided trying to dance with the target’s date was a good idea, Hydra had been able to get to Becca.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Thor wanted to throw him from the Tower.

Steve kind of wanted to throw himself from the Tower too.

“As soon as it activates,” Tony said fervently, nodding at Thor. “I don’t care what they’ve done to erase their digital footprints, as soon as they give us an inch, I’m gonna take a fucking mile.”

Thor nodded curtly. “Very well.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, staring silently out the window into the dark storm.

Steve wondered, not for the first time, whether the sight of the storm soothed Thor, or if it made his anger and fear all the worse. It was, after all, a physical manifestation of Thor’s emotions—a blatant and palpable demonstration of everything Thor felt for anyone who cared to look.

Steve had seen Thor’s control over his lightning slip a few times over the years, but every single one of those instances had been… different.

With the exception of the two-week long thunderstorm that had followed Thor’s return to Earth after his mother and Loki had been killed, every other instance of Thor accidentally letting his lightning loose had been… if not outright funny, then certainly amusing.

It’d happened once after his and Becca’s second anniversary, when Becca had apparently done something very well—although Steve preferred not to think about what exactly she’d done so well, for his own sanity—and once after Clint and the twins had teamed up to play a prank on Thor, and the god had startled so bad he’d electrocuted the entire Tower.

Both instances had been hilarious.

There wasn’t anything funny about Thor’s lack of control now.

Steve eyed the raging storm—if it even was due to a lack of control on Thor’s part. He didn’t doubt that his friend was terrified, because Steve was too, and it wasn’t even his girlfriend, his child on the line. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a reason Thor had decided to unleash the thunderstorm to end all thunderstorms on New York.

Maybe he was hoping to flush out whoever had taken Becca—quite literally.

Steve would be more concerned about the consequences of letting this storm rage—people could get hurt, there could be floods due to the unrelenting rain—but most of his higher brain function was too occupied with Becca to care.

While Tony, Bruce and J.A.R.V.I.S. bickered over how they were going to trace the video feed, Steve took his chance. Natasha, Clint and Wanda had their heads bent together to try to figure out why there was a video feed in the first place, and thankfully weren’t paying attention to him either.

Steve approached Thor, feeling simultaneously nervous and like he was going to get whatever horrible fate he deserved.

“Hey,” he said quietly once he’d reached his friend, leaning against the wall beside Thor.

Thor barely even glanced up at him, but nodded in acknowledgement nonetheless.

“I—” Steve tried, but his voice rebelled, and the words died in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed. “I promised you she’d be safe, and… I didn’t—I should’ve stayed with her. I’m sorry.”

Thor heaved a sigh beside him.

“Steven,” he said wearily. “My friend. I love you very dearly, and I want you to know that the only people I blame are the people that tookBecca from me, but…” He sighed again and looked at Steve with dark, haunted eyes. “I do not have it in me to reassure you right now.”

He turned away from Steve again and stared back out the window.

Steve opened his mouth, changed his mind, and then closed it again, feeling distinctly nauseated.

He wasn’t sure how long he and Thor stood there, backs against the wall in silence, before Natasha suddenly announced, “We got something.”

At the same time, Tony exclaimed, “The feed’s going live!”

Steve’s stomach dropped away and he felt distinctly nauseous as he eyed the video footage Tony had pulled up on the largest screen in the room. He pushed away from the wall and joined the rest of the team as they gathered around the screen in a tight half circle, each set of shoulders bumping into the next one over.

And there, right in front of them and yet completely out of their reach, was Becca.

The camera hardly shook at all, and the quality of the video was exceptionally high—whoever this was, Steve would bet anything they were using a professional camera, which spoke volumes about the level of preparedness of the kidnappers, at least in his opinion.

When he voiced said thoughts aloud, Natasha nodded in agreement and Tony insisted he had spotted the same thing immediately. Steve didn’t really pay attention to them, trying to focus his gaze on the details of the scene, on anything that might betray where the footage was being filmed or who was filming it—anything that might tell him where Becca was, but the backdrop was a simple, infuriatingly, undoubtedly purposefully white sheet.

He carefully refrained from looking at Becca, who sat tied to a wooden chair in the middle of the image, because he needed time to steel himself for what he was sure he’d see.

He remembered what Hydra did to the people they took.

He remembered what Bucky had looked like right after Steve had pulled him from that concrete slab in Azzano—remembered the blank stare in his best friend’s eye that never really left after.

Steve wasn’t sure he could stand to see another friend tortured by Hydra.

When he did finally look at her, she looked relatively unharmed, although she’d clearly not been handled carefully, either. Her hair had fallen from the elegant mess of braids and curls Nat had done for her earlier, and there was an ugly scrape on her forehead. She was paler than Steve thought was healthy, but when she looked up at the camera, he could recognize the defiant anger in her gaze.

“This is live, yes?” Thor demanded, glancing towards Tony, and Steve wondered if anyone else could tell just how badly Thor’s hands were shaking.

“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “Yeah. J.A.R.V.I.S. is recording and tracing the feed right now.”

He looked stricken, and though Steve felt a wave of sympathy for him.

“Well, smile for the camera, Barnes,” someone drawled on the feed, voice smug and self-satisfied even though it was clearly distorted by some kind of voice modulator.

When Becca continued to scowl at the person behind the camera, someone heaved an impatient sigh and stomped forward, roughly grabbing Becca’s chin with a gloved hand and forcing her to look directly into the camera. “Come on then,” the man—because it was a man, dressed from head to toe in black, a dark ski mask covering his face—in their field of vision spat. “Smile for your friends, bitch. Gotta say goodbye.”

Lightning sparked between Thor’s clenched fingers and jumped up his arm, and the thunder outside roared deafeningly loud.

Steve winced in perfect tandem with the others, and barely resisted the urge to grasp Thor’s shoulder in comfort. The gesture wouldn’t be appreciated right now, he was sure, and he wasn’t very sure he wouldn’t be electrocuted if he touched Thor right now, in any case. Thor certainly didn’t seem entirely aware of the light current of electricity that was dancing from his clenched fists up to his shoulders and the white that crept across his eyes—

It was, admittedly, slightly terrifying.

He returned his attention back to the screen, where Becca had bared her teeth in a bloody grin.

Steve fumed, because it was obvious she’d been slapped hard enough that her upper lip had split, which meant one of those sick sons of bitches had had the gall to hit a pregnant woman hard enough to make her bleed.

“You gonna scream real’ nice and loud for us, baby?” the male, though still unidentifiable voice taunted on the screen, shaking Becca’s chin roughly while several other voices jeered and the man in the frame cupped his crotch suggestively. Becca winced—a small, minute thing, but Steve had known her long enough to recognize her expression of pain—before she spat at the hand that was holding her.

“You and your pathetic little needle dick couldn’t make me scream if you tried,” she spat, voice strong and clear, glaring up at him.

Steve snorted a laugh despite himself, and even Thor smiled.

Unfortunately the kidnappers were not quite as amused by Becca’s innate inability to stop sassing people, and the man who stood next to Becca in the frame, who’d cupped his crotch to taunt her, slapped Becca hard. Her head whipped to the side and Thor growled as the thunder above them roared, and—miraculously, thankfully—the sound echoed on the video.

They could hear Thor’s thunder on the video.

They could hear it.

She was still in the city—whoever had taken her hadn’t taken her out of the city. And thunder had a limited sound range, at that.

Amateurs, he thought contemptuously.

Becca slowly swung her head back towards the camera, grinning that same bloody grin. “Oh, you’re fucked now,” she chuckled. “Thor. Babe. There’s only five of them. Fucking annihilate them.”

“Someone calculate how far that was,” Clint shouted. “How long was the delay?”

“Couple of seconds tops,” Tony said absently, hands moving feverishly across the keyboard.

“You insolent bitch,” the man behind the camera spat, lurching forward in a blurred movement to backhand Becca across the face once more, and Thor’s thunder howled so loudly everyone reflexively covered their ears. A massive bolt of lightning struck the nearest building and the city went dark beneath and around them.

The Tower, mercifully, seemed mostly unaffected, although there were quite a few red alerts popping up at the bottom of the screen. The video feed, too, seemed unaffected, although the lights shining down on Becca had dimmed considerably, and everyone except Becca seemed a little spooked by Thor’s outburst.

“Well,” the man chuckled, although his voice was just a little shakier than it had been before. “We know they’re watching, then. Good.” He disappeared from the frame again and ordered, “Go get the Soldier.”

Becca swayed a little against her bonds, clearly dazed by the last blow—though still with a slight smile on her face from the proof of Thor’s wrath—and Steve bit his lip nervously. Even though they knew they were in the city, that they couldn’t be far, he didn’t like that they couldn’t get to her right away, that they couldn’t bring her to the medical floor to have her checked out—

“Captain America,” the man on the video said, and Steve’s head snapped up. “You’ve been a thorn in Hydra’s side for far too long. Consider this a warning of what’ll happen to everyone you love if you continue to cross us—we know where your friends live, know that certain elderly friends of yours are particularly vulnerable. I hope you’ve enjoyed your time with Barnes while it lasted, because it comes to an end now. Hail Hydra.”

“What,” Tony said, baffled, and Steve’s stomach roiled—he might throw up; something he’d done maybe thrice since waking from the ice.

Becca had been shaking her head the entire time the man was speaking, but when she opened her mouth to say something, she seemed to spot something behind the camera and her eyes went wide, her jaw going slack. “Wh—Uncle Bucky?”

Steve, who’d been reaching for the nearest trashcan—just in case his rebellious stomach decided to stage a full-scale riot—abruptly jerked back towards the screen, wide-eyed and confused, and Becca blinked owlishly at whoever was behind the camera.

But then, suddenly, before she could gather herself, there was a commotion from the same direction she was staring into as if she’d seen a ghost. It devolved rapidly into unintelligible shouting, and before any of them had any chance to figure out what the hell was happening—

The camera toppled on its side with a loud crash, and for a second, through blurred, jagged footage, Becca’s feet were visible, before a loud bang startled them all, and the video abruptly cut out.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Tony inquired shakily, “tell me you have something.”

“Why would she say that?” Steve whispered, staring at the blank screen without really seeing it, without really… without really thinking.

Why would Becca say Bucky’s name?

No one replied to him.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. responded apologetically, speaking over Steve’s whisper, and Steve felt sick. “The signal was heavily encrypted and was being bounced off servers on every continent. Even with the knowledge they were still in the city, I was not able to narrow down the location. Based on the delay before we heard the echo of Thor’s thunder, however, I estimate that they are no more than five miles away from the Tower.”

“We have to do something,” Natasha exclaimed a little desperately. “There has to be something—they’re in the city, we know they are in the city—you have to be able to find something.”

“Their lights weren’t off,” Wanda remarked from next to a quivering Thor, wringing her hands nervously, anxiously. “It was darker, but not fully dark, and I think there was a hum in the background after. They must have an emergency generator. Doesn’t that help?”

“Why would she say Bucky’s name?” Steve repeated, a little louder, ignoring the slight hysteria in his own voice, choosing to focus on that rather than the gunshot they’d heard at the end of the video, because… because…

Because she’d said Bucky’s name.

Steve was unable to ignore it or chalk it up to coincidence—he couldn’t.

He knew Becca would have known that too.

“I don’t know, Steve!” Natasha shouted suddenly, startling them all into silence. Steve stared at her with wide eyes—he had never seen Natasha lose her cool like this, and that more than anything shocked him into immediate silence and stillness. She exhaled shakily and continued in a—slightly—calmer voice, “It doesn’t matter why she said Bucky’s name. I’m sorry, but it doesn’t. What we need to focus on right now is where she is and who has her. Once we have her safely back we can look into anything she said and why she said it, but not now.”

Steve blinked at her. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He’d forgotten, for a moment, that he wasn’t the only one that loved Becca—that he wasn’t the only one that was going out of his mind with worry.

Natasha glared at him for another tense, drawn-out moment before she sighed. “It’s fine.” She looked to Thor, who was still glaring at the screen where Becca had been projected just minutes before, almost like he hadn’t even registered the commotion erupting around him.

“Thor,” she said, switching gears, her voice softening into something more comforting. “We’re going to find her. Can you meet up with your friends, see if they’ve found something? In the meantime, we can work out a search grid and work in pairs, search more efficiently—they can’t be far, so we have to make sure we get there before they move again. Maybe start on the outer perimeter of a five mile radius and work your way inwards; that’s what I’d do, and you can do it in a snap compared to most of the rest of us.”

“I’ll go with,” Steve said immediately, because his skin was crawling and he couldn’t stand sitting here and doing nothing any longer, because he knew his brain would drive him mad if he did.

Natasha nodded. “I’m going with you. Thor, with your friends—there’s four of them, yes?”

When Thor nodded, Nat smiled tightly. “Split up into groups of two. Tony, I need a map.”

Tony jerked into movement, blinking blearily but pulling up a map of the city obediently. Natasha walked up to it and indicated a ten-block radius. “You and your friend search this grid. Steve and I,” she indicated another ten-block grid, “will be searching this area. Your other two friends can search here.” She pointed again and Thor nodded sharply.

“We can search too,” Pietro piped in. “I’m fast, and Wanda can fly; give each of us ten blocks. Wanda and I can clear more than you can and faster, and that safely frees up Thor for the perimeter.”

Natasha nodded grimly.

“Be careful,” she told them after she’d indicated a good portion of the city. “Hydra will probably be looking to take you two back as well.”

Wanda bared her teeth in a snarl. “I’d like to see them try.”

With that, she slung her arm around her brother’s neck, and they blurred out of sight. Thor looked at the map intently for another few moments before he too, without words, stomped out of the room.

“Tony,” Nat said sternly, “Keep trying to hack the signal. If you find anything, any clue to narrow our search down, let us know.”

Tony nodded.

Clint settled in a corner, dragging several laptops, Starkpads and phones with him—staunchly ignoring Coulson and Fury, who were both pacing in the corridor, barking orders on their phones—and told Nat, “I’ll contact everyone I know—someone’ll know something.”

Nat nodded again before she turned to Steve. “Well,” she said, eyeing him up and down. “Suit up.”

------------------

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Dancing in the Rain:

(1) (2) (3)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

#stucky #stucky fanfic #Steve rogers #Bucky barnes #IHWSBY sequel #Dancing in the Rain #DitR #my writing #Lisa writes #thor #Becca Barnes

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cuthian · 4 years

Text

Dancing in the Rain Chapter Two

Hi guys!

For this chapter, I'd like to warn you to please read the tags carefully. There is a potentially triggering scene involving gaslighting and violence at the end of the chapter -- if you think that's something that might trigger you or that you'd prefer not to read, please stop reading when Brock Rumlow's scene starts and skip to the end notes, where I'll summarise the scene for you.

Thank you again to my lovely beta and to my roommate, who have dragged me through writing this entire piece.

And thank you for still reading! I love you all.

See you in the comments, and then next week!

Love, Annaelle

Chapter Two

MUST-SEE: PEPPER POTTS SHARES ADORABLE AND HILARIOUS ULTRASOUND PICTURE OF HER BABY ON TWITTER!

Pepper Potts revealed she was expecting her first child with partners James Rhodes and Tony Stark a few months ago. Yesterday, the C.E.O. of Stark Industries shared an ultrasound picture on Twitter, where we can clearly see the baby takes after one of its fathers!

Potts, 43, announced her first pregnancy in December of last year through a truly adorable video starring her partners and Captain Steve Rogers, who is a close friend of Potts and her partners. Since the announcement, Potts has been sharing biweekly updates in the form of pictures, anecdotes and short videos featuring most of the Avengers.

[…] Besides Potts herself, the most frequent guest on Potts’ Twitter page is Rebecca Barnes, who announced that she and Thor Odinson are expecting their first child only a few weeks after Potts’ announcement. […] Potts has shared quite a few ultrasound pictures of the baby already, but her last update promises to be the most popular so far. The post boasts another ultrasound picture, this one showing that the baby might take after daddy Tony Stark! “[…]baby swallowed amniotic fluid, and then they opened their little mouth SO wide and stuck their little tongue out so far the gynaecologist nearly fell of her stool laughing,” Potts wrote. “It was wonderful to see, because it looked like our baby had the biggest, cheekiest smile on their face—just like Tony.”

Many of the other Avengers and various other celebrities saw the resemblance too.

“Takes after Tony, that one,” Steve Rogers, Captain America and close personal friend of Stark, Rhodes, and Potts, replied. “We’re gonna have our hands full.”

“Lord have mercy,” James Rhodes, daddy number two, replied. “The world’s not ready for a second Tony Stark.”

—Clarke Blake, Flair Magazine, “Pepper Potts Tweets Adorable Ultrasound Picture”, April 2016

——————

6th avenue, Park Slope, Brooklyn, New York City, New York, United States of America

23 April 2016

Peggy Carter

Peggy Carter had lived through quite a few life-altering events during her ninety-five years, but she dared say that sitting through a—albeit lovely—dinner with her goddaughter and her darling boyfriend, her niece and her prickly fiancé, her wonderfully dumb Steven, and Becky was a trial unlike any other she had faced so far.

Conversation was perfectly civil, of course, because Rebecca Barnes—senior, that is—did not tolerate acrimony of any sort at her dinner table, but there was a certain… tension between them that had not abated throughout the entire meal.

She had an inkling as to its origin, of course.

Sharon and her Brock had been together for quite some time, and while Peggy certainly had her reservations about the man, none of her background checks or even the private investigators had raised any red flags beyond a mild propensity for running his mouth when he had had a few drinks.

She never quite warmed up to the man though, finding herself a little put off by his brash attitude and his overall personality.

Sharon, however, had been quite besotted with the man since the day they’d met, and Peggy was not in the habit of trying to dictate her children’s—for that was what Sharon and Becca were, to her—love life. She had discretely done said background check on him, of course, because one could never be too careful, but nothing had come out of it, and so she held her tongue.

Whatever her own reservations towards him, Sharon loved him and he made her happy.

That was, in the end, all that Peggy wanted for her.

Her distaste of Brock, though, had been more apparent this night than she had intended for it to be.

Honestly, she blamed Thor a little bit, because Becca’s young man was so absurdly charming and lovely that Peggy couldn’t be fully blamed for showing something that might, in the right circumstances, be construed as… preference.

And honestly, whoever decided she was not allowed such preference?

People didn’t work that way.

Sometimes, one clicked with people, and sometimes, one didn’t.

It was just that…

Well, she always strived to be fair to her family, even when her personality didn’t quite match with everyone, and Brock—as became increasingly clear as time passed and his relationship with her niece became more serious—was part of that family.

So was Thor, but the scales skewed much more in his favor because he reminded her so very much of her Daniel that sometimes it ached to look at him.

He was courteous and kind, and he revelled in her stories of her days as director of S.H.I.E.L.D. He referred to each little scuffle as a mighty battle, won by glorious victory, and had sworn to her that her days as a warrior for Earth had certainly earned her spot at his father’s table in Valhalla on the very first day they’d met.

She may—or may not—have shed a tear or two.

It should have occurred to her then, when Becca invited her over for dinner with Sharon, Brock, Thor, and Becky, that Brock would sense the difference in their interactions.

He was, after all, a fully trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and a good one too.

He’d noticed.

And the atmosphere during dinner had suffered for it.

It seemed to have eased off some now, while Thor bustled about in the kitchen to do the dishes, chattering happily with Becca, who sat perched on the counter beside him, cradling her swollen belly. Sharon leaned on the doorpost beside Becca, dangling an empty glass of wine from her fingertips as she occasionally threw a comment into the conversation.

They’d been whispering and giggling to each other the entire evening, and Peggy had to admit she was curious what those two were up to.

Steve had taken Brock to the living room, distracting the man from glowering at Peggy and Thor.

Honestly, Peggy huffed to herself, the entire thing was a tad tedious.

So she had a bit of a preference when it came to Sharon and Becca’s partners—sue her.

There was no need to be so petty about it.

“Well,” Becky said, raising an eyebrow at her, leaning back in her chair. “That could’ve gone better.”

Peggy snorted lightly and shook her head, setting down the glass of red wine she’d been sipping from all night on the table. “I suppose I could’ve comported myself better towards Brock,” Peggy admitted, glancing towards the living room, where she assumed Steve was entertaining the man in question.

Becky bit her lip and nodded lightly. “I mean… You hardly said two words to him and spent the rest of the night talking to Thor. It was rather obvious, Peg.”

Peggy pouted. “I suppose I should make an effort then, shouldn’t I?”

Becky wrinkled her nose at her and nodded. “I think you should.”

Peggy heaved a very put-upon sigh and hoisted herself out of her chair, smiling when Becky followed her example. They made their way into the living room, supporting each other as they walked, and settled comfortably on the love seat directly across from the fireplace.

Steve was kneeling in front of said fireplace, stacking several more blocks of chopped wood onto the dwindling flames. Peggy sighed wistfully, trailing her eyes appreciatively over Steve’s impressive biceps and exquisite form. It really was such a shame he had always been so hung up on Barnes—Peggy had had a great appreciation for him before the serum too, but…

There was something to be said for the way he had stepped out of the machine too.

She was sure they’d have had a lot of fun together if he hadn’t been so arse over teakettle in love with Bucky Barnes. Of course, she supposed if she and Steve had given each other a chance, she would never have married Daniel, and she would never have eventually fallen in love with her Angie too…

She would not have given them up for the world.

“Steve, darling,” she called out when he got back to his feet. “Come sit with us. What were you two talking about?”

Steve sat down on the sofa beside her and Becky’s love seat and smiled tightly. “We were discussing work, actually.” He shot a quick grin towards Rumlow when the man dragged a chair over so he could sit across from them, leaving the rest of the sofa open for the others.

“We were talking about the time he botched my mission,” Brock said, just the hint of a sneer detectable in his tone but voice otherwise just friendly enough to not be called out. “Put two of my guys in the hospital and had the Widow tase the shit out of another one. Still jumps at shadows, that one. Can’t use him for ops anymore, so thanks.”

He shook his head and took a chug of his beer. “Scared away our target too.”

Peggy raised an eyebrow. “Is this true?” she asked, turning to Steve.

She was aware Steve ran mostly Avengers-related missions nowadays, and that those missions were usually meticulously planned by Becca, Maria Hill, and Pepper Potts. She couldn’t quite imagine such a large mistake escaping their notice.

Steve’s cheeks colored, and he shrugged. “Yeah. We got the same anonymous tip about a terrorist group we’d been monitoring, and we responded without a lot of delay—we informed Fury, and he gave us the go-ahead, but apparently Maria had also sent out a STRIKE team.” He sighed and hung his head. “We collided mid-mission.”

Rumlow snorted. “I gotta hand it to ya, you had us down quick. Team’s good.”

Steve smiled, and Peggy eyed him carefully. It wasn’t a real smile, because Steve’s real smiles still made her heart flutter a little, but there was enough sincerity in it to fool the people that didn’t quite know him as well as she did—or, she supposed, as well as Becca did.

Her goddaughter walked into the room and plopped down on the couch beside Steve, poking him in the arm immediately and drawing his attention away from the conversation.

Sharon and Thor filed into the room as well, and Peggy watched her niece as she sidled up beside her fiancé, leaning her hip against his shoulder until he slipped his arm around her waist and leaned in to press a light kiss to her cloth-covered hip.

Thor, on the other hand, fit himself into the narrow available space between Becca and Steve, jostling them both playfully as he settled, allowing Becca to lean up against him comfortably, slipping one hand to the curve of her stomach, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth.

Peggy smiled despite herself.

He did remind her so very much of Daniel, even in this.

Daniel had been sweet and nervous and in awe of her pregnancy too, and he had tried to wait on her hand and foot, even when it had made her want to shoot him more than it had helped.

She’d seen enough interaction between Thor and Becca to know their dynamic was similar, but also wildly different. Where Peggy had grated beneath Daniel’s care and constant attention, too independent and too unwilling to let loose her grasp on control, Becca seemed to find Thor’s constant gaze reassuring, and his touch calming.

“So,” Brock said, eyeing Sharon and Becca contemplatively. “You two gonna tell us what it is you’ve been whispering about all night?”

Peggy looked between the two as well. She had to admit she was rather curious too, because Becky had already informed her that it was actually Becca who had asked if she would host a dinner for all of them so she could give them some important news.

“Yes,” Becca said slowly, glancing towards Sharon and then Thor. “Yes, I think…” She exhaled shakily and set one hand on her stomach. “Well, I think you’ve all noticed I’m pregnant.”

Peggy snorted a laugh, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Thor’s dad…” Becca continued slowly, “he… Well, he’s not been the most supportive about it.”

Thor leaned forward then, a determined, yet grave expression on his face. “My father is a most traditional man, when it suits him to be one. He has ratified laws that state that if I wish to be able to claim our child as mine—my heir—it must be born on Asgard.”

Peggy blinked.

“Oh,” she said.

Becca smiled tightly. “Because travel through the Bifrost is extremely taxing for humans as it is, I need to travel there before I hit twenty-eight weeks. Just to be safe. It’s like flying in the third trimester.”

A heavy silence followed her words, and Peggy tried to wrap her head around what that meant.

“You’re—you’re twenty-six weeks along, though,” Peggy asserted. “You would have to go within…”

“Within two weeks, yes,” Becca nodded, leaning back into Thor’s embrace. “And I would be gone for… for a while, probably. If Eir and Thor are right, I wouldn’t be up for any sort of Bifrost travel for quite some time after the baby’s born either. So I…” She looked at Sharon, who smiled encouragingly, and Peggy found she had an inkling of where this was going.

“I need a replacement for my position as official S.H.I.E.L.D. liaison to the Avengers,” Becca continued. “Someone the Avengers as a whole trust, so I…” She finally returned Sharon’s smile. “I thought of Sharon. I know you’ve… you’ve had a hard time at S.H.I.E.L.D. since… everything,” Becca’s voice lowered, and rage pulsed deep within Peggy’s veins at the mere mention of the absurd charges they’d tried to lay against her niece. “I hoped you might like a change of scenery,” Becca continued. “Some new colleagues.”

She chuckled and elbowed Steve in the side as she added, “Mind you, they’re a mad bunch, and you should never listen to Steve, even though he’s team leader, because he’s full of shit, but—”

“I am not,” Steve said, affronted.

“Oh darling,” Peggy sighed. “You always were a dramatic shit. It stands to reason that didn’t change.”

Brock guffawed and the others snickered at Steve’s expense, and Peggy smiled broadly at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve huffed indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Come on, Becs, you were telling us something big, remember?”

Becca smiled beatifically at him, and Peggy shook her head to clear it—it was difficult, in moments like these, to remember that she wasn’t back in the war, and that Becca wasn’t Bucky Barnes, ribbing Steve about something or the other while the rest of the Howlies laughed at them.

Becky, God bless her, noticed her slip in attention, and patted her hand lightly on top of Peggy’s.

Peggy shot her a grateful smile before she focused her attention back on Becca.

“That’s mostly it,” Becca shrugged. “If Sharon agrees—”

“Oh, Sharon agrees,” the woman in question piped up from where she had settled on a second dining chair next to Brock, reaching out to take her fiancé’s hand. “It’ll be good to get away from S.H.I.E.L.D. for a bit,” she added sadly, and Peggy frowned.

It hurt, to think that the organisation she had built from the ground up was such a stifling place for her own niece now. It was so upsetting, in fact, that she nearly missed the scowl that marred Brock’s face before he schooled his face into a pretty convincing smile.

Nearly.

She eyed him shrewdly.

Did his jealousy of their acceptance of Thor run so deep that anything connected to him was automatically met with anger and resentment?

“—well,” Becca continued, grinning at Sharon, “then all that’s really left is me teaching you the ropes, and us coordinating moving to Asgard for the foreseeable future.” She looked back at Thor, who smiled tenderly at her before he leaned in to press a kiss to her temple.

“I’ll miss you, sweetheart,” Becky said quietly, and Peggy’s heart broke a little for her friend. Becky had raised Becca, thought of her as her daughter more than she did her actual daughter. It wasn’t easy for Peggy to know she’d miss the birth of Becca’s first—of their first great-grandchild—so it had to be agonising for Becky.

“About that,” Thor began. “If I may… I want to suggest that perhaps, you could accompany us. I’m sure it would mean a great deal to Rebecca to have you there,” he continued, and Peggy surmised from the stunned expression on Becca’s face that Thor’s suggestions was news to her too.

Becky blinked.

“Wouldn’t I be imposing?” she asked in a small, soft voice. “Your father hasn’t exactly been accepting of Becca—would he accept another human on Asgard?”

Thor shrugged. “That is really no concern of mine. He has made too many demands that we have been forced to concede to already. I will not stand for him removing Becca from her family when she needs them most.” His eyes softened, and Peggy was harshly reminded of Daniel, of the way he’d looked at her when she was being unreasonable, of the way he’d gone to bat for her when no one would even give her the time of day.

“Steve’s coming too,” Becca said, although she didn’t take her eyes off Thor. “For a bit.”

Peggy’s gaze swivelled to Steve, who nodded. “I haven’t put down the shield in almost a decade,” he said, and Peggy was fairly certain she wasn’t imagining the way his voice wavered a little. “What better time to take a break than now?” He shrugged and said, “Well, in a few weeks. I’ll have a few things to take care of before I can go too.”

“Just let me know when,” Becky said, startling Peggy a little. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

In a flash, Becca was up and flung her arms around her grandmother, and Peggy smiled lightly. She’d never gotten to have these kinds of moments with her own son—he’d passed away before he’d been able to marry, to have children, and Peggy had been left with no one until Tony was born, and then later Sharon and Becca.

She was glad that she would get to have these moments now, at least.

Becca’s children, Tony’s children, Sharon’s children—if she ever chose to have any—would be her great-grandchildren, and she would love them like they’d been Michael’s.

She leaned her shoulder into Steve’s when he sat beside her, taking her small, wrinkled hand in his.

“Almost feels perfect,” he said quietly, watching Becca and Becky with a very familiar gleam in his eye. “Doesn’t it?” He looked at her and squeezed her hand carefully—so very carefully.

Peggy knew everything he wasn’t saying.

They’d lost Timothy only a few months ago, and Gabe a year before that. Dernier, Morita, Falsworth and Barnes had been gone for so long they felt like distant memories to her, and the others were only a little fresher in her mind than that—although she supposed they were much fresher in Steve’s mind. They were the only ones left of their merry little band, and… she understood what he meant.

They still had family, and it felt almost like home—but nothing ever would without the others.

“Yes,” she agreed, leaning her cheek against his shoulder, taking comfort in his presence. “Almost.”

——————

THE EFFECT OF POPULAR CULTURE ON WARTIME PROPAGANDA: CAPTAIN AMERICA

The character of Captain America was created by Jack Kirby and Joe Simon at the instruction of Senator Brandt after Captain Steve Rogers—a soldier without a military rank at that time—received the super serum and successfully survived the procedure. The character that was based on Steve Rogers’ life and journey to become the first and only American super soldier first saw the light on March 10th, 1942 in what would become a monthly collection that ended in July 1949, for after the war people lost interest in these kinds of stories.

[…] Thus we can see the importance that offers this comic as a primary source, as well as being interesting to study the covert propaganda mechanisms. It also shows how people reacted to the horrors of war, especially those who felt that it was something that could happen to themselves, like the creators of Captain America. […] All the same, the collection of Captain America is most suitable for this type of study because we do not just see an imaginary superhero fighting Nazis and preventing them from seizing global control, but we see an American soldier and patriot fighting for his rights and his ideals.

This is something to keep in mind when analysing these comics because, after all, Steve Rogers is a soldier and a real man, rather than another superhero. There is no official report on how Captain Rogers felt about his life being used to create propaganda, although there are several interviews available with members of the Howling Commandos, who all imply with varying degrees of subtlety that the Captain was not a fan of being followed around by cameras during missions.

[…] Captain America has become a classical icon in the American culture over time, paraded about in comic books and films to promote what one can generally classify as “traditional Christian values”. An interesting, if not important, question one must ask themselves here is whether Captain Rogers supported those values himself. What little sources remain documenting the Captain’s life before he received the serum paint a picture that does not always fit with the image propaganda painted.

Rogers was, for example, the only child of a widowed, Irish immigrant mother, sickly and small in stature, and a card-carrying socialist whose arrest record was more impressive than several of today’s most well-known activists’. The only thing from his propaganda Captain Rogers ever openly agreed with was that he valued his new powers because he hadn’t always been this healthy—he used them to fight adversaries, Nazis and villainous HYDRA, to defend his homeland and principles because it was the right thing to do, not because he sought to fight anyone.

[…] also in one of the first issues of the Captain America comics after Captain Rogers’ rescue of the 107th Regiment from Azzano, we are introduced to his inseparable partner, Bucky, who is the mascot of the 107th regiment in the comic books. This character soon became almost as popular as Captain America, because children didn’t have to dream about superheroes anymore—they could be one even when they were as young as Bucky Barnes.

Of course, James Buchanan Barnes, the inspiration for the character, was no child, nor a simple mascot for the 107th Regiment. The decision to make a grown man, who was an accomplished soldier that made the rank of Sergeant before he finished boot camp and was handpicked for extended training as an expert marksman, was almost definitely a carefully considered one.

He was Captain Rogers’ childhood best friend and rumoured to be the reason Captain Rogers’ decided to save the imprisoned soldiers at Azzano. His influence on Captain Rogers, both as a comic book character and as his real-life right-hand man, is undeniable and must be considered in the context of this study. […] little is known how Sergeant Barnes felt about his comic book character, although several of the surviving members of the Howling Commandos have implied that neither Barnes nor Rogers were particularly pleased with their fictive counterparts.

[…] on the pages of this comic, the fears and concerns of the American society at the time, regarding their ideas about the war and the Germans, are reflected.

[…] nevertheless, it should be noted that Captain America was meant to be a figure that brings hope to the society, to bring it together to overcome the crisis. Not only this, with his ideals based on the reform of the New Deal, they could recover it to set a perfect example to try to carry out a new economic change. […] even after Sergeant’s Barnes’ and Captain Rogers’ untimely and tragic demises, the figures of Captain America and Bucky Barnes continued growing, expanding and reaching mythical proportions.

With Captain Rogers’ miraculous recovery and revival, and his subsequent breakdown of everything the public has been fed by propaganda during the last sixty years, the question has arisen of how much of written wartime history is correct, and how much of it is the result of propaganda made real by fictional characters.

[…] perhaps we live in a historic moment in time in which we need to appeal to the fictional characters to find heroes and role models that everyone should and could follow.

—Marina Chorro Giner, “Political Propaganda during WWII: Captain America”, unpublished article on academia.edu about the influence of popular culture as political propaganda during WWII, March 2013

———————

Tony Stark’s Personal Lab, Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, United States of America

12:23 A.M., 28 April 2016

Tony

Tony was a few hours into his favorite, semi-hazy mindset, tinkering with one of his newer prototypes—a modified version of the Mark IV suit, possibly designed with specs of every individual Avenger in mind, just in case—grease smeared across his cheek and all over his shirt when the elevator dinged pleasantly, and a heavily pregnant Pepper waddled into his workshop, one hand supporting her belly and the other pressed to her lower back.

Tony dropped his screwdriver and shot to his feet, rushing towards his girlfriend. “Hey Pep,” he said gently, because last week he’d greeted her too loudly and she’d cried for an hour and then yelled at Rhodey for not getting her French fries.

Tony was a genius. He occasionally learned from his mistakes—and the first thing he’d learned during Pepper’s pregnancy was to not aggravate or question the expectant mommy.

“What’re you doing down here?” he added, subtly walking her to the ultra-comfortable couch he’d put in his lab because Pepper—and occasionally Becca, when she got bored and needed to rib someone other than Cap—wandered down here to find him regularly.

“It’s late,” she told him reproachfully. “Rhodey’s not here to cuddle me, so you have to.” She tugged on his hand and frowned at him. “Come to bed with me.”

Usually, Pepper telling him to come to bed did the trick fine—Tony really did have a hard time saying no to her in general, and it was twice as bad now that she was pregnant and he owed her because “she was letting his spawn dance on her bladder for nine months”, and really, he couldn’t argue with that.

Of course, Pepper used that argument on him and Rhodey for everything—ranging from letting her have the last slice of bacon to driving to the grocery store in the middle of the night to get her the good kind of chocolate, because it “just wasn’t the same” if they got it delivered—but that didn’t make it any less effective.

Tony looked longingly over his shoulder at the suit he’d been working on.

Pepper sighed. “Alright. Compromise. Show me what you’re working on first, then bed.”

Tony beamed and led her back to the workbench, plopping down on his seat and gesturing to the suit—that would fit Cap’s dorito-esque proportions perfectly once it was finished—excitedly while he explained the features he’d built into it. Pepper smiled indulgently at him, rubbing her fingers through his loose, curly hair—he hadn’t put any product in it today, and he knew she liked it best that way.

“Steve’ll definitely appreciate it,” she told him when he fell silent.

Tony sighed and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the swell of her stomach, letting his eyes drift shut for a moment. He hadn’t slept in a while, because… because he needed to be sure that everything was ready, was safe by the time the baby—babies—would arrive, and he didn’t have a lot of time left.

Pep was due in five weeks—Becca in thirteen.

Sure, Becca wouldn’t be in the Tower for a while after the baby was born, and she was probably going to be safer on Asgard than anywhere else, but… just in case.

Just in case any of his nightmares turned out to be true.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a dull thump against his forehead. He looked up and blinked at Pepper, who was clearly fighting a smile.

“Was that—” he said, astonished, “Did my own kid just kick me in the head?”

Pepper snorted a laugh and Tony gaped at her. “My kid kicked me,” he repeated, slightly hysterically.

“Kid’s got good sense already,” someone said from behind him, and Tony whirled around on his wheelie chair to find the fucking Widow and her younger, redder shadow crowded in his doorway.

“Well, fuck you too,” Tony blurted, although he winced as Pepper smacked the back of his head for cursing in front of the—unborn—baby.

“We have to talk to you,” Wanda said slowly, accent lightly coloring her words. “We have…” she frowned and looked to Nat with a light frown, “…discovered something. Possibly.”

Pepper huffed a sigh. “You can have him for thirty minutes. No longer,” she said sternly, wagging her finger at the two other women. “It’s late and I need sleep, and I need my favorite teddy bear in my bed—preferably after he’s showered the grease off.”

Widow smirked. “Yes, ma’am.”

With that, Pepper waddled out of the lab, leaving Tony alone with their resident lethally reds. “Okay,” he said. “Well. Whaddya got?”

----------------------------

Poetic Edda – Hovamol – stanza 81 to 89

“Give praise to the day at evening, to a woman on her pyre, to a weapon which is tried, to a maid at wedlock, to ice when it is crossed, to ale that is drunk.

When the gale blows hew wood, in fair winds seek the water, sport with maidens at dusk, for day’s eyes are many; from the ship seek swiftness, from the shield protection, from the sword cuts and from the maiden kisses.

By the fire drink ale, over ice go on skates; buy a steed that is lean and a sword when tarnished.

A man shall trust not the oath of a maid, nor the word a woman speaks, for their hearts on a whirling wheel were fashioned, and fickle their breasts were formed.

In a breaking bow or a burning flame, a ravening wold or a croaking raven, in a grunting boar, a tree with roots broken, in billowy seas or a bubbling kettle, in a flying arrow or falling waters.

In ice new formed or the serpents folds, in a bride’s bed-speech or a broken sword; in the sport of bears or in sons of kings. In a calf that is sick, or a stubborn thrall, a flattering witch or a foe new slain.

In a light, clear sky or a laughing throng, in the bowl of a dog or a harlot’s grief!

In a brother’s slayer, if thou meet him abroad, in a half-burned house, in a horse full swift; one leg hurt and the horse is useless… None had ever such faith as to trust in them all.”

—Predictions of Odin One-Eyed, King of Asgard and the Nine, as quoted by Snorri

--------------------------------

Tony Stark’s Personal Lab, Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, United States of America

2 A.M., 28 April 2016

Steve

Steve yawned and rubbed his hand through his undoubtedly messy hair.

He had rolled straight out of bed when J.A.R.V.I.S. had called for him, and the only reason he hadn’t rolled right into the suit was because the A.I. had assured him it wasn’t an Assemble-call. He had, thus, not made a lot of effort, and wandered down to Tony’s lab in his pyjama’s.

His only concession to social convention had been to pull on an incredibly soft t-shirt, and thick, woollen socks that Thor had once gifted him.

“Tony,” he complained as soon as the elevator doors opened, “why am I here? I could be sleeping.”

He stopped short when he caught sight of Natasha and Wanda, both gaping at him with parted lips, Tony standing a little behind them, his hair wild and curly and his expression sheepish.

“You woke him up for this?” Natasha demanded, rounding on Tony with a mighty frown. “I thought we agreed to wait until tomorrow, at least—J.A.R.V.I.S. hasn’t even finished processing all the information!” She gestured towards the large holographic screen angrily, and Steve looked too, unsure of what he was looking at.

“I didn’t agree to anything,” Tony protested. “You said—”

“We don’t know anything!” Natasha bit out harshly, uncharacteristically emotional and expressive.

“He should know!” Tony argued.

Nat opened her mouth to argue back, but Steve had had enough. “Guys!” he yelled, startling them all. “What do I need to know?”

Tony blinked wide-eyed at him. “Uh,” he said. “See. The thing is…” He stopped and looked helplessly at Natasha, who had her arms crossed over her chest and was glaring at him.

“Steve,” Wanda said timidly from where she stood, slightly behind Natasha, her eyes wide and imploring. “I didn’t want to tell you unless I was sure.” She had pulled the sleeves of her long t-shirt down over her hands and was fiddling with the edges nervously. Steve hadn’t seen her look this withdrawn and nervous in… God, he didn’t even know how long, and he didn’t like it.

“Tell me what, kid?” he asked, careful to keep his tone calmer than before.

“We think Hydra might be back,” Tony blurted, before his eyes went wide again and he clapped his own hands over his mouth.

Steve stared at him.

“That’s not funny,” he croaked, his hands curling into fists at the mere idea. “That’s not fucking funny.”

Natasha looked at him, for the first time since she’d turned from him to yell at Tony, and her eyes were so sad, so horribly sad, that it made his skin crawl. He stood stock still as she approached, didn’t move when she laid a hand on his arm, didn’t breathe as she said, softly, “No one’s laughing, Steve.”

“I destroyed them,” he said, a little desperate. “I burned them to the ground, and I salted the earth, I made sure nothing was left.” He didn’t realize how loud he was speaking until the ringing silence that followed the last, shouted word. “I died destroying them,” he whispered. “They’re gone. Tony, you’re—you’re wrong.”

“It wasn’t Tony,” Wanda said quietly, and Steve startled at the sound of her voice.

“What?”

“It wasn’t Tony,” she repeated. “I found them. And we’re not sure, but… we’re as sure as we can be.”

Steve noted, right then, that his breathing was more unsteady than it had been since he’d received the serum. He felt like he was having an asthma attack for the first time in eighty years.

He couldn’t say he’d missed it.

He sat, heavily, in the nearest wheelie chair and stared at his hands—he’d killed, pretty indiscriminately, with these hands, had tried to raze everything even remotely related to Hydra to the ground with these hands—and wondered if everything he’d done, if everything he’d died for…

If it had all been for nothing.

“Tell me,” he finally whispered hoarsely, lifting his gaze from his hands to look at his teammates—his friends. “Tell me everything.”

—————————

E 206th Street, The Bronx, New York City, New York, United States of America

28 April 2016

Brock Rumlow

“Look,” Brock said patiently, slowly, because he knew he was pushing the line here, and that this whole thing could backfire on him very easily. “I’m not saying that I don’t think it’s a good idea, or that I don’t think you could and should do it.” He pushed up from the bed he shared with Sharon and walked over to where she stood, arms crossed over her chest and frowning.

“Shar,” he cajoled, trailing his hands down her upper arms. “I’m so proud of you. And of course, you should absolutely take this amazingopportunity, I’m just…” he shrugged and schooled his face into something semi-hurt. “I just wish I’d been part of the conversation, you know? We’re… I mean,” he sighed. “We’re supposed to be doing all of this together, right? And making huge, career-defining decisions are a part of that, aren’t they?”

He could see Sharon’s anger melting away, replaced by something sheepish—something he had been hoping to incite in her. He was desperately trying to salvage whatever he could from the flaming wreckage that had been his plan to turn Sharon.

In his defence, it had been working—Sharon had been relying on him, mostly, had been talking much more warmly about his fellow S.T.R.I.K.E. agents, who had been vocal about their support of her, while still feeding into the rumours about her supposed misconduct, and Brock had been so close to gently suggesting that maybe they should spend more time with those kinds of people…

With the people that believed her, that didn’t perpetuate a false, twisted version of her, with people like her and Brock—

And then it all got fucked up.

He’d been planning on how to turn Sharon for years, had set everything into motion years ago, had been working it—on her—for the longest time before fucking Rebecca Barnes and her meddlesome band of Avengers had ruined everything.

Fuck those fucking bastards.

And fuck fucking Rebecca Barnes for giving Sharon options.

For getting her away from S.H.I.E.L.D. and from Brock’s direct influence and fuck her for doing it so smoothly and sneakily and fucking publicly that he hadn’t been able to do anything but nod along.

All he could do now was try to pick up whatever pieces were left and try to formulate something new, something equally good or better, something that would get Pierce to listen to him, to acknowledge him and to recognise the work he did for the betterment of Hydra.

“You’re right,” Sharon sighed, arms falling to her side as she leaned back against their dresser. “You’re right, I’m sorry, I should’ve talked about it with you. I just…” she threw her hands up in exasperation and shook her head. “I was so excited, so thrilled by the idea of getting away from it all that I just…” she hesitated. “I just didn’t think about it and said yes.”

Brock lifted a hand to stroke his fingers through her thick, blonde hair as he must’ve done hundreds, if not thousands of times before in the past five years, and heaved a sigh.

Really, he might have grown to like Sharon more, over time, if she’d let him turn her.

She was fucking smart, and if he hadn’t been quite so good an actor, she’d have seen through him years ago, and it didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes either.

Not to mention that the sex was fantastic.

It really was too bad she was so independent and opinionated.

So mouthy.

He could’ve put up with her overbearing aunt and Rogers and Barnes if she’d just been a little more… a little more docile, a little more receptive to his needs.

If she would’ve let him turn her to Hydra, rather than take the first opportunity that led away from him with both hands, not even bothering to look back.

Some fiancée she was.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, before she leaned in and kissed him.

He kissed back automatically, without thinking much about it—it’d become a reflex, after all this time—trying to consider what he was going to do now. What use did he have for Sharon now that it had become glaringly obvious that he was never going to be able to turn her unless he would entirely rewrite her memory, like they’d done to the Soldier.

Unlike the Soldier though, Sharon would likely not survive the procedure.

Barnes, however… much as she aggravated him just by existing, Barnes had the exact potential that Sharon now lacked.

He needed access to Barnes, to the Avengers and their plans—

Brock broke the kiss abruptly, leaning back far enough to see Sharon’s quizzical expression.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, forehead creasing into a frown.

“Nothing,” he shrugged, eyeing her carefully, fingers tightening in her hair. “Sorry babe. This ain’t personal.” He abruptly tightened his hand into a fist and yanked, smashing Sharon’s head against the dresser as hard as he could. She gave a yelp that abruptly cut off when she hit the hardwood surface, and dropped like a sack of bricks when he let go off her, falling to the floor of their bedroom in an inelegant heap.

Brock eyed her prone body.

Well. That was step one.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and shot a quick text to Jack Rollins.

Time to implement step two and work out the rest of the plan.

HYDRA had sat back and watched Barnes and the Avengers mess up their plans for too long. It was high time to remind Barnes of her place in the world—not a future princess of fucking Asgard, but a future Soldier of Hydra.

—————————

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Dancing in the Rain:

(1)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

#IHWSBY sequel #dancing in the rain #ditr #Stucky fanfiction #stucky #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Thor #Rebecca Barnes #my writing #Lisa writes

1 note · View note

cuthian · 4 years

Text

Starting Over Chapter Six

Hi guys!

Sorry for the delay on this one :) This is another Asgard chapter, so check the end notes again if you prefer not to read about Becca and Thor.

Love, Annaelle

Chapter Six

PEPPER POTTS IS PREGNANT AND BREAKS TWITTER WITH ADORABLE PREGNANCY ANNOUNCEMENT

MANHATTAN, NEW YORK — Pepper Potts, C.E.O. of Stark Industries and longtime girlfriend of Tony Stark and Col. James Rhodes, is having a baby, and like everything else she has done since the news of her polyamorous relationship with Rhodes and Stark, she is doing so on her own terms.

[...]Potts, 42, is pregnant with her first child, and used the unconventional, but adorable video she dropped on her official Twitter account yesterday morning to confirm the rumors of a pregnancy that have been floating around for the past few days.

[WATCH HERE: PEPPER POTTS SURPRISES TONY STARK, JAMES RHODES AND STEVE ROGERS WITH ADORABLE PREGNANCY ANNOUNCEMENT.]

She followed her video announcement with a tweet stating, “I have seen many children born into homes with two parents, who end up arguing, fighting, and divorcing. The person this affects the most is the child. I don’t think our situation, our relationship, will be detrimental to our child because it will ensure that our child will be loved. [...] It takes a village, and we have a big, loving, crazy village. I cannot wait to begin this next part of our lives together.”

The announcement was retweeted by Col. Rhodes and Tony Stark within seconds—we cover the adorable and surprisingly eloquent reaction of the two fathers-to-be here in this podcast—as well as by Captain Rogers almost immediately after that, all with happy and congratulatory messages. Captain Rogers’ tweet hilariously promises he will be the best big brother to the Rhodes-Stark-Potts baby in the history of big brothers.

Potts replied to Rogers’ tweet: “Steve will definitely be the best big brother to our baby. He’s got plenty of practice as #BigBrotherOfAmerica.”

[...]Fans flooded the video with congratulatory messages, and the hashtag #IronBaby has been trending for forty-eight hours so far, and promises to hold for at least another few days.

—Clara Newitski, “Pepper Potts confirms pregnancy”, E!News Online, 30 November, 2015

————————

TRAINING FIELDS, IDAVOLL, ASGARD

NOVEMBER 30TH, 2015 – 8:57AM (EARTH UCT+1)

BECCA

She hit the ground with a dull thud, the fall knocking the wind clean from her lungs, leaving her gasping for breath for a long couple of minutes. She laughed breathlessly when Sif appeared in her field of vision, grinning fiercely as she offered Becca a hand to help her up. “You did well,” Sif told her approvingly. “Not bad for a human. You held out much longer than I expected.”

“I got good trainers,” Becca chuckled, allowing the other woman to help her up.

She and Natasha had been training together for years at this point, and Thor had made a point of it to ensure that all of the Avengers learned how to fight opponents physically stronger—had made it a point to make sure they knew how to win and survive a fight against an opponent physically much stronger than they were.

“You must’ve,” Sif remarked, patting Becca’s shoulder. “I see our prince’s influence in the way you dodge, sometimes.”

Becca smiled lightly. “He’s been diligent about teaching us to win against more powerful opponents.”

“I cannot have my favorite mortal friends perish before their time,” Thor boomed as he came up behind them, slinging an arm around her. “You least of all.” She leaned into him when he pressed a kiss to her temple, relaxing against him.

She’d not been alone with him since before the disastrous feast, had barely even been in the same room as him, and she’d missed it—she’d missed him.

Sif only grinned in response before she curtsied—exceptionally sarcastically, somehow—and turned to beat up some hapless Aesir warriors. Becca smirked before she turned in Thor’s arms, slipping her arms around him and resting her head on his chest. She’d been up since dawn, had joined Sif in training not long after, and they’d been at it for hours.

She was well-trained, and in good condition, but she was only human.

She was tired, and Thor was comfortable and safe.

“Hello Krúttið mitt,” he rumbled, smoothing his hand down her back. “You’ve been busy.”

“Well, I had to keep myself busy with all kinds of official, diplomatic things,” she told him, seriously leaning back to raise an eyebrow at him. “My boyfriend seems to have other, more important matters on his mind than entertaining little old me.”

Thor frowned faux-seriously, shaking his head sadly. “Ah, your man must be a fool, to leave a woman beautiful and ferocious as you all by herself.” He grinned rakishly. “Anyone could pass by and just… snap you up.”

He punctuated the last word with a peck to her lips, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re an idiot,” she told him, but she didn’t resist when he cupped her face in his hands and leaned in to kiss her again.

“Perhaps, but you… You,” Thor muttered against her lips, her cheeks cupped in his large palms, “you are a dangerous woman.” He slipped one hand down, trailing down from the back of her neck to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him, ignoring the wolf-whistles that his friends sent their way. “And an irresistible one.”

Becca grinned against his lips and tugged on his hair a little. “And don’t you forget it.”

“I could never,” Thor chuckled.

“Odinson!” Fandral roared from somewhere on the training fields, effectively shattering their little peaceful bubble. “Stop canoodling with your mortal and come help me! I cannot lose to Sif again.”

Becca laughed when Sif cackled, and Thor shook his head in faux-dismay.

“Go,” she told him. “I think I’ll watch you, for a change. Go beat some unsuspecting morons for me.”

Thor chuckled and nodded. “Their blood shall be spilled in your honor then, Krúttið mitt,” he hummed. “And then I shall sweep you off your feet, and carry you to my chambers as my prize. My very own spoils of war. If you let me.” He hugged her close as she spoke, and she made note of the slightly possessive note to his words—it was so very rare that he admitted to wanting something different, or something potentially… more, she supposed, than what they already shared, that she cherished each time that he did.

“And after, I shall return you to your chambers,” Thor muttered, pressing a light kiss to her lips. “Once I have properly and thoroughly ravished you. I must confess I am most curious about your abode… I fear I’ll have to inspect whether it’s worthy of housing you, elskan min.”

“Oh?” Becca raised an eyebrow. “And should you find it lacking?”

“Well,” Thor rumbled, drawing her close one more time to press a smacking kiss to her lips. “I suppose I’ll have no choice but to house you in my chambers. Nothing less than the absolute best will do.”

She giggled against his lips, allowing herself one more moment before she pushed him back, keeping him at arm’s length when he pouted. “Go beat up your friends, hotshot,” she told him with a warm smile. “I’ll be right here when you’re done, okay?”

“As you wish,” Thor hummed, lifting the hand she’d pressed to his chest up to his lips to press a soft kiss to her palm, before he turned and joined his friends.

She remained where she was for a few moments, grinning at Thor’s back when he collided with his friends. She watched as he threw a casual arm around Fandral’s shoulder, as she’d seen him do dozens of times with Steve, watched the way they all laughed and teased each other, and felt something loosen in her chest.

Even on his best days on Earth, there was a kind of heaviness to him that did not dissipate.

It had now.

Seeing him here on Asgard was… it was almost unreal. He was lighter here, flourishing in a way she’d never seen him flourish before—in a way he probably couldn’t flourish on Earth—and she loved seeing him happy and carefree like this.

She tried not to think about what that meant for their future, though.

She made her way to the plump, surprisingly comfortable benches to the side of the training fields, sitting down with a sigh of relief. Her body ached a little—in the good way, the way it ached when she’d done an intense workout and stuck with it until the end—and it felt good to let her muscles relax for a short time. She’d get up to do some more stretches soon, she promised herself, but she’d take a five-minute breather first.

She watched, as she’d told Thor she would, allowing herself to study the way he fought, now that he didn’t have to hold back. He was ferocious, fighting with a kind of elegant brutality that was both breathtaking and frightening—she loved him, more than anyone else she’d ever been with, but she forgot… she forgot how different they were sometimes.

It wasn’t a bad thing, certainly, but… it was a little scary.

“Milady?”

Abruptly startled from her thoughts, Becca looked up to find two of the—frankly absurd amount of—maids Odin had assigned to her, Unnr and Þrúðr, standing before her, both looking profoundly uncomfortable.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, squinting up at the two women.

Unnr shook her head shakily. “No, milady. We just—” she and Þrúðr exchanged a fleeting glance, “—we were wondering if you are ready to return to your chambers?”

Becca blinked. “Oh,” she said, looking between the two maids. “I… I was actually planning on staying for a while? Until Thor’s done, at least.” She didn’t miss the way the two exchanged another glance, and huffed impatiently. She’d liked Asgard fine, so far, and no one had been openly hostile—barring the woman she’d had to shoot for threatening Thor—but things were different, here.

The change from Earth to Asgard had thrown off her sense of time too.

It almost felt like jet lag, but worse too.

It wasn’t bad enough to incapacitate her, or make her want to stay in bed for a few days until her body had fully adjusted to the new time zone, but it was, at moments, so damned uncomfortable.

The minor headache she’d managed to ignore all day came roaring back, and she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

“Ladies,” she sighed. “Would one of you please tell me what’s wrong?”

Both girls blinked at her, before Þrúðr spoke. “The training grounds are typically… they’re typically off limits for maidens, milady. I believe exceptions were made because the Prince demanded it be so, but usually…” She shook her head. “It’s not proper for unwed women to be here.”

Becca swallowed thickly and blinked again, trying to digest… all of that.

“Sif’s here,” she pointed out dumbly, gesturing towards where her boyfriend was doing his best to electrocute his friends while cackling gleefully.

She shook her head.

She loved that weirdo.

“Yes,” Unnr conceded. “But Lady Sif is… well… concessions were made. She is of highborn Aesir nobility. Before Prince Thor was betrothed to Prince Loki, there were many talks of an alliance forged by marriage with her and the Prince. I believe the King allowed certain… liberties when he abruptly broke off such negotiations with her family.”

“That’s bullshit,” Becca blurted loudly, wincing a little when both maids startled.

Before either of them could speak, though, someone interrupted from behind them. “Our traditions are bullshit to you now, Lady Rebecca? I’m sure my son will appreciate hearing you express such blatant disrespect towards our customs.”

She stiffened, turning slowly to face her boyfriend’s father—his King—for the first time.

She had been introduced to him at the feast, of course, but that had been with Thor holding her hand, and about two hundred people surrounding them. She was vaguely aware that her two maids dropped into a deep curtsy the moment they realized who had spoken, and that they all likely expected her to do the same, but… she remained sitting, only moving to incline her head towards the man lightly.

She was not, after all, one of his subjects.

She was a guest of his son, and he allowed her in his home, so she owed him at least a modicum of respect, but she did not owe him allegiance or deference.

“Your majesty,” she offered. “I meant not to offend. I’m sure you understand that not allowing certain… parts of your citizenry to learn how to defend themselves seems… peculiar to someone looking in from the outside.”

Odin smiled tightly. “I suppose from your point of view, it certainly must seem so. As long as you remember that you are, of course, on the outside, glancing in.”

Becca blinked at that, taken aback by the barely veiled insult.

“Ladies,” Odin addressed Unnr and Þrúðr, “I’m sure you have duties to attend to.”

The two scampered off before the King had even finished speaking, and Becca remained were she was, stiff and decidedly uncomfortable, as her boyfriend’s father took a seat on the stone bench beside her.

She was tempted to get up and rejoin Thor and his friends, to let this arrogant old man look the fool, but… She sighed and shook her head.

He was Thor’s father, after all.

Insufferable bastard or not, she’d promised herself and Thor she wouldn’t let him get the best of her.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she offered again when he remained silent.

She wasn’t sure why the man was here, why he insisted on sitting with her when he clearly did not approve of her presence at all. She expected he would try to frighten her away from Thor, or that he would insist on tormenting her about all of Thor’s past lovers—Loki most of all.

“Worry not,” Odin finally said. “Human lives are but fleeting, I should not expect such underdeveloped minds to understand the delicate intricacies of our society.”

“Excuse me?” Becca spit, rearing back as though he’d slapped her. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I am Odin. King of Asgard.” He turned to look at her slowly, expression frustratingly inscrutable. “Protector of the Nine Realms.”

“Yeah,” Becca snorted. “Right. Nine Realms. Including Earth. We noticed the protection. Thanks, by the way, for keeping our planet from slowly heating up and destroying itself. Or for stepping in during any of the wars, famines, epidemics, or disasters over the past thousand years.” She shook her head again. “Thor tells me you haven’t even looked at Midgard in centuries. Don’t you dare call yourself our protector when we’ve clearly been doing fine on our own.”

Odin merely chuckled, and shook his head lightly. “You humans… threatened by suffering in threefold; by your own body, doomed to decay; and the world you so cherish, that rages against you with overwhelming and merciless destruction… and then from your relations with one another. I’ve lived thousands of years, child, but I’ve never met another race quite so talented at self-destruction.” He looked down at her and added, “Your kind’s never taken well to our interference. While I have several agents established on Midgard, keeping me apprised of… relevant information, we generally let you be.”

Becca snorted. “For a man who so readily proclaims our brains underdeveloped, you sure seem to like some of our people’s works.” When he raised an eyebrow, she shook her head, “I know Freud when I hear it, your Majesty, however much you try to dress it up with fancier words.”

Odin smirked. “Ah, you are clever, at least. I suppose my son has some taste after all.”

He shook his head again, as though he’d grown weary of the conversation, and said, “Surely you understand, though, that my son will not be able to keep you. Certain classes of beings cannot mix—certainly not for any significant length of time.”

“With all due respect,” she replied coldly. “I hardly think we’re a different class of being. Having access to seiðr readily doesn’t make you more evolved—even certain humans can harness its power, even if they are far rarer than they are to your people. Honestly though, I can’t say that I care overly much for what you think. I care what Thor thinks, and he’s made the way he feels about me very clear.”

Odin eyed her critically. “My son has had many lovers before. What makes you think you’re different than those he dallied with to distract himself from Loki’s disinterest?”

“I trust him when he tells me I am,” Becca told him coolly, crossing her arms over her chest, and though she was fuming, she carefully kept her expression blank, because she refused to let him see that he was getting to her—that his words rattled her even the littlest bit.

Odin laughed humorlessly. “I’m sure he told the others such things as well. Like he did Loki. Undying devotion did not last quite so long, did it?”

She knew what he was trying to do, and she was sure if he had done so earlier on in their relationship, she might actually have believed him. She might have let this old, sad, heartbroken man get under her skin and ruin what she and Thor had managed to build, but she refused to let him now.

They’d worked too hard to get where they were today.

“You know, I’m a little sad for you,” she said, slowly. “I’m sad you’re so twisted up inside that it makes you want to make Thor just as miserable as you are.” She looked him right in the eye and shook her head. “I love your son. I really, really love him, and I don’t care that I’m mortal and he’s not. I don’t care that you don’t like me. I care that I make him happy. I know I’m not Loki, and I don’t need him to love me like he loved Loki.”

She shrugged and offered a soft smile. “I just need him to love me like he loves me.”

Odin chuckled derisively. “Such sentimentality. I should expect no less from a human.”

“Father,” Thor cut in, and Becca barely resisted the urge to jump at his sudden appearance. Thor settled himself on the bench beside her, pressing closer than was, perhaps, strictly appropriate in front of his father, but she didn’t protest, allowing the press of his torso against her side to soothe her.

“My son,” Odin said calmly. “I sought only to properly meet your frù.”

“Do not talk of her as such,” Thor hissed viciously, drawing Becca against him firmly, surprising her with the venom in his tone. “She is more than that.”

“Is she?” Odin chuckled. “Is that what your inn mátki munr signified? Will you insist on making her your kvàn, my son? Call her your brúðr? Your kona?”

“If I do,” Thor spat, “It will be because she chooses to be.”

“And she’s right here,” Becca said, elbowing Thor in the gut when he squeezed her too tightly.

Thor looked at her, eyes wide and somewhat crazed, and Becca made the executive decision that remaining anywhere near Thor’s father wasn’t going to end well for either of them. “Thank you for coming all this way to meet me, your Majesty,” she offered, making sure to paste the most insincere smile she could manage on her face, “I think we both rather learned a lot today.”

She looked to Thor and squeezed her fingers around his. “We’re leaving. You promised me you’d show me more of Asgard.”

“So I did,” Thor nodded, keeping his blue eyes intent on hers. “There is much to see still.”

He stood smoothly, offering Becca a hand as soon as he was standing, and pulled her to her feet as well. “We will take our leave, Father,” he said. “It was a pleasure, as always.”

With that, Thor began moving, pulling her along with him.

She didn’t look back.

————————

[PEPPER POTTS PREGNANCY ANNOUNCEMENT VIDEO!]

There is a short moment before the image settles that shows a cozy, comfortable living room, before the image stills and zooms in on two men sitting at the kitchen island, heads bent together over a laptop.

“I don’t see the big deal, Capsicle. It’s not like this is news, even to you,” Tony Stark, looking almost like had only just rolled out of bed, shrugs, leaning back in his chair and sipping from the large mug in the shape of the Hulk’s fist.

“This isn’t a joking matter, Tony,” Steve Rogers, dressed in a tight white t-shirt and light sweatpants insists, gesturing towards the screen with a frown. “They moved to L.A. of all places. It’s a fucking outrage.”

“But it’s just baseball,” Stark mumbles, looking entirely nonplussed, before he offers, “Would it help if I bought them?”

Rogers blinks in astonishment before he groans and puts his head in his hands. “God, don’t tempt me, Tony. I don’t even need you to buy them for me—I could do it.”

Stark laughs and pats his hand on Rogers’ head while he shakes his head, using his free hand to draw the laptop closer to himself. “Shhh,” he tells Rogers, “let me live out my sugar daddy fantasies through you, Steven.”

Rogers looks appropriately scandalized while Stark cackles and types madly on the laptop.

Rhodes walks in, stops short, takes in the scene and shakes his head. “Whatever it is, Tony, no.”

Stark cackles louder. “Tony, yes!” Both Rogers and Rhodes sigh and share a commiserating eye roll before embarking on a journey to the refrigerator together.

The camera shakes a little when the person behind it moves, moving closer to the men in the kitchen. “Tony,” Pepper Potts says from behind the camera. “What have you done now?”

Stark looks up and smirks gleefully. “I’ve just bought our baby a baseball team.”

Rogers and Rhodes emerge from the depths of the fridge with identical, bewildered expressions, and Potts is quiet for a moment before she chokes, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know Steve was our baby now?”

Rogers, who has once again rounded the kitchen island to peer at the laptop, exclaims gleefully, “Neither did I, but you’re not getting rid of me now. You bought me the Dodgers?”

The camera shakes when Potts laughs. When it settles again, the three men are now crowded around the laptop, talking over one another excitedly.

“Well,” Potts interrupts, moving closer to the men. “I suppose we can keep you. As long as you learn to share with your future baby sibling.”

The camera swings up to catch a clear look of the three men’s astonished expressions before the image cuts out.

—Clara Newitski, “Pepper Potts confirms pregnancy” CONTINUED, E!News Online, 30 November, 2015

————————

FENSALIR, VALASKIALF, ASGARD

NOVEMBER 30TH, 2015 – 12:09 PM (EARTH UCT+1)

THOR

He was still fuming at the sheer nerve of his father, even hours later.

He had taken Rebecca to see the city and had shown her his favorite little corners. He had taken her to the tavern he had taken Steven to as well, had taken her to visit Aase and the market, and had watched her become struck with awe when he had taken her to the libraries that held the collected works of the Nine.

It had soothed his ire some, to see Asgard anew through her eyes.

Becca’s wonder at seeing his home was contagious, and Thor had relaxed some. He had known, of course, that his father would attempt to sow discord in his relationship, that he would seek out Rebecca and try to pinpoint her insecurities, that he would use those insecurities against her to destroy them, but he had not expected his father to be quite so open about his disapproval.

He’d certainly not expected him to corner Rebecca on the training fields.

“Hey.”

Rebecca’s voice and her insistent tug on his hand drew him from his thoughts.

“Stop it,” she told him sternly when he looked at her. “Don’t let him win. I didn’t believe a word he said about us, Thor.” She turned towards him fully, and Thor relaxed a little when she tiptoed to slip her arms around him. “I love you. I trust you. You know that. I didn’t let him get under my skin.” She smiled and pecked his lips. “Don’t let him get under yours.”

“You’re right,” Thor sighed, leaning his forehead against hers. “You’re right. I’ll not let him spoil our time together any longer.”

“Good,” Becca grinned, leaning in to press another kiss to his lips. “Now show me these famed gardens of yours. Steve’s told me they’re absolutely gorgeous.” She stepped back a little and held out her hand to him, raising an expectant eyebrow.

Thor smiled and took her hand in his, leading Rebecca back towards the palace. He looked forward to showing her the Gardens; they’d proven a refuge for him and Loki many times when they’d been children, and he knew it’d brought Steven comfort too, when he had been here.

He hoped that Rebecca, too, would find some solace there.

He recognized he had not been able to be the host he wanted to be due to the absurd itinerary his father had foisted upon them when they arrived. Rebecca had spent far more time with his friends and the handmaidens—whom she had thankfully taken a liking to, even the maids she had initially bemoaned—than she had with him, due to his father’s insistence on adhering to tradition.

Tradition that he had never once been forced to adhere to before.

He’d originally planned for their first few days here to be far less strenuous and far more intimate.

Heimdall had warned him, when he began planning this trip, that journeying through the Bifrost would likely be exceptionally taxing for a human; even Steven, with an enhanced physiology that brought him closer to Aesir than to human, had felt the effects of it for a few hours.

He had not kept as close an eye on Becca as he had planned to, and he hoped she wasn’t feeling any ill effects of the travel any longer.

“Are you doing alright?” he asked concernedly, pulling her to a slow stop by lightly tugging on her hand. “I’ve not thought to ask how the Bifrost affected you, I apologize.” He imagined an inter-dimensional jet-lag on top of his father being… well, himself must’ve been exhausting.

“I’m fine,” Becca told him with a wry quirk of her lips. “Although, Asgardian cuisine doesn’t seem to agree with me yet.” She smiled a little. “I guess I just have to get used to it, but I’m not very hungry. I’m so bloated it’s not even funny anymore, but I’m not feeling sick or anything bad. Little tired, maybe, but... ” She squeezed her fingers around his. “Jet-lag hasn’t been so bad yet.”

“If you’re sure,” Thor said doubtfully, running his fingers across her cheek.

“Of course I am,” she shook her head. “Come on, show me the Gardens.”

He nodded silently and resumed their trek back to the palace; they would not have to enter the palace, thankfully, and risk running into his father or any of the servants. Loki had once shown him a secret path into their mother’s gardens, where they could slip past the guards unnoticed and hide in the lush, green garden for hours without being found.

He fully intended on doing so with Rebecca as well.

Spending their afternoon basking in sunlight, snacking on the morsels Thor had had asked the maids to prepare, and relaxing together, as they hadn’t been allowed since their arrival on Asgard, sounded like the best idea he’d had in months.

“So, your father had these gardens created for your mother?” Becca asked, slowing down a little so they walked side by side again, swinging their arms between them.

“Yes,” Thor nodded. “She missed the woods of her homeland and her father’s gardens, and my father sought to ensure her happiness by recreating them as precisely as he could.” He wondered where the man his mother had fallen in love with, once, had gone.

He wondered if love lost turned all hearts bitter, or if his father was an exception. Then again, his father had been a bitter man for longer than his mother had been gone.

He wondered, briefly, if he would lose himself to bitterness and anger too, should he lose Rebecca as well.

Losing Loki and his mother had very well had the potential to turn his heart to stone, and he believed it may have, had he not had his mortal friends to lean on in his time of need. The Warriors Three and Lady Sif were worthy friends indeed, but they had not understood the depth of his despair following Loki’s death. It might have been more forgivable if they had not so clearly mourned the loss of his mother while barely paying lip service to Loki’s memory, and only then on Thor’s behalf.

Having Becca and Steven and the other Avengers to turn to had saved him, in a way.

“That’s sweet, I guess,” Becca nodded, drawing him from his thoughts.

He looked to her and smiled lightly, squeezing his fingers around hers. “I suppose it was, at the time,” he shrugged. They’d reached the palace walls by now, and Thor slowed their pace down to a casual stroll, gently nudging Becca’s attention towards the walls that surrounded the palace.

“Do you see the etchings that cover the walls?” he asked, slowing to a stop so Becca could reach out to touch her fingertips to the faint lines.

“What are they?” she asked, looking back at him quizzically.

“Loki insisted they are the remnants of the history of our people that our forefathers would rather have seen forgotten. If you look closely, you can almost see the figures that tell our tales.”

Becca was silent, and Thor allowed himself to remember the awe that had filled him the first time he had seen the lines on the walls form a recognizable pattern. “It’s beautiful,” Becca said quietly, pulling her hand away from the wall and turning back to him.

“It’s also our way into the gardens,” Thor confided in her, pressing close to her and taking her hand in his. He guided her hand up, palm up, to the wall, letting it hover above the stones for a long moment.

“Say the words with me,” he whispered. “Opnað grindrinn.”

“Opnað grindrinn,” Becca repeated dutifully, and Thor relished in how easily her lips formed around the still largely unfamiliar words—she had insisted on beginning to learn his native tongue as soon as their relationship became more serious—and smiled when she gasped delightedly when the solid wall that stood before them shimmered and then disappeared, revealing a veritable oasis of greenery and flowers.

“Oh wow,” Becca breathed, and Thor couldn’t help but smile. It was an awe-inspiring sight, even for him. “Is it a gate?” she asked as she walked further into the gardens, “or is it an illusion?”

Thor hummed and considered his words before he spoke, watching as Becca moved deeper into the gardens, fingers idly trailing past flowers and deep green leaves. “It is somewhat of both,” he finally said, allowing his gaze to stray to the bright red flower that bloomed only through his mother’s lingering seiðr. “Loki wove the spell centuries ago, weaving it so only those we chose to share it with would be able to enter, and only accompanied by one of us. It was an ideal hideout.”

He expected Becca to laugh at that, to tease him about hiding out in the secluded gardens with Loki so they could make out like the careless, lovestruck boys they had been at the time, but she remained quiet.

He looked up to find her standing only a few feet away, rather a lot paler than she had been minutes ago.

“Becca?” he asked. “Are you alright?”

“I–” She shook her head and swayed where she stood. Thor moved before he had even consciously thought of doing so, crossing the distance between them in a few strides, grasping her forearms tightly. “I’m so hot.”

Now that he stood so much closer, he could see sweat beading on her forehead, and see just how alarmingly pale she’d suddenly become. “Becca, what’s going on?” he demanded urgently, concern flooding his entire being when she didn’t respond to his query immediately, eyes going a little unfocused before she muttered,

“I need to sit, I’m—l’m going to be sick.”

“Of course,” Thor floundered, trying to figure out how to help her sit without having her keel over, when her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp in his grasp.

“Becca!” he shouted in shock, barely moving fast enough to catch her as she crumpled, knees buckling as he sank down to the ground, her limp form cradled in his arms. She didn’t respond, nor did she wake when he patted her cheek, despite him using more strength than he usually did with her.

No reaction, but at the very least she was still breathing, and her pulse sounded strong and steady to his enhanced ears.

He looked up desperately, shaking himself forcefully. “Alright,” he nodded to himself, lifting her up in his arms and making for the palace.

Eir would know what to do.

————————

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

#IHWSBY sequel #starting over #stucky #Stucky fanfic #Steve Rogers #thor #Rebecca barnes #Avengers family #my writing #Lisa writes

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cuthian · 4 years

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Starting Over Chapter Two

Chapter Two

MALALA YOUSAFZAI WINS NOBEL PEACE PRIZE 2014

MALALA YOUSAFZAI, THE PAKISTANI TEENAGER WHO SURVIVED AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT BY THE TALIBAN, HAS WON THE NOBEL PEACE PRIZE JOINTLY WITH KAILIASH SATYARTHI OF INDIA.

[…]prize was awarded jointly to Malala Yousafzai and Kailash Satyarthi from India, “for their struggle against the suppression of children and young people and for the right of all children to education”.

“[…]Nobel Committee regards it as an important point for a Hindu and a Muslim—an Indian and a Pakistani—to join in a common struggle for education and against extremism,” the committee members said in a statement issued after the official announcement. The awarding of the prize to the two campaigners was celebrated widely on social media, with congratulations from several celebrities, including former Nobel Peace Prize nominee Alexander Pierce, who turned down the nomination earlier this year.

Pierce, 78, has been Secretary for the World Security Council for a number of years, and turned down the nomination with the now famed words, “Peace is not an achievement that needs to be celebrated, it is a responsibility that is shared by all of us.”

[…]Malala, now 17, was living in Pakistan’s Swat Valley when she was shot in the head by militants in October 2012 as punishment for her high profile campaign to encourage girls to go to school. A year later, she was living in Britain, having staged a remarkable recovery thanks to surgeons in Birmingham, and has become an international role model for young people.

Pakistan's president, Nawaz Sharif, said last year that she was "the pride of the nation".

[…]“We cannot express the level of our happiness in words. I just spoke to Ziauddin [Malala’s father], and her mother. I also spoke to Malala, and they are all very excited and happy about this," he said. "Malala told me that Allah has blessed her with this award and she hopes this peace prize will help her cause [of educating girls], which is what she is focused on."

One of Malala’s teachers, Shumaila Khan, said she was very proud of her former pupil. "I have never seen a girl as brave as her. She challenged the Taliban at a time when all men didn’t have the courage to oppose them," she said.

—Harriet Alexander and Jessica Winch, The Telegraph, “Malala Yousafzai Wins Nobel Peace Prize”, October 10th 2014

————————

Residence of Steve Rogers and Rebecca Barnes, Washington D.C., U.S.A.

7:08 PM

Steve

Steve’s hands were still trembling slightly when he unlocked the front door.

The house was quiet, and despite the relatively early hour, the lights were off. Becca and Thor were either not in, or they’d decided to retire to their room early.

Knowing them, both options were equally likely, Steve mused.

As the mission leader, he had been stuck at the Triskelion and in debrief a good few hours longer than the rest of the team, and between sessions with Maria Hill and Nick Fury, he’d caught a glimpse of an upset in the lobby. He’d recognized Thor’s distinctive figure easily, and he’d spotted him just in time to see Becca—out of her mission gear, hair tied in a ponytail and clad in sweatpants—collapse in his waiting arms.

He’d been a little startled then, to feel something quite like jealousy curling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of them. It wasn’t like he’d never felt envious of them before—but the intensity and the suddenness of it had scared him.

He didn’t like to think he was really jealous of either of them. And he wasn’t. Not really.

He’d spoken to Karen-the-therapist about it, once, and she’d helped him see that he envied what they had. Steve envied the easy intimacy Becca had managed to build with Thor over the course of their unconventional relationship. It didn’t mean that Steve didn’t love them or that he didn’t want them to be happy together—he just missed having someone to come home to after difficult missions, missed having the opportunity to fall into someone’s arms and letting go.

He did have Becca and Thor, of course, as his friends, but… it just wasn’t the same thing.

His thoughts drifted to Sam, and he smiled a little despite himself. It was still difficult to think of someone other than Bucky in a potential romantic fashion, but Steve wanted… he wanted to be hopeful about it. He wanted to be happy, to have someone to come home to, but it was so incredibly difficult to… imagine.

To imagine anyone but Bucky being the one that caught Steve when he needed to be caught, even after four years—or seventy, depending on one’s point of view.

Steve sighed, rubbing his hand through his hair as he stepped inside.

He’d been able to shower and change in the locker rooms, thankfully, so he wasn’t covered in sweat, blood and dried ocean water anymore, but his heart was still racing and his mind was still spinning.

He made a valiant effort of kicking his shoes in the general direction of the shoe rack, but he was tired, and he was still shaken about his argument with Becca and Nat’s secretive secondary mission within Steve’s mission—again, he might add—so he honestly couldn’t be bothered with Becca’s insistence on “cleaning our shit, like actual goddamned adults, Steve”.

He spotted Becca’s worn black Converses, tipped over one another half-underneath the shoe rack, next to her S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued boots and Thor’s leather boots—the only kind of Midgardian shoe, beside flip-flops, that he wore voluntarily when he was on Earth for prolonged periods of time.

Definitely still here then.

Steve rubbed his hand over his forehead and sighed.

Becca had been on duty all night before the mission had called them in too, so while Steve was exhausted and still more than a little upset, he imagined Becca had been feeling worse.

Steve winced.

He and Becca didn’t argue often—not beyond Becca calling Steve a dumbass and Steve reciprocating with whatever sassy reply came to mind in the moment—but when they did…

Steve really did need to talk to Becca.

The argument they’d gotten into after his admittedly slightly ill-advised actions on the Lemurian Star had rattled him more than he wanted to admit, and he knew Becca felt similarly, because she hated public displays of affection and showing any kind of emotion that could be construed as weakness while they were at the Triskelion, but she had very readily fallen into Thor’s arms regardless.

He’d been too far away to be sure, but he was fairly certain Thor had been as surprised as Steve had been by the way Becca had responded to seeing him.

Not, of course, that Thor would have minded the way she greeted him.

Thor loved public displays of affection.

Slightly too much.

Steve had been there to see the very first signs of interest between them, and he’d seen them messily work their way from friends with benefits to casually dating to actually voicing their feelings for each other out loud. He was happy for them, thrilled to see them both happy after they’d been so incredibly heartbroken before they’d gotten together…

But he’d seen too much of them.

He had learned, over the course of Becca’s three-year relationship with Thor, to knock on every door in their shared house when Thor was on Earth. From the moment their friendship had progressed into something more, Becca and Thor seemed to have an impossibly hard time keeping their hands off each other—and much as Steve was happy for his friends, he’d seen far more of the both of them than he’d ever really wanted to.

He’d also come to suspect that Thor might have a bit of an exhibitionist kink.

He’d somehow managed to look both smug and chastened every time Steve walked in on them, regardless of their state of undress.

Asshole.

Steve’s stomach growled at that precise moment, making its thoughts on Steve’s train of thought quite clear. He chuckled a little at himself and shook his head to clear his thoughts as he made his way to the kitchen, stomach growling furiously all the while.

He spent way too much time thinking about everyone else’s love lives, and probably not nearly enough about his own. That was, admittedly, because he didn’t have one and never really wanted to have one before this morning either.

He was, in all honesty, still not sure if he wanted one.

He hadn’t had much of a chance to think about it.

Meeting Sam had thrown him for a loop, and Steve still couldn’t imagine walking away and never seeing the other man’s smile again. They’d really only talked shallowly before he’d been called away, and Steve knew his poor attempt at flirting probably hadn’t been all that successful, but he’d still gotten Sam’s phone number and the promise of a date, so… He’d done something right.

He’d just... he’d not even really considered what it meant.

When Sam had looked at him with that adorable, gap-toothed smile and had nodded, something in Steve’s chest had simultaneously cracked and healed and he’d very nearly had a panic attack.

Steve sighed and leaned his head against the fridge door with a quiet thunk.

He had no fucking clue what he was doing.

His stomach growled again, plaintively this time, and he hung his head. He should probably scrounge up something simple to eat before his stomach decided to eat him.

He settled on tossing some leftover vegetables in a pan, cracking some eggs and adding in a packet of protein powder Tony had assured him would soothe even Steve’s ravenous metabolism, stirring everything together lazily. He could cook up something more substantial when he’d taken the edge off his hunger.

It didn’t take more than a couple of minutes to fry his eggs and toast a couple of slices of bread, and he took his plate into the living room with only a minor twinge of guilt—he’d vacuum if he spilled all over the armchair again.

He so would.

He sighed and turned to his food, summarily letting his own thoughts stray back to the man he had sort-of not-so-accidentally asked out that morning.

Steve wasn’t sure what would come out of it.

He’d spent just a few minutes casually chatting with the man, but he’d actually been pretty surprised by how easy it had been. He’d never been very good at making friends—with the noted exception of Bucky, Becca, and the Howlies, who had basically seen him and decided they were friends, without much input on his side—and he thought that if he decided he didn’t really want to date Sam after all, he’d still make a pretty awesome friend.

Either way… he thought it would make Bucky proud to see him making things work.

He’d been working hard, since his breakdown three years ago, to learn to love the second chance at life he’d been given, to appreciate it for the miracle it was, because he very nearly hadn’t had this chance, and it would be like completely disregarding the sacrifice Bucky had made to refuse to live now.

Peggy had told him something similar once, Steve knew, shortly after Bucky had fallen, but he hadn’t been willing to listen to it then.

He hadn’t been ready to hear it for a good long while in this century either.

He had heard it, though, when Becca said it, when his therapist said it, when Becky did and mostly when Peggy said it, when she had come to visit him. She had, eventually, come to see him because she was, to paraphrase her, “tired of waiting for him to get off his bloody arse”. Steve had done nothing but cry on her perfectly pressed blouse as she patted his head.

It had taken time, but he’d heard what they were saying, and more importantly, he remembered what Bucky had always told him, and what he had always told Bucky.

I want you to live. I want you happy, because if I have to come back from the dead to kick your sorry ass, I will. Make me proud, will you?

Steve had been on Death’s threshold more times than he cared to count, and he remembered all he’d wanted in those moments was for Bucky to find a way to become happy. During the war, they’d discussed the same, and Steve knew Bucky wanted him to move on.

He still didn’t know if that was even possible, but he had to try.

Steve Rogers would always have done almost anything Bucky Barnes asked of him—and he could try to do so now too. He was working, he was making friends, building himself a family; and he’d even asked someone out, even if he hadn’t really decided what he was going to do about it.

Karen-the-therapist would be proud of him when he told her.

If he told her.

He was drawn from his thoughts by a door opening on the second floor, and he recognised Thor’s lumbering gait even from a floor away.

He smiled despite himself.

Thor was a good friend, and Steve enjoyed having someone around that he couldn’t accidentally punch so hard they’d die. Thor was more than a match for Steve physically, and that made sparring sessions—whether in the gym at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, or in the Tower when they visited New York—infinitely more interesting.

Thor appeared in the doorway seconds later, lips curled up into a beaming smile as he took in the scene before him. “Ah, Steve, you have returned to us!” He bounded inside and clasped Steve’s shoulder jovially before he snatched a piece of broccoli off of Steve’s plate and plopped down on the couch, angling himself towards Steve.

“Hey,” Steve smiled, swiping at Thor’s head playfully. “Get your own food.”

“It tastes much better from your plate, my friend,” Thor chuckled and stuck out his tongue at Steve, looking for all the world like a twenty-something college student rather than a thousand-year-old God.

Steve just rolled his eyes and finished his omelette. “Becca asleep?” He asked when he’d finished, setting his plate on the table, aiming to sound casual—although even he could hear that he was anything but casual.

Thor, kind and good friend that he was, did not laugh at his shoddy attempt to start a conversation and shook his head. “She insisted on a bath first.”

Steve tried not to wince. Becca only took baths when she needed the time to calm herself down.

Thor, it appeared, knew that as well.

“She is not angry,” he informed Steve kindly. “Not truly. You merely… frightened her. You must be more careful, Steven. Strong as you are, you are not invulnerable.”

Steve did wince at that, because he knew that, and he hated that he had, but he did not know how to make it better. He didn’t regret jumping from the plane without a parachute because… well, honestly, there were very few things that gave him a thrill anymore, that were actually dangerous, and…

Steve might be a bit of an adrenaline junkie.

Just a little.

Taking off his helmet in front of Batroc though… that was a genuine mistake.

Thor seemed to sense his conflict and patted a large hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Worry not, Steve. She will come around, and you will have your opportunity to apologize. Loki and I suffered many an argument for similar reasons—time apart solves all issues. We were always fine after a century or so. Two, if Loki was feeling particularly irate.”

Steve snorted a little at that. “Well, Becca and I don’t have a few centuries. Also, it’s a little different than you and Loki. I’m not trying to bide my time to get into her pants, pal.”

Thor smirked. “Good. I would hate to have to smite you.”

“Why are we smiting Steve?”

Steve spun around, finding Becca propped up against the doorway, wet hair coiled into a neat braid, dressed in one of his old shirts and a pair of sleep shorts. She raised an eyebrow at him, unsmiling and very clearly still upset.

“Becca,” he breathed, because shit, they’d been living together for four years, and she was his best friend on this side of the ice—she was like the little sister he’d always wanted. Before he realised what having a little sister like her was like, of course.

She was annoying and pissed him off to no end, but Lord, he loved her.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted before anyone else said anything, turning his entire body towards Becca. “I’m sorry I scared you. And that I put away my shield—”

“And your helmet,” Becca interrupted icily, though her expression slowly eased into something less pissed off.

“—and my helmet,” Steve conceded. “I wasn’t thinking. It was stupid. You were right. I’m sorry.”

Becca’s eyes were suspiciously shiny when she spat, “No, you clearly weren’t. They could’ve killed you. He had a gun on you.”

Steve sighed. “I know. I’m sorry, Becs.” He pushed himself up, off the couch, moving until he stood directly in front of her. “Please. Forgiven?”

He pouted prettily, because he knew Becca couldn’t keep a straight face when he did, and grinned triumphantly when Becca snorted at him. “Fine,” she snapped, poking at his shoulder. “But if I catch you jumping out of a plane without a parachute one more goddamned time, Rogers, I swear to God—”

“I won’t,” he chuckled, holding his hands up in submission.

“Ah, but that is simple. Don’t let her catch you,” Thor advised from his spot on the couch, grinning unrepentantly when Becca glared at him.

“What?” Thor said innocently. “You let me do it.”

“Steve can’t fly, you dumbass,” Becca argued, pushing past Steve to swat at her boyfriend’s head before she plopped down beside him.

“Ah,” Thor shrugged. “We all have our failings. I shall teach him.”

Steve snorted and Becca swatted at Thor’s head again, scowling at him playfully. “Boy, you really wanna sleep on the couch, don’t you?”

His easy grin became a groan easily enough when Thor merely smirked at that, waggling his eyebrows at Becca as he replied, “Only if you’ll join me here, Krúttið mitt.” Such sappy declaration was met with Becca groaning in disgust before she gave in and kissed Thor anyway.

Steve rolled his eyes and dropped down in the armchair, throwing a pillow at the couple. “I’m burning that couch if you two defile it again.” He’d caught them doing… stuff he’d rather not think about them doing on that damned thing far too often to still be chill about it. He’d declared the armchair off limits on the pain of death, and never sat on the couch when he could help it. He did secretly kind of revel in it when others—less wise in the ways of living with Thor and Becca—did though. “Get a fucking room.”

“I can’t,” Thor told him cheerfully, detaching himself from Becca long enough to grin at Steve. “I’ve been banished to the couch.”

Becca laughed delightedly and Steve groaned.

He needed new friends.

————————

Residence of Steve Rogers and Rebecca Barnes, Washington D.C., U.S.A.

9:46 PM

Steve

Natasha didn’t show up until well after dinner, appearing suddenly in their living room, still dressed in her mission gear and looking hilariously out of place, considering they’d all long since changed into sweatpants, comfy shirts and—in Becca’s case—a fleece Captain America onesie Tony had gifted each of the Avengers with because he thought he was hilarious.

Becca was half-dozing by the time Nat appeared, lying on her stomach on the couch, head on a pillow on Thor’s lap, her nose nearly pressed against his stomach, and Steve was feeling decidedly sleepy himself, blinking blearily at whatever romantic comedy Thor had turned on after he’d won the battle for the remote control.

He’d been sketching, earlier, but he was drowsy enough that he’d really just been filling in the tight line of Bucky’s jaw and the ragged edge of his torn jacket over and over again.

He blinked at Nat in surprise, before sighing a little. He’d long since given up trying to teach her to respect any sort of boundaries—he knew she did shit like this to provoke him, to see how far she could push him before he pushed back, before he’d get angry and yell—and mostly stuck to insisting she knocked if she came into one of their bedrooms.

She mostly respected that rule too.

And he had told her, sort of, to come over to tell him about what had been going on.

He really did kind of bring it on himself this time.

“Hey Nat,” he said lazily, smiling when Thor and Becca stirred to look at their visitor too. “Have a seat,” he added, gesturing to the other armchair as Thor reached for the remote, turning down the volume on his movie with great reluctance.

She eyed them all with a predatory kind of assessment before she smiled at Steve and tossed a brown manila folder on the coffee table. “Read that,” she ordered as she took a seat in the floral armchair. “It’s every intel-gathering mission within a larger mission that Fury’s assigned me on in the last six months,” she added when Steve reached for the folder and Becca sat up, sleepy and bleary-eyed but clearly paying attention.

“That’s what you were doing today?” Becca questioned when Steve handed her part of the file, skimming through the papers.

Nat nodded silently.

Steve clenched his jaw and looked down at the papers he was holding. The page detailed the info Nat had pulled from a classified server during a raid of an abandoned—or so they’d thought—A.I.M. base, referencing to… to key pieces of evidence going missing, easy missions going horribly awry in a myriad of increasingly unlikely ways, agents—good, dependable agents—going missing or dying in the line of duty—

Nat was right.

There was a pattern.

“Nat,” Becca said, and Steve’s head snapped up, because Becca sounded wrecked. “This is Sharon’s mission. The last—where—whydo you have Sharon’s mission in here?”

Natasha turned her gaze towards Becca, and there was something in her expression that set Steve’s nerves on edge. “Because there’s something very fishy going on.” Steve took the file from Becca, eyes scanning over the information quickly, stomach turning at the picture the report was painting.

“They’re trying to pin murder on her,” he spit, looking up at Nat desperately. “This is insane.”

Natasha nodded sharply. “I know that. Fury knows that. Sharon was recruited in high school. S.H.I.E.L.D. put her through college. We know she’s loyal. That’s why the file is in there; he’s keeping an eye on things, I think. He’s trying to… see patterns, find out if there’s something more going on. There’s been rumors of a mole inside S.H.I.E.L.D. before, but in the light of all of that,” she waved towards the files, “they’re thinking it might be Sharon.”

“What will happen to the young lady Carter while they try to see these patterns?” Thor questioned, rubbing his hand over Becca’s back when she hunched over, looking slightly green around the gills.

“Nothing bad,” Nat insisted. “Fury wouldn’t let them get rid of her or imprison her, unless they can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was her. They’re probably going to put her on desk duty, assign her to the research department, something like that.”

“Do we trust him?”

Steve loathed to be the one to ask, because he didn’t want to distrust Fury, but… the man was the head of S.H.I.E.L.D. and it was very hard to imagine anything going on in the agency without Fury knowing about it.

“Yes,” Nat said vehemently, appearing almost insulted that he’d dared to question it at all.

“Do we trust him to be able to direct the investigation the right way?” Thor questioned. “The lady Carter is a friend to us all, none of us would see her wrongfully imprisoned.”

“I wanna call in the others,” Becca interjected hoarsely, tearing her eyes from the mess of papers on their coffee table. “I want to call in Tony. And Clint. I trust Fury, but Sharon’s family. I’m not taking any risks. We already know S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hidden things from us before. We can’t take a chance with this kind of investigation. If there’s a mole, they’ll do their level best to pin it all on Sharon.”

Natasha nodded. “I agree. I already contacted Stark and sent him everything I have.”

Steve nodded. “Who else knows about this so far?”

“Just us,” Nat replied tightly. “Fury knows something is off, I’m sure, that’s why he’s been sending me on side missions for months. I haven’t told him what I found yet.”

“Are you going to?”

Becca’s voice was quiet, but Steve could hear the steely resolve in in her tone.

He looked from his roommate to Natasha, who had perched on the second armchair carefully, and considered the advantages and the disadvantages of bringing Fury into the fold.

On the one hand, having the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. on their side would definitely ensure that they had a semi-reliable source of information and someone who could get into places they couldn’t without arousing too much suspicion.

On the other… they had no idea how far up the mole was, and for all they knew right now, Fury was the mole. Steve honestly did not think that the man was, but stranger things had happened. After he’d seen the Red Skull peel off his own face, and crashed a plane into the Arctic and woke up seventy years later, he’d learned to stop taking things at face value.

Natasha didn’t reply for a long while, but eventually, she nodded. “I’ll tell him that I suspect something. I don’t need to tell him everything else until we know what we have.”

“So we run it like an Avengers Black Op,” Steve mused. “Strictly need-to-know. Only the team and essential personnel.” The idea of the Black ops was that no one but the Avengers themselves and a few trusted others would be in charge of gathering intel, analyzing the data and planning their next steps. Tony had insisted on developing the concept shortly after the mess in Greenwich, rightfully pointing out that they didn’t always have the luxury of letting Natasha run thorough and intense background checks on everyone involved. One day, they might have to handle information so delicate and dangerous they couldn’t afford to trust just anyone.

It was a sound idea, and Steve had been all for its development.

They had not yet needed to put the concept to use, but if Natasha was right, and there was a mole in S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve didn’t want to risk trusting anyone but his teammates—and possibly Jane, Darcy, Maria and Erik Selvig, if they needed their expertise.

“Sounds like a fine idea,” Thor nodded approvingly, although he returned his attention to Becca swiftly when she exhaled with a shudder, fingers clenched around Sharon’s file.

“We have to tell Sharon,” Becca said, not looking up from the file. “This is her life, her career—we can’t do this without letting her know we’re on her side.” She looked up at Steve pleadingly, and Steve had to actively stop himself from immediately digging out his phone to call Sharon. Becca was right, and he hated it, because they couldn’t risk telling Sharon that the Avengers were on the case.

“We can’t,” Natasha said, and Steve felt a momentary wave of gratitude, because he really hadn’t wanted to be the person to tell Becca she couldn’t comfort her cousin when she needed it.

Becca opened her mouth to protest, but Nat cut her off before she could say anything. “Think, Barnes. Whoever this is, they’re very good at what they do. They have to have access to Sharon, there’s no other way for them to pull this off. Whoever they are, I’ll bet you anything Sharon knows them.”

Becca frowned at Nat, but grudgingly nodded. “Still. She needs to know that we—“” she gestured between herself, Steve and Thor, “—are on her side at least. I understand we can’t tell her we’re investigating things, but she needs to know her family’s got her back, at the very least.”

Natasha nodded begrudgingly. “Just keep her in the dark on the Avengers Op. I know we trust her, but we can’t afford for this to get back to whoever is trying to cover this up.”

Steve looked at the files and swallowed thickly. Natasha was right, however much he would like to pretend that she was not. There was something much bigger than just Sharon’s botched mission going on, and if Nat’s hunch proved right…

“This isn’t just about Sharon,” he said, gesturing to the rest of the files. “There’s something much bigger going on. We gotta—we gotta do this the right way, Becs.”

Becca nodded, leaning back against Thor with a deep sigh. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Do we have eyes on Sharon?” Steve asked, taking the file on her that Becca had discarded on their coffee table, flipping through the information laid out in it carefully.

Nat shook her head. “I haven’t set anything up yet.”

“Tony’ll probably have something untraceable and undetectable for us,” Becca pointed out calmly, shifting to sit crosslegged on the sofa. “We gotta use the fact that we have access to tech that no one else does.” She spread out a couple of files across her own lap and Thor’s as she spoke, and Steve was glad to see she wasn’t caught up on Sharon’s misfortune in all this, because he could really use Becca’s insights on this—he’d come to rely on her keen eye a lot over the past few years, and he knew that she saw things that he didn’t.

Natasha, too, had proved herself invaluable—it’s why they made such a good team.

“You called Tony, right?” Steve checked, looking up from his own file to see Natasha nod.

He looked down at the files again, glanced at the clock, and sighed. “Okay. We’re not going to be able to do anything tonight anyway. Becca, text Tony to call in the others too, we’ll convene at the Tower tomorrow—we’re due forty-eight hours off rotation anyway; we might as well use them. We can discuss the best and most efficient ways to set up surveillance on Sharon then. Thor, you’re not due in Asgard for a few more weeks, right?”

“Correct,” Thor boomed. “I’ll gladly be of assistance to clear young Lady Carter’s name.”

Becca smiled tiredly at him, leaning in to peck him on the cheek before she leaned down, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

Natasha nodded stiffly and stood, clearly making to gather the mess of papers on the table and disappear to wherever she liked to hide when she wasn’t here, trying to set Steve up with every eligible single she knew, and Steve sighed. “Nat,” he said, drawing her attention. “Just sleep in the spare room,” he said firmly. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re here and not getting into fights by yourself.”

Natasha smirked dangerously, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’m not you, Rogers.”

“Humor me then,” he insisted. He really would feel better knowing that his D.C. teammates were all under his roof—with the exception of Sharon, but Steve assumed she had Brock to look out for her, at least, and it wasn’t like he had another guest room to offer up. “You can probably borrow something of Becca’s to sleep in,” he added.

Becca, who looked like she was well on her way to falling back asleep on Thor’s shoulder, waved her hand vaguely, which Steve took to mean she was okay with Natasha raiding her closet.

She should be.

She stole his and Thor’s shirts often enough.

Nat glanced towards Becca for a moment before she turned to Steve again, carefully coiling her body as seductively as she could, jutting her full lower lip out into a pout. “What if I’d rather wear something of yours?” she purred, and Steve would be exasperated, but it really wasn’t the first time Nat tried to flirt with him like this, and he knew she was doing it to get a rise out of him anyway.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of my stuff in Becca’s closet too,” he replied evenly, offering her a mild smile.

Nat held the seductive pose for a moment longer before she let it go, nodding lightly. “Alright then,” she said softly. “We’ll do it your way, Rogers.”

Becca heaved herself up from the couch with a big sigh, gesturing towards the stairs impatiently. “Well then, Romanoff. Let’s go.”

Thor merely smiled when Becca looked back at him, holding her hand out, before he tapped her hip lightly. “Go on, Krúttið mitt. I will join you shortly, after I have helped Steve clean up.” He gestured grandly towards the mess of papers, and Steve watched as Becca shrugged, trudging towards the stairs with all the air of a woman about to fall asleep on her feet.

Nat eyed them both shrewdly for a moment, but remained silent as she followed Becca up the stairs.

“So,” Thor said when they’d heard the women disappear into Thor and Becca’s room. “What do you truly think of all this?” He gestured to the mess of papers he had gathered, messily attempting to shuffle them into a neat stack so he could shove them back into the folder.

Steve sighed and went to help, purposefully not looking at the words written on the pages. “I think we’re getting into something a lot bigger than we’re prepared for,” he admitted wryly. “I’m probably not gonna have time to go on that date after all.”

Thor smiled sympathetically and clasped his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Worry not, my friend. We shall ensure you get the chance to speak to your Sam, and that our mission runs smoothly.”

Steve grinned a little despite his concerns. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Thor nodded decisively. “All will be well. You’ll see.”

———

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

#IHWSBY sequel #Starting Over #stucky #Stucky fanfiction #Steve rogers #Bucky barnes #thor #Rebecca barnes #avengers family

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cuthian · 4 years

Text

Chances

That's all she wrote!

The next part will be a bigger work, taking place during canon-The Winter Soldier era.

Thanks to Juulna for putting up with me :D

Lots of Love, Annaelle

Chances

The One Where the Avengers Throw Becca & Steve a Party

“Anytime That We Step Out Boldly to Make Changes, We Take a Chance That We Might Fail. But the Only Way to Get Better Is to Try.”

—Joyce Meyer

The Whip & Fiddle, London, UK

November 5th, 1943

He hadn’t had much time to himself after he’d returned to the camp with Bucky and four hundred other former prisoners of war in tow. He’d not expected such avid responses from his superiors, and he had most definitely not expected to be patted on the back.

Peggy Carter had sat in on many of the meetings as their official MI6-liaison, and it had comforted Steve a little to see a familiar, semi-friendly face.

She, at least, had understood he could not stay put while Bucky’s life was in danger.

If only Bucky had felt the same way.

“What the ever-lovin’ fuck were you thinkin’, you reckless piece of shit?” Bucky’d shouted at him the very second he’d gotten Steve alone, shoving at his shoulder roughly, hard enough to make Steve bump back against the dirty brick wall in the back alley of the Whip & Fiddle, where Steve’s newly minted team had been trying to drink each other under the table.

Steve had not been turned on.

He hadn’t been.

(He so had been).

“I had to,” Steve’d tried, biting his lower lip lightly. “Buck, they said you were dead, and if you weren’t yet, you were gonna be! I couldn’t sit and do nothin’.” He had known he could get away with a lot when he’d looked at Bucky like that, and given that this was the first time he and Bucky had been semi-alone since Steve had pulled him off a metal table in a factory in Austria, there were things Steve would much rather have been doing than being yelled at.

“That’s exactly what you shoulda done, you dumb fuckin’ punk!” Bucky had hollered. “You coulda died! I coulda already been dead—you would have been dead for nothin’, Steve, damn it!”

“It wouldn’t have been for nothin’,” Steve had snapped, shoving back against Bucky for the first time. “If you’d been dead—I ain’t doin’ this without you, Buck. I can’t.” He had seen the fear burning in Bucky’s eyes and he’d known, he’d understood—because it was what Steve had felt the day Bucky had come home with a 1A, the day he’d had to watch Bucky leave for England without him, the moment Peggy had casually mentioned the 107th’s fate. “End of the line together, Buck.”

“Stevie,” Bucky had sighed, softening immediately, reaching out to him. Steve’d wanted to maintain the distance for a second longer, had wanted to resist, because he had still been angry at Bucky for yelling, but he’d always been weak for Bucky looking at him like that.

When Bucky had pressed his palm to Steve’s cheek, Steve had melted into the touch, swaying towards Bucky almost subconsciously, slipping his arms around Bucky’s neck as the other man had slipped his around Steve’s waist, pressing their bodies close together in a way they hadn’t been able to in months—since before Bucky had left for basic at Camp McCoy.

He’d rested his forehead against Bucky’s—briefly disoriented to find that he could reach—and had exhaled shakily. “I got you, babydoll,” Bucky had whispered, rubbing his hands over the length of Steve’s back, like Steve was still five-foot-nothing and able to curl up in Bucky’s arms like he belonged there.

Steve had let out another shuddering breath and had pressed into Bucky’s embrace as much as he had been able to, relishing in the short moment they’d been allowed before the war would demand their attention again. “I was so scared,” he’d admitted in a rush, tightening his arms around Bucky. “When they said—and then I couldn’t—I was so scared, Buck.”

“Shhh,” Bucky’d whispered, leaning forward to press a flurry of soft, small kisses to Steve’s cheeks, nose, and lips. “I’m here, sweetheart. You got me out. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Steve had leaned into the kisses, allowing Bucky to soothe the frantic energy within him.

He’d never liked being vulnerable—never liked been seen as weak—but he’d never quite minded as much when it had been Bucky seeing him like this. He’d trusted Bucky enough to show him this part of himself, knowing the other man wouldn’t mock him for needing the reassurance. Steve had even admitted, only in the privacy of his own mind, that he’d liked it when Bucky guided him with a firm hand, when Bucky had shoved him around a little when they were getting really into it.

“Buck,” he’d murmured, looking up at the other man from beneath his lashes. “I’m sorry.” For not telling you. For making you worry. For everything that happened. For not coming to rescue you sooner.

He hadn’t finished the sentence, but he hadn’t really needed to.

Bucky had shaken his head and smiled wryly. “Don’t you go blamin’ yourself for things that ain’t your fault, Rogers. Your shoulders may be bigger,” Bucky had smirked and patted a hand on aforementioned shoulders, “but you still ain’t gotta take the weight of the world on ‘em.”

Steve’s cheeks had flushed and he ducked his head bashfully.

He had been worried, about what his best guy would say about his brand-fucking-new body, but it had seemed Bucky was just as appreciative as everyone else Steve had met so far. It had been both satisfying and exceptionally debilitating to his already fragile self-image. Had Bucky lied, when he’d said he’d loved Steve’s old body? Had he lied when he’d reassured Steve that he didn’t needsomeone who was bigger, and stronger, and healthier?

“Don’t think I can’t see you overthinking,” Bucky had chided, stepping even closer to flick at Steve’s forehead. Steve had not yelped, though he had to admit Bucky’s methods of distraction were solid. Steve had been, once again, fully focused on Bucky. “Wha’s going on in that pretty blond head of yours, Stevie?”

“Nuthin’,” Steve had lied through his teeth, averting his eyes from Bucky’s knowing gaze—he’d forgotten just how well Bucky knew how to read him and he’d been tired of it already.

“Awe, c’mon, doll,” Bucky had cajoled, pushing towards Steve again, jolting his hip against Steve’s and grinning innocently at him when Steve had halfheartedly glared at him. “Don’t be like that. You gotta tell me what you’re thinkin’, baby, or I can’t make it better.”

Steve hadn’t said anything—mostly because he hadn’t been sure how to say it without sounding ridiculous, ‘cause he’d known that Bucky had loved him when he was smaller, and that he probably would now too—and stubbornly stared at his feet. He hadn’t fought it, though, when Bucky had snuck an arm around his waist and patted his other hand on Steve’s chest.

“Is it all this?” Bucky had questioned softly, tapping his fingers over Steve’s heart delicately before he’d slipped them down his stomach to rest on Steve’s waistband. “You afraid I was gonna be sore at ya?”

“Maybe,” Steve’d huffed when Bucky had tugged on his waistband, silently demanding an answer.

“Only reason I’m sore at ya is ‘cause you keep puttin’ your dumb ass in danger,” Bucky had insisted. “Especially when I ain’t there to watch your six.”

Steve had huffed, but had leaned into Bucky’s touch when the other man dragged him closer. He’d been without Bucky for far too long to risk spurning his advances now. Who knew when they’d next get the chance to sneak off together? “’s different though,” he’d murmured, ducking to bury his face against Bucky’s neck, slipping his arms around the other man’s waist to hug him close. “I’m different.”

He could almost feel Bucky’s quiet revelation before he’d even said anything. “Oh. Oh, babydoll, is that what you thought?” Steve had barely suppressed the urge to whine when Bucky had pushed him back a little so he could look at him.

Barely.

He hadn’t been sure what expression was on his face, but it seemed Bucky had gathered what he needed to know from his expression anyway, because he’d frowned, shaking his head sadly. “Stevie, c’mon. You know I’m sweet on ya, right?” Steve had pouted a little, but leaned into Bucky’s hand when he tracked his fingers through Steve’s previously neatly-combed hair.

“I know,” he’d finally sighed, leaning in to rub his nose against Bucky’s, to breathe him in, to feel him. “But it’s real different. I wouldn’t—”

“Hey,” Bucky had interrupted. “I love the shit outta ya, Rogers. Big, small, sick, or healthy… End of the line, remember? And we ain’t there yet.” He’d grabbed Steve’s chin and forced Steve to look at him, to see the serious look in his eye, and smiled a little. “Okay?”

Steve had smiled, a little relieved, and had nodded as much as Bucky’s grip on his chin allowed. “Okay,” he’d said. “Okay.” Bucky had grinned and rewarded him with a small, quick kiss, before jerking his chin back towards the pub. “We should go check on the boys, get ‘em to the barracks. You got an early day tomorrow, Captain.”

Steve had shivered at the way Bucky’s eyes had darkened, heat pooling low in his belly. “Yeah.” He’d let Bucky pull him forward, back towards the raucous crowd spilling out of the pub. “Okay.”

——————

Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York City, U.S.A. March 23rd, 2012

Steve

Steve settled back into Tony’s comfortable sofa cushions, more relaxed and—dare he say—happy than he had been in a very, very long time. The increased frequency of his therapy sessions with Karen-the-therapist—with the noted addition of Karim-the-grief-counselor, and Alicia-the-VA-counselor—had done wonders for his state of mind, and had, eventually, helped him learn to tolerate, if not appreciate, the second chance at life that he had been given.

He’d not been able to, for a while, hadn’t been able to see past all the things he had lost.

It hadn’t been until Peggy and Gabe and Dum Dum had come to see him—barging into his apartment with all the bluster and noise of that unruly gang of twenty-year-olds that he remembered, not the ninety-year-olds that they now were—and quite literally slapped him up the head that he’d remembered that he’d gained things too, in this century.

It’d been Peggy’s idea, initially, to work with several therapists, each with a different specialization, to help Steve acclimate and deal with things on several levels.

Steve had not protested.

He had learned long ago that his life was much easier when he didn’t put up a fight and just did as Peggy said.

Indeed, when he had finished sobbing on Peggy’s perfectly-pressed blouse, she had lectured him very sternly, and Steve had been forced to listen, if only because he was afraid Dum Dum would try to make good on his threat to come sit on him and break a hip trying to get out of his wheelchair.

He’d cherished seeing his friends—his team—again, and learned to appreciate the frequent phone calls which followed their visit, because Dum Dum was still Dum Dum, even if he was ninety and had a whole army of grandchildren now, and Gabe was still Gabe, even though he had somehow married Bucky’s littlest sister, moved to France, and had a whole brood of kids with her—just another link tying them together, one of many.

Peggy was still as strong and competent and beautiful as Steve had remembered her, and it’d helped to see her, even when he had been afraid he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

But he had.

And so he’d done as Peggy said, and he’d asked Karen-the-therapist for references, and asked her for help, because he couldn’t do it on his own, and he needed to admit that too.

And he did get better.

He’d picked up a paintbrush again, and filled several canvases and sketchbooks with old memories, and several more with new ones. He’d started running every morning, and picked up the sparring sessions with Peggy’s niece and her infuriating boyfriend again, and when Fury asked him to accept a provisional job as an independent advisor for S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve said yes.

Steve found he liked the independence his position gave him within S.H.I.E.L.D., without taking away from his authority when he was asked to step in on a mission. He liked being able to do something, to help, even if help didn’t always look the way Steve would like it to.

He got to work closely with Sharon Carter’s boyfriend sometimes—Brock was head of the STRIKE team that Steve got assigned to most often—and he found that, though the man was annoying and cocky as hell in his personal life, Steve could appreciate his competence and utter professionalism while they were on the job.

He worked with Becca very rarely, which wasn’t much of a surprise, considering his own, relatively high position in the chain of command, and her relatively low one. The times they did work together showed that they made an excellent team though, and when Natasha was added to the mix, they were so frighteningly competent it baffled even Steve himself.

That in itself had been a bit of a surprise to Steve—Becca had refused to speak to Natasha for a solid three weeks before she initiated contact again, and even then his roommate had been careful to keep her contact with Natasha strictly professional. Steve hadn’t blamed her; Natasha had broken her heart, after all, in a pretty shitty way.

Steve had been very upset with Nat too, although he’d been forced to give her at least a little bit of a break when Clint pointed out that Nat felt like utter shit about what had happened, and was doing her best to make up for it—albeit in a clumsy, slightly awkward way.

Despite Becca’s resolve to forgive Natasha, it had taken her a bit of time to be okay with even being in the same room as the other woman; especially when Clint had admitted he really would like to try dating Nat, if Becca was okay with him giving it a shot. Clint had been furious too, but—for reasons Steve didn’t even pretend to understand—he’d taken much less time to cool down than Becca had.

Becca had, naturally, not responded to the news of Clint and Nat dating as well as she probably could have, which led to Steve finding Maria Hill in their kitchen in her underwear at four A.M. at least twice, and one incredibly awkward elevator ride down to the lobby in the morning, where Becca had made sure to kiss Maria in full view of an equally flabbergasted and infuriated Natasha.

Steve was pretty sure Maria knew exactly what was going on and let it happen anyway.

So, when Nat had been assigned to a mission together with him and Becca, Steve had expected… issues, to say the least. In the end though, they’d gotten their mission accomplished in half the estimated time range, and it was such a resounding success that Steve was almost sure Fury might have smiled.

Their raging success was also why they had all descended on the common floor of the Tower—Steve and Becca would be relocating to Washington D.C. for an unspecified period of time, and Tony had insisted that it was the perfect reason to throw them a going-away party, as though he wouldn’t just fly over and break into their new, S.H.I.E.L.D.-approved house whenever he missed them.

Not, of course, that Tony would ever admit to that out loud.

“It’s a trick,” Clint insisted, breaking Steve from his reverie and waving his hand towards the hammer Thor had plonked down on the coffee table before they’d started drinking. Steve grinned broadly and leaned back into the couch, letting the conversation wash over him.

All of the Avengers were sprawled across Tony’s excessively expensive furniture on the common floor, in various stages of inebriation, and Steve had had enough of Thor’s Asgardian mead to feel warm and tingly, with the room going just the right kind of fuzzy around the edges.

Becca was sprawled on her back on one of the sofas, bare feet deposited on Thor’s lap and her high heels abandoned on the floor, while her head rested on Nat’s lap. The redhead had looked at Becca with an exasperated fondness when the brunette gracelessly sprawled across her and Thor, but Steve caught the indulgent smile she and Thor exchanged too.

It was one of the first times since Nat had unceremoniously chosen Clint over Becca after their brief fling that the two women looked anywhere remotely comfortable around each other, and Steve was glad to see it, even if most of it was likely due to lowered inhibitions due to excessive consumption of alcohol.

Steve also hadn’t missed the contemplative looks Thor tended to give Becca lately, coupled with what Steve was mostly certain was Thor’s version of starry-eyed affection.

He’d been spending more time at Steve and Becca’s newly renovated Brooklyn apartment than he had on his own floor in the Tower or Asgard, and Steve really wondered when one of those two morons would pull their heads out of their asses and make a move. Admittedly, he just really wanted Becca to smile again, and to stop moping over the—granted, really shitty—way Nat had dumped her, and he missed the carefree way Thor used to smile, before he’d lost…

Well, before he’d lost everything he’d held most dear.

Steve didn’t doubt that Thor loved Asgard, his father, and his friends, but he knew that none of them could ever come close to the kind of affection a mother inspired, and that no one would ever be able to replace Loki in Thor’s heart.

For a very short while, Steve had thought that maybe Thor would let himself seek comfort in Jane Foster, but he found out pretty quickly that he’d turned her down before anything ever really happened.

It seemed they’d managed to build a pretty solid friendship despite the initial awkwardness, along with a man named Selvig and someone Thor referred to as Lady Darcy.

Afterwards, however, Thor hadn’t really spent time with anyone but him, Becca, and the other Avengers.

Steve was sure Becca and Thor would be good for each other though, if they ever got over themselves and actually tried.

Of course, when Steve had brought it up with Thor, he’d bashfully tried to deny being interested at all, which was a lot more telling than admitting it would have been.

Thor never avoided questions about those he found himself attracted to.

It hadn’t happened often since Loki’s passing, but it had happened, and Steve wasn’t imagining the way Thor would gravitate towards Becca when she entered a room, or the way she blushed when she caught him looking at her, or even the—far from—subtle touches after battle under the guise of checking each other for injuries that might have gone unnoticed.

He couldn’t deny that the latter was effective though.

Thor, apparently, had a pain tolerance so high he hardly even noticed when he did contract injuries.

Steve was abruptly torn from his thoughts when Tony booed loudly from his spot on the couch, where he was curled up with Rhodey, fingers linked together. Pepper sat cross-legged on the floor before them, discussing something or the other with Bruce with a very serious expression on her face.

Steve could probably concentrate to listen and figure out what they were talking about, but he was warm and comfortable and Steve wanted to melt.

Thor chuckled in response to Clint’s indignant squawking and shook his head lightly. “Oh no, I assure you, its magic is much more than a simple trick.”

His words were met with mostly incoherent protests—they had been drinking for a while—and Becca’s poorly aimed kicks towards his stomach, which he easily contained with one hand. “Please,” he laughed, gesturing towards the hammer with his free hand, keeping Becca’s feet trapped with the other.

“Be my guest.”

The atmosphere in the room changed almost immediately from one of lazy comfort to one of eager anticipation, and Steve noticed that even Bruce and Pepper—and Jane, who was hanging out with them for the first time and had joined their discussion sometime in the last three minutes—looked between Thor and Clint curiously.

“Really?” Clint bounced upright and grinned brightly, seemingly unhindered by his slight inability to walk straight as he positively floated towards the table and the hammer.

“Yes.” Thor smirked as Tony booed at Clint and flapped his hand in Rhodey’s face to make sure he was watching too. Steve rolled his eyes a little at their antics, and he couldn’t help but grin when Becca grumbled at Thor while using his bicep to try to sit up straight.

It didn’t look like the most successful endeavor.

“Screw you, Odinson,” Becca huffed, drawing herself off the couch—moving remarkably steadily—until she collapsed half on top of and half next to Steve. “They’re stupid,” she told him seriously, pupils dilated a little and her breath smelling like the half a dozen glasses of wine she’d already had.

“They really are,” Steve chuckled, rolling his head a little to look at Becca, who seemed entirely content to use him as her newest body pillow. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it or didn’t like it—Becca was very tactile with her friends, and they almost always inevitably ended up in a cuddle pile when they tried to watch movies on the couch.

“You okay?” he asked softly, deliberately ignoring the shitshow going on beside him as Clint tried, in vain, to pull a highly uncooperative Mjölnir from the table. He’d seen Becca really drunk enough times to know when she was playing it up a little, so people wouldn’t pay as much attention to her.

Becca blinked blankly at him for a couple of seconds before she sighed and dropped her forehead to rest against his shoulder. “Yeah,” she nodded against him. “Tired of Nat looking at me like I’m going to break every time I see her with Clint.”

Steve winced a little, because he couldn’t exactly deny that.

For all that Nat could probably have gone about picking between Clint and Becca in a better way, she was uncomfortably aware of the fact that she had hurt Becca while doing so, at least.

They were torn from their soft conversation by a pillow thrown in their direction, followed by Tony’s outcry of, “Pay attention, you lovebirds! Interesting things going on here!” Before either Steve or Becca could say anything, Pepper slapped Tony’s knee and Clint and Nat booed at him in perfect unison, but the implication was there, again, and Steve’s cheeks were so hot, he was pretty sure he was on fire.

He hated that people assumed he and Becca were sleeping together just because they were of opposite genders and really close. He hated it more when it was the Avengers implying it, even though he knew that they knew it wasn’t like that.

They did, and that’s what made it worse.

“Right,” Becca nodded seriously, raising an eyebrow at Clint in challenge. “Were you done trying and failing to establish your dominance?”

Steve burst into laughter at the indignant look on Clint’s face, and the rest of the group followed swiftly, Tony gasping, “Smell the silent judgement, Barton?” between hysteric peals of laughter.

“Oh, please,” Clint exclaimed heatedly, waving his arms towards the group vaguely. “I’d like to see you knuckleheads try to do it!”

“I’ll take that bet!” Tony shouted immediately, springing up from the sofa probably a little too energetically, narrowly avoiding tripping over Pepper as he stepped forward towards the table. Steve watched, amused, as Tony—clearly more intoxicated than he’d probably prefer to show—stumbled his way to the coffee table.

Rhodey facepalmed—Steve seriously loved that new word—as Clint laughed, leaning against Nat now, the redhead patting his head fondly as they watched Tony. “Here we go,” Nat hummed delightedly, eyeing Tony with a kind of predatory assessment that still threw Steve off sometimes.

“I’ve never been one to shrink from an honest challenge,” Tony boasted, coming to a stop before the hammer, looking down at it calculatingly before he looked at Thor. “It’s just physics,” he said firmly, ignoring Bruce’s snort at that. “So if I lift this… I then rule Asgard?”

Thor nodded, lips obviously pressed together to avoid laughing. “Yes, of course.”

Tony nodded primly and pointed one finger at Thor, squinting at him suspiciously. “I will be re-instituting Prima Nocta.” Behind him, Pepper coughed delicately and raised an eyebrow when Tony froze, and then slowly pivoted to look at her.

“Will you?” she asked pleasantly, leaning back against Rhodey a little.

Steve couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter at Tony’s wide-eyed expression. “No?” he backtracked, flapping his hands at Rhodey and Pepper uselessly. “I was just kidding?” The shrill question at the end really sold it.

Pepper rolled her eyes and smiled. “Go pick up the hammer, Tony.”

Tony saluted her sloppily, spinning on his heel and nearly face-planting onto the table. “Yes, ma’am,” he shot back cheekily, wrapping his hands around Mjölnir’s handle and grunting a little when he pulled. Mjölnir, predictably, remained on the coffee table. Steve chuckled at the look on Tony’s face when he failed to lift the hammer, but couldn’t say he was entirely surprised when Tony muttered, “I’ll be right back. No one try before I get back!” and ran off.

Becca huffed a laugh and sagged back against Steve a little, for all the world looking like she was close to falling asleep, but Steve knew she was really just settling into a prime position for people-watching. In this case, of course, that meant watching as Steve’s team made idiots of themselves trying to lift a hammer that was legendarily hard to lift.

Tony reappeared with one of his armored gauntlets, gleefully insisting it would help him lift the hammer.

Predictably, that did not work either.

Steve grinned along with Thor when Tony recruited Rhodey—though Steve had to admit the latter looked more reluctant than excited to aid Tony in his quest—with the Iron Patriot’s armored hand, and gratefully allowed Thor to fill up his glass again.

“Sláinte,” Steve said, lifting his glass towards him in thanks without dislodging Becca from his side.

The Irish Gaelic phrase still came to his lips as easily as the English toast would have, even though he hadn’t spoken more than a word of it here and there to anyone since his mother had passed. Bucky had only known a few words, at most, and he’d always been more drawn to the Yiddish words his own mother had taught him.

It was… comforting, to have someone like Thor here, who may not know Gaelic the way Steve did, but who understood when Steve spoke it nonetheless, who did not mind when Steve reverted to the comfort of his native tongue—he hadn’t even learned proper English until he was four and he met Bucky.

“Skål,” Thor replied enthusiastically, thrusting his glass forward so eagerly that some of the liquid sloshed over the edge. Steve didn’t miss the way Thor’s eyes strayed to Becca, who was still staring intently at Tony and Rhodey unsuccessfully trying to lift Mjölnir.

The others seemed to have lost interest in the two men—Pepper had returned to her conversation with Bruce and Jane—and Clint and Natasha were quietly talking, switching between sign language and spoken words fluently, like they’d been doing it for decades… which they probably had been.

Steve smiled a little and nudged Becca. “Thor’s looking at you,” he murmured, sipping casually at his drink when Becca stiffened a little, shooting a quick glance towards Thor before she settled back against Steve.

“So what?” she huffed semi-casually. Steve wasn’t really fooled at all.

“Becs,” he sighed, rubbing his hand over her shoulder comfortingly. “Come on. You can’t sulk about Nat forever. And Thor actually likesyou.”

“Not sulking,” Becca pouted. “It’s been like three months; I’m over it. And I’ve hooked up with… plenty of people. Doesn’t mean I should start hooking up with my friends too.” She sat up and glanced around with a slight frown. “I’ve slept with way too many people in this room as it is.”

Steve glanced around as well and frowned. “I thought you’d only slept with Tony and Nat?” he blurted, possibly slightly too loud, if the way Nat looked at them in confusion was any indication.

“Yeah,” Becca deadpanned. “Thanks, Steve, I know that.”

Her cheeks were flushed and she was a little hunched in on herself and Steve immediately felt like a fathead for pushing her. “Hey,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I just…” He shrugged helplessly and looked at her seriously. “I wanna see you smile again. I want you to be happy.” He nodded stealthily towards Thor, and Becca smiled weakly as Steve said, “I don’t know if seeing what could happen between you and him would make you happy, but…” he shrugged again and bit his lip. “Isn’t it at least worth considering?”

Becca looked at him, eyes wide and expression vulnerable, before Tony rudely interrupted by yelling, “Let’s go, Steve—your turn! No pressure!”

Steve groaned, thumping his head back on the couch. “I don’t wanna,” he whined, glaring at Tony playfully, pushing his lip out into a pout. “We’re comfortable here.”

“Nah,” Becca said, voice tight, but her smile deliberately exuberant. “Go lift the hammer. I’m gonna take a breather anyway.” She added deed to words as soon as she said it, pushing herself away from Steve without looking at him.

Something deep inside Steve’s chest twisted, and he felt like a heel for pushing the subject, even when she’d already given a pretty clear indication she didn’t want to talk about it. “Becs,” he pleaded, reaching for her wrist, careful to not exert too much pressure. She looked at him with that same devastating expression and smiled tightly, pulling her wrist from his grasp.

“I’m fine. Just need some fresh air.” She gestured to the others, who were watching their exchange with expressions ranging from interest—Natasha and Tony—to concern—Thor and Pepper and even Jane. “Go show off those biceps, Rogers.” She gave him an exaggerated wink—poorly concealing her sudden melancholy—before swiftly exiting the circle the couches and chairs made around the table and heading towards the balcony, only twelve feet away.

Steve stared after her for a second, the room entirely silent for a heartbeat before Thor shot to his feet, gesturing towards the balcony door less than subtly. “I also… I could do with a breath of fresh air. I’m afraid the mead has gone to my head.” Steve stared at him, painfully aware that Thor had probably heard everything Steve had said to Becca, painfully aware that he’d probably pushed them both into admitting something neither of them was ready for.

He watched through the glass door and wall as Thor stepped up to Becca awkwardly, and then Steve turned away abruptly when Thor moved even closer still.

“Well, that was awkward,” Tony exclaimed, throwing himself on the couch beside Rhodey and pulling Pepper up to snuggle against his other side. “Wonder what they’re talking about.”

“Nothing much, probably,” Steve deflected, stepping forward so he was blocking the other’s view of Becca and Thor. “So, I bet I can lift this thing.”

“What?” Tony exclaimed loudly amongst a chorus of ‘boos’ from the others. “You can’t.”

“Man, it’s rigged,” Clint said again. “Betcha only Thor can lift that thing ‘cause it needs his fingerprints or something.” Natasha didn’t say anything, just eyed him contemplatively, and Steve was almost sure she knew exactly what he was trying to do.

She didn’t call him out on it though, merely raised an eyebrow and smirked in that peculiar way of hers. “Well then, Rogers. Put your money where your mouth is.”

“I don’t know,” Steve drawled, grinning a little as he reached for the handle, looking up at Stark from beneath his lashes. “What do I get if I can do it?”

“Pfft,” Tony snorted. “Whatever the fuck you want. But,” he leaned forward eagerly. “If you can’t, you have to come to the next gala and perform the U.S.O. routine.” He waggled his eyebrows and added, “with the motorcycle and the girls—and the costumes! I’ll set it all up.” The others hooted, and normally, Steve would feel embarrassed by the mere mention of the goddamned U.S.O. tour, but he had an ace up his sleeve, and he wasn’t afraid to use it to keep the other Avengers’ eyes on him.

“Deal,” he smirked. “If I lift this, you do whatever I want. If I don’t, I’ll do the U.SO. routine. You sure you wanna do this, Tony?”

“Oh yeah,” Tony nodded eagerly, a shit-eating grin on his lips. “Bring it, Capsicle.”

Steve chuckled, tightened his grip on Mjölnir’s handle and grinned up at Tony. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t said that, Stark.” He gave Tony half a second to look smug, making sure to strain his muscles, to make it look like he wasn’t gonna be able to do it—and then lifted Mjölnir, flipping it over and catching it effortlessly.

Everyone gaped at him, and Steve smirked. “Didn’t see that coming, did ya?”

——————

Thor

He was, honestly, quite unsure of what he would say once he caught up to Lady Rebecca.

Thor had never been one for flowery words or grand speeches. Loki had always been the one to charm his way out of trouble simply by the virtue of being verbose, and while Thor missed Loki every single day, he felt Loki’s absence—and the absence of his silver tongue[MS1] —painfully in this moment.

Rebecca—Becca, he reminded himself—sat with her back towards the door, cross-legged on one of the raised ledges that looked out over the city, arms wrapped around her torso in a bid to ward of the chill of the evening breeze; or to shield herself from the emotional turmoil Steven’s words had stirred up inside of her.

Thor felt slightly shamed that he could not yet read his friend well enough to tell which it was.

He and Becca had spent much time together since he had absconded from Asgard and its painful memories and his father’s crushing expectations, and he liked to think they had built a solid friendship in that time, as he had with Steven. He had even, in his most private moments, allowed himself the illusion of finding comfort in her arms, though he knew the feeling would likely never be requited.

Rebecca, like Steven, seemed woefully loyal to whoever she gave her heart, whether said affection was returned or not.

“Are you alright?”

The words tumbled from his lips without permission, and for a moment he feared he’d startled her. When she turned and looked at him though, he could see the distinct lack of surprise in her expression, instead replaced with something that felt far more reminiscent of tired resignation.

It was, sadly, an expression not unfamiliar to him.

Many of those he held dearest to heart had leveled said expression at him in his not-inconsiderable lifespan, and he wondered if he should begin to take note of when such occurrences happened.

“I guess there’s no use in pretending you didn’t hear every word Steve said to me, right?” she said lowly, drawing her lower lip between her teeth, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. Her cheeks were still slightly rosy—from embarrassment or drink, he did not know—and Thor was sure she did not know how alluring she looked, because he knew she would never look at him like this on purpose.

If anything, he would say she had been going out of her way to appear less appealing, at times.

She confused him greatly.

“I suppose I could pretend,” he offered, smiling a little at her wry smile. “If it would help.”

Becca snorted and shook her head, long locks spilling forward across her shoulders as she shifted, turning around so she was facing him. Thor smiled helplessly and moved towards her, until he stood directly in front of her, knees pressed against the cold concrete of the ledge she sat on.

“Was he wrong?” she asked abruptly, cheeks darkening into a full blush as she averted her eyes.

Thor opened his mouth to respond—though he did not know if denial or confirmation would have fallen from his lips—but he found he did not know what to say. Steven, for all his virtues, seemed under the impression that Thor’s feelings for Becca ran a lot deeper than friendship and attraction, and Thor wasn’t sure that was the case.

He had never allowed himself to develop deeper feelings for anyone, and he did not think he could.

In that, at least, he and Steven stood united.

He had never truly understood Steven’s devotion to a dead man until he had lost Loki—until he was forced to face a future that looked radically different from the future he had always imagined he would have. He’d loved Loki, for all his faults, in every way he knew how, and he did not want to let go of that love, ever—nor did he think he was even capable of letting said love go.

“I don’t know,” he replied eventually, shooting for honesty, because Rebecca was his friend, and while he was not in love with her, he did care for her a great deal, as he did all his Midgardian friends. Perhaps a little more. “I do not think he was entirely right,” he admitted, “but he was not wrong.”

“What does that even mean?” Becca exclaimed, exasperation dripping from each word.

Thor smiled sadly and shrugged one shoulder. “I apologize. I know it doesn’t clarify anything, but…” He looked up at her and shook his head. “I’ve not found myself in this position before either.”

Becca didn’t say anything, but her raised eyebrow spoke volumes, and Thor smirked a little before he settled in to lean against the waist-high ledge next to her. “I’ve taken great care in ensuring I did not grow attached to my previous… entanglements. Should we act on any of our urges…” he grinned at her when she smacked his shoulder playfully.

“I already care about you,” he finally admitted. “I’ve no idea how to proceed, how to…”

He stopped abruptly when she lunged forward, curling her fingers around the back of his neck to smash their lips together in a breathless, messy kiss. She stole the breath from his lungs, and he barely had the opportunity to relish in the taste of her lips before she retreated, almost as abruptly as she had leapt forward, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, and lips decidedly redder than they had been.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, shaking her head a little, “I just thought—and you—I know we shouldn’t.”

Thor blinked at her, opening and closing his mouth several times before he actually managed to say something. Her fingers were still curled in the collar of his shirt, and she was still leaning against him, and the weight of her felt warm and comfortable and it was an exhilarating, unfamiliar feeling he was loath to let go of.

Thor decided that perhaps, it did not need to be so complicated at all.

Perhaps, what they were could be very simple indeed.

“Perhaps we should,” he murmured absently, finding that he could not tear his eyes from her full lips. “I cannot see fault in two friends finding comfort in each other’s arms.”

She gasped quietly when he leaned in again, but eagerly kissed him back when he pulled her into a second kiss, far deeper and hungrier than the first. It was easy, to lose himself in her eager touch and in the sensual slide of their lips, and easy to let her draw him closer. He curled his fingers in her hair and around her waist until they were pressed together entirely and so tightly he could not tell where she began and he ended.

Kissing Rebecca felt different than kissing anyone else had, and different than kissing Loki had, but it still felt like allowing the lightning that perpetually hummed beneath his skin to run free.

She moaned quietly against his lips, a deep, wanton sound that abruptly reminded him that they were still in plain view of the other Avengers, and that there would only be so long Steven could distract them before they got past their politeness and came looking.

Slowly and very, very reluctantly, he leaned back, barely able to hold back a groan when she refused to let him go, pressing her fingers against the back of his neck insistently and whining quietly when he persisted in breaking the kiss. “Hush, krúttið mitt,” he whispered warmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She quieted down, but remained pressed against him, having slipped from her cross-legged position to curl one leg around his. “We have to do that again,” she said, quite matter-of-factly.

He grinned, leaning in to press a single, lingering kiss to her lips before he disentangled their limbs. “Come,” he smiled, offering her his hand when she pouted. “They’ll miss us before long.” They did not speak more, but the restless ache inside his chest had been soothed, and when she slipped her slim fingers between his, the worry that he had somehow ruined their friendship dissipated.

He still could not help but smirk when he overheard her whisper ‘wow’ to Steve when they went back in. Said smirk only grew further when he heard his friend reply with a muttered ‘I know, right?’ Thor settled on the sofa again, smiling a little when Becca—who had resumed using Steven as a pillow—stretched to press her toes beneath his thigh.

Anthony sat with his lovers, Lady Pepper’s fingers tangled in his dark brown hair and Colonel Rhodes leaning back against his leg. Natasha had looked up at them with a contemplative expression when he and Rebecca re-entered from the balcony, and for a moment Thor feared she would say something, but the moment had passed, and she had returned her attention to Barton.

Bruce had engaged the Lady Jane in a spirited conversation, and Becca and Steve were quietly murmuring and giggling together, and for once, the ache in Thor’s chest receded, leaving a contented warmth in its absence.

He was, at least for now, at peace.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the sequel HERE on Tumblr :)

#IHWSBY sequel #Stucky #Stucky fanfiction #Steve Rogers #Rebecca Barnes #thor #Lisa writes #my writing #avengers family

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cuthian · 4 years

Text

Dancing with a Limp Chapter Two

This is it!

This chapter is rather heavy on exposition, but I promise, it's all needed to further the plot! Following this, there is only one (maybe two) more oneshot(s) before the next bigger work will be posted! That'll be a doozy, taking place during... canon-TWS... With minor alterations, of course.

I hope to see you all there, and that you enjoy this little peek into Thor's side of the story!

Much love, Annaelle

TWO

Red Hook, Brooklyn, U.S.A. July 1939

Steve

Steve had always liked looking at Bucky Barnes.

Even when they had been children, Bucky had been unfairly handsome. Winifred Barnes’ exceptional good looks had passed to her son and her daughters, leaving them with unfairly stunning blue-grey eyes and dark, wavy hair that looked so soft Steve’s fingers itched to touch every time he and Bucky were in the same room.

He’d had a breathtaking smile that made everyone within a five-foot radius weak in the knees, even when he had been no more than a toddler. Bucky had oozed charm, and people had always been drawn to him like flies to honey, and Steve had been no exception.

It’d always been a mystery to Steve why Bucky—that handsome, clever, charming boy, who certainly had much better options—had chosen Steve, of all people, to be his best friend.

Steve, who had most decidedly not been charming and witty, nor a very handsome child. Steve, who spent most of his afternoons on the playground being pushed around by the bigger kids, who had permanently scuffed knees and elbows and a knobby spine that made him walk a little crooked.

He’d never been very popular at all, unlike Bucky.

Steve had found, eventually, that he did not care. He hadn’t cared that he didn’t have very many friends, because he had Bucky. He hadn’t cared that the teachers spoke of him in hushed voices, exchanging disapproving comments about his parentage and health, because he’d had Bucky. He hadn’t cared that dates usually ignored him and left early, because he’d had Bucky.

He’d had Bucky.

Even when the world had been falling apart, and Nazism had taken Europe little by little, and countries had begun slinging thinly veiled threats at one another, and even people in Steve’s own little corner of the world had begun stirring restlessly… Steve had never stopped looking at Bucky Barnes, because Steve had had him, and it’d made everything feel just [LP1] a little bit easier.

——————

Gramercy Terrace, Gramercy Park Hotel, Manhattan, New York City, New York, USA October 15th, 2011

Thor

Thor had found that being granted permission to act as Asgard’s official envoy—with the caveat that he continued to bear the title of crown prince, rather than abdicate, as he had initially intended—on Earth had far more drawbacks than he had initially anticipated.

Truthfully, he had not taken the time to assiduously consider the proposal his father had laid out before him in response to Thor’s confession of his apathy towards taking the throne after Loki’s death. Following Malekith’s fall and a short reunion with his Avenger friends, who had come to his aid as soon as they heard of the upset caused in Greenwich, Thor had returned to see Asgard to rights and to see Loki to proper burial. He was interested in that much, at least, if nothing more.

He’d intended to return to Svartalfheim himself, to find Loki’s body and remove the temporary shroud Thor had fashioned so he could bring his body back to Asgard. He would see him to a funeral worthy of the king he would have been, by Thor’s side, if fate had been kinder.

He’d been informed by his father, quite dispassionately, that since Thor had seen to Loki’s body—however much Thor had intended for the shroud to be temporary—all remaining portals and entrances to Svartalfheim had been sealed permanently. The realm had become increasingly unstable in the aftermath of the Convergence, and in light of the danger it posed to Asgard, Odin had decided to cut it off entirely, as soon as possible.

His father—his king—had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he would never be allowed to return.

Not even to retrieve Loki’s body.

Thor was, honestly, not entirely certain how he had responded to that, but given that he had awoken nearly four days later in what remained of Loki’s cell in the dungeons, he assumed it had not been particularly wise, nor very becoming of the Prince of Asgard.

His father had, in an inexplicable and relatively unexpected moment of mercy, granted him absolution for attempting to do harm to his king, and had invited Thor to share his grievances.

Thor had not been in a sharing mood and had left his father in the empty throne room, instead seeking out his friends. Because he had been certain that they would understand, that they would support him and aid him in his quest to retrieve Loki.

He had spoken eloquently, he thought, and passionately, as he was wont to do when attempting to persuade the Warriors and Lady Sif into joining him on whatever foolhardy quest he had come up with. Usually, he did not have to finish his speeches—the Warriors would state their loyalty to him, and Lady Sif would proclaim them all fools before she too would agree to join them.

It had not turned out as such; not this time.

This time, he had found his friends more silent, withdrawn, and unsure than he had ever seen them before.

Sif had tried to be kind, Thor was sure, when she had leaned forward and put her hand on his arm, when she had looked to Fandral and Hogun for support before she spoke, when Volstag had nodded at her. She had tried to find the correct words when she’d told him, softly, that they did not disagree with their king’s decision on this.

Hogun, too, had tried to reason that Loki’s body had been put to rest, that there was no reason for Thor to risk disavowing his father’s orders again, or to risk the stability of the realms by re-opening a portal.

Fandral, foolishly, and far more inebriated than the conversation warranted, had added, “Not like Loki did you any favors while he was alive. Why risk your hide for him now that he’s not?”

Thor had managed to refrain from taking Mjölnir to his skull.

Barely.

He’d left them to their drinks and their poorly concealed distaste for Thor’s late brother-betrothed and returned to the palace. He had already intended on demanding to be absolved of his title as crown prince, had already intended to make his father understand that remaining on Asgard would only cause him more agony, for memories of his mother and of Loki were everywhere.

He had not thought his father would grant his wish quite so… easily.

He should have realized then that there would be… consequences. That there would be conditions and assignments that Thor could not and would not have considered in his haste to leave the painful memory of his mother and his brother-betrothed behind.

As it had stood, he had grasped at the opportunity to be Asgard’s official ambassador with both hands, and managed to keep himself together with sheer will and bravado until he made it back to Earth, to Steven and the Avengers, who seemed to be the only ones to understand that he ached—that he needed to grieve, to shatter into a million pieces so he could put himself together again[MS2] [LP3] [MS4] .

He had landed on Steven’s balcony and had barely even laid eyes upon his friend before he had done exactly that. The cry that had wrenched itself from his lips then had felt like it was being torn from him, just like his mother and Loki had been.

Their loss had not felt like loss.

No, their losses felt as though they had been ripped from him violently, leaving gaping wounds where they used to fit into his very soul. Thor was no stranger to pain and loss, but he had never, in all his fifteen hundred years, felt anything like this before. This… this ache had been raw and fundamental, reaching so deep into him that it was almost like his very bones ached with it.

He’d wished so readily to return to Asgard, to find his mother in her gardens, humming songs with no words to her flowers and plants, Loki sprawled by her feet with an invaluable tome of whichever form of Seiðr caught his attention.

He’d wanted the woman who had played games with him when he had been a child, who had held him after his first defeat and had ensured he remained somewhat humble after his first victory. He’d wanted the brother he had learned to love as though he were a part of Thor’s soul, who he had planned to marry and begin a family of their own with, who had played pranks on him from the moment he learned how to walk and who had chosen Thor so often in so many ways, Thor feared he’d never know all the sacrifices Loki had made for him.

He wanted them back.

He wanted to crawl into his mother’s arms and cry until he had no tears left, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t ever hold either of them again.

If he’d had anything of value left to offer, he would have taken to the Norns, imploring them to return his mother and his brother-betrothed to him, for surely he could not live without them.

Surely he would not recall how to draw breath, how to function, how to be—

He had, in fact, cried until he had no tears left, that first night.

Steven had found him not too long after he arrived and had simply sat with him. Lady Rebecca had found them around dawn, scoffed at them and went back inside, only to return with a soft blanket. Thor hardly remembered any specifics of that night and morning, but he recalled that she had bullied them both off the cold concrete floor and onto the soft cushions of the patio furniture, shoving them around as she pleased until she could cover them all with the blanket she had procured.

He did not remember much of that night or morning, but he did remember that he had, eventually, found sleep, soothed by the sound of Steven’s steady heartbeat and Rebecca’s quiet breaths.

The loss still ached, still felt as though their absence had created a void in his very soul, leaving an open wound with throbbing edges that did not feel as though it would ever heal, but he’d since remembered that he could breathe. Each breath taken without his mother and Loki burned in his lungs still and the casual indifference for anything but Thor’s own suffering shown by Lady Sif and the Warriors Three stung deeply… but at least he could breathe.

He had attempted to adjust to life with the Avengers, but he had found it much harder to do so than he had anticipated. He had spent much of his life living in places other than Asgard, had been forced to adjust to a myriad of cultures before—but he had never found it as impossible as it seemed now.

He admired them—the Avengers, particularly, but mortals in general—but he found he had very little understanding for their fast-paced, semi-peaceful way of life.

Even the Lady Jane, who Thor had come to admire for her strong will and intellect, was… infuriatingly and undeniably mortal in many ways, and it had astonished him to find she had taken his kindness and admiration of her character to mean he was romantically interested in her, despite knowing of his betrothal and loyalty to Loki.

He had not wished to sever contact initially, but it had turned out to be the best thing for them both, at the time. It had, sadly, left Thor with more questions than answers, when it came to mortals and their lives. They seemed to always be incredibly busy, displaying an incapability to sit still that Thor might have found impressive if it did not involve Anthony and Rebecca—and, on occasion, Lady Pepper—dragging him around the city to see various sights and meet various people they deemed essential for him to meet.

It was, admittedly, not the worst way to spend his first couple of weeks on Earth.

Rebecca’s grandmother, who had insisted Thor join Steve and Rebecca on their weekly Sunday dinner as soon as she learned he did not have prior engagements, had pinched his cheeks with a humorous glint in her eye and called him “young man”, as though he were a mere boy, less than five centuries old.

Thor had enjoyed the familial atmosphere in the cozy house, though, and found a small measure of comfort in the way Becca’s grandmother treated him. He had enjoyed the opportunity to see another side of his friends—Steven was much less burdened in the elder Rebecca’s presence, especially following Lady Carter’s visit, much less prone to hunching over to make himself appear smaller, more eager to smile, to laugh wildly and unrestrainedly.

Thor thought he might very well catch a glimpse of what Steven must have been like before the loss of his soul. None of the Barneses could replace the man Steven had lost, of course, but Thor could tell that the other man found comfort in the traces of his Bucky that remained in his relatives.

Rebecca—the younger, that is—was similarly affected by her family’s presence. Her gaze had struck him as too knowledgeable, too wise for her age, and though she often behaved as though she was as young and unburdened as she appeared at first glance, he suspected some of it was a front to hide a desperate vulnerability.

He did not know her story as he knew Steven’s, but he had learned she had fought in her country’s armed forces—he had seen men and women with eyes like Becca’s many a time before. He didn’t need more information about her story to suspect what things she struggled with.

He had, on occasion, struggled with such things himself. He had not, not truly, in many centuries, because the truest blessing of Asgardian lifespans was that, eventually, the memories did fade. The horror and the gore of war, the pain and the suffering that he saw and caused… it haunted him still, sometimes, but it did not consume him—not the way it had when he had been younger.

It had been… gratifying, to spend time with Rebecca’s family, and with Steven… with those who cherished the lives of those they’d loved and lost in a way Thor had never quite experienced before.

Of course, such gratifying moments were easily offset by those… less gratifying.

His official position as ambassador of Asgard required he meet a plethora of important men and women, all of whom wanted somethingout of him. Be it that they wanted to be the first nation to establish trade routes with Asgard—though none seemed entirely certain what said trade routes would be trading—or that they wanted to have the crown prince’s ear…

Thor found it all incredibly tedious.

Loki had always been the one tasked with diplomacy in the past. While Odin had not shown blatant approval for any of Loki’s talents, he would have been a fool to deny that Loki’s silver tongue was capable of defusing even the tensest of conflicts and sway the most stubborn of kings. Thor was, perhaps, the chosen prince to ascend to the throne, but he had always known he would not succeed as king without Loki by his side.

His own temper left far too little room for intricate political games and hidden agendas.

Which was probably why Lady Pepper thought it prudent to pull him from a meeting with the Undersecretary of the World Security Council, Alexander Pierce, before Thor lost said temper—he had no idea what the man’s job actually entailed—other than firing weapons at a city filled with millions of innocent souls—but he had the look of the nobles that hung around the court on Asgard every day, hoping to gain his father’s favor—to gain the power that came along with such favor.

Thor did not dislike him, per se, but he did not find the man pleasant company either.

He also found himself wondering what Loki would have made of him, and that was enough to make Thor want to be somewhere else.

The car Lady Pepper had called to ferry them back to the Avengers Tower was comfortable beyond any other means of transportation he had ever had the pleasure of utilizing, and he very nearly melted into the soft black leather seats. It was large enough in the back that he and Lady Pepper could sit opposite each other without bothering one another, and so that his legs did not feel cramped.

Thor, admittedly, allowed his attention to drift, studying the buildings that they passed. Midgardian architecture was so very different from Asgardian architecture that it still baffled Thor, although he and Steven had spent many a day with the Google[MS5] [LP6] to look at pictures of distant lands, that boasted very different kinds of buildings than New York.

Thor did hope he would get the opportunity to see all of Midgard’s beauty one day.

He chanced a glance towards Lady Pepper, but she was occupied on her phone, busily tapping at a larger screen that was perched on her lap, and Thor was loathe to disturb the lady when she was so very clearly working. The Lady Pepper had been incredibly attentive to him all day, guiding him to his meetings and steering him away from creating any international incidents. She had only stepped away to speak on her device twice throughout the entire day.

Thor was certain that she had many more important things to do, so he much appreciated that she had chosen to donate so much of her time to him, and he resolved to let her be now.

He did not, honestly, feel much like speaking anyway.

Fortunately, their journey did not last much longer, and Lady Pepper bade him goodbye in the lobby of the Tower, citing a need to visit her office before she too returned to the personal floors.

He ignored the puzzled looks he was thrown as he strode through the lobby towards the elevator Anthony had assured him was for Avengers and family use only. He was quite used to it after a few weeks on Midgard—people here seemed incredibly eager to see him and the other Avengers doing mundane things—although he did find the constant attention somewhat irksome.

It was true, he had once thrived on such attentions, but after everything that had happened…

He supposed he longed for a sense of anonymity.

“Hello J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Thor said jovially when he entered the elevator. He quite liked the disembodied voice that controlled the Tower and took care of its inhabitants. It was a kind voice, one that reminded him of his mother at times; especially when it would caution Anthony or Bruce from taking certain actions that could be deemed as especially… unwise.

“Good afternoon, Master Thor,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied dryly. “Captain Rogers and Captain Barnes are on the common floor with Agent Romanoff, Dr. Banner, Colonel Rhodes, and Sir. Would you like to be directed there as well?”

“That would be marvelous,” Thor smiled, but did not continue a conversation with the A.I. as he normally would. He was, honestly, rather tired, and though he fully intended to join Steven and the others, he did not doubt he would soon excuse himself to the floor he shared with Steven and Rebecca.

Thor had been told that, in the wake of the Battle of New York and Steven’s… breakdown, as Stark had referred to it, Anthony had insisted on upgrading security systems on all of the Avengers’ private residences—Steven and Rebecca had been forced to relocate to the Tower temporarily, while their apartment was being updated. Thor, when he arrived on Earth, had elected to stay with them rather than use an entirely separate floor only for himself.

The elevator doors opened onto the common floor, and Thor immediately saw Colonel Rhodes seated on the sofa and deep in conversation with Dr. Banner and Steven, although he leaned back into Anthony’s gentle touch when the other man walked past behind him.

The Lady Natasha was there also, curled up on a small sofa with a book, although her eyes frequently left the page to gaze towards the kitchen. Thor followed her gaze curiously, only somewhat taken aback to find Rebecca the recipient of the Widow’s intense gaze. Steven had spoken of Rebecca and Natasha’s complicated relationship a little, and Thor recalled the heated argument between the two women on the Helicarrier, even though he had been preoccupied with Loki at the time.

Rebecca had been remarkably tightlipped on the matter, and Thor had not been of a mind to push for more information from his new friend.

He observed the two now, because theirs was the only relationship in this Tower that he did not think he understood. Steven and Rebecca were as siblings, prone to teasing one another, but fierce in their affection as well. Stark and his Pepper and his Rhodey were deeply in love, and it was plain for anyone to see. Thor thought it admirable, really, that they had found happiness in a way that was deemed entirely unconventional by their own society.

Even Lady Natasha and Clint’s relationship was easier to categorize and understand.

Rebecca did not appear to be paying much attention to those in the living area, although she did turn to wave at Thor excitedly before she returned her attention to the pan in front of her, forehead creasing into a tiny frown as she poked at its contents with a wooden spoon.

It was a beautiful thing to see, Thor mused, such deep sense of comfort and friendship, but it lit an aching longing deep within his soul as well. He had had such a relationship with Lady Sif, with Fandral and Volstag and Hogun, but he feared it forever tainted as a result of their reaction to Loki’s death.

Rather abruptly, he realized that he had never been quite this alone in his entire life.

The homely atmosphere in the room abruptly turned entirely too stifling and Thor turned, barely keeping himself from fleeing as he moved towards the balcony. He had always felt more comfortable beneath an open sky, where he could see the stars, and feel the rain and the wind upon his skin.

The sounds of the city were fainter up here, and the winds were cold, although it did nothing to invigorate him. It almost itched, beneath his skin, the need to go, to run, to hide from the confusing maelstrom of feelings that seeing his Avenger friends acting like the family they were unleashed. It didn’t quite feel like the lightning, but its call was similarly tempting and frightening.

Seeing the Barneses had been a comfort, but seeing this… his friends…. It was different.

“Hey. You doing okay there?”

Thor looked up, somewhat surprised to find Rebecca leaning in the doorway, a blue and white sweater much too large to be her own—he supposed it must be Steve’s—wrapped tightly around her torso, arms crossed over her chest. She looked at him with concern, and though it felt stifling still, Thor felt an unexpected feeling of relief. Someone cared that he was not well, without reminding him of his duties.

Even so.

“I assure you,” he said, carefully keeping his voice level. “I’m quite fine.”

Becca smiled sadly. “No, you’re not.”

Thor blinked, unsure of how to respond to being called out on his lie quite so brazenly, but before he could formulate a response, Rebecca had pushed off the doorjamb and ambled towards him, tripping a little over her own socked feet before she reached him.

“You look like you need a hug,” she said frankly, patting his arm. “Do you want one?”

Thor was still a little baffled by her audacity, but he had to admit that having someone hold him sounded wonderful, and he nodded before he had truly thought about it. Becca smiled at him, sweet and kind, and tiptoed to wrap her arms around him, and Thor leaned down to meet her, because he wanted to feel safe again, wanted to feel treasured and not alone, even if it was a human offering said feeling.

She was much smaller than he, of course, and though she certainly did her best, she couldn’t truly wrap him up in her arms. It felt familiar—all the people he had embraced in his life tended to be smaller and slighter than him—but also entirely new, and it was a startlingly comforting feeling.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, leaning forward so his head rested on her shoulder, tears stinging in his eyes. The last person to embrace him had been his mother and, while he would have liked to have that memory of her untainted for the rest of his existence, he had missed being held.

Knowing that, admittedly, made him feel worse.[MS7] [LP8]

“I got you,” she whispered, rubbing a hand up and down his back when he, against all his wishes, let out a choked-off sob. “I got you. You’re not alone, Thor. I got you. Steve’s got you. We’ve all got you.”

Thor clutched at the back of her overly large sweater and prayed to the Norns that that was true.

——————

Italy, Europe January 1944

“You know, if you wanted,” Bucky whispered one night, when they’d been tangled together in Steve’s spacious officer tent. “If you wanted, I’d step aside.”

They’d spent the entire day fighting tooth and nail to gain back territory, to push the Germans back step by step until they’d be purged from Italy altogether, and Steve had been exhausted, covered in dirt and blood and sweat. He’d also been happy, because none of his boys had been hurt and Peggy had shown up, looking gorgeous and dangerously competent as always, and he’d gotten a tent all to himself, which meant he had some time alone with Bucky.

Well. He’d not been happy, per se, because there was a war on, but he’d been content.

Until Bucky had tried to ruin it, of course.

“What are you talking about?” Steve demanded, digging his fingers into the meat of Bucky’s ass, dragging him as close as physically possible, as if that would take away the implication of Bucky’s words.

“Stevie,” Bucky sighed. “I ain’t blind. I see the way you look at Carter. I see how she looks back.” He looked at Steve with the most heartbreakingly earnest look in his eyes and whispered, “You could get married. You could have kids with her, Stevie. I ain’t gonna stand in the way of you getting that baseball team you’ve always wanted.”

The thing… the thing was that Steve knew Bucky meant every word.

If Steve gave him any sort of indication that he wanted to be with Peggy, Bucky would smile sadly and step aside, letting Steve live the life Bucky had convinced himself Steve wanted.

“Bucky, I don’t want that,” Steve insisted after a moment of shock, pressing his hand to Bucky’s cheek when the other man began to protest. “I don’t want that unless it’s with you.” He leaned in and kissed the other man before he could protest again, before Bucky could be logical about it.

“I like Peg,” Steve admitted quietly when Bucky broke the kiss. “I like Peg a lot. But she ain’t you, Bucky. I ain’t ever gonna love anyone the way I love you.”

It hadn’t been the end of it—because Bucky was nothing if not determined, and Steve was nothing if not weak for that stupid, stupid man—but it had at least been the last time Bucky had explicitly offered to step aside. He’d tried to offer again in other ways—withdrawing or stepping away when Peggy arrived, setting her and Steve up for accidental dates, explicitly telling Peggy herself that he could talk to Steve—but he never again tried to tell Steve directly what to do.

Not on that topic, at least.

It wasn’t perfect, but… Steve thought it worked.

And it had.

Until Bucky fell from a train.

——————

Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York City, U.S.A. December 20th, 2011

Thor

Thor supposed, in a sense, that he was doing… better.

His head felt a lot less… clouded, was as good a word as any, and rational thought felt much less obscured than it had in those atrocious first few days following his mother’s and Loki’s deaths. He had found, eventually, that life was much easier to bear when he focused his attentions on his friends and their respective struggles and lives. For mortals with such remarkably short lifespans, humans were exceptionally talented at creating dramatics unlike any Thor had ever witnessed—and in a shorter timespan than he had ever thought reasonably possible too.

It was, in all honesty, somewhat entertaining.

Or, at least, it would be, were it not that said dramatics caused Thor’s friends quite some distress.

He had come upon Lady Natasha and Rebecca in their shared living area, having been roused from a restful sleep by their raised voices—he was not certain what he had expected, but he had been quite sure it wasn’t to find an irate Rebecca shouting at a rather flustered Natasha.

It was obvious, he found, given Rebecca’s red-rimmed eyes, that shone with more unshed tears, and Lady Natasha’s uncharacteristically diminutive posture, that something had finally occurred between the two—although Thor sincerely doubted it was something good. He watched, startled, as Rebecca violently flinched away from Natasha’s touch when the other woman gathered the courage to reach for her, eyes dark with tears and barely restrained fury.

“You could have said no!” Rebecca shouted, glaring at Natasha so hard Thor was almost surprised—and grudgingly impressed—that the other woman didn’t wither beneath Becca’s hateful gaze.

He shuffled uncomfortably, unsure if he should announce his presence, because neither woman had turned to acknowledge him, and he did not think they even realized he was there at all. Before he could decide on the best course of action, Lady Natasha spoke again, and Thor froze, curious despite himself.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” the Widow said, in what she likely thought was a soothing tone. “I thought it’d be… better this way.” The words came off far more condescending than Thor imagined she meant them, and he flinched a little at Rebecca’s sharp, derisive laughter, as though it was meant for him instead. He did not, however, retreat back to his own room—he was, at this point, far too concerned about his friends to leave the two.

“Better?” Becca demanded sharply. “You thought this,” she waved at the room, likely indicating their entire situation, “would be better?” Her voice rose to a fever pitch, and Thor could tell she was on the verge of collapse. “I told you I loved you,” Becca croaked, voice breaking on the last word. “And you thought the best way to deal with that was to sleep with me, and then sneak out to Clint’s bed?!”

“You did what?”

Thor’s eyes snapped from the two quarreling women to Steven, who had appeared in the doorway to their kitchen, dressed as though he had only just rolled out of bed—which was not an unreasonable assumption, Thor mused, given that the sun had not even risen yet. Steven struck an odd sight, with his hair sticking up in various directions and pillow marks creasing his face, bur righteous fury burning in his eyes.

“Steve, I’m fine,” Becca said impatiently. “I can handle this.”

Thor stepped forward when it became obvious that Steve had no intention of leaving the two to their own business. “Steven, perhaps we should—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Steve demanded hotly, pushing forward towards where Natasha stood, eyes wide and surprised and—if Thor was not simply seeing things—a little intimidated. Thor barely managed to intercept Steven before he reached the two women, catching Steven around the waist and dragging him back before he did something foolish.

Steven had been in therapy three times a week since before Thor had returned to Earth, following a visit from his former almost-love and his friends, accepting help from an entire team of therapists—because Anthony cared deeply for those he called his team, and he spared no expense. Thor had heard Pepper mutter about not leaving the man unsupervised with an internet connection and his own credit card anymore.

Though Steven appeared to be doing better, his temper got the better of him often, and Thor had seen Steve in the aftermath enough times to know he hated that he was a slave to his own emotions to such an extent. He’d learned to intercept Steven before he did something he regretted—and Thor was certain he’d regret yelling at Natasha. He’d regret grabbing her and shaking her, as he likely would have.

He’d regret stepping in, not letting Rebecca handle this herself.

“Apologies, ladies,” Thor said smoothly, dragging Steven back towards the bedrooms as though he weighed nothing, smoothing his features into something approximating neutral. “Might I suggest you continue your… discussion in a more private place?”

“No need,” Becca spat icily, turning her gaze from Steven, who had finally ceased struggling in Thor’s arms, to Natasha. “I think everything we needed to say has been said.” Natasha opened her mouth to say something—though Thor couldn’t possibly fathom what—but Rebecca didn’t let her speak. “No, Nat,” she said, her expression crumpling a little as she looked at the woman she—apparently—loved. “You’ve said it all. I’m done, I’m done. Go back to Clint. Tell him what you did.”

A tear ran down her cheek, and she spat, “See if he’s okay with it. I’m not.”

With that, she pushed forward, past Natasha and Thor and Steve, who still stood in the doorway towards the bedrooms, slipping past them without another word. Natasha stood still in the middle of the living area, expression frustratingly blank, even for one as adept to reading them as Thor.

“Steve,” she said finally, her voice surprisingly soft. “Steve, I didn’t mean—”

“Get out,” Steve spat, voice hoarse, muscles tensed where Thor was still holding him back. “Get out, Nat. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

When he struggled this time, Thor let him go, watching him follow Becca down the hallway for a moment before he turned to Lady Natasha again. He was unsure how to proceed—Lady Natasha was his friend, of course, but Lady Rebecca and Steven were… they were his friends before all of the others. Natasha had just broken Rebecca’s heart, and Thor…

Thor’s loyalty, first and foremost, lay with Steven and Rebecca.

“I think it is time you leave,” he said calmly. He kept his eyes firmly on Natasha’s when he raised his voice somewhat and said, “I will make sure whatever belongings of yours remain are returned later today. J.A.R.V.I.S. Kindly revoke Lady Natasha’s privileged access to our floor and sleeping quarters.”

“Certainly, Master Thor,” J.A.R.V.IS. replied. “Agent Romanoff, if you would proceed to the elevators?”

He spared the redhead one more glance before he followed Steven and Rebecca. He found them in Steven’s room, sat on his bed together, shoulders and thighs pressed together, Becca’s head leaning against Steven’s shoulder as she sobbed, “Why would she—I wouldn’t have been angry. I wouldn’t hav—I would’ve… I would’ve understood; I’d have been hurt but I would’ve understood. Why didn’t she just tell me?”

Thor winced at the bitter hurt and disappointment in Rebecca’s voice, but struggled to find anything to say. He was certain he had left more than a few maidens sobbing in his wake as Natasha had Rebecca, but he had never deliberately concealed his intentions as it appeared the Lady Natasha had.

As it stood, there was very little Steven or him could say.

Thor sighed, shaking his head sadly as Steve attempted to whisper comforting words to Rebecca as she sobbed against his shoulder. He settled on the bed on Rebecca’s other side, curling his arm around her so that she was effectively cradled between his body and Steven’s.

He felt her shudder lightly before she tipped her head back to rest against his arm, smiling weakly. “Is she gone?” she asked quietly, looking at him with an expression that was equal parts hopeful and heartbroken, and Thor found, startlingly, he was willing to do whatever he could to erase the heartbreak from her eyes.

Rebecca had spent weeks—months—ensuring his and Steven’s continued wellbeing, and Thor found it high time they return the favor.

He nodded, offering her the kindest smile that he could. “Yes. I took the liberty to rescind her access to our abode as well.” He glanced to Becca and swallowed thickly before he offered, “If there are… things she has left that you would like to return, I’d be more than willing to do so in your stead.”

“You don’t have to see her, Becks,” Steve added cautiously, rubbing his thumb in circles against the back of her shoulder. “I wouldn’t even be surprised if Tony tries to boot her from the Tower altogether.”

Thor considered that, and found he could not fault Steven’s logic. Anthony had shown himself to be incredibly protective of those he considered family in the past—it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility to think he would react poorly to Natasha hurting Rebecca, given Anthony and Rebecca’s close bond, as Lady Carter’s only godchildren. Thor was, in all honesty, not even quite sure he would protest, should Stark decide Natasha was no longer welcome in his home.

Becca, however, seemed to think differently. “I’m not gonna let him do that,” she said firmly, glaring at Steve as though he would be the one to kick Natasha out. “She’s an Avenger, she deserves a spot here as much as the rest of you do.” She heaved a sigh and shook her head, settling down against Thor’s side again. “Besides, I’m gonna have to see her anyway. We work together.”

She sounded devastated at the mere prospect, and Thor was still a little taken aback by the strong urge he felt to shield his friend from certain heartache.

“Becca,” he breathed, curling his fingers around her shoulder lightly, applying light pressure to assure her he was there.

“It’s…” Becca sighed. She shook her head and smiled sadly. “It’s not okay, but… I’ll deal with it.” She looked to Steve, who still seemed to be seething, held in place only by Becca’s shoulder pressed against his. “We can’t just… we can’t never see each other again. I’ll forgive her. Eventually.”

“How?” Steve demanded, a little harsher than the situation called for. “How can you—”

Becca shrugged. “I mean… she sucks. This was…” Her voice broke, and she shuddered before she whispered, “I love her. I just… In the end, I just want her to be happy, even if that’s not with me.”

She smiled sadly. “I’ll get over it.”

Thor nodded sagely, but offered no further reply. He did not think he would be so forgiving, should he be in Rebecca’s shoes—he was not quite certain he had it in him to be so kind. Almost immediately, his thoughts drifted to his friends on Asgard, and the ache of missing them hit him harder than it had since the day he’d left Asgard.

Their lack of response to Loki’s death had hurt him deeply, because much as he understood that they had not always gotten along with Loki, he had believed that they understood how much he meant to Thor, and that he was a good person—if a slightly mischievous one.

But perhaps… perhaps if Rebecca could find it within her heart to forgive Natasha, Thor could find it within his to forgive his friends for their callous reaction to his betrothed’s death.

“I won't let this hurt the team,” Rebecca whispered, drawing Thor from his thoughts as she moved, abruptly tipping forward into Steve’s chest, clutching at him in a desperate embrace, quietly sobbing onto his shirt as he held her. “But it hurts, Steve. It hurts so much.”

Steve didn’t reply right away, merely tightened his arms around her, shooting Thor a concerned glance before he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It's going to be okay,” he whispered. “We’ll make it okay again. Somehow.”

He sounded so certain… Thor almost believed him.

Almost.

——————

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the sequel HERE on Tumblr :)

#IHWSBY sequel #stucky #Stucky fanfiction #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #thor #Rebecca barnes #barnes family #avengers family #my writing #Lisa writes

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