#buck can’t even sleep in it half the time because he’s recovering from his injuries and CANT CLIMB UP THEM

[deflated-leaf]

ok but like fr why does buck still have that loft when it’s so inconvenient for himself, yeah, but also CHRISTOPHER???

[milenadaniels]

Still Waters, 7k - Buck/Eddie, post s4 (AO3)

As Eddie lays on the hot pavement bleeding out, his eyes locked on Buck’s bloody face, his hand reaching out towards him, what washes over him isn’t his hard-earned stillness nor is it shock.

It’s clarity, edging slowly into focus from off-stage.

And when he wakes up in the hospital bed and registers a soft, slim hand in his, he thinks, "no, that’s not it.”

----

Or, Five Ways Eddie's Body Feels Different After the Shooting

Eddie takes comfort in living with a certain stillness. 

Being an army medic means walking into gunfire without being able to shoot back. It takes a steadiness that’s hard to train and while the army did help him grow into the man he is today, they couldn’t teach him that. That stillness, that restraint and level-headedness — he showed up to basic training with it. It makes him a good medic, a good firefighter, and it’s what makes him a good son. (If he’d countered his parents’ yelling with his own, if he’d let loose the caustic retorts he has tucked away, it wouldn’t be long until they were out of his life for good.)

He lost that stillness after Shannon died and he nearly lost everything else he’d worked so hard for because of it. So he built that restraint back up brick by brick until he was safe again. It was a little harder to breathe sometimes, but it was a familiar kind of pressure. Like a jacket you’ve grown out of but still love the look of enough to wear out sometimes.

And then he gets shot, and he doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, doesn’t react at all. But it’s not his stillness kicking in.

It’s having a bullet tear through his body on a sunny afternoon in L.A., thousands of miles away from where this should have been a hazard of the job. 

It’s hearing the bullet go off before registering the pain, but seeing the blood spray across Buck’s face before any of that. 

It’s falling and Buck — open, emotional Buck — not reacting at all. 

It’s collapsing on the street and smelling iron and finally putting together all these pieces and understanding why it’s so hard to breathe.

It’s not stillness, it’s just shock. Pure and simple.

But after that moment passes, as Eddie lays on the hot pavement bleeding out, his eyes locked on Buck’s bloody face, his hand reaching out towards him, the stillness that washes over him isn’t his hard-earned restraint nor is it the shock. 

It’s clarity, edging slowly into focus from off-stage. 

Clarity like he had in Afghanistan as the bullets rained down around him and he bled out in the sand, the clarity that nothing in the world mattered to him more than Christopher and nothing would ever keep him from his kid again. Not the army, not his problems with Shannon, not his parents.

This clarity, this epiphany, is seeping slowly into his consciousness and he grasps at it, tries to pull it in closer to understand. But just as it starts to trickle into him, Buck screams for him, his voice breaking, terrified, and a strong hand lands on his arm. Anything else his mind was trying to tell him is drowned out by his own screams.

When he wakes up in the hospital bed, lights too bright and his throat sore from the extubation, he feels...strange. He feels a stillness take hold of him, but it’s not a familiar one. His body and mind are calm, but anticipating something. He feels like he’s woken up from an important dream he can’t remember. Like he’s late for something but doesn’t know where to go. Like he was mid-conversation when the other person vanished.

Then he registers a soft, slim hand in his and thinks, no, that’s not it.

Eddie’s skin feels different after the shooting. 

He knows that from the moment his mind and body reconnect and half-asleep he tries to pull his hand out of Ana’s, but he doesn’t get the extent of it until his welcome home party where he tries to lean in for a kiss but diverts himself to her cheek, lingering there longer out of guilt. Her skin is as soft as always, warm from the heat of the house, but that small thrill of learning intimacy with someone new is gone and he’s not close enough to her to feel the deeper, warmer rightness he feels when he kisses Christopher’s forehead or Abuela’s cheek. 

Carla’s comment has been rattling around in his head since before the shooting, trying to find the unfinished puzzle inside him it could match up to. Ana sidles up to him at the party, lacing their fingers together and a faint rush of no crawls up his arm. He squeezes her fingers to compensate and smiles, blaming its weakness on fatigue. He looks at her, so beautiful, kind, and patient, and suddenly he hears Buck’s voice in his head saying, “Overcorrecting” as the puzzle piece slides into place. 

Eddie’s parents were wrong about Christopher, about Eddie as a father, and he will forever be angry that they made him feel like nothing, like worse than a deadbeat dad when he was already at his lowest. But he still loves them, still understands they were trying to do the best they could for Christopher, and in that their values will always align. He knows that if the day comes that he needs their help, they’ll be on a plane in a heartbeat. 

They’re family.

So he can’t dislodge the seed of hurt buried deep in his gut when they tell him he’s failing in their eyes. And they weren’t wrong in their accusations, really. He works crazy hours, the extended family doesn’t live here, and every other week with a specialist or new consultation makes him feel like he’s playing catch-up on what his son needs to be healthy and happy. 

And then Ana was placed in his path. A schoolteacher turned vice-principal with a Ph.D, who could cook, and who was kind, beautiful, Latina, and worked almost exactly the same hours Christopher would be in school for. And so, just like he had with the skateboarding, Eddie had overcorrected and tried to make up for his deficiencies.

Eddie breaks up with her over coffee during her lunch break while Christopher is at school and Buck is at work. She’s as understanding as she has been since they started this little courtship and he’s grateful to have known her, to have tried this, even though it didn’t work. She squeezes his hand on the table as she gets up to leave and he smiles politely, stretching his fingers in and out only once she’s completely out of sight.

He passes out on the couch when he gets home, grateful to have the excuse of recovering from a major injury to do absolutely nothing but blank out for a bit, and is woken up by warmth cupping his shoulder. He opens his eyes to find blue eyes and an amused smile tugging at full lips.

“Hey, dinner’s on,” Buck says. There’s a question written across his face, a hint of worry creasing in the corners of his eyes, but Eddie smiles back tiredly and the shadows on Buck’s face clear. Mostly.

“We’re having ziti!” Christopher yells from the dining room, and Eddie is not surprised. Buck has been staying with them for three days and they’ve had foods easy to eat one-handed for those three days. 

“We are having ziti,” Buck echoes with raised eyebrows to convey the nonexistent significance of having ziti.

“Well I’m definitely getting up for ziti.”

Unexpectedly, Buck’s hand slips into his good one and his other hand goes to support Eddie’s shoulder to help him upright on the couch. He backs away once he’s sure Eddie isn’t listing sideways and shoots him a smile with a cocked head before hopping back to the dining room to supervise. Eddie takes an extra moment on the couch opening and closing his fist, letting himself revel in the electric tingle racing up and down his arms, and the feeling of sweat prickling along his skin where Buck’s slid.

Eddie's hearing things differently after the shooting.

Between being a young, single parent and his military training, Eddie has mastered the art of sleeping lightly to keep alert to any sounds in the night. He’s so good at it that when they first moved into this house, he only lasted 3 weeks before he had to get his toolset out, take Christopher’s bed apart and reassemble it with a copious applicable of WD-40 to stop the one damn metal slat squeaking just loud enough for him to hear all the way from his own bedroom every single goddamn night.

He thought he’d naturally start sleeping more soundly as Christopher got older and more independent, but then Shannon died, and the tsunami happened, and being able to spring up at the first hint of a cry overrode any other instinct his body could manifest.

And now he’s recovering from an injury, which never lends itself to a deep sleep, which works out well because Christopher is processing his father getting shot at work and Eddie needs to be ready to reassure him that he hasn’t lost both his parents when the nightmares come. 

So when he wakes to Christopher shaking his arm and whispering, “Daddy”, he immediately springs awake, his hands already reaching for his crying son….who isn’t crying. Which Eddie can see clearly by the strong light of the sun filling the room. 

“Mijo?” Trying to blink himself into alertness.

“Are you awake?” Christopher asks, a crooked smile on his face. “It’s breakfast time.”

“Yeah, yes, I’m awake,” he says, though his mind is trying to tell him otherwise. “Breakfast? What time is it?”

“Breakfast time!” Christopher repeats, shaking his arm again for good measure. “It’s gonna get cold!”

“I’m coming,” he says, but grunts as he actually tries to lever himself up.

“Hey, hey, you were only supposed to see if he was awake, not actually wake him up,” Buck admonishes as he rushes the room. He pokes Christopher in the side a few times as punishment until the boy is shrieking with laughter. Then he moves into Eddie’s space to slip a strong arm under his back and practically lifts him up into a seated position without Eddie’s help. 

Eddie blinks against a small rush of dizziness and Buck’s hands stay on his shoulders until he nods that he’s okay. The feeling of them stays on his skin like tattoos long after.

They make it to the table and Eddie finds himself still disoriented as he takes in the impressive spread on the dining room table. Buck is many things but he is not a quiet man, especially not while cooking and this is a minimum of a half hour’s work. Probably closer to an hour judging by the very uneven shapes of the hashbrowns pointing to Christopher’s appointment as sous-chef. 

He didn’t hear any of it.

But the biggest blow comes ten minutes into the meal when Christopher, who’d been all energy until he got to the table, suddenly seems to have lost his appetite and slumps into his chair as he plays with his food instead.

Eddie’s hand comes up automatically to check for a fever despite the lack of redness in his cheeks but Buck catches his eye and shakes his head, assuaging that concern. Buck, Eddie now notices, is sporting quite the bruises under his own eyes.

“Nightmares,” Buck mouths silently, tipping his head towards Christopher.

And for a moment, Eddie’s parents stand in front of him, telling him he couldn’t even be there for his son when he needed him and the guilt and shame curls between his ribs and suffocates him. 

But then Buck negotiates Christopher into eating one half of a banana in exchange for two more squirts of ketchup for his eggs and Eddie lets the guilt wash into him, through him, and then away. 

He wasn’t there for Christopher, but Buck was. And would forever be. Eddie has had nearly a year to come to terms with that fact, to grapple with what little doubts he had that Buck would pass on the responsibility — not because he didn’t want it, but because he’d forever find someone else more worthy of it — and yet he’s still caught off-guard every time he’s reminded he isn’t alone in this anymore.

Still, he feels the need to be there himself for Christopher if he’s needed, so he tries to train his mind to stay alert while he sleeps that night.

He lets himself drift, cataloguing the sounds of nighttime. The periodic hum of the fridge, the air conditioning kicking in, the crickets outside. He slips away at some point, pulled into darkness by a healing body and a tired mind, but he’s gratified to find himself waking suddenly at 1:13am at the sound of murmuring voices down the hallway.

Buck is up with Christopher again.

Eddie’s stomach muscles make a valiant effort to try to get him up but the rest of his body and mind are unconcerned. He tries to flare up some adrenaline, something to tell his body to respond to his child who’s in distress, but all he gets is the molasses-heavy pull back to sleep. He knows he should be bothered, should be scared that he can’t do this. But he’s just not. Because Buck’s got this.

A month ago, footsteps in his hallway at night would have him waking up tense and alert, ready to respond to the intruder, until he remembered that Buck stayed over, or Tía Pepa came in early and he would slowly, consciously release the tension in his muscles until he was calm again.

Tonight, the sound of heavy footsteps going back to the living room doesn’t even pass into conscious thought. Before it can even get to his higher thinking, it’s interpreted as safe.

Eddie’s seeing things differently after the shooting.

Eddie’s back to work a week after the shooting, on light duties, and while he hates not being able to jump in the truck and watch his team’s back on calls, he doesn’t hate taking it easy. Just for a little while anyway.

Today, however, they’re all taking it easy. It’s a slow day, and they have an open house for several local high schools’ career day. The firefighters of the 118 are spread out, some leading tour groups, some recounting PG versions of intense calls, some handing out snacks and pamphlets. Civilians are milling about as though this is a museum and not a functioning firehouse that could get a call any minute, but he’s not stressing about it. That’s Bobby’s job. 

He does raise an eyebrow at whichever parents feel it’s okay to let their toddler toddle off in a strange place full of dangerous equipment though. Eddie sees the tyke waddle past him and almost moves to block her path when he sees her destination. 

Later, he’ll remember this moment as time slowing down to a crawl just for him, but what really happens is his heart realizes something just moments before the rest of him does and his brain has to pump the brakes to align everything back up. 

What happens is Buck crouches down to the level of the little girl whose pudgy arms are reaching up for him, like she recognizes the safest place in this whole new, strange environment. He puts his hands around her — his fingers spanning from her hips to underneath her arms —  and lifts her up high above his head in one quick swoop that has her shrieking with delight. And the people drop away, the cacophony dies down until all Eddie can see is Buck and the little girl backlit by the sun pouring in from the open bay doors. And at the crest of the arc the little girl makes in the air, everything stills and something in Eddie’s chest just cracks right open. Something deep and consuming. Something that resonates through him until he’s shuddering with it. Something that yells,

I want that.

It’s a picture of achingly beautiful contrasts — a child the size of a doll over the head of a towering form, taut biceps straining against his uniform short sleeves to hold her fragile body with just enough force to keep her safe in his hands, the dark masculine line of his uniform against her light purple princess tulle dress — but their beaming smiles are matched perfectly. 

And Eddie wants. He wants to the point of breathlessness and he doesn’t know what to do with that. He just knows he wants to be looking at this exact image again a couple of years down the road, but when it happens next he wants the little girl in Buck's hands to be his, and that is some fucking news to him. He’s never thought of having more kids. Well, he has, but in the same abstract way he thinks he might someday get a dog. It would be nice, but not in the cards for now, not something to spend time thinking about in realistic terms. 

But maybe that’s what his brain is straining to catch him up on. That he wants more kids. Like a biological alarm clock coming to life. He could deal with that. He could.

Only Buck is putting the little girl down and she’s walking away with her parents and Eddie can’t pull his eyes away from Buck’s deep dimples and the whites of his teeth, and that warm pressure in Eddie’s chest sinks down into his abdomen and curls into something hot and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears, and he thinks wildly that it may not be about the little girl at all. But it may be that if there is a little girl in his future, he’d want her to be theirs, like —

Like Christopher is.

His mind supplies him with the image of Buck carrying Christopher to bed last night — in those same strong arms, tenderly removing his glasses and tucking him in — and just like that this kernel of panic that had been building in his sternum bursts like an overfilled balloon whose contents are unexpectedly soft because they rain down over all the fear and anxiety until all he can feel is a bone-deep calm. 

Eddie wants that. And maybe that’s okay.

“You okay, Eddie?” Asks Bobby, coming to stand next to him.

Time is winding back up to normal speeds, and the sun framing Buck is slowly lowering back down to the brightness of a regular sunny day, but Eddie is still staring.

“Yeah,” he says in a voice he barely recognizes as his own.

“You sure?” 

Buck is saying something to a parent, then asks them to wait, running behind a truck for something and finally releasing Eddie’s gaze.

He takes a deep breath and sits with the feelings pulsing through his veins before turning to Bobby, his eyes maybe a touch wide if the captain’s concern is anything to go by. He wants to say something, wants to blurt it all out, wants to be that person who wears their whole heart on his sleeve...but he’s not that person yet. 

“We had a conversation not long ago,” Eddie begins, sounding as shell shocked as he feels, “about focussing on the wrong thing. Missing out on something.”

Bobby is quiet and when Eddie finally turns his head he finds the man looking past him, to where Buck has returned.

Bobby’s lips into a small, satisfied smile. “Yes, we did. Found something to focus on?”

“Yeah,” Eddie admits. “I think so.”

Bobby claps him on the back, and leaves his hand just long enough to feel like a blessing.

Eddie’s breathing is different after the shooting.

He wishes he could blame the bullet but the same kind of luck that had gotten him out of the well had somehow seen him come out of a sniper attack with mostly muscle damage and a cleanly fractured scapula that should heal if it's kept immobile. His ribs, collarbone, and lungs have all gotten off without injury.

And blaming the bullet was always going to be a hard sell when his breath only hitches and constricts when Buck lets himself into his house at the end of his shifts. When he toes his boots off and hangs his jacket up in the closet like he means to stay. When his socked feet bump into Eddie’s under the breakfast table because they’re both too damn long in the legs to be sitting across from each other. When their shoulders brush when putting the leftovers away. When Buck is the one to let Abuela into the house and chats with her easily as Christopher gets ready to leave. When — 

Suffice it to say proximity may be more a factor than the bullet. Though Eddie can understand how Buck’s gotten it wrong.

“Don’t tell me you’re not hurting, tough guy” Buck chastises him later that night with a knowing glimmer in his eyes as his fingers reach out for his shoulder, “I’ve been listening to you flinch for three days straight.”

It has been three days since the open house. He doesn’t know if he should be grateful Buck waited until Christopher was at Abuela’s to bring this up or terrified he’s lost his child-buffer.

“Buck, it’s fine,” Eddie protests even as he holds still for Buck to palpate the area gently. “I am a medic, in case you forgot. I know what to look out for in healing wounds.” The warmth leaves his shoulder and he misses it instantly.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but apparently doctors make the worst patients,” Buck informs him, hands on his hips which pitch forward in a way Eddie desperately tries not to interpret as suggestive. This is just Buck peacocking to drop some knowledge. “There’s a reason docs aren’t allowed to diagnose or prescribe themselves anything. Meds and beds, Eds!” he decrees sunnily like the dork he is.

Buck slides one of the pain pills out of the child-and-shoulder-injury-proof bottle and Eddie takes it because breathing issues aside, he did overextend himself in physical therapy today and he’s not going to get any sleep without it. 

“Come on, let’s go.” Buck tips his chin imperiously towards the hallway, expecting Eddie to lead the way to his bedroom where he’ll take off his shirt for Buck to inspect both sides of the wound, clean it, and redress it, like they’ve done nearly a dozen times before. He’s dodged it for the past few days in deference to his sanity but he’s not getting out of it tonight.

Eddie gets up and leads the way, telling himself he’s only doing it as a pretense to turn away so the heat crawling up his neck isn’t be on full display but as he gets closer to his bedroom, his mind lifts the image of Buck’s large hands from the little girl’s waist, and the electric warmth of his touch on the couch, and drops it onto the image of Eddie’s bare, shirt-and-bandage-off skin and now his feet are just following orders from higher up the chain.

Eddie sits gingerly on the edge of his bed and forces himself to breathe normally as his eyes track Buck’s easy familiarity with the inside of his bedroom. Buck turns the bedside lamp on, then crosses to the dresser to pull a fresh shirt for bed which he chucks at Eddie’s head (only once he’s sure Eddie’s aware it’s coming), then ducks into the bathroom quickly to grab the dollar store basket with everything he’ll need.

Then Buck is helping him out of his sling and shirt and stepping closer until Eddie’s field of view narrows to a broad chest and flat stomach covered only by a thin, soft-looking dark red henley. Buck inches closer still as he concentrates on carefully pulling off the old gauze and his thighs press into the inside of Eddie’s knees.

His breath hitches.

“Sorry, sorry,” Buck mumbles.

Eddie doesn’t correct him.

This close, the heat from Buck’s body is slowly seeping into Eddie’s space, the skin on the inside of his knees already past the point of overheating, much like his face, neck and chest are. 

Buck’s hands are light as the pads of two fingers press around the skin around the stitching. “It’s...actually looking really good,” he says, puzzled but pleased. “Not red, no sign of infection. You do feel a little warm though.” 

No shit.

Buck shifts, moving one leg outside of Eddie’s knees to better look at the back of the wound and he says something but all Eddie can focus on is the 5 inches keeping Buck from essentially riding his thigh.

“Eds? Hey.” Buck calls for what sounds like the second or third time. “What’s hurting? Where are you feeli—” 

Buck is leaning back to better look at him and Eddie doesn’t know what his face is saying but no part of his body is less than overheating and thinks his eyes may be communicating this.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Eddie manages to get out.

“But…” Buck looks down, his body becoming tense with uncertainty. “You keep—”

“Yeah,” Eddie interrupts and he wants to blame the pain pill like he wanted to blame the bullet but Tylenol 3 barely makes people drowsy, it sure as hell isn’t responsible for people feeling up their best friends. And yet that’s what’s happening, apparently.

They both look down and watch as Eddie’s good hand slowly reaches out and settles on Buck’s hip, under his henley, fingers curling too naturally around his leather belt, the backs of his fingers pressing into Buck’s warm skin. Not only does Buck not reject the touch but he leans forward into it, his hands rising towards him but not landing. Eddie’s heart aches at the aborted motion and recognizes it for uncertainty. Buck’s not fully sure what’s happening but he’s willing to go along with whatever Eddie wants to do. 

Eddie doesn’t want that.

He uses the hand on Buck’s hip to move him back just far enough to leverage himself up so they’re on equal footing, though only one of them is half-naked.

“Eddie,” Buck begins, though it’s obvious he doesn’t know what words were meant to follow. He swallows convulsively and narrows his wide blue eyes to roam over his face. Eddie doesn’t miss the naked hope filtering into his expression, nor does he miss the anxious self-doubt behind it.

“Buck,” Eddie murmurs so reverently he’ll be embarrassed about it later. He lets go of Buck’s belt, and lays his hand flat on his ribs before slowly sliding it up to the crook of Buck’s neck in a move that leaves nothing to interpretation. Buck breaks out in a full-body shiver and he laughs breathlessly, embarrassed.

Eddie keeps his hand soft, careful, on Buck’s shoulder, his thumb brushing against his collarbone and Buck’s eyes are glued to its motion, his mouth parted slightly.

“Are—” Eddie clears his throat quietly. He doesn’t think he’s misreading but he has to know. “Are you into this?”

Instantly, Buck’s eyes snap up to his, vulnerable until he properly processes the question, then all traces of doubt clear in a blink and he’s treated to the laser focus of Buck’s hyperfixation dragging down his face to his mouth and Eddie’s breath hitches again. This time, Buck looks up with a cocksure grin tugging at his lips as he comes to understand what Eddie’s problem’s been these past few days.

Then the statue of Evan Buckley explodes into motion — his hands split their focus, one gliding across the bare skin of Eddie’s waist and gripping, the other carefully cupping his head a moment before his lips follow, landing just in front of his thumb on Eddie’s cheekbone and for a moment Eddie’s upset to have gotten this far and not have Buck’s lips on his. But then he realizes Buck is just as wound up as he is, and a wound up Buck is an aggressive force of passion looking for safe outlets who probably needs a moment and Eddie’s heart constricts tightly in his chest.

Finally, the wet drag of lips against his cheek veers downward and across, and Eddie’s mouth is engulfed in softness and heat. He’s pressing up into it, pushing up from the balls of his feet with his hand on Buck as leverage, pressing up and forward into Buck who takes it without moving an inch. He’s never had to reach up to kiss someone before, never felt evening stubble brushing against his and he’s keenly grateful to have this with Buck, something so different to mark this as not just another kiss, but a kiss with Buck. No ordinary thing.

One of them is making a noise but he can’t focus on that when he needs to get closer, needs to press in and through, needs to turn them and get Buck on the bed so he can—

“Ah!” Eddie gasps.

Buck’s lips are wrenched away, though his hands remain like hot brands on his skin. His eyes are wild and unfocused, his lips red and bruised and he’s panting, but his face is puckered with concern.

“Okay, that one was definitely pain,” Buck gasps, blinking back to some kind of lucidity.

Eddie winces, unable to deny the agony tearing through his shoulder.  “My fault,” he hisses. 

Buck frowns and only then realizes that the arm that should be in a sling is out of place because Eddie’s hand has gone rogue and reached out to hook into Buck’s pants pocket to pull him closer.

Buck winces in sympathy, though he’s not able to fully erase the laughter from his eyes or from the corner of his lips. He takes pity on Eddie though, and drops his hands to gently untangle Eddie’s clamped fingers and guide it back across Eddie’s body where the sling would be keeping it.

Once it’s back in its healing position, Eddie releases the breath he’d been holding and settles back into the familiar ache. Instead of releasing him, however, Buck covers the hand laying on Eddie’s ribs with his own, pressing enough to convey the command: don’t move, before leaning back in slowly to capture Eddie’s lips in a kiss achingly sweeter than before. It’s little more than their lips resting against each other but Eddie’s heart goes wild in his chest, matching whatever the hell butterflies are wreaking havoc in his stomach. 

Buck leans back for a split second, just long enough for them to open their eyes and check in before he’s swaying back in for a short kiss once, twice, and one final time before properly moving away and leaving Eddie cold.

“Meds and beds, Eds,” Buck orders with finality, softened by a rueful smile.

And Eddie, who’s never had a single positive thought about Abby Clark, thinks of her fleetingly as some kind of saint because somehow she resisted Buck — kissing him, touching him, even seeing him — for months on end and if Eddie wasn’t suddenly struck with a physically deep fatigue borne of pain and emotional epiphanies, he thinks he would be on his knees begging for Buck to come back into his arms right now. 

As it is, he studies Buck’s boyish grin and the fear in his eyes that his stopping this is a problem, and Eddie is filled with a helpless love that steals his breath again. Buck catches the hitch, understands it for what it is, and the tension leaks out of his shoulders.

He lets Buck help him put the night shirt and sling back on, his mouth curling into a smile with every gratuitous touch Buck allows himself, and catches that errant hand as it leaves his body, squeezing once before dropping into his pillows and giving in to sleep.

Eddie’s heart is definitely not working the same after the shooting.

He had a heart scare in high school that freaked him and his parents out. It benched him from the football team for nearly half a season until the doctors said it was something called premature ventricular contractions. It was supposedly benign and something most people will have at least once in their lives. It didn’t feel benign. It felt like his heart was stopping suddenly, then pressure building up in his chest before the next beat came and overcompensated by beating three times as hard as normal like a goddamn punch in the chest. It had kept him up at night, not from anxiety or anything, just because it was so disruptive, as if your head jerked on its own just as you were falling asleep. 

But he’d grown out of it after a few months and never really thought of it again until he got shot, realized he was in love with his best friend, and his heart started going out of whack again.

He was fairly sure it wasn’t PVC. Much like the breathing, there seemed to be a clear and defined trigger.

Such as Buck pressing a kiss to Christopher’s curls at the dining table as he geared up to leave for a Saturday shift. Then turning to Eddie waiting at the door, his eyes a lot darker than they’d been a moment ago, and pressing a lingering kiss to his cheekbone, in the very same spot as he had two days ago in his bedroom.

“Be good,” Buck murmurs, tugging lightly on Eddie’s sling strap before straightening out to pick up his bag.

Eddie wants nothing more than to catch his hand and pull him back in, hold him close so he can’t leave, and he’s pretty sure all that is painted clear as day on his face if the regret and longing that washes over Buck’s face is anything to go by. 

It’s a problem.

Eddie’s been trying to reign himself back in. Trying to find that stillness so he stops feeling like he’s going to buzz out of his damn skin. 

But then Buck is back from his shift and locking the door to Eddie’s bedroom, assuring him it’s “just so we have time to get some clothes back on if he needs us,” with a rakish grin and fuck if it doesn’t feel exactly like PVC - a sudden pausing of his heart as he tries to deal with all these emotions before they crash into him on the next beat. 

And he’d worry about it but Buck’s laying him out, pressing his hot mouth on every inch of skin he can uncover, setting his nerves off like electric pulses until all Eddie can hear is their panting and the rushing of blood in his ears. His heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest by the time Buck’s divested him of his sweats and boxers. But then Buck pauses and looks up for permission before continuing, and Eddie gets to look down and take in his best friend’s darkened blue eyes and ruddy cheeks and what his heart does is definitely not sex-related. Not only sex-related.

He nods helplessly and Buck grins with delight before taking Eddie’s dick into his mouth and if he thought his body felt different before, it’s nothing compared to being suddenly engulfed in the velvet heat of Buck’s mouth. Eddie’s good hand slaps down on the mattress and grips the sheets tightly. He’s about to bring up his fist to his mouth to do something, he doesn’t know what, when Buck anticipates danger and his strong fingers are gripping his other hand, forcing it to stay in place on his ribs. Eddie laughs breathlessly — the man can multitask. 

Eddie twists his fingers until they’re threading between Buck’s, who catches on and properly holds his hand as he takes Eddie apart. 

And Eddie...Eddie hasn’t had sex in a really long time, and he hasn’t been so fucking in love during sex in an even longer time so he’s not surprised when it’s only minutes later that he’s squeezing at Buck’s hand and gasping. “Buck...I’m gonna—” and he’s somehow not surprised when Buck hums his acknowledgement and presses himself closer and closer in until Eddie’s toes curl and his back bends and he’s shooting down Buck’s throat who stays in place until Eddie’s hissing from overstimulation. 

“Oh fuck,” Eddie says helplessly, his heart galloping, and another small laugh escaping him as he brings his good hand up to his forehead.

Buck climbs his way back up his body, sitting lightly right over his spent dick and he knows he shouldn’t torture himself but Eddie looks down and lets himself commit the image to memory until they can do that properly. Then he drags his eyes up and over Buck’s straining erection, his panting chest and up to that pleased goddamn smile. 

“Good?” Buck asks, cocky as he’s ever been.

“Good,” he laughs sarcastically. “I think you broke me. Dios, I think I need an ECG.”

Buck actually looks mildly concerned so Eddie reaches for him and Buck lets himself be pulled down by the nape until Eddie can lick into his mouth, going a little nuts over the taste of himself on Buck’s tongue. 

Eddie pulls his hand away from his nape to reach down for Buck’s dick, but Buck takes that as direction to sit up so Eddie pulls him back in until their lips are barely touching. He squeezes Buck’s nape, says firmly, “Stay,” and marvels when Buck’s eyes go wide, his face slackening, and a shiver running down his back. Fuck.

When Eddie pulls his hand away again, Buck stays, pressing his elbows on either side of Eddie’s head to keep himself in place until he catches onto Eddie’s plan.

“You don’t ha—”

“I still have one good arm,” Eddie retorts. “As it happens, I’ve gotten a lot of practice out of this one.”

Then his fingers curl around hot flesh and Buck jerks like he’s been struck.

“Easy,” Eddie soothes, craning up to remind Buck what he’s supposed to be doing. To his credit, it only takes the soft press of their lips to get him refocused, then Buck’s tongue is in his mouth while he pushes helplessly into Eddie’s hand. It’s dry because they didn’t plan this out beyond a heated look in the living room, but Buck’s leaking enough to provide at least some lubrication. In the end, he’s got about as much stamina as Eddie did and a few minutes of rutting into Eddie’s fist and attacking Eddie’s mouth is enough to set him off, his cum spilling over Eddie’s stomach in long pulses.

Eddie’s hand uncurls and smooths over the skin of Buck’s side, making long passes from hip to shoulder as Buck comes down from his high. On the fourth sweep, he trails his hand inward, over Buck’s waist and back up his ribs and chest in a move reminiscent of the night of their first kiss, but this time he stops in the middle, in the dip between his pecs.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who needs an ECG,” he grins.

Buck huffs with a grin that grows to overtake his face. “Less of a concern for young guys like me. You should probably get checked out though.” He leans back in to occupy Eddie’s mouth before he can think of a retort, but as the kiss devolves from heat and passion into sweet and lazy explorations, Eddie feels a distinctive disruption of rhythm in Buck’s chest and smiles.

Later, Buck gets up and gets them cleaned up with kleenex, except for the drops of cum caught on Eddie’s fingers. Those he takes into his mouth to clean thoroughly until Eddie feels himself getting hard again and has to call uncle. Buck dresses himself perfunctorily and helps Eddie back into his boxers before reaching for the sling and carefully threading it over Eddie’s arm and neck, squeezing his fingers before pausing and looking unsure.

“Should I—” He looks towards the door, beyond which is the hallway and living room where he’s been bunking down because Christopher’s in the house and they haven’t had time to talk about all this yet.

Instinctively, Eddie’s good hand reaches for his hip and grips gently but firmly. 

“Stay,” he says again, watching with clear eyes now how Buck’s eyes grow wider and his throat convulse. They’re definitely going to be exploring that in the future.

For now, Buck nods absently before smiling. He moves to the door only to unlock it and crack it open before returning to the bed and the domesticity of it twists Eddie’s heart one last time before he’s folded into Buck’s arms and succumbing to the darkness more easily than he can ever remember doing so before.

Eddie suffered a near-death experience on the job. Christopher almost lost his father. Buck almost lost his best friend. Getting shot again aggravated his PTSD. The bullet created cracks not only in his bones but in the shell casing he built around himself, the effects of which he’ll probably carry his entire life.

But he survived, he came home to his son. He’ll learn to be okay with loud, sudden noises again. He’ll learn to deal with the nightmares if they come back. He’s in physical therapy for the pain. And in the end, he can’t find it in himself to wish it had never happened. 

Not when he wakes up to Buck’s arms pressed against his bare skin, sharing his heat and feeling that electricity coursing softly just under his skin.

Not when he hears Christopher inching the door open in the morning and Buck beckoning him in while whispering, “We gotta be quiet, your dad’s still sleeping.”

Not when he loses his breath at Buck’s casual parental love as he twists to grab Christopher by the waist and heave him into the bed between them, causing the boy to giggle way too loud. 

Not when he paints an unimpressed smile on his face before rolling over dramatically, finding two too-innocent faces smiling back at him and he's struck dumb for just a second at the picture they paint, eyes wide and curls askew. 

Not when Christopher throws Buck under the bus, giggling “it was him!” and Buck takes his revenge in the form of tickles until they’re both pink-cheeked and laughing and the bed is shaking like it may not support them, and Eddie’s heart is so fucking full it may not even be able to beat anymore. 

Eventually, Eddie does feel a stillness rebuilding within him after the shooting, but it doesn’t feel like walls, it feels like love. It feels like peace.

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Seven

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 7 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: abusive parental relationship; strong language; canon-level violence (explosions); mentions of alcohol poisoning; mention of Infinity War/Endgame deaths; perceived domestic partner abuse (no such thing actually happens!); concussions and minor injuries; mentions of arranged marriages; mentions of drug smuggling and human smuggling; lying; ANGST!

Word Count: 14,100+

A/N: So close to the finish line...

~

Spain, 2024, 5:07 pm.

    “Get the damn ice cream, Peter. I’m not holding you back.”

The kid sped down the sidewalk as fast as his feet would let him, skips in his steps and ignoring the chastising yells from Bucky. 

“You’re letting him have sugar?” Bucky whines, sluggish in his own steps. The Spanish summer sun was blaring, burning your forehead and building the same cold craving in your throat. It was just the three of you, carefree but melting, happy but annoyed with the constant proximity of each other. The villa (if you could call it that, it was more of a cottage) was listed as having three rooms - not the two you were stuck with. Bucky was at the last inch of self-control, begging you to switch with him - if only for one night - because ‘the kid fuckin’ talks in his sleep, doll! One more night and I might smother him.’

It was Bucky’s idea to take a little vacation. A year after the blip and only a few months after Peter’s world was turned upside down, a vacation seemed like the best choice. Preferably somewhere that was quiet and somewhat rural - somewhere you guys won’t be easily recognized. 

So the three of you packed and flew across the pond. In all honesty, you hadn’t even told the rest of the team where you were going besides Wanda. One day you were greeting them in the common room and preparing lunch, the other you were throwing your suitcase in one of the two vacant rooms in this little Spanish cottage. The three of you were truly off the map in terms of late notice. 

“Let the kid live. He’s having a mid-life crisis at eighteen.”

“I’ve had more mid-life crisis’s than his age combined. He’s not special.” The pointed look on your face had Bucky sighing in small defeat. “Okay, okay.”

These past two weeks in shared solitude, even if this trip was supposed to be relaxing, was beginning to melt into a tiresome routine. Well, just nights. The days were mild at best. And to make matters worse, you and Bucky had been dodging the team’s calls, messages that you left for voicemail. Bucky had clicked ‘end call’ more times than he could count and his excuse was always, ‘ the kid doesn’t want to leave, doll.’ Even annoyed with Peter, Bucky wanted only the best. 

It was only a matter of time until your phones were tracked and you were forced to come home. Everyone probably knew where you were anyway - you weren’t exactly hiding. But since you already got a good two weeks in, you figured they had taken some sympathy. 

“Think we can get him to visit a museum today or something?”

Bucky shrugged, lining up at the coffee stand near the ice cream cart. “Saw him checking out banana bread recipes last night. Seems more like a baking day.”

You could go for some banana bread. Ordering two iced coffees and making more miscellaneous small talk while waiting for Peter to order, you studied the streets of Spain. The country had suffered greatly when, cruelly, more than half their population disappeared. Left in proper ruins, no one believed it would ever recover. But then there was an election, a change in the structural government, and it just… did. They rebuilt themselves better than any country had, in your opinion. 

It was a rather calm day with minimal people out and about. It was exactly what you guys deserved after every mission - in your case, after a long month of PR recovery after that bar fight alongside Sam. 

“You bake, Barnes?”

He smiled fully, “Any chance I get.”

“You guys want anything?” Peter yelled out, bouncing lightly on his heels as he waited. You waved him off. “You sure? It’s pretty cheap for summer prices!”

After rejecting Peter’s dozen ice cream questions and offers, the three of you decided the heat was a little too much to bear, even with sunscreen. Peter spoke most of the way. Something about that banana bread.

Bucky, being the baker, helped him choose the best recipe of the four Peter had bookmarked and soon the kitchen was only half dirty with eggs and mashed bananas.

“What do you mean a cup of baking soda, kid? Use your eyes,” Bucky yelled in second hand embarrassment. “I don’t think a cup of baking soda goes in anything.”

“Read right here, dude,” Peter poked at his tablet. “A cuuuu... okay. Okay, I see what I read wrong.”

“You two better be making me some good ass banana bread today. I don’t want to throw up!” You had opted to let the two men have their fun in the kitchen. You tried to bake, but you were more of a cook than anything else.

“You could be reading out the directions.”

“I could do a lot of things,” you respond with the emphasis on “could”.

The doorbell interrupted your no-so-real argument. Peter snickered, “You could get the door.”

With a displeased grunt and a straightened middle finger to the kid, you opened the door to find two people who were definitely not invited. Clint, with this magical and massive smile on his face and Steve, with his eyebrow cocked and arms crossed.

“Oh, would you look at that. Guests! Welcome to our humble abode!”

“Now, how and why?” Bucky groaned. But his actions contradict his words as he went to give Steve a hug, covered in flour and all.

“Hey, Clint,” you mumbled, purposely ignoring the super soldier side-eyeing you. “Care to tell us what you’re doing here?

Clint returned your warm smile, “See, Cap? They’re safe. Can we go now?”

Steve rolled his eyes, arms crossed over his chest in a rather demanding way. “We’re here to take them home, Clint.”

Bucky scoffs.

“Eh, you might be. But I’m here to soak up some of this Spanish sun.” A low grunt sounded in the back of Clint’s throat as he spoke. He was already making his way to pick at the mashed ingredients. 

“You heard the man, pal,” Bucky slaps Steve’s shoulder, leaving him at the door as well. Awkwardly left alone, you blow a small raspberry and step aside to let Steve in. Bucky continues, “We’re here to soak up some sun. And I’m not done soakin’.”

With great protest, Steve maneuvers Bucky away from the kitchen and into the hallway beside the master bedroom. With both super soldiers out of the way, you finally go to help Peter with mixing. “Why did he come, really?”

Clint shrugs, arms deep inside your cabinets and collecting whatever desserts you had pre-packaged. “Honestly? I think he missed you guys.”

“All this drama because he misses Bucky? He could have just shown up declaring truce and had a nice little vacation,” you mumbled, glaring at Steve from behind. 

“Think he felt like he needed an excuse to even show up. But they really are asking for you guys back home. Threatened to arrest your ass.”

“Lucky me.”

You could make out snippets of their tiny argument up ahead. 

‘You could have called.’

‘You haven’t been answering the phone, Buck.’

‘I’ve been relaxing.’

A heavy sigh. 

‘I just thought we told each other everything.’

‘Believe it or not, Steve… but I’ve got more friends now. Isn’t that what you wanted? I’m not trying to ignore you, I - I just needed to help another friend out this time.’

Peter, with great care, washes his hands and makes sure there aren't any random mashes of banana on his clothing before he side-steps you and Clint to interrupt the very ‘private’ conversation between the super soldiers. “Hey, Mr. Steve- Cap, hey.”

Steve immediately lets his hard gaze falter. “Hey, kid. You doin’ good?”

Peter nods in response. 

“He’s doing great! Much needed vacation that still isn’t over.”

“Buck.”

Inserting yourself may not have been the best option. “Give it up, Rogers. We’re on vacation. And until the kid says he’s ready to go home, we go home.”

Peter fumbles, “Oh, please don’t put me on the spot like that. I’m not good with confrontation.”

Bucky quickly answers before Steve can, “It’s not confrontation, Peter. We love being out here and if it’s helping your mental health, we’re not going to take that away from you.”

Steve blinks and his expression looks like one of hurt. “You think I wanna do that? The literal president has been asking for your location. You’re not allowed to leave the country.”

You shrug, “Well, no one told me that.”

“Buck, you were just granted immunity three months ago. And you go and drop off the face of the earth?”

“I’m literally in Spain.”

Steve blinks again. He really can’t believe he’s got to deal with two people with similar personalities. “Your point?”

“On Earth…?”

Clint decides to make his presence known. He has even inserted the poured batter into the glass tray for you guys. “Why don’t we just stay with ‘em, Cap? God knows you need a vacation, too.”

“We have two rooms. You’d be bunking on the floor,” you say, pointing to random areas on the floor.

Clint waves his hand in the air, “Not the worst place I’ve slept in.”

“I’m being hounded day and night to bring you three home.” Steve looks about ready to burst into tears of frustration.

“Turn off your phone?”

Steve whips his head and stomps to close the few feet of distance between the two of you. “You really think it’s that easy? You really think I wasn’t worried when my two best friends just disappeared one night and didn’t tell me?”

Two.

Best. 

Friends. 

Before you could even comment, Bucky puts on the dramatics.  “We ran away together, Stevie. We meant to tell you.”

Steve takes a moment, just staring at the ceiling and piecing together his thoughts. “Joke all you want, Buck. I’m bringing you home.”

“Ste-”

“No!” He’s stomping back to the front door now. “I’ve had enough! I can’t stand not knowing where you guys are all day when bad things keep happening in this world. Just… just come home.”

All is quiet besides the quiet munching of Clint and his rogue cookie. Steve’s face did this thing when he was at war with himself, anxiety crawling up his arms or panic weighing his empty stomach down. His face drained color and that perfect renaissance oil lost its blush, blended paint that turned a murky gray. A masterpiece lost in storage.

“I can take the couch,” you whisper, arms erupting in goosebumps. “You guys can stay the night and we’ll go home tomorrow, okay? Or somewhere pre-approved, I guess.”

Bucky didn’t argue. Neither did Peter. 

Steve's imaginary painter adds the softest pink back to Steve’s cheeks as you compile a mess of blankets and pillows for him.

Present Day, 2025, 7:15 am

     There’s a warmth near you as you begin to lazily shuffle against the sheets, heavy on your chest but comfortable all in all. 

There are no worries, no sudden bursts of Avenger business, no fights needing to be fought. Simply Steve warm against you with sunlight draping over his bare and freckled shoulders. 

The serum enhanced for the sole purpose of strength and survival. And sure, it healed the body quicker than the average human body could naturally, but the one thing it couldn’t do was strip personality. 

Steve had freckles splattered along his broad shoulders and down to in between his shoulder blades, light in color and all similar in size. Something a lot of people hated about themselves and tried to cover up while others tried to mimic. The serum was supposed to heal damaged skin, sunburnt areas, birthmarks, and even moles - at least, that’s what the official 1943 report had claimed. 

But over the years, Steve had continued to age and grow into his new body. And while he couldn’t get dangerously sick anymore, anything unknown could still occur. No one had the same serum as Steve and last Tony had heard, Peggy had spilled the last remnants of Steve’s original DNA (blood they took before the procedure) in the Hudson. Bucky seemed to be experiencing the same natural changes as well. 

It had been proven that neither Steve nor Bucky could carry or transmit diseases, experience abnormal cell production, nor could they develop a lifelong ailment without severe reason. 

So imagine everyone’s surprise when Clint called one morning while deep in a routine mission (somewhere in Africa, you really don’t remember) to relay the news that, ‘you guys aren’t gonna fucking believe this - yeah Rogers, I’m telling them the hilarious news right now - Steve’s appendix just up and exploded last night - hey! He just stole - hold on. Give me back my hearing aid, you abelist fuck!’. 

Steve had stretch marks on his back from the procedure, his elbow still hurt from time to time after he had snapped it a year ago, and the white scar above his right hip reminded him that even super soldiers are not exempt from the wonders of the appendix. 

His breathing was slow and his eyelids flickered. Seemed he was enjoying his first deep sleep in a while. You craned your neck to try and read the cable box across the room, slightly making out a seven in the front before you gave up. You were due for your annual eye appointment, anyway. 

Steve did have perfect eyesight though, so damn him.

You shrugged the sheets from your arms. He was on his stomach, cheek planted on your chest and right foot dangling off the side of the bed. His left arm was draped over your middle and his right was tucked inside a pillowcase. His hair draped over his forehead and some of it was still tucked behind his ears. 

Careful to not wake him, you gently traced the ridge of his nose with your index finger, resting it on the tip that always turned bright pink regardless of mood. Once at the end, you went back up to trace it again. 

“Beak,” you whispered more to yourself, and you bit your lip to suppress the overwhelming urge to giggle. 

Steve was here, next to and near you, and he was so warm. 

You could have stayed in bed for hours, sleeping and cuddling and fucking, and you would bet your left kidney that Steve wanted that too. It was impossible to question it, it had to be, because Steve was too genuine. You had met hundreds of men in your life: some the literal devil, some cowards, some reserved, and rarely, some genuine at heart. Steve fit some category that didn’t even exist. 

You wanted to love him and hate him. You wanted to make love and fuck him. You wanted to kiss him and annoy him. He checked a box that didn’t exist but that you would just have to reserve for him. The annoying little shit who could lift Thor’s hammer. 

The door almost ripped off its hinges by the brute force of someone’s leg. You didn’t even fully register being crushed by Steve until his elbow stabbed you right in the gut. 

“Rogers!” you groaned in pain and half trying to reach for your pistol on the bedside table. 

There was a collective gasp of surprise (and maybe terror) from the people that just broke down your door. After yesterday’s unplanned run-in with Ramirez, no doubt this was called-for.

“Oh, hell…” Sam grumbled, lowering his gun the second he realized two of his friends were sharing one bed. “Lemme guess, the other bed’s mattress was too firm but this one’s just right.”

Bucky stood behind him, a knowing smirk plastered on his smug face. He looked between you and Steve, ignoring the way Scott was practically pulling his shoulder down in pure fits of laughter. Didn’t take much for Scott to tip himself over and almost drag Bucky down with him. 

“Couldn’t you knock?” Steve nearly yelled, body still trying to shield yours even though you were fully dressed. You were struggling to push him away in pure embarrassment, but he seemed intent with this form of protection. 

“You weren’t answering your phone! We changed our check-in times to seven instead of eight, remember?”

Steve, ever the gentleman, brought the sheets up higher for you and finally lifted himself out of bed. 

And Bucky, ever the gentleman who has been spending way too much time with Clint, nodded his head toward you. “You two fuck?”

Mouth dropping in humiliation, you pulled the sheets up over your head and screamed into the temporary cover. Steve sputtered over whatever explanation he was thinking of pulling out of his ass. 

“You two fucked,” Bucky smugly confirmed. 

Steve pulled on the nearest shirt and went to kick Scott, who was ‘criss-cross apple-sauced’ on the floor and laughing way too loudly. “Is it really any of your business?”

“Man, that’s an answer!” Sam was about to fall into the same fit as Scott. 

Annoyed, and fueled by that annoyance, you ripped the sheets off and marched for the bathroom. “You really want to know, you nosy little fucks? We did fuck and he made me come three times. Ask him how, I’m sure he’ll teach you a thing or two, no matter how embarrassed he may seem right now.”

You left him alone. You literally just exposed him and you left him alone with the wolves. 

All was quiet until Sam blew a small raspberry. “Three times?”

     Bucky didn’t need to speak to show he was about to tease the hell out of you. He simply sipped his coffee until he emptied it, and then refilled it. You couldn’t even finish a single mug yet because you were waiting to break the tension. 

Looking around the hotel bar because he still valued your privacy, Bucky made sure to keep his voice low. “Three times?”

Half wanting to slap the smirk off his face and the other half wanting to announce Steve’s naughty accomplishment, you settled for pouring more coffee into your mug. 

“Don’t you dare hold what I said against me, I literally had just woken up.”

“Mm, yeah. I remember how you literally moaned Thor’s name when you were startled awake from a nap in the living room.”

“Bucky!” you yelled, turning your shoulders inwards when you received a few odd looks from other early risers. Well, some were early risers. The person closest to the door was an agent, as was the other eating breakfast at the bar. “You promised you would never mention that again!”

He shook his head with amusement, “I can’t believe you swore me to secrecy when Loki basically told everyone.”

“He-!” Choking on your own spit, you slid lower into your booth. “That mischievous, conniving, son of a bitch.”

“In all honesty, I think that was his way of flirting with you.”

“Telling everyone I had a wet dream about his brother?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be the first.”

You smirked, “Oh, trust me. I know.”

Bucky squinted, guilty in his spoken words. “All I’m saying is, it’s nice that you didn’t just write Steve off with us, as if nothing happened.”

It made your heart swell that even in a moment with you, Bucky would still always protect Steve. 

“I would never. We actually talked last night and he really apologized.”

“Really?” His eyes were hopeful. 

“He did. And as cliche as it sounds, one thing led to another.”

You realized your earlier words were contradictory when Bucky sighed sadly, “This better not have been a one time thing. I’ll strangle you both.”

You scoffed and finally took a piece of that blueberry muffin on your plate. “Screw you, Barnes. It’s Steve we’re talking about. I’d give him the world if I could.”

That made Bucky blush. “God, I’m stupidly happy for him. I always said he’d need to find a dame who had as big of a mouth as he does.”

Rolling your eyes, you offered him some of that muffin. He gladly broke off a piece. “Don’t go marrying us off just yet.”

“Doll, he almost imploded when we discovered you slept together. Teasing him about proposing might just kill him.”

You laughed at that. Although Steve had admitted he regretted the time you lost, there wasn’t any chance he would push you any further. He was probably comfortable with taking things slow, no matter the history. You had that in common. 

“Seems we’re all just gonna have to make sure we don’t cause his demise.”

Smiling as he chewed, Bucky played with your feet under the table. Safe moments like these always occurred before a mission, no matter how simple or heavy they were. And like people love to say, you never fought with each other before. Just in case. 

Going to bed angry was another thing entirely. That, the whole team was proficient in. 

“You ready for tonight?”

Yesterday had definitely turned you against the very concept of family reunions, what with the small ache between your shoulders. You were angry with Seda, with Ernesto, disappointed with Ramirez, and neutral toward your sister. 

God, your sister. This would be the first time since you left Mexico for school and SHIELD that you would be seeing her, as well as your other siblings. Jackeline was perhaps the only sibling you had some real memories with. Everyone else was already deep in the business or far away from the chaos. The team only knew of two other siblings who rsvp’d. The others: radio silence. 

“Part of me just wants a normal family wedding. I’m kinda hoping we can just end it all tonight.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Bucky chuckled, finishing off your muffin for you. “You’ll get some closure soon enough.”

There was no such thing as closure. Just less of a constant sting. 

“Bucky,” you spoke seriously now. “My father made Steve sign something yesterday.”

“He told us at the debrief yesterday.”

“When did you have a debrief?”

Bucky scooted in his booth, quickly explaining. “Uh well, it wasn’t so much of a debrief as it was a simple overview. Just a heads up.”

You tilted your head, somewhat unconvinced. “Uh-huh… but we could void it, right? He had a fucking notary there and everything.”

“We can declare it void, yeah Y/N,” he grabbed your hand over the table. “He won’t get tangled in this.”

With a heavy sigh, you gripped Bucky’s hand tighter. “I’m really glad you guys are gonna help us.”

He returned your smile. “Anything for family.”

Family. 

After all these years of self-hatred and despising your own blood, you blinded yourself of the simple truth that you already had a real family. Whether you were accepted after Sokovia, or after you helped Steve escape with Bucky, or after those long five years, you were accepted. And you accepted them right back. 

    The briefing goes as expected. Didn’t seem like anyone was going to live down the now obvious fact that you and Steve had slept together after years of unnoticed pining. You simply took the teasing in stride, better than Steve even, who stuffed his face full of chips in embarrassment.

The plan was simple but ever-evolving. The three of them will hang back: Bucky at the hotel, Scott and Sam at the nearby base with Torres. The base was fifteen minutes from the estate, hidden behind those same pine trees but the perfect cover - it was a nearby diner. Steve will still take the shield, FRIDAY was installed on your personal phones, and any weapons you attached to your person were specifically made to deter metal detectors. Once in, it was mingle, mingle, mingle.

There were going to be a thousand questions to answer: What in the world is Captain America doing here? Is he here to cause trouble? Are you two seriously dating? So, Captain America being one of us means holding Thor’s hammer was a myth, aye?

Then you would move on to the more important guests. Jackeline’s greeting would be more of a reunion. But flying under and over the radar had to walk the same line - you needed to mix in with the crowd and make sure they see you participating, but then escape for a little while to continue the mission.

Once in, the task was to electronically and physically retrieve everything Scott didn’t have time to yesterday, plus the new information Ernesto got for today and tomorrow. His latest emails, list of contacts, checks, birth certificates, video evidence.

“Do we all know our duties?”

You wanted to wrap up Steve’s commanding voice and keep it a special secret, a secret that was yours and the team’s to share.

“We got it, Cap. For the tenth time this week - you two okay?”

Sam was rewarded with a slanted smile. “Everytime you ask me that, I’ll lie.”

He nods, “At least you admit it. You’re not alone in this.”

“For years,” you continued, “It’s been that way. I guess I’m both ready for it to end and not. I want them behind bars. I don’t want the repercussions.”

“Makes sense,” Bucky agrees. “At least part of the fight will be over.”

Beside you, Steve clenches his jaw. “We’re always fighting.”

Bucky grins at him, “Yeah.” There’s a sparkle in his eye as he leans forward to squeeze Steve’s thigh. “At least it’s not with each other anymore.”

     They weren’t lying when they said vibranium was lightweight. Felt different from nano-tech and was an obvious change from your regular body suit. You felt protected and stylish. Good, because even though you weren’t obligated to impress those vultures, there were still a few cousins and extended family members you wanted compliments from. And?

The black turtleneck was warmer than you expected and didn’t strangle you. You were a bundle of velvet bliss right now. The cuffs were a golden brown, completely made from vibranium. Modeling in the mirror, you whispered a few ‘pew-pew’s as you blocked pretend bullets. C’mon, golden bracelets? You were basically Wonder Woman. 

The tights were your own, thin and black and you could still see there were faint bruises on your knees from training. Once all that was situated, you pulled on the long skirt and tucked in the bottom of your shirt, glad the way the high-waisted design sucked everything in. The skirt was the same golden brown as the cuffs, shorter in the front and wavy as it draped down the back, barely reaching your ankles. You tied the skirt’s belt in a tight bow and pulled on the black boots Shuri had also sent you. The heel was thick and short, and the boot was pretty tight around the top of your ankle. 

Time was ticking on that well-deserved goody basket you were meaning to send to the royal siblings. 

Hoop earrings, three rings dressing your left hand, a simple golden necklace - now you need to do your hair and make-up. 

Steve was just patiently waiting for his turn in the bathroom, bless his heart. 

     “Scott said the files are in his personal belongings. We suspect he’s planning to smuggle over fifty people tomorrow. Their records should be hidden away in those belongings, too.” 

Sam always kept a leveled head in dire situations like these. He was rational and helpful, always waited until the job was done and everyone was safe before he had a drink or a cry. It was safest, perhaps the most fair thing the Avengers could do for the public after destroying half the cities they fought in. The media didn’t need to know about the late-night fights, alcohol poisoning, or frequent therapy sessions. Your coping methods were all different - Steve has no doubt Sam will immediately pack an overnight bag and Bucky to visit his sister and nephews once the wedding concluded. 

Steve? Well, Steve was surprisingly calm, all things considered. 

“You get any hits yet? Anything from Ramirez that could help us find those people sooner?”

Sam sighs sadly, shaking his head. “It’s looking like we’re heading into a full-on fight.”

That’s not what Steve wanted to hear. A ‘full-on’ fight almost always had accidents, misfires, innocent casualties, and a few cuts and scrapes to add to his own personal collection. 

“Sam,” Steve puts down the files in his hand and shuts off his monitor to signal he’s done researching for the night. “I really don’t know how to thank you.”

“You know,” Sam smiles at him, “I’m gettin’ real tired hearin’ you say that.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. Sam gently exhales - Steve can feel it. 

“You two really are the same.” Sam points at Steve and to the bathroom door. “Always apologizing for shit you can’t control.”

Steve looks down to his feet, a blush in his pale cheeks. After failing to clip his cufflinks on his own, he holds his arms out to Sam who happily clips them for him. 

“Is it real?”

Steve pauses. He doesn’t really need to think about it because he knows. He’s known for a while even if he was on autopilot. The pause only serves to help him catch his breath from the happy prickle that crawls up his spine. “As real as second chances go.”

Sam laughs and claps his shoulder, “I get it. We seem to get a hell of a lotta those.”

      Now that the mission was truly kicking into gear, fucking full speed ahead, Steve had no other choice but to pull shreds of Captain America from that metaphorical attic of his. Took everything in him to revert back, never fully, and each time would be different from the last. Sometimes it was mentally draining being responsible for a whole team and creating the plans, other times he regretfully felt like a colonizer, an intruder who followed orders from the top and was forced to execute them. This time around, he was stepping into uncharted territory, but still familiar, and he had a million roles to mime. 

“Steeeve.”

His smile was instant and he gravitated to your voice. “Hmm?”

“So, I have an idea for a hairstyle,” you reply, throwing open the bathroom door with a brush in one hand and the other holding the top layers of your hair up. “I got enough hair for it.”

“Tell me about it. It gets in the way of everything.”

“Haha.” You rolled your eyes, still trying to shovel more hair higher. “I curled it, so all I gotta do is tug this upper half up into a ponytail while the rest stays down. But can you help? My shoulders still hurt and I haven’t taken my advil yet.”

Steve shuffles back into the room to grab you two pills before he replaces his hands with yours. “So, just lift it up?”

You hum confirmation, watching Steve in the mirror as he pulled your thick curls higher, snapped the hair tie between his teeth, and tied it all. He pulled the strands outward so the high curls still fell around your face. The hairstyle would have been easier with extensions (for a much fuller look) but if you had to throw your body around these next two days, you’d rather save yourself the embarrassment of having them pulled off. 

“Thank you,” you blush. These moments were so intimate, so sweet, just you and Steve. “You need any help?”

Steve looks down at himself. He had already tied his own tie. He could style his own hair and comb his beard. “I think I’m good. Forgot to pack cologne, though.”

“I’ve got some perfume in my suitcase. There should be one in there that isn’t too flowery.”

Steve rolls his eyes and turns to leave. “Not really a problem, doll.”

Pulling on his suit jacket and reaching for your suitcase to set it on the bed, he miscalculated the balance he was so obviously lacking. Instead of toppling head first himself, he fumbles your suitcase and spills its contents on your bed. He stills for a second, looking to the closed bathroom door to see if you popped your head through to ask what the hell that sound was. But it remained closed, and Steve silently groaned because of his clumsiness. 

He tries his best to roll the clothing items back in, cursing whenever he would accidentally squeeze a perfume bottle you had hidden in there. He counted three. The one he picks smells like roses.

Amongst the ruins he finds your passport, multiple IDs, and two pairs of sunglasses. He chuckles to himself and thinks, we’ve been here for four days and she hasn’t worn these once.

A torn piece of paper stood out from the pile, folded neatly in its own envelope but still damaged. 

     CLINT

Curious, Steve opens the envelope, wholeheartedly expecting to find the written contents from the archer himself, but pauses when he reads the simple sentence, in your handwriting. 

‘After careful deliberation, I have come to the conclusion that I want you to have all my video games.’

If Steve didn’t know any better, and judging by the multiple other letters peeking through the torn tape from the corner of your suitcase, it sounded like a goodbye letter.

“What’s taking so long?”

Startled, Steve shoves the letter under the pile of clothes. “Uh, my clumsy ass spilled your clothes everywhere so I’m being good and fixing everything.”

“...annoying.”

Still, you stayed inside the bathroom.

He glanced back just to make sure. And he knew he shouldn’t be snooping, the guilt was already eating away at him, but he now noticed the lump under the torn tape and another envelope poking through. 

They were all signed for different people. Bucky, Wanda, Peter, Rhodey - 

The devil on his shoulder drowned the cries of the angel. 

Opening his, he prays for his quick reading skills to aid him before you realized what he was doing.       

Steve, 

     Believe when I say that I thought I would put a bullet in my father before he could. Whoops…

I don’t really know why I’m writing these letters besides the thrill of morbidity for my untimely death or because I’m an amateur writer on the side. I never know what to say to you, anyway. Whether it’s in person or on paper. I’ve got a hundred drawn-up speeches in my head I almost say to you. But they don’t come out when I want them to and it seems a bit much to write out the words to several imaginary crumpled pieces of paper. 

This will have to do. 

Steve, I know for a fact, deep in whatever soul I have left, that you are a good man. 

When the world fell apart, I held on to you. I don’t know why. Natasha bugged me about it, sent me those signature smirks of hers whenever we did anything remotely weird. She believed something was going on between us and I would get so angry with her because it was like she saw something I couldn’t. And I wanted to see it. Wrap it up for myself and live in the softness.

You slept by my side when I would ask, you let me look through your private sketchbook to help ease my mind, and you would jump at every chance to shield me from danger. Even when you know I can take care of myself. I don't know how many times I have to remind you. 

I don’t understand why you shut me out after we brought our friends back. And at the time, it hurt like hell. I literally wanted to kill you and then myself. It made no sense, it still doesn’t. I won’t lie and say it still surprises me or that it no longer hurts. ‘Cause I’m numb to it now and the pain is more of a dull ache. 

But I guess you had your reasons, no matter how hurtful, how ridiculous, no matter how stupid. 

Fuck, why didn’t you get some of that life Tony had always wanted for you? The question eats me alive. Maybe you did move on, maybe you would miss us too much, I truly don’t know. When you confessed to wanting some form of that life when we rescued Wanda, it just confused me more.

Then my father basically declared war and you cut me out. I can’t help but think you stayed behind to help me finish this, what with that righteous streak of yours, but if it is the case, then I am so sorry. 

You deserve to live, Steve. 

Guess what I really want to close with is this: find that life you always wanted. Buy a boat, or a cabin in the secluded woods and become a lumberjack, travel, open your own art museum - hell, erase all traces of your identity and sell painted landscapes for a living. 

In any form you find it, just try. You know I’m always rooting for you, and I’m always by your side. No matter how annoying and smart-mouthed you may be. 

There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than here, there, and everywhere with you. 

With as much love in me, 

    The swirl of your name leaves him disoriented, and slightly paralyzed. Steve licks the envelope closed.    

     Steve puts the very existence and contents of your letter to the back of his mind for the time being. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, no time to dissect it word for word. He’ll focus on it later. He still doesn’t know what reaction he should be experiencing. The letter was unexpected, yes, but it’s the matter of you writing a goodbye letter - as if you weren’t going to make it out of here alive. And that about saws Steve in two. 

Steve thinks the elevator comes too fast and wonders what he could do to stop time. The mics on your neck generate enough noise for you to hear the static on the other end. No one is currently online, and Steve cherishes the little moments he’s getting before having to transition into ‘Captain America’ mode. 

There wasn’t much time today to truly bask in the afterglow. The moment the elevator opens Steve literally drags you inside and captures your lips in a rather chaste kiss. It surprises you momentarily but you’re responding, and it’s fluid and familiar. The kiss is brief, but it feels as if your years mold into this single act, and Steve’s smiling wider than he has today when the first thing you say as you part is that maybe you chose the wrong shade of lipstick because it looks too damn dark on his lips.

The elevator reaches the ground floor and he looks over at you one last time in the privacy you’re afforded. He’s got that good ache in his chest again and it’s both calming and a little bittersweet, because staring at you is like staring at the sun - it hurts to look at for a long time but oh, so tempting. 

   The lawn was separated into two halves with only one fully decorated and the other still under a tarp, hidden because it was mid-construction and to not spoil the surprise. Over to the side, just left of the large lake, there was an extra tarp the workers were manning in case the clouds in the sky decided to cry. 

Jackeline had chosen violet as her main color scheme, with golden hues stitched alongside. The flowers, soft lights, marble floor, and desserts were all violet; the curtains and tarps, plates and glasses, flowers on the wall, and Jackeline’s rehearsal dress were all gold. Ernesto must have spent over a million dollars in the decorations alone. 

Everyone donned their best designers and since only family was in attendance today, the little amount of people were easily outdone one right after the other. In total, there were fifteen guests, and that included you and Steve: Ernesto, Seda, the groom’s father, Jackeline’s mother, two of your half-brothers, three aunts (sister’s of Ernesto), two cousins, the maid of honor, and Marcus White. 

They have already fawned over Steve, some with a major guard up as expected, but as Ernesto explains the specifics, everyone becomes more pleased than weary. ‘It was just too good to be true that the Avengers were all good’, someone announces. Steve grips your hand just a little tighter. 

The mere absence of Ramirez was enough of an answer: he really was going to be eliminated.

Across from your private corner, cheers and claps sound as the happy couple finally emerges. Even your father leaves mid-conversation to go greet her. 

She’s a fifties masterpiece. Her dark hair cascades in uneven but gentle layers, framing her face and she’s both glossy and matte. Her skin is darker and her eyebrows are fuller, widow’ peak and strong jaw, thin neck and perfectly rounded shoulders. She has a painted blush on her high cheekbones, dark eyeshadow and a faint cat eye, and the reddest, fullest lips that are already spitting wit as she greets her more serious guests. Her voice is high but steady and she’s so obviously the center of attention, she’s the literal bride, but you bet she could take over the room even if she wasn’t. Her fiancé, surprisingly enough, trails behind her as if he too is in a trance, greeting the same guests and attempting to match her enthusiasm. She’s making herself known, and she’s succeeding.

It isn’t until she locks her sight on you that Steve finally mumbles a quiet ‘woah’ underneath a shaky breath and you can’t blame him, dear god you can’t, because seeing her for the first time in six years is eating away at you. She’s nineteen, young and sweet, and still trapped in the world you were planning to destroy.   

Her first reaction is to run into your arms and hold you tightly, the force swinging you from side to side. Her giggles are contagious and you find yourself reacting similarly, grip tightening as she begins to ramble about how much she missed you and how proud she is that you have saved the world ten times over. The statement is overwhelming, but you find yourself nodding along in place of anything verbal.

Steve is patient as he witnesses this family reunion, standing at your side with respect and a tint of scarlet staining his cheeks. Finally, Jackeline turns to greet him and for a scary second, Steve sees Peggy.

“No way!” She keeps her voice low. “I could have sworn my bit-... uh, my bunch of tias were lying about you really being here.”

Steve shakes the fifties image from his head. The resemblance, even if Jackeline has more slanted eyes and a larger forehead, is uncanny. “Thank you so much for inviting us. The ride up was a bitch but we made the most of it.”

Jackeline stutters over her own laugh. “Oh.” She looks to you with a wide grin. “Oh, he’s a keeper.”

“Thought so myself,” you grin back. “You should hear him swear during a football game.”

“All men turn into animals when their teams don’t live up to expectations.”

Her accent is thicker than yours. Living in New York for over 10 years definitely helped smooth over some dialect and create your own voice. But Jackeline’s, considering she had never lived outside of Mexico, was thick and silky and resembled a place you no longer called home.

She pulls the man behind her forward, effectively interrupting and ending the conversation he was having with one of your cousins. “This is Julian. Julian, this is my one and only sister and her boyfriend!”

Julian, bless his heart, holds out a slightly shaking hand for you to shake. You do so, and try to convey calmness through it. When you watch his glance fall to Steve and feel his hand start to shake yours more rapidly, you can’t help but stifle a laugh.

“It’s an honor!” Julian finally says, voice deep and wracked with some nerves. He shakes Steve’s hand when he gets the chance. “Captain.”

“Please,” Jackeline rolls her eyes. “He’s just like us! You should be swooning over my sister, who is probably going to be the one to kill you if you ever hurt me.”

Julian blinks. His eyes go from Steve to you, contemplating his next move without wanting to seem rude. He nods in your direction. “I don’t doubt you would. Excuse me if I came off as rude. I’m just starstruck by this one here, is all.”

His accent matches Jackeline’s.

Steve waves his hand through the air. “You are not the first tonight, son.”

Sometimes you forget that Steve is an old man. Biologically, he’s in his mid-thirties. Ever changing and growing old as normal, but his soul is old. From a different time and out of it. The mere nickname he just gave Julian, no doubt because of his young age, leaves you averting your eyes and turning away to smile up at one of the many golden chandeliers.

“I really hope you enjoy tonight. The party may seem small right now, but trust me, half of Mexico will be dancing with us tomorrow night.” Jackeline bounces in place, hand intertwining with Julian’s, and she leans in to speak more clearly with you. “Meet me later? We have so much to catch up on.”

Agreeing, you watch the happy couple leave to converse with the few other guests.

Steve turns toward you, eyes squinted in amusement. “Is she really cheating on him with a man of the cloth?”

You can’t help the involuntary snort that leaves your nose. “The photos were watermarked, right? Time stamped? Maybe they’re old.”

Steve huffs a laugh and grabs two champagne glasses as the tray flies by him. “She’s got a way about her. Reminds me of a dame from this book I read a while back.”

Sipping your drink, you ponder. “What book?”

“The one where the dude gets shot at the end.”

“Oh, you mean every book from the 20th century?”

Steve laughs, “That twenties one!”

Mouth dropping, you push at his chest and turn to walk away. “You did not just compare her to Daisy from The Great Gatsby!”

Steve follows. “That’s the one! Honest! She has this way about her!”

    It’s not long after a few dances and photographs that you’re all seated for the actual dinner. There are three long tables, two parallel to each other and the main one perpendicular. You don’t know if it’s a power move or whatever, but your name cards are placed on one of the parallel tables. But it doesn’t bother you much since you have a front view of Seda and your father. 

Dinner is a six-course meal. Not that you assumed any different - Ernesto really went all out for his youngest child (that you know of). Your mics are picking up conversations left and right so you’re actually able to enjoy the meal. Salad, soup, a weird looking appetizer that’s actually quite delicious, the main course of either chicken/fish/or steak, and two desserts. All throughout, Steve is actually having the time of his life being fed so well. 

“Answer me this,” Steve leans in to whisper in your ear. “Are those hearts or paper airplanes hanging from the ceiling?”

You smiled against the ridge of your champagne glass, “You mean those clay flowers?”

“Is that what they are?” He pauses for a long second, squinting.

“Are your eyes going bad?” 

“Eyes don’t go bad.”

Your mouth falls open. “Your eyes are going bad!”

“Again,” Steve holds up a finger. “My eyes are just fine, not bad.”

Something else to add to that list you had made in the morning.

“This is fucking fantastic.”

Steve, still trying to casually squint, huffs. “Annoying...”

You bump his shoulder and lean in to whisper quietly. “Turns you on.”

Steve just blushes.

    It’s like he forgets where he is for a second, what with the great food and surprisingly good conversation with one of your brothers beside him. Steve’s already built a much stronger rapport with the thirty-something year old man than you have. There’s a stab of guilt for a second, a need to duck and drown in shame, when you realize you can’t even remember his name.

Ernesto stands to announce toasts. His is brief and not all that fatherly, but it’s the longest you’ve heard him string some nice words together. Seda follows, brief as well, and includes a childhood anecdote about her. Jackeline’s mother is a young woman, somewhere between forty and fifty, and her toast is only a sentence long - ‘Solo quiero que estas contenta, mi amor.’ For the first time tonight, Bucky voices his thoughts over the mic with a quiet and sad sounding hum.

Ernesto lifts himself from his chair, swatting away his men who go to help him. He has the microphone again and he’s walking toward you, face neutral. You know better than to refuse in front of this big of a crowd. Steve squeezes your hand before you stand and he remains beaming up at you from his seat. 

You’ve seen it in the movies - raise the glass, say some words, end it nicely. It’s what you do. But it feels surreal, almost unnerving when you don’t recognize the faces looking back at you. 

     “Here’s to you,” you lift your champagne glass, looking around at the happy yet solemn faces at the small table. 

“You deserve all the happiness available to you. You are so lucky to have each other,” you finish the toast and drink your whole glass. There is no applause, just sad smiles in response. You’re not asking for much, you never had.

Tony and Pepper share a quick kiss, thanking everyone around the table quickly as the two cakes are being cut. Their wedding was limited, with only a few people in attendance. Whoever was left. Tony’s cabin could obviously accommodate more people, but he had only requested the gathering of those he could stomach to see. But when that turned out to only be Pepper and Happy, he was forced to open the doors to more. 

So, you accepted your chocolate cake from Rhodey as he handed it to you. Shared some quick chit-chat with Steve and Natasha; greeted Thor as he made his first appearance in a while, hair now longer and baggy clothes hanging from his body, a tortured smile on his aging face; and sat through Happy’s own speech, enjoying his refreshing and joyful attitude. 

But now you stood in front of the kitchen sink, staring at the hidden picture frame behind the mugs - a reminder of what was really missing from this special day. 

You studied Peter’s awkward smile and demeanor, his expression youthful and frozen in time. He became foggy, silver clouds blotting his cheeks and his hair went white, and soon the sink sounded with a tiny ‘clunk!’ as you wept silently. 

You felt a hand slide into your own, squeezing with care and understanding. You looked up to see Steve, his eyes watching your face. He gave you one more gentle squeeze, the same tortured smile as Thor’s on his beautiful face, and walked to his room to retire for the night. 

     Glass raised in the air, you swallow in hopes of not choking over any word because of your nerves. 

“Here’s to you,” you start, already deciding this was going to be like pulling a band-aid. “May this world treat you kind, and that you are kind to each other, and that it’s all that matters.”

Steve forgets to drink. He can’t seem to shake the feeling of wanting to cry.

     Everyone watches as Steve leads you onto the dance floor which is intimidating with its glittering violet light and marble that resembles polished glass. If these were the decorations for the rehearsal dinner, Steve can’t even begin to bet on how tomorrow’s going to look. 

Steve holds you close, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other framing your spine. It’s like a tight hug. “Do you enjoy dancing?”

You step on his foot once again. “Shut up, Steve. Tell me your real thoughts.”

“Who, me?”

“Steve.”

“You suck at dancing.”

“There it is.”

     It isn’t hard to sneak away once everyone piles onto the dance floor. Steve shares a few dances with your aunts before excusing himself to use the bathroom. 

The mission itself goes rather smoothly. Infiltrating and collecting information was childsplay. Amateur. You’ve done it a thousand times and your father isn’t exactly a tech wizard. Neither is Seda. 

You find the electronic bank records Scott couldn’t yesterday, as well as a detailed spreadsheet (more like a hitlist) dating ten years back. In the same file, this actually only slightly encrypted (slightly), are the names of high-level players involved. It’s color-coded, some names familiar because of their involvement with Hydra, and it’s only a matter of seconds before you notice that red means eliminated, black means still at large, and blue means ally. 

There’s a lump in your throat as you scroll through and find Steve’s name, thankfully in blue. It’s expected, so you simply move on, until you find yours. And it’s in black. 

It should terrify you, have you running for the hills and tucking your tail between your legs but you’re won’t because Steve’s name is blue. 

That’s all that matters. 

There’s still no concrete information about the shipment, nothing online or on a loose post-it note. It’s non-existent and that’s suspicious and you don’t know why you don’t voice that to Steve. He’s listening at the door and responding to Sam’s questions. You and Scott are the hackers of the group after all. 

You scan through drawers and cabinets, snapping photos of things you can’t take just yet and filing the papers you can. Papers detailing contracts and miscellaneous connections: lawyers, doctors, politicians, police. Once that’s done, you shrink the evidence to the size of a fingernail with the help of Scott’s tech and hide it in your bra. 

Surprisingly enough, the two of you are able to slip out of the office and the first couple living rooms undetected. Until Jackeline herself appears, pulling down her dress as she exits the bathroom. Steve, stunned by the presence of anyone, pulls you toward his chest with unfocused strength. You hiss loudly and naturally go to cup your injured elbow. It takes a moment for Steve to realize what he’s done and who he’s done it to. 

Jackeline nearly stumbles over her heels out of pure clumsiness but her mouth parts as she notices you and the harsh sound you make. If she truly saw or heard anything, she’s keeping it to herself it seems. 

“Ernesto wanted to see me before we called it a night,” Steve says, letting go of your arm and taking a step back. He doesn’t outright say he’s sorry; he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. So he braves a smile, sends you a look, and excuses himself. 

No conversation ever comes naturally - or, rather they take at least minimal effort from either party. You say the first thing you can think of and that’s to congratulate her again. 

Your rambling sort of sounds like the toast you gave earlier, but Jackeline either doesn’t want to embarrass you or simply doesn’t notice. She waits for the pause in your voice before she finally speaks.

“Before I start, don’t hate me for this.”

“That’s not a good way to start a sente-” Your face is smacked to the side absurdly hard and you can feel the sting at the base of your neck. You look back at your sister with wide eyes.

“You couldn’t leave the world dead? He was finally dead!”

Baffled, you rub at your sore cheek. “Why am I the one getting the most blame for that? I followed a fucking raccoon around and I didn’t even snap my fingers!”

“Sorry,” she blinks, eyebrows scrunching as she thinks of the next thing to say. “Sorry, I just… it was that easy to kill him and then he just… wasn’t.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but you were also dead.”

“I was.”

“And we brought back trillions.”

“I know.”

Never once did you wonder what your siblings might have thought. More than half of them were separated from this life, while a few remained and conquered their allowed sectors. Ernesto had never discussed which of his children would take over his seat. But when he was dusted and Seda assumed power, it was clear not one sibling wanted anything to do with it. Or they were just too scared to outright disobey Seda and his tyranny.

Jackeline stands tall, shoulders straight and chin held high. She didn’t seem to worry about the repercussions of her actions - she knows who you are and what you are capable of. The smack seemed deliberate but restrained.

“So?” It’s the only word you can muster up.

“Please don’t judge me.” Her confidence falters and her eyebrows push down even further. “I know you know.”

“You gotta spell it out because I know a lot of things.”

Sighing deeply, she grabs the hand you’re using to rub at your cheek. She grips it tightly as she speaks. “I love him. But he’s impossible to love now and I can’t do anything about it.”

“Oh, Jackeline…”

You could have contacted her. You were on social media - you could have followed her, maybe messaged her annually - hell, called her once in a while to simply check in. The ticket you got was always a temporary one: go to school and find a way to make the trade routes easier to travel. School finished, you found Fury, and you created an alternate identity and background plan to trick your family into doing just what they ordered. And during all that time, Jackeline was barely in her pre-teens, probably scared and alone and missing her only sister. This was just you throwing that smack out of proportion but there was truth in it all. Wasn’t there?

“Julian’s okay. I agreed to this arranged marriage. I’m sure I can grow to love him,” she shrugs, biting her lip as it begins to quiver.

Her eyes are no longer happy - perhaps that was the wrong word to use after she had just confided in you about the reality of her upcoming union. But they definitely seem more dull in comparison to the joyfulness she presented earlier tonight.

“Jackeline, you don’t have to-”

“No, I was gone those five years. He had to move on.” You drop your shoulders and lean forward to give her a hug. No matter how badly you wanted to wrap your hands around Ernesto’s neck, they had more use tenderly wrapped around your sister. 

Relishing the feeling for only a moment longer, Jackeline is ignited once again. “Besides, I should be telling you that! I saw the way that… that fascist pulled you. If he’s hurting you, I’ll kill him.”

Your eyes must be bulging out of your head. “Oh.” 

She looks at you as if you’re going to admit abuse and confide in her like she did you. “No, it’s okay. Steve’s perfect, he’s… wonderful.”

Jackeline shakes her head rapidly, “Don’t you lie to me. I know what I saw.”

“I’m not lying. But you gotta trust me. I’ll explain later-”

“Explain what?”

Seda breaks the conversation and you forget to curse inwardly. Instead, a mumbled ‘fuck’ is heard. It only serves to fuel the flame. Jackeline flashes a rehearsed smile, and she truly is your sister because for a sad moment she looks exactly like you.

“Explain why she never returned my calls to be my maid of honor! I swear, this one is always so busy she forgets I exist!”

“She is,” Seda agrees, grinning like he already knows what the original conversation was about. “Always busy.” 

Jackeline keeps the same smile and is about to continue fanning the flames when Seda interrupts again. “Jackie, your father wanted me to speak with your sister alone for a moment. It has to do with tomorrow’s shipment.”

“Yes, of course. Don’t keep her for too long, okay? Tomorrow’s a late start but we all need our beauty sleep.” Jackeline leaves and fails to look over her shoulder to double check on you.

Seda steps closer, arms swinging casually like he’s pondering the possibilities of what he could do without Steve present. But instead of focusing solely on him, you listen to the soft sound of Bucky’s voice through the mic as he tells you that he’s listening in and he’s here.

“What did she say to you?”

“Is it really any of your business?”

He snaps immediately, gripping your cheeks in one hand so you can’t move your head. “When will you learn to keep your goddamn mouth shut around me?”

“You asked.” Smacking his hand away would have been frowned upon before, but not anymore. Free reign if need be. “Besides, when will you learn that that will never happen?”

“You can’t believe anything she tells you. Ernesto’s only two daughters are mistakes, both threats to his reign. Never submissive, always asking questions-”

You grunt almost comically, “Men and their irrational fears of women… What did I ever do to you?”

He pauses and you notice how his angry eyes always seem to water from his frustration. “You brought him back.”

“I also brought back trillions.”

“You know,” his face does something unpleasant. “Before Jackeline was dusted, she had been seeing that priest.”

“How could you possibly know-”

“He was so devastated by her loss. Found God, became a changed man.”

“Seda, what are you playing at?”

“She came back.” He lifts one finger. “He couldn’t resist.” He raises another. “Didn’t take long for Ernesto to find out.” The third one is the last, and he mimics a small explosion as he concludes. “But don’t worry, we took care of him.”

You never once believed the Devil was this angry, red demon with horns atop his head and a sharp tail, voice booming as he ruled the underworld with the weapons of pain and suffering. He didn’t possess or haunt random places. If anything, the Devil himself was simply a metaphor, a representation of the evil in a living world. It only made people comfortable to create an image, no matter how ridiculous.

Once you even thought the Devil was Hades, and he wasn’t all that bad when it truly came down to the root of all problems. He oversaw the underworld but he didn’t take life, he didn’t cause the pain, he simply watched and ruled. That maybe Hades was real considering Thor was, and he was just chilling in the underworld bored out of his mind.

But the evil the Devil represented was a constant in this world already, in your life from start to finish, and Seda’s eyes held something unspeakable. Dark brown eyes almost black, left cheek twitching with the urge to smile grotesquely, the tense nature of his broad shoulders. He was no massive man, a few inches taller than you, but he was a giant in a world in which Hades lacked and the Devil persisted.

“But Julian-”

Seda scoffs, “Julian was her rebound. Got mixed up in the business, with Ernesto  - but I don’t doubt he loves Jackeline.”

You’re this close to breaking the man’s fingers. He doesn’t stop counting his supposed triumphs. “When were the pictures taken?”

“Don’t do that,” he laughs as he finally steps away from you. “Ask your real question.”

Your smile was involuntary. So was Seda’s. It was the one thing you had in common: smiling at things that weren’t funny. “Did you threaten him? Torture him? Kill him yet?”

“... Jackeline will never know.”

Your mouth parts slowly like you’re still digesting his words. “You unimaginable bastard.”

If you had to bet, you would have placed all your money on Ernesto being the giant to fear. He had hurt you in countless ways, used you and discarded what he didn’t like, put you in the line of fire for his own gain. He had taken pleasure in knowing you hurt, in knowing what you had lost and suffered. He mocked your sacrifice time and time again. And there was a sentence you had never uttered out loud for fear of what you might do, or what anyone hearing you might do, that Ernesto had said one chilly November night only a year after the world returned. It was a thought so suppressed you almost always forgot it had been real. ‘A shame the Widow did what she did - what an unbelievable asset wasted over something pointless.’

No one outside your circle could possibly understand. They didn’t have to - but to dismiss the main reason he was retaking his tainted throne... insanity. 

But something in Seda’s voice moved even the most dormant areas in your soul. The giant was a man with nothing and everything to lose but with the power to choose which. Staring at him for too long prompted an uncomfortable sting across your waterline like his glare burned. Such a normal looking man with short dark hair and an aging face. He stared at you with a set look, one that told you he knew something you didn’t. Like he controlled giants even bigger than him. He wasn’t Hades, who restrained himself and hid in the shadows of a world he was forced to rule - he was the Devil’s metaphor, with red strains licking his tan skin and eyes sharp enough to puncture.

With a small tilt of his head and a strangled grin, he finally turns to leave. “Have a safe drive home.”

     After saying a quick goodbye to Jackeline and securing the estate, you hurried to get to your car and leave. Ernesto had just sent you a quick nod of the head and reminded Steve he needed to see him again before the wedding started. All your leftover energy literally went into pulling open the passenger door. 

Out of instinct now, you wait until the car is past the gates and a good mile from the hidden entrance before speaking freely.

“We get everything?”

The night is dark and you can barely see the outline of the trees. The sky is covered with gray clouds and there are no lampposts to provide light. It’s really just your headlights. “I think so. I think.”

Steve can sense the hesitancy in your answer. “What’s wrong?”

You shake with an exaggerated shiver, “Seda was being creepy… just more than usual.”

“What do you mean?” Steve was probably communicating and online with Sam during his conversation with Ernesto and completely missed the one you had with Seda.

“Fuckin’ didn’t think it could get weirder, but Jackeline mentioned how this was basically an arranged marriage and then Seda,” you stop suddenly. The uneasiness was creeping back. 

“An arranged marriage? Fuck, what else is this mission going to throw at us?”

‘Captain?’

Steve’s hands accidentally swerve the steering wheel as response to the small fright. “... Was that your phone or mine?”

You fumbled through your mini purse for your phone. “Me. Hey? Friday?”

‘The one and only. I hope that didn’t frighten you because I really need your attention right about now.’

Steve chuckles, eyes straight ahead as he drives. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

‘My readings are picking up something strange. The vehicle, even if I’m not able to virtually connect, seems to be stalling.’ Torres did curse you two before you left for renting a car made before 2013.

“What do you mean? It’s working just fine.” 

You set your phone down on the dash to start looking around the interior of the car.

‘The pedal, yes Captain. But I’m afraid my readings are focused on the brakes.’

You bite your tongue and scrunch up your nose. What else could possibly happen tonight? “That’s always fun to hear, great. Greaaaat.”

“Friday, what are you picking up?” Steve’s voice is more stern and even if he’s not doing it on purpose, he’s trying to ignore your coping mechanism of joking during dire situations.

‘It seems that when they took the vehicle for parking, they attached something to the brake lines. Sort of like a trigger sensor. Do not slow down.’

“We’re stuck? We can’t stop?”

‘Everytime the Captain de-accelerates, the sensor heats up. That’s what my readings are.’

“Fuck,” you unclipped your seatbelt and turned your body toward Steve. “Fuck!”

“Friday, what do we do?” The least Steve could do is be the level-headed one here.

‘Exactly what you’re thinking, Captain. The shield’s in the trunk.’

“We can’t exactly get to it!” You don’t mean to scream at Friday. You’re sure she’s used to adrenaline induced attacks guided toward her and never about her.

‘The burners were produced by Stark Industries for our very own spy unit. They are equipped with a taser, flashlight, and laser.’

Jumping so your feet were planted firmly on the passenger seat, you make sure everything is in place: the stolen files, your gun, your phone, and earpiece. “Keep your foot on that pedal, Rogers. I don’t feel like blowing up tonight.”

He releases a shaky breath, hands turning pale from the grip he has on the steering wheel. “You and me both.”

“Friday?” Your voice is only slightly timid, but you manage to move your body out from the front seats and to the back.

‘The laser, Agent Y/LN. Cut through the seats.’

Nodding along to her instructions, you search for the burner under your skirt and unstrap it from the holster. Pulling its ancient antenna outward, Friday verbally guides you through the very simple instruction. The laser blasts out unexpectedly at first making you squeal, which in turn causes Friday (a literal AI) to chuckle. You’re thankful the antenna was facing the back seats already.

“Doing good back there?”

You respond with a low grunt as you carefully carve out the largest rectangle you can create. “You better have shoved the thing close. Any stop signs up ahead?”

Steve’s getting worried now, but instead of putting you more on edge, he hides it pretty well. “Thank god this place is in the middle of nowhere.”

You don’t even give his response acknowledgement as you finally pull the leather, metal, and weird cushion filling away and spot the shield. “I got it, got it, got it.”

‘My sensors suggest you’ll have a good five seconds to escape the vehicle once the Captain releases the pedal.’

You make sure your hair is in the tightest ponytail known to man and that your skirt is bunched up in your free arm. You strap the shield onto the other. “Steve, you gonna be alright?”

His eyes are still focused on the road, but he braves a look in the mirror back at you. His voice is stern but not demanding. “I know you hate the damn shield but bend your legs, jump sideways, and tuck your head.”

“Yeah,” you nod along. Damn straight you’ll put your hate aside for one second if it’s here to save your life. “You better jump on time, you understand me?”

“Sam,” Steve keeps the speed steady and tries to ignore the way his heart is pounding from the sound of you kicking open the back door. “Sam, Widow. Widow.”

Before you jump, the asphalt a never ending, rapid glare of absolute darkness, you leave your phone on the seat in case Steve still needs her. “Friday, send Sam and Torres our location. They’re the only ones who can fly in undetected. Tell them what you told us.”

‘Will do, Agent Y/LN.’

“Be careful.”

You smirk at him, “Don’t be a hero and crash this one into the ice, yeah?”

You don’t wait for his reaction and instead take the plunge. The shield makes a hard impact with the asphalt down below, screeching for what seems like an eternity before slowing down. You did as instructed: knees tucked into your chest as far as you were able, head doing the same. By the time the ride finally ends and you’ve gone partially deaf, you can make out the sound of a loud explosion a close distance away. The heat from the sudden burst of wind nips at your face. You’ve also gone partially blind. 

Your poor boots are definitely ruined and there’s a faint tell of a bruised ankle in the works. The arm attached to the shield will also need to be popped back into place - it shouldn’t feel this loose. Luckily, your head and torso were completely unscathed. 

Lifting yourself up the best you could without straining anything too much, you noticed the car still in flames but driven off the road. 

“He jumped, he jumped, he jumped,” you repeat, limping as quickly as you could, shield still attached to your arm. The closer you get the clearer everything becomes, regardless of the smoke. “Steve.”

You squint through the orange light and the dark of night. The fire wasn’t all that loud in its crackles and it doesn’t take you long to realize while tapping your ears that you lost your earpiece. 

“Steve,” you try again, adrenaline still pumping but panic seeping in. As if on cue, you can make out his body laying far away from the car relatively unharmed. “Ah, shit.” You drop down on your knees and wince involuntarily. Slapping his cheeks doesn’t wake him up, neither does gently shaking him. You don’t want to do anything to hurt him more. 

The sound of gravel popping kicks you back into spy mode. Hide. This was a hit, of course it was, and they were coming to see their job done. 

“You so owe me,” you groan as you unstrap the shield to throw it into the woods, the faint tell of it hitting a tree enough to make you work faster. You hook your arms underneath Steve’s armpits and bend your knees, breathing in deeply and out a few times before pulling him with all your strength. There’s pain shooting up your arm but you try to ignore it. Small whimpers escape you as you pull harder and finally make it a good distance from the wreckage. You sit Steve, still unconscious, behind one of those massive pine trees and sit next to him after retrieving the shield. 

It’s only two black SUV’s that come to check their hard work. They’re bending down and using their own fire extinguishers, snapping their own photos, the works. It isn’t until Seda walks over to admire the wreckage that you have to bite your bottom lip to keep from screaming. 

You’re seated in front of Steve now with the shield in front of you when a sudden movement to your left startles you. Before you scream, however, a hand covers your mouth. 

“Shh, shh.” Sam. Your eyes fill with tears. 

“I’ve got him. Torres is coming for you, alright? I’m the only one who can carry him out.”

It doesn’t take much to convince you. You’re silently helping Sam strap Steve against his chest as Seda and his men are now investigating the woods. You can hear them close, cursing and yelling about finding you. 

“Go a little further. Down there,” Sam points in front of you. “Torres is parked and waiting. Go.”

“Don’t drop him.” Sam stifles his laugh. 

You follow his directions, limping as quickly as you can, and finally find Torres, your second knight in shining armor of the night. 

    After an all clear from the medical team, Steve is left alone in your hotel room to rest. He still hasn’t woken up but Helen isn’t worried since his scans show no major damage. Small talk with the rest of the team fills in the time but it’s like you’re not really there, merely a participant on a loop. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth and you’re covered in scratches and smoky ash and you can’t shake the feeling of wanting to kill something. 

Your father wanted you dead. And showing up to the wedding was just going to anger him more but it had to be done. But you were tired, so fucking tired, tired to the point where you couldn’t sleep or rest.

You let your hair down but stay in your tattered clothing, making yourself useful as best you can. You answer questions, you review footage, you draft up some reports. Bucky tries to sit you down at one point, but he backs off when you simply shake your head and give him that famous broken smile. 

You’re sitting at your desk trying to save some of your phone’s cloud through the connected email. Sam has already ordered you a new phone. On the computer to your left, you’re scanning and uploading the files you stole tonight. On the right, your little butterfly is transcribing conversations from yesterday. 

The transcription is finished before the uploads. It prints. 

SEDA: ‘Ernesto needs to know how many more women we can get from Jonathon. I thought you said your Italian contact was up to date?’

UNKNOWN: ‘He is. But the women are coming from here instead. Got a load of ten just now.’

SEDA: ‘The shipment goes out during the wedding. Not before, not after. We can’t fuck this up for Ernesto and we cannot have the stars and stripes finding out.’

UNKNOWN: ‘Ernesto plans to mention it to him tomorrow.’

SEDA: ‘Then make sure he keeps quiet about it.’

The bitter taste in your mouth returns and you have to run to the nearest bathroom.

     Steve wakes just an hour after, disoriented but able to discern who he is. “What happened?”

You’re standing at the foot of his bed, having just got there a few minutes before, practically on the verge of tears. “... Did you know?”

There it was. Any hope of truly coming to terms with this new world order or his role in it, any hope of feeling like he did before he succumbed to the American war propaganda and became a science experiment, crumbling before him. The heavy weight that were your shoulders, crumbling like shaky mountains. His own, tense and straining and urging him to get out of bed. 

He’s been in the trenches when the smell of gas and blood clogged his nostrils and made him dizzy. He’s experienced loss a thousand times over, just heinous instances of despair where he swore he was torn in two. He’s lost on his own accord and pretended like the world was still on its axis. 

And he knew his time was up. He just thought he’d have more than a day to enjoy it.  “I was going to tell you.”

It’s like the air is punched out of you. “You knew?”

“Please, listen, please,” he scrambles out of bed.

“What the fuck, Rogers?”

“Ramirez told us yesterday. I swear I only found out yesterday. Yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” You’re stepping away from him. He’s almost on his hands and knees and you’re stepping away from him. “Before?”

Steve makes a pained noise. “Yes, but please-”

“No! You kept this to yourself and you had the fucking audacity to share the same bed as me?”

“Please, let me explain-” He tries to reach out but you side-step him. He reacts like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t touch me, Steve!”

“Please, just let me explain. We all know - Bucky, Sam, Torres, we all know.”

Your face does something he’s never seen it do. “Fuck?”

He’s talking faster now, words just spilling on the floor and into the air and he doesn’t know what else to do. “We’re tracking it. We have a plan set. We were supposed to tell you tomorrow before the wedding.” He stops to take in a breath. “I was going to tell you.”

“You went behind my back.”

“If I would have told you, you would have done something horrible tonight! We need your father alive to find those people!”

Eyes wide in shock and anguish, you step further away from him. Each step was the equivalent of a dagger plunging deep into Steve’s heart, twisting and burning its way to the depths of his vulnerability. He wanted to succumb to the pain - after all, he deserved it.

“That would have been my choice to make!”

Now he pushed forward, shoulders hunched and palms turned upward as if he was pleading for a crumb of understanding. “I was gonna kill him.”

He drops to his knees, arms wrapping around your waist. You remained perfectly still, a tree stump with no cover. “I was gonna shoot him between the eyes when I first found out. But if I had done that, then we would never know the location of those people.”

His weight was pulling you down and you felt his wet cheek against your stomach. “I deserved to know.”

His grip tightened, “You did. But if you would have known-”

“I would have known. Period.”

He had to know how much he weighed. But Steve leaned his body onto yours harder, afraid you would vanish and god forbid turn to dust. It didn’t really register in his mind that, even though he was holding you in place, you weren’t exactly trying to escape his hold either. 

He had let you go once and he’ll be goddamned if he let you go again. 

“It ate me alive. I hated doing this-”

You pushed against his shoulders and sensed his reluctance to let go. Instead, you look down at him and tense your jaw. “Steve, you don’t hate me, do you?”

His face dropped and his grip loosened. You should just slap him across the face, Steve thinks, because how in the world were you thinking that at this moment? Never did he think you would find a way to twist this - to somehow blame yourself for his mistake. Took a long time to see it, but you were just as righteous as he was. It would get you both killed someday. 

“Why do you think that? What in the world would make you think that after all this time? After everything?”

He lets you push him away so he could stand but he makes sure to keep his hands on you. A tangible promise that you are real. 

“You agreed to help me catch a drug lord. You didn’t sign up for this extra mess.”

“We may not always know what we’re up against,” Steve began, sniffing and wiping at his wet face. God, he felt like such a mess. “But I could never fucking hate you. Don’t even think that.”

“You sure?” your voice cracks, hands slightly shaking from the need to touch him too. “Captain America didn’t sign up for this.”

He shakes his head almost violently, “No, no. Don’t go there. I am not him, I haven’t been him in a long time.”

“Steve-”

“No! I’ve hated the title for a while now. I’m done. I’ve hated my reflection for years and years.” The tiny whine in the middle of your throat gurgled and your hands moved instantly to cup his cheeks.  “I represent no one but myself. I’m tired of others thinking I’m the same man from ten years ago, or the same man from the forties, or the same man from last week just because they’re enamored by that star on my chest.”

He tilts his head to lean into your touch, “I am helping you because it’s the honorable thing to do. I signed up for this work, I intend to finish it. Not Captain America, but me - Steve, me.”

“You’re still making me feel like it’s something you have to do.”

“I admit that I was never overly fond of the idea of being wrapped up in this,” Steve admits, hands now cupping yours over his cheeks. “But toppling this empire will keep you safe.”

As heartwarming as that sounded, you broke the fantasy. “The minute we take the giants out, they’ll elect someone new.”

“But we take the giants out. The giants that hurt you.”

He’s right, like always. 

“Steve,” you say quietly, bringing his face closer to kiss away his tears. You’re struggling to keep the tippy-toes and your ankle is screaming for a break, but you persist. “You should have told me.”

“I know.”

“No more secrets.”

“None, I swear, I promise.”

Biting your lip to keep from crying, you make sure his eyes are locked on yours before you speak. “I’m not walking away this time. I’m not leaving you. Not again.”

Steve’s mouth releases a big burst of air like he was holding it in, and he wraps you in a hug that promises the same.

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess​ @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress​

A/N: Wooooo that took forever lol xxMoni

[crazybagelbitch]

AU where Maddie has always lived in LA with Doug but the 118 have only met her a handful of times because she doesn’t see her brother much. So Chimney is surprised when she turns up bruised and bleeding at his apartment at 2am one night because the most conversation they’ve ever had is when she kept dropping in to check on him the year before when she was in work and he was recovering from rebar. But Doug doesn’t know where he lives and can he help her please? 🥺

Chimney is cursing under his breath as he blearily makes his way toward the door. He hadn’t been sleeping anyway but he was finally on the cusp of it after a night spent tossing and turning, and then someone was pounding on the door, pulling him from the peaceful rest that he was about to have.

(Well, hopefully peacefully rest.)

He’s prepared to snap at whoever it is when he practically throws the door open, assuming it’s a drunk neighbor who’s accidentally locked themselves out considering it’s 2am on a Friday night turned Saturday morning.

“Maddie?” 

It takes him a moment to find her name, because he’s half asleep and it’s dark and he’s only met her a handful of times. But then he sees the bruises on her face and the jaggedness of her nose and he’s pulling her inside of his apartment, realizing how dumb of a move that is when she flinches, and he quickly puts his hands up.

Sighing, she bites her trembling lower lip and motions for him to shut the door, something he had completely forgotten to do as he’s looked her over, looking for injuries beyond her face. Given the way she’s hunched over a bit, he’s guessing her ribs are bruised, if not actually cracked.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and that’s his second stupid move of the night, because clearly she isn’t. He’s about to open his mouth to apologize when she shakes her head, waving her hand to let him know she hasn’t taken offense. He’s sure she knows this an unusual situation, too.

“Doug doesn’t know where you live... c-could you help me, please? I-I’m so sorry, I know we hardly know each other b-but... can’t go the closest hospital because I w-work there and if I drive further... if I’m g-gone too long...”

She trails off with a whimper, tears sliding down onto her already bruising cheeks and he hates that she’s even considering that he might send her away. She’s Buck’s sister, and she’s also her own human being who is hurt and in need of help and he just so happens to be a paramedic.

“No, no, of course I’ll help,” he assures her, “let me go get-- I have a bunch of first aid stuff at home, I’ll go get it. Is there anything else that you need? Water or--”

“Resetting my nose and helping wrap up my ribs is m-more than enough,” she whispers with a dark laugh, and it makes him feel sick because there’s a clear insinuation that this is not the first time her husband has hurt her.

Which isn’t surprising, given that he’s a paramedic and unfortunately had far too much exposure to domestic violence and is all too well aware of how it works, but it still puts a deep seated sadness and disgust in his stomach.

He could throw up, he thinks. He probably will after she’s gone.

He doesn’t know what to say to her. He knows there is no magic fix, nothing he could say or do that would make her husband change or just magically disappear, but he feels like she should say something.

But he’s coming up with nothing.

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally says bluntly, once he’s back with his very thorough home first aid kit.

“There’s nothing you really can,” she shrugs, a small smile on her face that winces with the movement.

“I know this probably means nothing but... if there’s anything I can ever do to help? Beyond... this? I’m here. You’re Buck’s sister, you’re family and.... I’m sorry, I’m probably messing this up, I just know that I can’t fix it but if I can ever help somehow, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me, okay?”

“Okay,” she nods, and he gets the feeling that she will hesitate, but he of course understands it’s far more complicated than just accepting help and leaving. Far more complicated and far more dangerous.

“H-How did you get to LA?” she asks shakily after a tense silence, and he gets the feeling that she just wants to talk about something, anything other than her current horrid situation.

And he supposes that other than treating her injuries, it’s really the least that he could do for her.

“So, it’s kind of a funny story actually...”

[amythedvdhoarder]

Protection - Part 9

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky cannot bear that Y/N was hurt because of him. He has to find a way to keep her safe. Forever

Warnings: Swearing and a whole lot of angst.

Word count: 3K

Author’s note: Gif not mine. Thank you so much to everyone following this story, it means a lot to see people enjoying my writing. As always, if you have any requests or would like to be added to the taglist just send me an ask.

series masterlist

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You were exhausted. For hours you sat and cried in Bucky’s room where he had walked out on you. The pain in your chest was the worst thing you had ever experienced. The loss was indescribable. It left you feeling empty; a shell of a person.

Steve.

The thought hit you like a train. Steve was injured. Badly. In fact you had only just got to him in time. Bucky’s sudden departure would hurt Steve, perhaps more than it hurt you. He had spent years tracking him down, picking Bucky over his teammates a wound that was only just beginning to fully heal. You had to be strong for Steve, he needed you.

Your head was pounding as you dragged yourself up off Bucky’s floor. Looking back from the door, everything looked normal. As if at any minute he would come waltzing in from where ever he had been. Tears filled your eyes and you had to fight to keep your emotions from spilling over again. Taking control, you turned off the lights and shut the door. Walking past your room, you headed for the elevator to the medical bay. You were still wearing your tactical suit from the mission, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go into your room and get changed. The last time you had been in your room, you and Bucky had made love, the memories were too fresh, too happy. You were certain you would find a change of clothes from somewhere.

A nurse offered you some scrubs when you reached the medical bay. You freshened yourself up and got changed in the toilet down the corridor. In the reflection of the mirror you noticed how red and puffy your eyes were, you were barely recognisable. You splashed some cold water onto your face in an attempt to make yourself look more human then made your way to Steve’s room.

Sam was sat in a chair next to Steve’s bed. He looked up as you walked in. “Y/N you look like shit. What’s happened?” You shook your head, you didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t want to have to admit what a fool you had been for giving your heart away so easily. “What’s the latest?” You voice was hoarse from screaming at Bucky earlier,  you almost didn’t sound human anymore. Maybe you weren’t. Sam’s brows furrowed at your ignorance of his question, but he let it slide. He could tell by your face that whatever it was you would tell in in your own time. “Doc’s said that they have patched everything up they need to. Just a waiting game now. Steve’s body will wake him up when he is healed enough, most likely he will be out for a few days.” You nodded again as you looked at the battered super soldier on the hospital bed in front of you. “You should go and rest Sam. I’ll stay with him.” Sam couldn’t bring himself to argue with you. To him you seemed changed, like you lost something. He put a gentle hand on your shoulder and with a sympathetic smile promised he would be back later with some food.

You sat in the seat Sam had just vacated and glanced at Steve. “People say you should talk to people who are in comas. Not sure if you can hear me or not but just so you know, I’m not going to leave you Steve. We just got you back, not letting you out of my sight.” Steve had watched over you look an older brother once you joined the team; he was in your eyes at least, one of the most caring and dutiful people in existence. He had the patience of a saint and had one of the worlds best moral compasses. You loved him, not the in the same way as Bucky but it was definitely love. He was going to be devastated when you broke the news that Bucky had gone, but you didn’t want to think about that just yet.

You pulled your knees up, tucking them to your chest. Reaching out, you carefully took Steve’s hand in yours, running your thumb softly over the back of his hand. It was getting late now and from the window you could see the sky darkening as the sun began to set. You yawned as tiredness began to overcome you. Steve, despite the horrendous cuts and bruised that covered his body, looked peaceful. After a final peak at his sleeping form, and with your hand still in his, you leaned your head back against the chair and closed your eyes.

Sam woke you up the next morning, your eyes squinting against the bright sunlight now pouring in through the window. “Y/N, you need to eat something” you rubbed your eyes and looked at him. “Sam I’m alright OK?.” He frowned at you but didn’t push it. You looked over at Steve, his bruises and cuts were beginning to fade thanks to his super soldier healing. It filled you with a minute sense of relief; at least one of you was on the mend. You had no idea how long it would take you to start feeling normal again, but you knew it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

The day passed with people coming and going to visit Steve. Nat strolled in sometime in the afternoon. Sam had obviously forewarned her that you weren’t in a good place. She forced a bottle of water on you. “Look I can guess that this” she said gesturing at you “has something to do with Barnes’s disappearance?” You flinched at the mention of his name and shifted your eyes down to the floor, not wanting to give yourself away. Nat took your silence for an answer. “That fucker, he is unbelievable.” She ran her hands through her hair and was about to go on a rant but she caught your eyes as you looked up at her begging her to stop. She walked over to you and put a supportive arm around your shoulders. Nat sat with you for a couple of hours and left when Tony called her. When Sam checked on you in the evening you we already asleep, curled up on the chair, hand resting on Steve’s. He draped a blanket over you and left you both in peach.

A small pressure on your hand brought you back to consciousness. Your eyes fluttered open and your gaze was met by a pair of warm blue eyes. Steve was awake. “Hey Stevie, how you feeling?” You shifted forward in your chair to get closer to him. “Like I’ve been on some very strong painkillers.” As you smoothed his hair down with your free hand, tears began to roll down your cheeks. He squeezed your hand “Y/N stop, there’s no need for you to cry.” You wiped the tears away with the back of your hand “I’m just glad you’re ok. Thought we had lost you.” Steve tried to sit up, grimaced, and fell back into the bed. “I may not look it right now Y/N, but I’m tougher than I look.” He let out a cynical little chuckle and you gave a half-smile in return. “Where’s Buck?” The question you knew had been coming but had wanted to avoid all costs. You took a deep breath. Where did you begin? You had to tell him, he was Bucky’s best friend but you knew it was going to hurt.

So, you started at the point where you had found Steve. You sped over your argument with Bucky, not wanting reopen the fresh wounds. Steve’s fists were clenched by the time you had finished. He knew Bucky had done some messed up things in the past but understood that Bucky had no control over it. Bucky was fully complicit in this one, no avoiding it. How could his friend be capable of causing so much pain? Steve tried to rationalise that Bucky was trying to protect everyone, pushing you away was the only way to ensure that you would be safe. He knew that Bucky truly cared for you, loved you but didn’t want to try and justify this to you. It wasn’t his place. Steve watched as you tucked yourself back into the chair beside his bed, your cheeks tear stained. You looked exhausted physically and emotionally but when Steve had suggested you go and get some rest you had refused. He knew exactly why you didn’t want to return your room, instead taking sanctuary away from the others prying questions and the memories that were haunting you.  

Over the next few days as Steve continued to recover you stayed by his side. Only leaving to use the bathroom in the suite and change into some clothes Nat had brought you. You passed the time reading to Steve and having the occasional short conversation, both dancing around the topic of Bucky. You were glad Steve hadn’t so much as uttered his name since the other day; it gave you time to compartmentalise and try to bury your feelings and memories. You loved Bucky and probably always would, but he had left you, told you he didn’t want you. In order to have any form a life you were going to have to try and carry on without him.

Steve was released from the hospital room 5 days after you had brought him back from Poland. You walked with him towards his room, he seemed physically healthy but you could tell by his face he was 100% yet. He had given a quick account of everything for Fury when he woken up that covered the events leading up to his capture. Nick hadn’t pressed him for details about his time with Zemo, his injuries were enough evidence of that. Steve stood at the entrance to his room and saw how suddenly anxious you looked. “You can stay with me if you want? I can sleep on the sofa” You smiled gratefully but shook your head, eyes cast to the floor. “I’m going to have to go back to my room at some point, can’t avoid it forever” you picked at the skin around your nails nervously. “Thanks Y/N for being there for me. Just know I’m here. Whatever you need. Movie day tomorrow?” You bit down on your bottom lip and looked at Steve, his eyes sympathetic. “It’s alright Steve, you would have done the same for me. A movie sounds good. See you tomorrow.”

You walked into your room, not glancing at the room next to yours. The door shut behind you, leaning back you let your back slide down the door and sat on the floor, you head held in your hands. 10 minutes later you managed to pull yourself together; you stripped the bed down, changing the sheets removing any evidence that Bucky had ever been there. Next you stood under the hot shower and washed the last week off you. After you pulled on some shorts and a tank top you hauled yourself into bed, exhausted you were asleep before you had chance to turn the lamp off.

The felt the bed dip next to you. “Bucky?” Your eyes fluttered open to find Nat looking down at you. Disappointment flooded through your body as you scrunched up your eyes and buried your face in your pillow. He’d left you and wasn’t coming back. He had told you that you were nothing more than someone to keep his bed warm for a night. Anger seared in your chest, he was lying, he had to be. Even the best actor in the world couldn’t fake the love he had shown you. Your thoughts were interrupted by Nat’s voice “Y/N you need to eat something, it’s been nearly a week.” Had it really been that long? Hunger had become a familiar companion but the thought of eating still didn’t appeal. “I will force feed you if I have to. You know I am a cold enough bitch to follow through on that threat” You groaned in defeat and sat up to face her. She handed you a bowl of yogurt, granola and fresh fruit, watching carefully as you began to spoon it into your mouth. “You really going to stay and watch me eat food?” Nat grinned at you “yeah, then I am going to drag you back into the civilised world.” You rolled your eyes at her stubbornness “you’re kidding me, right?”

Nat didn’t have time to answer as the door burst open and Sam strode into the room “you tell her yet.” The spoon clattered into the bowl, frowning at Sam then back at Nat. “Told me what?” Nat sighed “The farm we found Steve at his been destroyed.” You thought about information that Nat had just told you meant. “Bucky” you whispered. Sam walked closer “I went there as soon as it happened. There’s no trial Y/N, no nothing. We lost him for now.” You looked at the bowl in your hand and mumbled “he doesn’t want to be found...” Nat cut you off “look Steve told us what Bucky said and what he plans to do. We’ll find him, one way or another.” It wasn’t worth trying to explain to them they were wrong. If Bucky wanted to disappear he would and there was no hope of finding him.

All of the team kept a watchful eye over you for the next few weeks. They made sure you ate regularly and wouldn’t let you hide away in your room sleeping, even if that was all you felt up to. Nat, Sam and the rest of the team continued their pointless search for Bucky, Steve joined them occasionally but kept you company more often than not. You didn’t want to get involved in finding Bucky, he had made it pretty clear that he didn’t want you or anybody to find him. Just as you suspected there had been no sightings of Bucky. The only to be found was a trial of bodies, consisting of members of the Sokovian death squad. The battered and bruised soldiers were found all over the world. There was no perceivable pattern to where they were found, any CCTV footage had been wiped. There was nothing to say that Bucky had been involved in any way but you knew. The soldiers found had of course been interrogated, but SHIELD weren’t into torturing people for information. Even with the extraction skills the team possessed the prisoners remained silent.

Weeks turned into months and although every minute of every day you still missed Bucky, you somehow managed to find a way to make life continue. You resumed your training and completed some light recon work. But most of the time you hung out with Steve, watching movies, cooking and found comfort in being around each other. Slowly the whole in your heart began to heal, it would always be there but you had become accustom to the constant emptiness that lingered inside you.

One morning you and Steve were in the kitchen starting to cook pancakes for the team’s breakfast. He started frying some bacon into the pan and a wave of nausea hit you and ran over to the bin and threw up. Steve abandoned the bacon and rushed over to you. He pulled your hair back from your face then ran a comforting hand up and down your back. “Y/N you alright?” his voice dripping with concern. Once you were certain you weren’t going to throw up again you stood slowly and turned to him. “I’ve been feeling a little bit off for the last week. You know nauseous and tired. I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few days.” Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Will you go and see Dr Cho?” You rolled your eyes “Steve you can’t be serious?” you looked at him, he stood up straight and his chest puffed out slightly. “You really going to pull this Captain America shit on me?” He started to protest at your language but you held your hand up to stop him speaking “Fine, I’ll go but only if you come with me.” He agreed and deserting the breakfast and waited for you to brush your teeth before taking you down to the medbay.

Dr Cho had the results of your blood test in her hand. You were shaking, it wasn’t possible. Steve hugged you to his chest trying to comfort you and tell you everything was going to be ok. “A baby, his baby.” You uttered in shock. This was unbelievable how could you be 3 months pregnant? However, when you thought back to the night you had shared with Bucky, it was in fact entirely possible. How could you have been so stupid? Why hadn’t you used protection? You knew exactly why, you had been too caught up in everything, in him, to even consider the consequences. Dr Cho was still talking but you couldn’t hear her, all you could think about was how you were going to have to raise a baby on your own.

As short while later let Steve guide you back to your room, you felt lost, your mind still reeling from the news. Steve opened the door for you and you stepped in, you turned around and met his anxious gaze. “I can’t be alone right now Steve. Will you stay with me?” he sent you a small nod of agreement.  He let you take his hand and lead him to your bed. He sat on top of the covers, his back resting against the bed frame. You climbed onto the bed after him and tucked yourself against him; your head on his chest and arm across his stomach. His arm rested over your shoulders and his fingertips rubbed small circles on your back. “I can’t do this on my own Steve”. He placed a slow delicate kiss on the top of your head. “Y/N you’re not alone. You have a whole team of avengers to help you and I’ll be with you all the way.” You hummed in response. “I miss him Steve.” “I know Y/N me too.” Neither of you spoke after your confessions. Your thoughts, as they often did, drifted to Bucky. You wanted him to be there so badly. You wanted to tell him you were having his baby.

taglist: @broco8​, @mela-noche​

[lopithecusfanfiction]

Blinded in Chains: Chapter One

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3377 Alternate: AO3 Summary: "There is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, to have despaired and have recovered hope." - George Eliot

The118 are called to a factory fire. It all seems pretty routine until Eddie is told by one of the employees that they have canisters of highly explosive materials on site. With no time to get out, Eddie, a few other 118 crew members, and the employees are caught in an explosion with catastrophic consequences which change Eddie's life forever. Luckily, he has Buck there to help him through it.

Warnings: 

Angst

Hurt/Comfort

Injury

Major Character Injury

Burns

Blindness

Blindness Caused by Injury

Blind!Eddie Diaz

Survivor’s Guilt

Depression

Eddie Whump

Hurt Eddie Diaz

Worried Buck

Caring Buck

Injury Recovery

Recovery

Buck takes care of Eddie

Getting together

Eventual Smut

Smut

Slow Burn

Other Additional Warnings to Be Added

Author's Note: Title from the band Avenged Sevenfold. It was either this title or “Blinded by the Light” but I thought the latter sounded too upbeat for this angst fest. Though I know it's not going to be everyone's cup of tea, I'm honestly really excited about this fic! Please enjoy! Tag List: (I’m going to tag the people that liked the preview I posted the other day because I’m assuming y’all are interested in it. If you don’t want me to tag you, please let me know! Also, if you want to be tagged in future updates, feel free to let me know and I’ll add you.) @justsmilestuffhappens @tkandbuck @poppy3019 @mysepticheartfan1 @idealuk @irrationalyperfect @claire-nyc

They are called out to a routine factory fire sometime in the afternoon. It’s nothing they haven’t dealt with in the past before. In fact, fires at factories are actually quite normal. Fires either start because of negligence from an employee or, and much more common, from faulty equipment due to the owner cutting corners. So, it’s not surprising when they are called out to one once again. It’s also not shocking to see the fire blazing out of control when they arrive. These factories do tend to go up fast and spread quickly.

Once the situation is assessed, Bobby rounds up the team to give orders. Dispatch had said there were some people trapped inside; five on the West side of the building and another seven on the East side. With how much the building is already engulfed in flames, everyone knows they are going to have to work fast to get those people out. That’s why when Bobby announces their duties, he separates him and Buck. Bobby needs his best firefighters leading the way.

“Buck,” Bobby addresses. “I want you to take point on the West side. Eddie, take the East. Gather a team of three or four.” He then adds more firmly, “No unnecessary risks. If it gets too dangerous, leave immediately. Now go. Be thorough but quick.” It’s the closing line that Bobby always gives them before they, or any of the other 118 members, enter a burning building.

Eddie and Buck exchange quick glances at one another, nodding curtly, before running off to gather their team. Eddie gives a brief rundown of the plan to the four other crew members he picks and then leads the way into the building. He and Buck start at the same entrance but soon separate in order to go in the direction of their intended targets. Unfortunately for them, the door is farther from the East side of the building than it is the West which means Eddie’s team has farther to travel. They carefully pick their way through the fire and debris of the building, putting out as best they can any fire that blocks their way. Soon enough, they reach the door that dispatch had told them the people were hold up in.

Eddie yells out, hoping he can be heard over the fire. “LAFD!” He tries the doorknob and it turns easily in his grasp. Pushing the door open, he sees five people huddled in a corner, all of them holding one another, and two unconscious people lying close by them. He gestures towards the people for his team to gather and then approaches one of the employees that are unconscious, checking their pulse. “Alive!” he yells and then checks the other person. “This one too! Okay, people, let’s get them out.”

Two of the crew members pick up the unconscious people each, throwing them over their shoulders. Eddie briefly registers Buck’s voice over the walkie. “Cap, we’re on our way out. Five people in need of medical attention. All conscious and alert.”

Eddie starts picking his way out of the room, conscious of the men and women following behind him as he reaches for his own walkie. He’s about to report their own situation when he notices the way they came is blocked. “Cap, we’ve got five people who are conscious and alert, two unconscious. All in need of medical attention. Our way has been blocked and will need to find a different way out.”

“Copy that, Diaz,” Bobby’s voice sounds from the walkie. “Keep me updated.”

Eddie turns to one of the employees. “Is there another exit around here?”

A woman, probably in her early thirties, shakes her head. “There’s another one in this wing of the building but on the other side.” She looks like she’s about to panic.

“Okay, everybody, stay calm. We’re going to get you out of here,” Eddie reassures before turning back around and making his way in the direction the woman had told him. They go until their way is blocked again and Eddie has to change directions once more to try and make it past the fallen debris. Slipping carefully through a doorway with its door missing, he enters a room that has minimal fire in it but heavy with smoke that makes it hard to see.

“We can’t be in this room!” one of the employees announces with alarm.

Eddie turns to him. “Why?”

All the employees’ eyes are wide with fear as the man answers him. “We have canister mixtures of chlorate and magnesium chloride in here.”

Eddie’s heart almost stops in horror. “Why do you have that here? Dispatch didn’t disclose this.”

“The company wanted to expand their horizons but are cutting corners to do so,” the same woman who had told him about the door states.

“We need to get out of here now!” Eddie says urgently, ushering the crew and employees back the way they came. They are already pretty far into the room and fire is quickly spreading around them. They don’t have much time.

Grabbing his walkie, Eddie practically yells into it. “Cap, we have chlorate and magnesium chloride mixtures in the building!” He looks behind himself, trying to gauge if any of the fire is by the canisters but the smoke is too thick to see through. “I repeat, there are-”

He sees the light from the explosion first before the impact of the blast. Then he feels it as it pushes him back into one of the employees, shoving them against a wall. His head hits hard and he doesn’t know what happens after that. Everything turns dark, blackness surrounding him.

*~~~*

When he wakes, all he can hear is an incessant ringing in his ears. But that is nothing compared to the physical pain coursing through his body. It feels like his body is on fire, maybe it is, but Eddie can’t open his eyes because they hurt too. He opens his mouth, doesn’t know if he screams out because he can’t hear , but he can’t breathe either. Oh God, it hurts to breathe .

A hand, or what he assumes to be a hand, lands on his shoulder and he tries to get away from it. It causes an intense stinging sensation to go from his shoulder down into his aching hand. He screams again, or at least he thinks he does, and there are more hands and he wants them to stop touching him. Please stop touching him!

“Dee!” Eddie tries to breathe, focus on the voice that just barely reaches his ears. They’re still ringing loudly, annoyingly, and when he tries to reach up to his ears, he realizes he can’t move his arms. “Eddie!”

“Buck?” Eddie mouths, once again not sure if he’s actually said anything. “Buck?” he thinks he must sound frantic but he doesn’t care because everything is on fire . 

“It’s going to be okay!” Buck’s voice, barely reaching him.

“Buck!” Eddie cries and if he could open his eyes he’s sure tears would be spilling from them.

“I’ve got you, Eddie.” A hand runs through his hair. Does he still have hair? “Chimney and I are going to get you out of here.”

He doesn’t end up knowing how they get him out. He passes out just after Buck stops talking. Or maybe he doesn’t stop talking, Eddie doesn’t know, the ringing is still there. He welcomes sleep, though, if only to get away from the searing pain.

*~~~*

The scene is horrific when Buck, Chimney, and a few other 118 firefighters wheel Eddie away to an ambulance. When Buck had heard that the factory had chlorate and magnesium chloride mixtures in the building, he felt his heart drop into his stomach. He had prayed that Eddie and the rest of the team would make it out in time.

They didn’t.

The explosion wasn’t actually that big, it not even taking out half the building, so Buck assumes there weren’t a lot of the canisters in there. It was, however, destructive to the surrounding rooms, the initial blast taking down a supporting wall, which then caused part of the building to collapse. Eddie is extremely lucky it didn’t fall on top of him. Some of the employees and one of the crew members of the 188, weren’t so lucky.

He leaves other crew members to dig through the rubble as he runs along with the stretcher that Eddie has been placed on. Chimney is keeping pace, trying to keep Eddie alive who has just passed out, holding a saline bag high above his head. Buck’s eyes start to sting as he watches the proceedings and tries to blink away the tears that are threatening to fall.

Sniffling, he looks Eddie over. The older man’s helmet had come off at some point. Buck assumes it was from the blast of the explosion. His face also looks pretty badly burned, especially around his eyes, and his turnout gear is… well, it’s completely destroyed. Buck’s mind keeps supplying him with the realization that Eddie is extremely lucky to still be alive and that it could turn around at any moment.

As if on cue, Chimney states, “His BP is dropping! Starting compressions!” Chimney hops onto the stretcher, straddling Eddie’s body, and begins compressions. 

Buck’s vision blurs as tears pool in them and he doesn’t even bother trying to rid them this time. They make it to the ambulance quickly and Buck has no choice but to let go of the stretcher to let the others load Eddie into the vehicle. His heart is beating frantically in his chest and tears are streaming incessantly down his cheeks.

“Buck!” Buck turns to Bobby, not bothering to hide the fact that he’s crying.

“I’m not leaving him!” Buck says immediately.

“I’m not asking you to,” Bobby reassures. “Just… keep me updated.”

Buck nods briefly before climbing into the ambulance. Chimney is sat beside him, having stopped the chest compressions, but according to the heart monitor Buck can see that he is stable again. Once Buck is settled, Chimney raps on the wall of the ambulance, letting the driver know they’re ready to go. The sirens immediately start blaring and before Buck knows it, they are rushing to the nearest hospital.

“Chim, what’s his status?” Buck dares to ask.

Chimney glances up at him before refocusing on Eddie. “It’s not looking good, Buck.”

Buck shuts up then, afraid to ask any more questions. He doesn’t want to hear the answers. Instead, he watches Chimney work as he tries to clean the burns as best he can. Buck is worried about Eddie’s face the most. It looks like it took the brunt of the flames from the explosion. If Eddie survives, he’s going to definitely have some scaring.

Eddie codes again halfway to the hospital. Buck does the compressions this time, jumping in immediately. It gives Chimney the opportunity to try to stabilize Eddie once more, pumping him with medications. As Buck presses hard on Eddie’s chest, tears from his eyes fall onto Eddie’s face. Buck can’t look away from it. Won’t look away from it. What if it’s the last time he sees it?

“Buck,” Chimney gets his attention. “He’s back, you can stop.”

Sniffling and wiping at his eyes with the back of his gloved hand, he sits back heavily. Chimney is eyeing him but doesn’t say anything. Buck is grateful for that. He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to move . He just wants to stare and watch Eddie, praying he’ll be okay.

They eventually make it to the hospital and quickly wheel Eddie out of the ambulance. No one argues with him when he follows the gurney inside and Chimney even comes with him. When he has to finally part from Eddie, the nurses rushing to wheel him into the back, that’s when he finally breaks completely.

His knees give out and he falls back into a chair that Chimney had, unbeknownst to Buck, guided Buck towards. A ragged sob escapes from his throat and out his mouth, tears streaming down his cheeks. Chimney sits down next to him, places a hand on his back, and allows him to cry. He cries so hard that he starts to hiccup and Chimney’s hand begins a path along his back, up and down and in circles. Buck hunches over and buries his face in his hands, trying to get his self-control back. He’s making a scene, he knows he is, and he needs to calm down, but it’s expected to bawl this hard in a hospital, right?

Eventually, he does stop, exhaustion taking over his entire body. He sags in the chair with the trash can situated between his legs. Chimney had handed him it with a box of tissues at some point and Buck had gratefully taken them. Now he feels tired and grief-stricken. They have no idea what is happening to Eddie, how he is, if he’s even still alive. All Buck needs to know is if Eddie is going to live.

“Hey,” Hen’s voice sounds quietly from Chimney’s side. Buck doesn’t know how long she’s been there. It looks like it’s been a little while. “How are you doing, Buckaroo? Do you want me to get you some water?”

He shakes his head. He is feeling pretty thirsty now but that’s not his top priority. Hen had been working on another member of the team when they had wheeled Eddie away. “How’s Garret?”

Hen’s face falls and Buck is suddenly afraid of the answer. She shakes her head in the negative, not bothering to voice what Buck already knows. “Briggs didn’t make it either nor did Sinclair. Hammond has just been brought in. He’s in pretty critical condition like Eddie.”

“The employees?” he asks quietly, almost inaudible.

Hen’s frown deepens and she shakes her head again. “None of them made it.”

Buck’s eyes fill with tears again and he reaches up to wipe them away stubbornly. “Where’s Bobby?”

“Talking to the Chief and then he has to make a statement.”

“They want him to make a statement now?” Buck asks, feeling sick to his stomach. “Three of his men just died and two of them still might and they want him…” Buck stops, choking on his anger. He bites his bottom lip to stop himself from ranting. No one comments on Buck’s outrage and instead sit back in their chairs to await news on both Eddie and Hammond.

An hour and a half later, with no word on Eddie yet, Bobby arrives. “How is he?”

Buck doesn’t bother looking up from his hands that he’s been staring at for the last twenty minutes. Bobby sits down in a chair across from him as Hen answers his question. “We haven’t’ heard anything yet.”

“I just checked on Hammond before coming this way,” Bobby says.

“And?” Chimney asks, sitting up straighter.

“They’re still working on him.” Buck glances up and has to look away from Bobby’s defeated face. “They’re not sure if he’s going to make it. It’s not looking good.”

“Did you call his wife?” Buck asks, speaking quietly. He stares at the floor, feeling helpless.

Bobby sighs and sits further back in his chair. “I did. She’s trying to get out of work early and seeing if the babysitter can watch their daughter for a little longer before a family member can pick her up.”

“What about the others’ families?”

Another sigh escapes Bobby’s lips. “I’ve called Briggs’ husband and informed him of what happened. He was understandably upset.”

“They were thinking about adopting a baby,” Hen announces. “Briggs had asked for my advice just the other day, wanting an LGBTQA friendly place and to know what organization Karen and I went through.” Buck’s heart breaks into a million pieces at that news, a new wave of grief passing through him.

“The Chief called Garret’s wife and Sinclair’s fiance. He wanted me to start the press conference instead,” Bobby continues.

“How’d that go?” Chimney questions.

Bobby hesitates and he has to clear his voice, as if it’s difficult to speak. “Bad.” He leaves it at that, not elaborating. Buck is fine with that. He doesn’t want to know more.

“What am I going to tell Christopher?” All eyes turn to him and he wonders if he hadn’t said it loud enough. He is practically whispering. “If Eddie doesn’t make it, how am I supposed to tell Christopher?”

“That’s my job, Buck,” Bobby says. “You don’t have to do that.”

“No!” Buck looks up, tears rolling down his eyes again. “No, Bobby if it’s Christopher, it has to be me. It has to come from me.”

No one else protests that, all seeming to understand what he’s trying to get at. Hen stretches over across Chimney’s lap and places a hand on his thigh. “Let’s cross that bridge if and when we get there, okay? For now, let’s just hope that both Eddie and Hammond make it.”

Buck bites his bottom lip to stop a whimper from escaping. He’s terrified that Eddie is going to die, that he and Christopher are going to lose him. But also, if he does survive, at what cost is it at? He looked like he had been badly burned and when they had wheeled him away, the nurses had seemed particularly concerned about the burns around Eddie’s eyes.

“I’ve called his grandmother and Carla already. Isabel is on her way and Carla said she can watch Christopher for the night,” Bobby informs him.

“What did she tell him?” Buck asks, worried for the child.

Bobby takes a breath. “She just told him that there was an accident at his Dad’s work and that he is in the hospital, for now, being taken care of.”

Buck frowns. “He must be so scared.”

“Carla will take good care of him,” Hen reassures. Buck nods in agreement and then goes back to staring at the floor. No one else talks after that.

Another hour goes by with no word on either Eddie or Hammond. Eddie’s Abuela is now sitting next to Buck, Chimney having moved to give her the seat, and gone to sit on Hen’s other side. Athena and May come walking into the waiting room, each holding trays with coffee on them. They divvy them up, everyone getting a cup. Buck takes the coffee offered to him and then sets it down on the floor. He doesn’t feel like drinking anything.

Athena goes to sit next to Bobby and May sits next to her. “Any news?” Athena asks.

Bobby shakes his head. “None. Not on either of them.”

She rubs a hand up and down Bobby’s thigh. “Let me see if I can get anything out of one of the nurses.” She stands and leaves, trying to find an available nurse.

May looks around the group, eyes landing on Buck. “How’d it happen?”

Buck’s eyes narrow in anger and he can’t help but snap at her. “That’s what you care about right now? Really?”

“Buck!” Bobby warns.

Buck turns away, tears burning his eyes. When Isabel tries to reach over to grab his hand, he pulls away and stands up, storming away. He makes it all the way outside before he’s collapsing against the brick wall, pulling his legs close to his chest. He shucks off his turnout coat and lays it down beside him before resting his chin on his knees. He’s crying again with all these different scenarios flying through his brain.

Eddie might die.

Eddie might die.

Eddie might die.

Buck doesn’t think he can handle that.

“Buck?” Buck turns his head to look at who said his name. May is standing there, watching him. She approaches cautiously. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that right now. It wasn’t the right time.”

Buck wipes at his eyes with his arm, ridding his face of most of the tears. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

She comes closer until eventually, she can sit down next to him. She links their arms together and leans her cheek onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry this is happening,” she mumbles.

She’s going to make him cry again but he can’t bring himself to care anymore. “Me too.”

———————————————————————————————————–

A/N: This is probably not accurate in the slightest but I just spent an hour looking for a chemical to explode so… just take everything with a grain of salt, including Eddie’s injuries. I tried looking things up about burns as well and got confused so… yeah, the tiniest grain.

Thank you for reading!! ❤❤

[softbuckismykink]

The Last Goodbye

So I read that^ and came up with a story and I started writing it... Then when I was about to post I realized opps I read the pronouns wrong... Can’t be bothered to change my story though...  so here it is... :)

Not an x-over just borrowing characters from another show. To play Buck’s ex is Clay Spencer from SEAL Team. Now I didn’t watch the show pass like episode ten in season one so I don’t know much about the character or his origin story. I’m just borrowing him cause I can’t be assed to create an O.C. just for a one shot.  If you happen to have knowledge of how military/navy works please suspend your disbelief, I did research but honestly it’s just me reading wikipedia so I more than likely have gotten the elements concerning SEAL training and other military stuff wrong. You are warned. Don’t get offended.

Another Warning: This is a Buddie fic but it includes intimate scenes (not sex) between Buck and Clay, if you are a Buddie purist, this is your warning. 

X-posted on  AO3

Inspired by a tumblr post by @theladyandthewolves​ (Sorry I forgot to add, I did the linky link thing in AO3 but forgot to add it here)

Summary: In which team finds out Buck has a husband, when said husband turned up out of a blue and asked for a divorce. 

********

We were almost beautiful A broken piece of art put on display But we were never possible Another perfect moment thrown away I know somebody out there will love you They'll be the forever we never were 'Cause we were everything that's right at the wrong time

I didn't wanna lose you Leave you with a broken heart But wherever we are, we're miles apart I know that we tried, but this is the last goodbye

Life is going good for Buck. He’s back at 118. His team forgave him and his best friend forgave him, and he’s on his way to forgiving himself. 2019 felt like a sucky year for him with the bombing, recovering from his injuries, the tsunami, the lawsuit, Eddie’s street fighting, Bobby’s being exposed to radiation and weeks of worrying about his found!father dying of either radiation poisoning, aplastic anemia, or some kind of cancer.  

Of course there’s no guarantee that 2020 is gonna be better, but Buck likes to feel optimistic about these things. He has to be since it feels like the rest of his found family are the gloom and loom type, so it’s his job to keep the spirits up or they’ll all fall into despair. He said as much to his team as they gather around the side of the fire truck, just having arrived for their shift.       

“No seriously look at what happened last year. I got that injury and I was admittedly surly for a while--”

“Oh you were more than surly, Buck.” Hen commented.

“Okay I was, but that’s not my point. My point was I not my usual happy self and you guys were all just affected by it. And I feel like it’s my fault.”

“Not everything is about you, Buck.” Eddie said, shaking his head, though clearly amused.

“I’m just saying, I’m on to something here because all bad luck started with me being injured last year. So this year part my new years’s resolution is to generate enough positive energy to drive away all the bad luck you guys attract.”

“Yeah right, we are the trouble magnets,” Hen gestures to herself and the rest of the crew, “not you who’s pretty much in competition with Chim for the Idiot with the Most Death-Defying Experience Award.”

“Of course, I mean Chim is still winning in that,” Buck said smugly, “which pretty much proves my point.”

“Okay, Buck. Whatever lets you sleep at night.” Chim shook his head, with a laugh.

The good natured ribbing continued until they all noticed a man standing by the entrance of the station. Dirty blond curls and a full beard, in tight henley and cargo pants, he looked out of place among the clean shaven firefighter crew but he walked inside with so much confidence that you’d think he owned the place. 

“Clay what are you doing here?” Buck asked as he walked towards the scruffy looking man. 

“Hi, Evan.” The man greeted as he met Buck half way, giving Buck a tight hug and, to the young firefighter’s surprise, a kiss on his cheek. Buck could feel the stares bore onto his back. “Sorry to drop in on you at work but I don’t have you phone number or home address.”

“You mean to tell me that years of working with CIA and you can’t even get my contact info?”

“I work as their muscle Evan, I don’t do the intelligence part.”

“We both know that’s bull, Clay. You speak six languages, you are more than just the muscle.”

“And you basically thought me five of those, though I speak nine now, not all fluently but I get by.”

“And you are still arrogant as ever.” Buck sighed, some things never changed. 

“Can we talk privately?” Clay asked when he noticed the peanut gallery behind Buck.

No. Buck thought, he didn’t really want to do this here in the station but it’s only the start of his shift and he can’t really leave so he said, “I can’t leave but we can talk inside, I got a couple minutes so it better be quick.”

***

Buck lead the man to the relative privacy that the locker room provides. It’s all glass enclosure and anyone from outside can see in but he knew his colleagues would know not to bother them or listen in. 

The moment they were inside the room, Buck turned his back towards the other man, taking a moment to close the door and gather his thoughts. Fucking Clay Spencer, six years and the man still has the ability to turn his day around, making him feel all out of sorts. Buck took a deep breath before facing his husband.

“Not to be morbid Clay, but I figured after I rang that bell the next time I’ll hear about you was when I get a death notification from a CACO officer.”

“Yeah I thought so too.” Clay admitted with a slight grimace. They were young, only 19 when they got married, but they both thought they’ll be together forever. “I mean I did promise ‘till death do us part. I always thought I’d at least fulfill the death portion of that promise. But I also thought I wouldn’t meet another person I’d want to marry again and I did. Her name’s Stella, she’s a grad student at Hudson State.”

“And now you want a divorce.”

“We were over years ago we just never got around to signing the papers for it.  I’m getting married in June so--”

“So what you figure you’d come to my place of work, greet me with a kiss like we last saw each other only this morning, not six years ago and what? Demand that I go sign the divorce papers so you could go on living your merry life?”

“Look Evan, I was an ass. Heck I still am, but I wasn’t the one who left. You did.”

“Let be real, we both know I couldn’t stay.” Buck said, because it was true. DADT was repealed but the prejudice lingers. When the instructors learned that yes Evan Spencer was related to Clay Spencer and no they weren’t brothers or cousins, well let’s just say things get ugly. “I was just holding you back. Being a SEAL was your dream.”

“And there was a time that it was yours too.”

“No, I-”  It never was. I did it to be with you is what Buck wanted to say but he knew that’s unfair to both of them so he said instead, “I did it because I don’t know what I want back then. But I what I did figure out is that I was never built for that kind of life, Clay.”

“I know. You were always too soft.” Clay commented. Buck glared which didn’t escape his husband’s notice. 

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, Evan. I’m glad you never went through with the training. Of the two of us, you were always the saint--”

“And you are just digging a deeper hole, Spencer. You should quit while you’re ahead.”

“I should, but you know that’s not really my style.”

“You saying it’s mine?” Buck challenged, eager for a fight for some reason, but Clay didn’t rise to the bait.

“You’re putting words into my mouth Evan.” Clay step in closer to him, invading Buck’s personal space. “I never thought any less of you when you quit training. I was actually relieved that you did. You were so determined when you told me you wanted to be a SEAL and I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to. So much. Cause I knew it would break you in ways that I never wanted for you, in ways that would take the best part of you that I loved so much. It was why as much as I hate him, I had Dad pull some strings to get you out of your contract and discharged. I didn’t think you’d take that as a cue to walk away.”

“You think I’m fragile, Clay but I’m not.”

“No,” Clay denied, stepping even closer, close enough that Buck could feel the other man’s breath against his cheek as the SEAL look him in the eye and explained, “I treat you like you are fragile, because that’s how you treat something that’s precious. I’ll admit to that. But I know you are strongest person I’ve ever met, Evan. I loved that about you.” 

“Then why did you let go?” Buck said, his words are demanding but his tone is all but resigned.

“Why didn’t you stay?” Clay parried back, equally yielding. They both knew the answer to each other’s question, love isn’t enough to keep them together and that’s their reality. That doesn’t negate the magnetic attraction they felt towards each other.

The SEAL stepped even closer, their foreheads within a hair’s breadth of the other, as their lips slowly gravitated towards each other. Buck felt the brush of the other man’s dry lips against his own. The touch is so painfully familiar, but gone was the spark his memories insist had once accompanied such intimate gesture. Still Buck felt nostalgic and he was just about to give in and press back when he heard a knock. They sprung apart and Buck turned to the person at the door. Buck saw his best friend leaning against the doorway arms tight cross against his chest. 

“Buck, Cap wants you for the stand-up meeting.” Eddie said tersely informed Buck while glaring at the other man. “Upstairs kitchen. Five minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll be up in two Eds.” Buck nodded with a strained smile. “Thanks for letting me know.” 

“I don’t mind but you gotta hurry or Cap would get pissed.” Eddie said before walking away, but not without directing one last glare at Buck’s visitor.

“Did he just call you, Buck?” Clay asked as soon as Eddie left the room.  “You change your surname back to Buckley? Since when?”

“Not that it’s any of your business but about two years ago after the DOD finally let me back stateside, before I started at the fire Academy. Just for work and my direct deposit bank, for now. I never got around to doing it for anything else. I guess I have to now.”

“You don’t have to. No law requires it of you.” Clay made to close the gap between them again only for Buck to step back. “It would be an unnecessary hassle.”

“You are getting married, Clay. To another person. You don’t get to act possessive and ask me to keep a name I’m half way to dropping.” Buck shook his head, clearly Clay hadn’t change a bit, still one with the need possessively attach his name to everything. The sound of a ladder truck returning reminded Buck of the meeting he was called to, “Look I really need to get going. Give me your phone.”

“Evan I-” Clay started but at the firefighter’s impatient glare, he reluctantly hands over his phone. Buck quickly typed in his contact information.

“There you have my contact number.” Buck handed the phone back and turned to leave, saying over his shoulders, “I also put in my mailing address, so you know where to send in the divorce paper.” 

“Wait, Evan--” Clay called after him, most likely noticing that Buck never put in his home address. “This is a P.O. box.” 

“Where I get my mails delivered to and I know you know how that works.” Buck walked away before the other man could launch another protest.

***

“So Buck who’s the hunk of meat?” Hen asked as soon as Buck reached the landing of the upstairs loft where the kitchen is located. His crew gathered around the kitchen island where Bobby was preparing breakfast, not at all looking like they are about to have any kind of job related meeting.

“I thought we were doing stand-up meeting?”

“No that was just Eddie here letting out the green eyed mons--Ouch!” Chimney’s explanation was interrupted by Hen elbowing him in the sternum.

“You look like you needed a save so I intervened, I didn’t know I’d be interrupting something.” Eddie remarked, a touch snidely.

“You didn’t interrupt anything. Clay was just um, saying goodbye.”

“I didn’t know friends say goodbye with a kiss.” 

“Clay’s not exactly my friend.”

“Well, he’s not family not with that kiss. What is he an ex-fling? A phase? Is that why he calls you Evan?” Eddie asked eyebrows raised and suspicious.

“Yeah I wondered about that too, we thought you said everyone just call you Buck.” Chim said, scratching his head, “I mean even your sister calls you Buck.”

“Not exactly an ex. And he’s not a phase!” Buck protested, offended at the word phase. At the surprised looks that his friends are giving him for his unusual outburst, he mellowed, shrugged and said, “I mean Clay is Clay. He always called me Evan. Ever since high school.”

“Why?”

“Um, Clay didn’t like that the name Buck is short for Buckley. Some sort of caveman reason I guessed.”

“Okay so the guy is more than a fling then?” Eddie prodded, not letting the topic die like Buck had silently asking him too, with his pointed looks. So much for best friend telepathy.

Buck sighed, resigned to admitting something he has been mum about ever since starting at 118. “Clay Spencer is my husband, or rather my soon to be ex-husband, he’s filing for divorce so.” 

It took a moment for his words to sink in and 

“Wait, what the fuck?! You were married?! And you didn’t tell us?!” Eddie asked sounding a little furious.

“To a man?!” Chim added, confounded and unable to think.

“And now you’re getting a divorce?” Bobby said calmly but the twitch of his eyebrow and the way he straightened up clearly betrayed his surprise.

“Wow my gaydar’s needs readjustment,” Hen shook her head, frowning. “I just thought you were hetero-flexible not full-on freewheeling.”

His team spoke one after another, all shocked at his revelation which granted was a little unexpected coming from him, a reformed self-diagnosed sex addict who’s afraid of commitment. 

“So what happened?” Hen asked being the first one to recover from the shock of Buck’s surprising revelation.

“Between Clay and I?” Buck asked then continued at Hen’s nod, “Well we were together since freshman year, in high school. Um- we bonded over having absent fathers. I thought we’d be together forever but Clay also wanted to join the Navy like his Dad, so we’ve always kept our relationship low key-ish until DADT got repealed. After that, we said fuck it, and got married. My dad got so mad when he found out, which was more because we were only nineteen back then, not because it was so gay which didn’t help of course but yes more because we were just kids when we got married,” Buck explained trying for casual, as he sat himself in the couch. “Anyways Clay enlisted and got into SEAL pipeline program. I got in a year after him, but I had to quit, we separated, the rest they say is history.”

“So that’s why two you broke-up? Because you quit SEAL training?” Bobby asked leaning on the railing across the couch Buck was seated at. Besides the captain is his best friend, Eddie, who has a blank look on his face that Buck couldn’t even begin to decipher. 

“Um he wanted to be a SEAL and I knew I was just holding him back so...” Buck trailed off, noticing how his team look at him with pity in their eyes, “Shit guys don’t look at me that way I’m not some broken piece of glass okay?”

When the pitying looks continued, and Bobby moved as if to comfort him, Buck said, “No, seriously guys, I’m okay. I’m not at all broken up about this at all, so you guys shouldn’t be either. Me and Clay were done years ago. It’s just we got lazy and didn’t get around to signing papers until now.”

“You don’t have to put on front with us, kid.” Chim said moving on to sit in the couch beside his while Hen moved to sit beside him. “We are family, heck you are practically my brother.”

“Chim’s right, Buckaroo. It’s okay to be not okay. We won’t think any less of you if you for it.” Hen added, laying a comforting hand on his shoulders.

“I’m seriously fine. I mean I’m not gonna lie and say it never affected me or that  it didn’t hurt. Because I did, years ago when first broke up, cause I really thought we were forever. But now? I’m not even sad or anything.”

“But if you are, you know that we are here for you, right?”

“I know that Bobby. And I appreciate it.” There was a prolonged silence that lingered for  a couple of minutes as they all just looking for words to say. Eventually Chimney, as always, broke that silence with a joking remark.

“Okay but seriously how did you land some one that hot?” Chim teased Buck.

“Chim seriously?! Your bi is showing.” Hen smirked. 

“What? I’m just saying that is one beast of a man. I’m just wondering what he saw in our Buck.”

“Hey, quit it hobbit,” Hen slapped her best friend in the arm, “Our Buck here is equally as beastly looking if not more.” 

“Hen, not that I don’t appreciate the vote of confidence because I truly do, but I don’t think ‘beastly’ is a look I aspire to project you know.”

“Joking aside, did you really go through SEAL training? Did you mean like BUD/s?” Chim asked, curious about Buck’s past but knowing the younger man would rather not talk about his soon-to-be ex-husband. At  Buck’s nod Chimney asked again, “Isn’t that only for Enlisted Navy?”

“You said you weren’t in the Navy.” Bobby added, confused.

“I wasn’t, I mean not really. I mean technically I was one but only for like less than 180 days? Which meant I got like an ELS.” Buck tried explaining, only garnering more confused looks. “Entry-Level Separation. I entered the program through SEAL Challenge Contract. I got through ‘Hell Week’ at BUD/s but I DOR’d a week after that. So it was like only give or take 155 days before I DOR’d. Which was why I don’t claim to be in the Navy because I barely was in it.”

“DOR?” Hen asked.

“Dropped on request. Clay I guessed heard about it when he was in SQT,” Buck started but had to clarify again, “er SEAL qualification training. Anyways, the instructors were about to shuffle me into the fleet as an enlisted sailor, which is usually what happens when a SEAL candidate drops out. But suddenly I got an offer that the brass would waive my Navy Enlistment contract if I would agree to work as a civilian linguistic analyst attached to a joint operation between the DOD and DEA that’s based in Chile. It was an unusual offer but I figured Clay’s father who’s a retired SEAL pulled some strings. I took the offer and spent four years bouncing around between bases in South America doing translation work.”

“Wait you said you bartender’d in South America, not Schneider’d you way through it.”

“What’s Schneider’d? And when did I say that?”

“Cocaine Wars,” Bobby said as if that alone explains it but of course Evan ‘as far as I’m concerned the world started when I was born’ Buckley didn’t get that reference, so Bobby had to explain further, “Schneider is the name of the actor who is an undercover DEA agent working in South America. And you told me when you were pulling that worm out of that guy who ate a lot of sushi.”

“I wasn’t an undercover agent, I only did translation work in a black site in South America but can’t actually say that in front of strangers so I said the first appropriate thing that came to mind.”

“Bartending is the first thing that came to mind?” 

“Well no not the very first thing... um stripping was actually but that seemed inappropriate too?” Buck said, scratching his head. At the incredulous looks he is getting from his team he defended,  “What?! Bartending is believable job I could have been doing. I mean Bobby did believe it.” 

“That’s not what--” Chim wanted to explain but was interrupted by the sound of the alarms going off. 

****

“You were awfully quiet after me telling you guys about Clay.” Buck said as soon as him and Eddie were left alone in the locker room. “You barely talked to me all day too. Is there a problem?”

“No.” Eddie replied, abrupt and clearly not wanting to talk about it but at seeing Buck’s pleading gaze, he relented, “Okay I admit I was a little upset because I thought by now we told each other everything. But then I get a slap in the face and realize I don’t know you at all. I mean I didn’t even tell me you were married.  Or that you ex-husband is a slimy squid.”

“I’m still technically married. And I believe military term is frogmen not squid.”

“Well maybe  in the Navy, in the Army they are slimy squids.” Eddie huffed.  “Seriously though, Buck. Why didn’t you tell me? I mean we talked about our exes before. You told me about Abby. You know about Shannon. Heck I even told you about Alex from boot camp. So I don’t know why you thought you couldn’t tell me about your ex-husband Clay.”

“It’s for the same reason you didn’t talk about your ex-wife back when I first asked you.”

“You asked me that before we got really close. And she’s not my ex-wife, she was my wife. There’s a difference.”

“Exactly, she wasn’t your ex-wife. Just like Clay isn’t my ex-husband. I didn’t talk about him like he is my ex because he isn’t.”

“You were separated, you said you didn’t see each other for six years.”

“I know that. I know in my head we are over and truly broken up,” Buck said while gesturing to his head then he laid his hand on his chest, “But here. Well here it’s stupid, because here there’s hope. So I didn’t talk about him like he’s my ex because then it would be like admitting that it’s truly over, no takebacksies over. I was over Clay but I guess I hadn’t reach that point where my heart’s willing to acknowledge it.”

“You dated a lot after him though, that’s like more than acknowledging it. That’s moving on.”

“It’s adapting a coping mechanism. An unhealthy one at that. I had a long list of one night stands because felt rejected and needed validation. Plus I like having sex but I was determined not to let anyone in again. Then I met Abby, who made me realize I crave intimacy not sex, she made me feel safe to love again, but she left before I could commit to loving her. Which was fortunate cause I don’t know how would get over it if she left me after I learned to love her.”

“I don’t think loving someone could be learned, Buck. Either you do, or you don’t.”

“Maybe so. But my point was I didn’t talk about him cause I thought I wasn’t over him yet. And I would have when I’m ready. I didn’t know when I just knew that talking about him before that would be like--”

“Like poking an open wound.” 

“Yes exactly like that.” Buck picked up that metaphor and expounded on it. “What I didn’t realize was that wound long scabbed over. And I left it thinking that if I picked on it, it would bleed again. Only to find out today that it’s all healed.”

“What was the kiss then?”

“The what?”

“The kiss I interrupted Buck.”

“I’m not sure but it felt like a goodbye.”

“I’m not an expert, Buck, but when he kissed you it looked more than just goodbye.” If Buck didn’t know better, he’d say Eddie sounded jealous as he said, “He’s all over you.”

“He isn’t. He kissed me but I’m telling you now, that kiss doesn’t feel like it meant anything to him. Or me. It’s not like what you think.”

“If you say so.” Eddie looked to Buck tryin g to see the truth in his eyes.

“I say so.” Buck said determined as held the other man’s gaze for a few moments, before looking away and shyly admitting, “Besides there is someone else I like.”

The words linger in the air between them as their eyes locked on to each other’s yet again; and slowly they gravitated towards each other without either knowing it. Their foreheads touched, nose brushing. The moment their lips brush, Buck felt the tingle in up his spine making him slightly weak in the knees. He held on to the older man’s waist to help himself stay upright. Eddie lifted his hand to caress the back of Buck’s head as he leaned in to deepen the kiss. Buck can’t help the moan the escaped his lips. And Eddie took that as an opportunity to slip his tongue and explore the younger man’s mouth.  If it was up to Eddie it would have gone further further but Buck pulled away.

“I’m not--” Buck shook his head, trying to clear it from the haze. “I like you but you were just widowed, and I still need to get divorced.”

“Okay, but just so you know this,” Eddie said gesturing at the air between them, “this is gonna happen. I’ll be asking you out as soon as you drop the name Spencer.”

“Not if I  asked you first.”

“Fair enough. As long as I get to eventually marry you, that’s fine.”

“Sure as long as you don’t expect me to take your name.”

“Maybe I’ll take yours instead. Edmundo Buckley has a nice ring to it don’t you think.”

“Yeah, definitely.” Buck managed to spat out with a straight face. They both look at each other in the eye before laughing out loud at the name.

Fuck Edmundo Buckley sounds ridiculous, maybe just this once Buck would take one for the team and take Eddie’s name anyway. Evan Diaz after all sounded way better. 

[bearly-writing]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: DCU, Batman - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Jason Todd/Slade Wilson, Very brief Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Characters: Slade Wilson, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson Additional Tags: SladeRobin Weekend Mini-Event 2020, Day 3: Omegaverse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha Slade Wilson, Alpha Jason Todd, Omega Dick Grayson, Blood and Injury, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Biting, Knotting, Hurt Jason Todd, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd Series: Part 2 of SladeRobin Weekend 2020 Summary:

"When Slade rolls back to his feet and glances back at the bed he comes face-to-face with Jason Todd, crouched protectively over Dick, face red with anger. There’s the sudden stink of furious, protective alpha so strong that it makes Slade shudder. Rockets his heart against his chest, and not in the way it should. Because it definitely shouldn’t be shooting heat straight to his dick."

For the SladeRobin Weekend prompt Omegaverse.

(Also retroactively tagging @jason-rarepairs because I forgot the first time! Oops)

Honestly, Slade isn’t expecting Dick to be home. The kid hasn’t been out on patrol in days, which means he’s either injured or in heat. And it’s not like Slade tracks Grayson’s cycle or anything creepy like that, but it has been a while since he’s been M.I.A. and Slade hasn’t seen him take any big hits. Which means that Dick is supposed to be in Gotham. At the manor, or wherever the Bats hang out when they aren’t annoying Deathstroke. Slade was meant to be in and out of the safe house that Dick doesn’t know that he knows about without any trouble. Collect the shit he needs because Grayson has been sticking his nose into Slade’s business again and leave.

Except, the scent hits Slade as soon as he slides the window open. Sweet with a hint of spice, warm at the back of his throat like a good scotch. When he drops lightly into the room it hits him full-force and he has to pause, crouched against the floorboards, to let it roll over him. An omega in heat. For a moment he considers leaving the way he came. Obviously Dick isn’t at the manor like he’s supposed to be and Slade won’t be able to get his intel without a fight. Not to mention that, even with his screwy instincts, an unrelated omega in heat isn’t exactly comfortable to be around - and Slade can’t even fuck the weird rapid-fire sparking of dormant instincts away.

Well, he could. But as much as he enjoys the flirty, not-quite sexual tension he and Grayson share, he doesn't want to. Not with Grayson. Not with any omega. They just aren’t really his thing. Which makes the fact that, at some level, the sweet, heavy scent of an omega in heat is still affecting him - even if it isn’t exactly the way it’s supposed to - extremely frustrating.

Still, it’s Grayson, and Slade has never passed up the opportunity to fuck with him before. And he does need that intel. So he straightens up and takes stock of the room.

Dick is sitting upright on the bed set against the far wall, legs crossed loosely underneath him, eyes wide as they focus on Slade. The scent of his heat is heavy in the air, pressing thickly against Slade’s skin, but the only evidence of it on Dick is a faint, attractive flush high on his cheeks and the hollow of his throat, a thin sheen of sweat, and pupils that are blown a little larger than usual. A far cry from the mindless, desperate sex toy that sexists and hallmark movies like to make in-heat omegas out to be. Dick could probably still put up a decent fight, even. Maybe Slade will test that out.

By the time Slade has made it across the room, Dick is already on his feet, reacting quicker than any normal person would be able to, heat or no heat. Quick enough that when Slade barrels into him, knocking him back against the wall with a solid shoulder to his chest, Dick manages to get his arm up fast enough to block Slade’s grab for his throat. Quick enough that, despite the harsh exhale of breath as his back hits brick, he isn’t stunned by the blow.

There’s a rush of omega heat smell as Slade presses close, and he knows that Dick must get an answering swell of alpha on his sharp inhale. Yes. There’s a metallic tang of fear that Slade isn’t used to associating with the kid. Not that Slade is really used to associating any scent with Dick - usually he’s covered in enough scent blockers to obliterate any trace of omega on him. Usually, Slade likes that - it’s easy enough to imagine Dick as an alpha when there’s no scent to prove him wrong.

There’s definitely something alpha about the snarl that rips out from between Dick’s teeth. Even Slade’s screwy instincts can’t help but flare at the challenge. He flashes teeth, growling lower than Dick could ever hope to reach. Despite the thread of fear in his scent, Dick doesn’t bare his throat in classic omega submission, just peels his lips back in another snarl, ducking his chin against his own wrist where he’s still warding off Slade’s grip.

Then, in a move that probably only Dick, and his almost supernatural flexibility, could achieve, he twists out of Slade’s grip and throws himself over the bed, rolling gracefully until he’s crouching on the other side, out of Slade’s reach.

“Slade.” His voice is surprisingly calm, no trace of that bitter tang of fear, or the stronger, heavier press of heat. “What are you doing here?”

Slade smirks. Lets his eyes trail over the curve of Dick’s bare shoulder where his sleep shirt has slipped down his arm. Dick glares, but doesn’t bother covering the skin there. “Just wanted to drop by.” He drops his eyes to the bed. Takes a deep, performative breath until he can almost taste Dick. It doesn’t particularly do anything for him, but he enjoys the way the vigilante stiffens, eyes narrowing. “But I can see you’re tied up.”

That sends suspicious confusion skittering across Dick’s face. The corner of his lip twitches again in the start of a snarl. “Get out of-“

Slade lunges before Dick can get the rest of the sentence out. It’s a long lunge and Dick makes a startled sound, clearly not expecting Slade to clear the space so quickly. One hand closes around the soft cloth of Dick’s shirt, even as the omega jerks back, yanking him forward and Dick crashes against the edge of the bed with a grunt. His hand comes up, pressing at Slade’s wrist in a move that might have broken his grip if he wasn’t wearing his gauntlet. At the same time, Slade brings his free hand round to cup the back of Dick’s neck and squeeze.

It doesn’t drop Dick the way it would most omegas. There’s a hard shudder as he fights against his instincts, but he doesn’t go limp. Of course he doesn’t. Being half-paralysed whenever an enemy gets a good grip on his neck is a weakness the Bat would never allow.

Still, it gives Slade the opportunity to twist his wrist out of Dick’s grip and catch the omega’s own instead. Gives him the opportunity to heave him onto the bed. Dick recovers his wits before Slade can properly pin him, but he manages to press him back into the pillows, even as Dick twists beneath him. One of Dick’s feet comes up to plant itself against his chest and kick, but Slade throws his weight over him, trapping his leg back against the bed. Dick bucks, a little desperately, and Slade rolls his hips down, because he can, even though the weight of his armour means he can’t feel Dick against him.

A sharp sound - not quite a whine but not quite a snarl either - bursts out of Dick’s throat. It’s accompanied by a plume of scent: bitter anger, the sour milk stink of fear, and beneath that, the sweet caramel of his heat. Slade grins and pumps his own burst of scent, watching as Dick goes still and stiff, throat working as it washes over him.

Slade takes the opportunity to reach back and free his cuffs from his belt. Snaps one end of them roughly over the wrist he still has clenched in his hand. Dick jerks.

“Slade-“

It chokes off when Slade closes his free hand around Dick’s throat. Forces his chin up and drags him higher up the bed so that he can thread the chain of the cuffs through the headboard. Dick thrashes and Slade tightens his fingers hard enough to cut off any air. Settles more heavily across Dick’s thighs. Feels the flex of his throat as he swallows thickly against the press of his palm.

It’s easier than Slade expects to close the other end of the cuffs over Dick’s free wrist. All it takes is one savage blow to his face to have Dick going limp under him and then the omega is bound tightly to the headboard, legs trapped beneath Slade’s weight. Perhaps it’s unfair to expect him to have escaped - he is in heat after all, and the heavy musk of Slade’s scent must be wreaking havoc with his head.

“Why are you doing this?” The words are accompanied by a growl that Slade can feel reverberating through his chest. Dick bucks, trying to dislodge Slade’s weight, but the mercenary just shifts more comfortably over him.“You don’t even like omegas. You’re not actually going to-“

Only he doesn’t get to say what Slade’s not going to do. Because the mercenary twists his fingers into Dick’s thick hair, using the grip to yank his head back and expose the long, pale column of his throat. The words cut off as the omega grinds his teeth against the strain.

“You don’t know shit about what I’m going to do, kid.”

It’s true though. Slade isn’t interested in omegas - that’s one rumour about him that’s actually true - and he isn’t interested in fucking Dick through his heat. But he is interested in the way the omega fights against his cuffs. The way his whole body goes tight as a bow-string as Slade leans in and presses his nose teasingly to the scent gland beneath his jaw, licking a stripe up behind his ear - even if the taste isn’t particularly arousing. He’s interested in the way the muscles of Dick’s stomach tighten as he trails his fingers over smooth skin and edges them beneath the loose waistband of his sweatpants.

When Slade finally dips his hand inside, pressing thick fingers over slick-damp boxers and the soft lump of Dick’s cock, Dick jerks as if he’s been electrocuted and lets out a high, strangled whine that makes the mercenary’s skin prickle. Slade growls low in his throat. Presses the heel of his hand more firmly over Dick. Grazes teeth over the sensitive skin of his neck.

The almost-alpha snarl Dick lets out stirs something warm in Slade’s stomach.

“Slade, don’t-“

The door opens.

Slade still has his head buried in Dick’s neck, but he hears the whoosh as it opens, then a soft thump and a sharp intake of breath. The air shifts and Slade throws himself sideways just in time to avoid the flying kick from the suddenly enraged alpha in the room.

“What the fuck is going on?”

When Slade rolls back to his feet and glances back at the bed he comes face-to-face with Jason Todd, crouched protectively over Dick, face red with anger. There’s the sudden stink of furious, protective alpha so strong that it makes Slade shudder. Rockets his heart against his chest, and not in the way it should. Because it definitely shouldn’t be shooting heat straight to his dick.

Well, Slade had made peace with his instincts a long time ago. And he knows himself well enough to know that where he hadn’t been entirely interested in Dick, he’s definitely interested in his brother.

Because Jason is a classic alpha. All strong, hard lines, no hint of the softness that even Dick can’t quite train out of his body. A warm, musky smell, spicy rather than sweet. Not to mention the plume of scent that Jason’s sending his way: angry, possessive, pack protecting pack. Designed to send most alphas scurrying away with their tails between their legs, or at least force a challenge. Most alphas would find the scent repellent - a horrible comedown after the sweet temptation of Dick’s heat smell - but Slade isn’t most alphas, and this is riling him up in an entirely different way.

“I swear to God Dick, if this is some fucked up joke the two of you are playing...”

Dick makes a strange sound, jerking his arms as if he wants to reach for Jason. “No, Jay - I don’t -“

Slade slams Jason off the bed before Dick can finish his sentence.

Jason puts up a better fight than Dick did. That isn’t usually the case, Slade suspects, because there’s something unrefined about the alpha that’s usually polished in Dick, and there aren’t many people - save himself and the Bat - who really can beat Nightwing. But the omega had been heat-addled during their bout, so Jason has the upper-hand in that particular battle. Not in this one though. Not against Slade.

The alpha isn’t a bad fighter, but he’s wearing civilian clothes rather than armour, so every blow Slade lands hits like a sledgehammer. The kid holds up surprisingly well, considering, but Slade definitely hears a rib crack when he gets a good hit in against his chest after a wild strike leaves it undefended. Gets a low grunt of pain when he catches that toned stomach with a knee. Has the kid stumbling with a well-timed blow to his ear. There are no weapons besides their fists and their training. The kid is clearly taken by surprise and Slade doesn’t see the need to draw his - not when he can win this so easily without any. Jason has some impressive tricks, but that can’t make up for Slade’s armour, his meta abilities, his years of training. And Slade can tell Jason is distracted by Dick, by his own anger and his desire to protect his brother when he’s so vulnerable. It’s cute, and it sends shivery heat down Slade’s spine every time Jason gets himself between Slade and the bed. It’s a delightfully alpha thing to do.

Eventually though, Slade gets bored of toying with him. A savage blow to his jaw and a sweep of Slade’s leg sends Jason to the floor. Then Slade is on top of him, gripping one of his wrists and forcing the arm into a painful pin behind his back. Pressing his knee into the soft calf muscle of his leg, sweeping his other knee into the inside of Jason’s thigh and forcing it wide. Gripping a handful of that curly hair with his free hand.

Jason lets out a truly impressive growl, almost as low as Slade’s, and pulls against his hold. It’s a beautiful show. The rumble of it vibrates all the way through Slade’s chest where he’s blanketed over the alpha’s back, even through his armour. Curls liquid heat in Slade’s gut. Maybe other alpha’s would be intimidated, but Slade just presses closer and lets out the moan that’s been building in his throat in response. Beneath him, Jason goes stiff. On the bed, Dick offers his own growl - impressive in its own way, for an omega.

“What the fuck are you doing Slade? Get the hell off of me and then fuck off out of here.”

Slade just hums, using his grip to tilt Jason’s head back until the expanse of his neck is bared by the strain. They’re pressed so close that Slade can hear the wet movement of his throat as he swallows.

“Whatever the fuck you want with Dick-“

“I was just going to tease Grayson a little.” Slade presses his nose against the soft join between the younger alpha’s neck and shoulder, keeping his grip firm enough that when Jason snaps his teeth, they aren’t in any danger of actually reaching him. “But then you came along and made everything so much more interesting. You must have heard the rumours after all.” He follows that up with a sharp nip at the alpha’s throat.

That gets him a flurry of desperate movement as Jason bucks against his hold, straining against the grip on his arm, kicking out with the leg that isn’t pinned down, even though it’s pressed too wide to do any damage. Slade just rides the movement. Then he jerks Jason forward with a sharp thrust of his hips, forcing his face against the carpet and holding him there as he licks a delicious stripe up the back of his neck.

Even when he presses teeth to the delicate scent gland beneath Jason’s jaw, there’s no fear in the boy’s scent, just the sharp spice of furious alpha. Up on the bed, Dick is pumping out enough fear for the both of them, tugging against his cuffs hard enough that Slade can taste blood in the air.

That lances more heat straight through Slade and he presses his teeth in deep until rich, coppery blood bursts over his tongue. The alpha underneath him lets out a high, strangled sound, caught between a snarl and a whine, and Slade can feel the hard shudder before Jason falls still, trembling. Even Bruce’s training can’t quite override the instinct to surrender to a victorious bite.

Pleased with the surrender, Slade laps soothingly at the wound, little frissures of pleasure sparking with each cut-off whimper and twitch of pain. Presses his hips hard against the swell of Jason’s ass even though he won’t be able to feel Slade’s growing hardness beneath the weight of his armour. Jason snarls obligingly anyway.

“Slade!” It’s Dick, sounding desperate, a submissive omega whine to his voice that Slade could never have imagined him making if he wasn’t hearing it now. “You’ve had your fun. You don’t need to do this.”

“I don’t need to do anything Dickie,” Slade reminds him. But he pulls back, shifting his grip from Jason’s hair to his neck, so that he can drag him with him, pressing him back against his chest, fingers tight enough against his throat to make Jason’s breath stutter, trapping his arm between his own back and Slade’s armour.

“Are you going to be good for me, kid?”

He suspects that would draw another snarl, but Jason can only choke beneath the insistent press of the mercenary’s fingers. He struggles gamely, knocking his shoulders back with enough force that it must hurt, straining against the hold and the lack of air. Slade doesn’t let up, only mouths sloppily at the skin not covered by his own hand. Finally the young alpha goes limp. Only his jaw moves, working as he struggles to draw in air.

“Good boy,” Slade murmurs as he peels his fingers away, letting Jason slump forward a little, gasping in a desperate lungful of air, no doubt thick with Slade’s own musky arousal. Another delightful shudder wracks through Jason. The hand that Slade had pressed against his throat shifts to his waist. Grips the hem of the t-shirt he’s wearing and drags it up his stomach and over his head before he can protest. When Slade shoves him forward so that he can drag his arms behind him and tie them together with his own shirt, Jason does fight, but by then it’s too late to do much more than writhe uselessly with a growl.

After that, it’s easy to clamp a hand over the back of Jason’s neck and drag him over to the bed. As they approach, Dick watches warily, eyes wide and dark in his face. When Slade heaves Jason up onto the bed, skilfully avoiding a wild kick from the alpha as he does so, Dick curls his own legs up, as if he might kick at him too. But Jason is an effective meat-shield between them and Slade forces the alpha down, trapping Dick’s legs against his chest. A bloom of heat-scent washes over them as Dick’s legs are forced up and the omega makes a tight, protesting sound that’s echoed by Jason as Slade forces his head against his brother’s neck.

“This isn’t funny Slade,” Jason snarls, voice muffled where his face is pressed against Dick. “Stop messing around and let us go.”

“You think I’m messing around?” Slade lets his voice drop dangerously, cool as ice. Maybe his banter with Dick has given the Bats the wrong impression. He’s as dangerous as any other criminal. They shouldn’t forget that. And he’s going to prove it to them.

He takes a moment to rearrange Jason. Uses one hand to grip his hip as he presses his head down with the other. Kicks his legs wide until they’re resting either side of Dick, ignoring the way Jason tries to twist out of his grip. The omega takes the opportunity to slide his own legs back down as the pressure lessens, shooting Slade a hateful glare when the mercenary presses his knees between them too and settles himself between them.

“Don’t do this Slade.” And even as he glares he tilts his chin up, although whether it’s an attempt to comfort Jason or to appease Slade, he can’t tell. “You’re a mercenary not a rapist.”

For a moment Slade considers that as he eyes the curve of Dick’s neck. It isn’t entirely true. Sure, Slade doesn’t make a habit out of this sort of thing, but Slade is a man who gets what he wants, when he wants it. And there aren’t many people who can say no to him. This hadn’t been his intention when he had slipped through Dick’s window, but now he’s here, he can’t say he minds the direction this night has taken. He isn’t the sort to deny himself his pleasure for the sake of morals.

So he leans forward, crushing Jason between them and driving the breath from both of them, before clamping his teeth against the smooth, unmarred skin of Dick’s neck in a hard bite. It’s not deep enough to be a claim, but it is deep enough to make Dick go still and silent. For Dick to let out a gasp that isn’t entirely pain. For the sudden smell of slick that slides out from underneath them.

Jason snarls furiously with the little breath he has left, but he doesn’t flash any teeth - not when his mouth is pressed against his brother rather than pointed at Slade. His nose is digging in at the curve of Dick’s jaw, right at the source of that rich heat scent, but there’s no answering swell of arousal from Jason that Slade can detect. Only the first little flash of fear. Maybe his instincts are skewed by the alpha at his back. Or maybe the pack-brother bond is strong despite their lack of blood-relation. Most likely Jason wasn’t here to fuck Dick through his heat then.

It doesn’t particularly matter to Slade. He doesn’t need Jason aroused for this.

“I think you should stop assuming you know anything about me, kid.” As he says it, he clicks open the clasp of his gauntlet with his teeth, so he can feel Jason’s bare skin as he smooths a hand down his back. The young alpha is so tense that he’s trembling. Every muscle clenching as Slade slides his palm over them. When he reaches Jason’s bound arms and slides his hand around, he can feel the muscles of that taut stomach twitch. The soft cotton of Dick’s sleep shirt brushes his knuckles as he presses between them.

There’s a sharp intake of breath. Then Dick lets out a shaky omega croon, reacting to the burst of bitter fear in Jason’s scent. His pupils are blown wide by the bite and the heavy press of Slade’s arousal.

“Shut the fuck up, Dick,” Jason snaps. Then, when Slade pops open the button of his jeans and drags them, and his boxers, down his thighs: “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Not that there’s much he can do about it. Slade presses his hips down against bare flesh as Jason bucks and gets a delightful shiver in return. He fumbles at his waist, frees his own cock with deft movements. Groans at the sensation of cool air against heated flesh. That gets another hard shudder as the room floods with his smell and the tip presses against the soft crease of Jason’s thigh.

“Don’t,” Jason tries, again. Not so angry now - small, desperate. Slade grins against the back of his neck. Shifts his hips to drag his cock across Jason’s skin. It slides easily enough, slick with pre-cum, blood-hot and throbbing. Slade hasn’t been this hard in a long time and he knows with a distant sort of irritation that part of it is due to the syrupy heat scent he can’t help but inhale this close to Dick.

It doesn’t matter - Dick’s not the one he’s fucking. But he swipes his nose across the scent gland at Dick’s collarbone anyway and feels heat surge through his veins in response. The omega is perfectly still beneath him, still obedient from the bite, but the tight line of his throat suggests that soon won’t be the case.

Not that there’s much he can do anyway.

Slade turns his attention back to Jason, pressing his nose beneath the young alpha’s jaw. He gets a burst of spice and metal for his trouble, and that has his cock twitching where it still rests against Jason’s thigh. He presses his tongue flat against the gland and savours the sharp taste of it, and the little whimper Jason can’t quite keep between his teeth. Teases the soft skin with a prick of teeth.

Jason’s eyes are shut tight, his body one hard line against Dick’s. No point putting this off any longer. Slade’s aching so badly it hurts.

He presses his teeth in until he tastes blood again and Jason softens beneath him. It’s not quite surrender but Slade doesn’t care - he’s wound too tight from Jason’s skin against him, his blood on his tongue, the heavy press of his scent in the room.

Slade pulls himself up a little, settling more easily on his knees. One hand goes to the back of Jason’s neck, holding him firmly against Dick. The other tugs his hips up to meet Slade. For a suspended moment Slade just holds him there, against the hard, hot promise of his cock, and Jason lets him, strangely slack beneath his hands.

That changes when Slade shifts, cock sliding through the cleft of the young alpha’s ass, catching against his rim with a delightful burst of sensation. Jason immediately goes tense.

“No.” It’s a strangled, airless little thing, but no less desperate for it. “No, no, Slade-“

Slade just leans down and nips at Jason’s jaw, pulling a little growl from his chest that has Jason shuddering underneath him. At this angle, Slade can’t really see his face, but he catches Dick’s eyes, wide and dark. There’s a filmy, shiny quality to them - the promise of tears.

“Sl’de,” the omega is almost slurring. The thick arousal in the air and the bite must be affecting him worse than Slade had expected. “Don’t do this. God - don’t. Please.”

Slade ignores them both. Presses his cock into the furled muscle of Jason’s entrance and pushes in without any more preamble.

At first there’s resistance. Jason is tight and dry and tense, with no omega slick to ease the way, and Slade, as vain as it sounds to say it himself, is bigger than the average alpha. The only concession Jason is getting are the wet beads of pre-cum welling at the tip of his cock. It’s not enough. But Jason can take it. He’s going to have to take it.

He presses harder and something gives, then Slade is sinking into soft, dry heat, so tight that it hurts - and Slade can’t deny he likes that too.

Jason cries out, sharp and pained. Tries to strangle the sound, clenching his teeth so hard that Slade can hear his jaw creak, but it still hisses from between his lips. Beneath him, Dick sobs, surprisingly loud, even with the sound Jason had made. The fledgling tears burst into life. Slade smells salt as they slide over Dick’s cheeks - salt and blood and fear.

He groans, so low in his throat it’s almost a growl, as he sheathes himself inside Jason. Dick echoes it with another croon, tight and shaky with anger, and he scrubs his cheek against the young alpha’s face, smearing tears across his skin, trying to press his own scent against him.

Jason’s head jerks, as if he isn’t sure whether to pull away or bury himself closer to the offered comfort. A choked whine slips out. When Slade pulls out, his breath catches in a gasp that mutates into a sound too strangled to be a proper scream as he forces his way back in again.

It’s perfect: the tight, wet heat of Jason sheathed around his cock, blood slicking the way as Slade picks up speed. The horror on Dick’s face as each thrust rocks Jason down against him. The way he alternates between snarling up at Slade and pressing desperate, kittenish licks and kisses to any part of Jason he can reach. The way Jason has gone still and silent underneath Slade, biting his lip against any more of those wounded noises so hard that Slade can smell another bloom of blood.

Maybe it’s the scent of heat in the air. Or the blood. Or the metallic smell of both their fear. But Slade feels wild, almost out of control, as if he might slip into a rut at any moment. It lends an almost frantic strength to his thrusts. Every sharp snap of his hips drives the breath from the two bodies underneath him. The whole bed shakes, shunting across the floor with the power of his movements. The primal, animalistic part of Slade is crowing at such an obvious show of strength. Purring at the thought of the two warm bodies under him, totally under his control, utterly dominated.

“Fuck,” he manages. Shifts his grip at Jason’s neck to press his thumb hard into the swollen scent gland behind the kid’s ear. Jason groans at the pressure, although it’s difficult to tell whether the sound is pleasure or pain. “God, you’re tight. So fucking good for me.”

Jason makes a small, protesting sound but it’s drowned out by the snarl that tears free from Dick’s throat. The worst of the bite must have passed now. Slade doesn’t mind, he gets a little thrill from the pure hatred burning in Dick’s blue eyes.

“Fuck you,” Dick snarls, low and throaty and wet with tears. “I’m going to fucking kill you Slade.”

Slade just smirks. “No you aren’t, sweetheart. You’re going to lie there and look pretty and know that this is all your fault. If it weren’t for your heat, you wouldn’t be in this situation and you know it.”

The glare that Dick fixes on him has electricity shooting straight to Slade’s cock. He can’t help a fluttering little moan, curling over Jason’s broad back as heat pools in his gut. The sudden rush of pleasure takes him a little by surprise. Normally it takes far longer to get to this point - the promise of his orgasm warm under his skin. He can feel his knot start to swell at the base of his cock, stretching Jason further with every thrust.

Jason must feel it too. He gasps, trembles, lets out a frightened little whimper that Slade has only heard from alphas who know they’re about to die before.

“No,” he gasps. The word is small and weak. Broken. But Jason struggles with renewed energy. Slade just holds him more firmly, pressing his thumb so hard into his gland that anyone else would likely be paralysed. “No, Slade - God - don’t - I can’t. I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” Slade snarls. “You can take it. You can take my knot.”

Normally, Slade wouldn’t knot an alpha. Even alphas who come to his bed willingly can become violent if their instincts flare and it’s never a good idea to be tied and vulnerable. And Slade doesn’t actually have much experience with alphas who don’t want to be on his knot, but tying himself to someone who actively wants to kill him can never be a good idea.

Except...the scent of Dick’s heat is affecting Slade. The overwhelming smell of slick and fear that Dick’s been pumping out from the beginning is calling to something primal that Slade usually barely registers as existing. Telling him to knot and breed and claim. Slade doesn’t think he could stop this knot if he tried.

“Knot?” Dick, small and strangled and desperate. “No, Slade. He’s an alpha. Please, he’s an alpha, you’ll kill him. You can’t…”

Slade snaps his teeth, pulling a growl that sounds demonic even to him. “I can.”

It’s getting more difficult to pull out with every thrust as Slade’s knot swells. Jason’s body is a vice around him, so tight that it does feel as if Slade will tear him in two at any second. He’s fighting in genuine panic now, thrashing against Slade’s grip, whimpering on every breath. Dick seems just as frantic, snarling like a dog, angry tears still streaming down his cheeks.

“Take it,” Slade growls. He drags his thumb down to press over the ragged bite wound that’s left of the scent gland beneath Jason’s jaw instead. Trying to get him to relax just enough to let Slade in. It doesn’t matter to Slade if he tears apart, but the kid is so tight that Slade isn’t sure if he’ll even get in. “Take it, you-“

Dick lunges, pulling hard against his cuffs with a metallic bang. Pain spears through Slade’s hand as sharp teeth close around the thumb against Jason’s neck and tear.

Slade roars. Lets go of Jason’s hip to close his free hand around Dick’s throat and slam him back into the bed. There’s blood on Dick’s teeth as he bares them in fury, choking on nothing as Slade’s grip tightens hard enough to cut off his air. Jason jerks, trying to use the distraction to pull away from Slade, but the pain isn’t enough to stop him twisting his fingers into Jason’s thick curls and yanking his head up. From this angle, Jason must be able to see Dick’s face and Dick his in turn. It gives Slade a little thrill to imagine the pain and horror the omega must see there.

The pain and the thrill are enough to send Slade over the edge. He slams into Jason one final time, grinding himself so deep that he imagines Jason can feel the bulge of his cock in his stomach. Groaning low and guttural in his throat. The urge to bite is like a siren’s call and Slade does nothing to resist it. Clamps his jaws over the already ragged skin of Jason’s neck, deep enough to know that this will scar. That his mark will be on Jason for the rest of his life.

Something tears, hot blood rushing over Slade’s cock in a sick imitation of an omega’s slick. Jason screams a piercing, jagged sound of agony that has Slade’s cock throbbing as his knot locks in place and the first gush of come spurts deep into the younger alpha.

Slade stays like that for a long time, holding Jason tight against him with one hand, keeping Dick pinned to the bed with the other. He doesn’t unlock his jaws until he’s sure that Dick is in danger of passing out if he doesn’t get air soon, savouring the thick blood on his tongue, the way Jason has gone utterly boneless despite the pain. Then he pulls back a little, freeing Jason’s flesh from the mercy of his bite, relinquishing his grip on Dick’s neck to a loose hold rather than a choke.

Dick gasps, dragging in a wet, ragged breath before letting it out in a sob. Slade lets his fingers rub idly over Dick’s glands, swollen and sensitive from his heat. The omega twitches under the attention, letting out another shaky sob before Slade slides his hand up to Dick’s curls, pushing them away from his sweat-soaked forehead.

“See,” Slade murmurs, his voice almost a purr. The throb of his orgasm sends languid waves of pleasure through his body with every spurt of his seed into Jason and it makes him a little indulgent. “You can be good. Can’t you sweetheart?”

Dick turns his face away from Slade’s hand, his expression tense. He tries to press himself against the bleeding wound of Jason’s neck, but Slade uses his grip on Dick’s hair to drag him back, holding him still whilst Slade presses their mouths together in a hard kiss. Dick could bite, but he won’t. Not whilst Slade is tied to his brother. Not knowing the damage he could do.

The kiss is salty with the tears streaming across Dick’s face. Wet and sloppy. Dick lies perfectly still underneath him, not resisting but not returning the kiss. That’s fine by Slade. He’s had his fun anyway.

Still, when they break apart, Slade uses his grip to turn Jason’s head towards him too. For a moment, he isn’t actually sure if the kid is conscious. His face is slack and so pale it’s almost white. But his eyelids flutter and when Slade licks into his mouth, he lets out a whimper that Slade might expect from a kicked dog.

“There,” Slade murmurs. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? You took me like a good little whore, didn’t you?”

Jason doesn’t reply. Most likely, he’s disappeared into that pretty little head of his, overwhelmed by the pain and the shock of everything. Slade doesn’t care about that particularly, either. Like he said, he’s had his fun.

Dick does react, letting loose a weak little growl. Slade just pets through his curls. He doesn’t stop him when Dick turns his head away from Slade’s heavy gaze again. This time, the omega noses up under his brother’s jaw without Slade’s interference.

“It’s OK Jason,” he murmurs, as if he expects Slade not to hear. He presses a soft kiss to the curve of Jason’s jaw, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. “It’ll be OK. He’ll be gone soon. We’ll be just fine.”

When Jason doesn’t react to Dick either, the omega lets out a distressed whine. Slade chuckles. Feels Dick stiffen at the sound.

“That’s sweet kid.” Another wave of orgasm swells and crashes and Slade gives a contented moan. That’s the last one though, Slade thinks. He can feel his knot starting to soften. Dick’s face tenses with disgust. Funny, Slade hadn’t thought it was possible for the kid to look more constipated.

“Well that was fun.”

He gives Dick’s curls one last friendly stroke. Rubs his cheek over Jason’s in a final scenting, enjoying the idea of leaving his mark on the kid, before he pulls away. His knot is still big enough to resist as Slade tugs it free and it hurts a little, but Slade is done with this now. He’s never been one to soak in the afterglow. It must hurt Jason too, because he twitches and whimpers and Dick croons in a shaky attempt to soothe him.

“I’ll take what I came for,” Slade says, casually, as he tucks himself back into his armour. There’s blood still streaked across his cock, but Slade’s never minded getting his armour a little bloody.

Dick glares as Slade saunters across the room, sliding open one of the desk drawers and retrieving the little flash drive taped up underneath it with nimble fingers. Bats - so predictable.

“I’ll be taking this. Enjoy the rest of your heat, Grayson.”

Dick’s voice is small and shaky when he asks: “Aren’t you going to untie us?”

“You’re Bats aren’t you?” Slade asks, one leg already out of the window. The fresh air outside is doing wonders to clear his head. He hadn’t realised quite how thick the scent in the room had gotten. “You’ll be fine.”

Dick’s growl follows him out.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

More Time - Chpt.17

Summary: Emma and Steve are both devoted to helping Bucky recover from his injury though the process is slow going. The guys finally admit their feelings to Emma and make her an offer she can’t refuse. Then her decision sets her life on a course she never could have imagined.   Master list can be found HERE.

Warnings / Content: Fluff and feels all the way :)

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! So this chapter has the scene that started the whole fic. I had a dream one morning a few months ago of being bed with Bucky who was trying to distract me while Steve was trying to sketch me. It was so freaking clear and vivid that I knew I wanted to write it, and the more I laid in bed and daydreamed, this whole little world came together. We only have one chapter left too! The final chapter AND the epilogue will be posted tomorrow evening around this time. And then I will be taking a much needed hiatus for a week! In the mean time, enjoy this penultimate chapter! XOXO - Ash

Chapter Seventeen

It was three weeks before the news finally started dying down. Bucky was getting around much easier on his crutches but still needed help with some things. Emma had returned to work part time but still spent every night at the guy’s apartment. She had used up every last day of her paid time off but didn’t regret a second of it. Steve was back on schedule with his appointments and had adjusted his hours at the VA so that someone was always home with Bucky. Though Emma still went back to her apartment for things from time to time she had started referring to their place as “home” without even realizing she was doing it. Bucky and Steve both knew she had effectively moved in and they were more than pleased with that development. They wanted to officially ask her but she seemed so content with things as they were, they were afraid of rocking the boat. Eventually Bucky had made Steve promise that they would ask her the next time the opportunity presented itself.

Bucky had pushed himself too hard the previous day when he’d insisted he was up to walking to the coffee shop for breakfast. It was only half a block away but it was the furthest he’d gone in weeks and had proved to be a little too much. He paid for it dearly for the rest of the day, and the following morning he was still stiff. Emma insisted he stay in bed for breakfast and Steve curled up with him to make sure he stayed put. She didn’t make anything fancy, just bagel sandwiches and coffee so that they could eat while still nestled in their big, overly soft bed. The morning sun was shining in the room, bathing it in a golden glow that made Steve restless until he got out his sketch pad. He needed to capture the way Emma looked in that moment before it was gone. Bucky watched with amusement, remembering all the times Steve had convinced him to model for him. 

It took a few adjustments but once Steve got Emma where he wanted her he started drawing at lightning speed. Emma was laying on her stomach, head cradled on one arm with her hair spilling out around her. She was in just her sleep shirt with her bare legs crossed up in the air behind her. It wasn’t the most comfortable position to hold without moving for minutes on end but she did her best to hold still. Until Bucky intervened. He couldn’t roll around much because of the cast but he was able to stretch just enough to tickle the sole of one foot when she stretched for a moment. Emma squealed and wiggled away while Steve pleaded for them to behave so he could finish. Bucky held up his hands placatingly, retreating back to the head of the bed. He could tell Steve was almost done a few minutes later when he kept glancing up and making random little adjustments. Bucky decided Steve had seen enough and with a great flop he flailed himself forward, landing right next to Emma who he attacked with tickles. Steve grumbled, setting down his sketch pad while Emma screamed for mercy. Not willing to miss out on the fun, Steve pounced as delicately as he could on Bucky while avoiding his cast. Bucky liked to say he wasn’t ticklish but Steve knew better. There were two small spots, one on each side of his torso, on one particular rib, that if hit just right made him howl. After skittering his long fingers along Bucky for a moment he found it and Bucky rolled into a ball the best he could with the cast, yelling at Steve to take it easy on the cripple. Emma was hysterical watching them, relieved to have a moment to catch her breath. 

The chiming of Emma’s phone interrupted their fun and she groaned as she turned off the alarm. “I don’t wanna go.” She lamented, clutching the phone to her chest. She was being dramatic, she knew, but having to go to work and leave the guys in bed was practically torture. 

Bucky exchanged a look with Steve before speaking. “What if you didn’t have to?”

Emma rolled her eyes, “Oh sure, I’ll be sure to grab a lotto ticket on my way in.” 

“No, I’m serious.” 

Emma sat up to look at Bucky with wary eyes, “What do mean?” 

“You love art, it’s why you got your degree in it. You should be doing something in your field.”

It was hard not to bristle at being told what she should be doing with her life but Emma bit back the snarky response she wanted to give. Choosing instead to just be realistic, “That would be great but nowhere that’s hiring can offer me enough to go full time and still manage to live in the city. I have bills, Bucky.” 

“That’s what I’m saying. What if you didn’t have to worry about all those bills? What if you could just take a job at a gallery and work your way up from there?” 

“I won’t take your money.” that Emma did bristle at.

Steve, knowing he’d feel the same in her shoes, jumped in to clarify, “We’re not offering you money, doll. We want you to live with us. You’re here every day now and most of your clothes are here too. After Buck got hurt you basically moved in, it’s just a matter of logistics.” 

“I didn’t realize...” Emma was quiet a moment, she knew he was right and a pang of guilt hit her, “I didn’t mean to take advantage of you guys, it just kind of happened.”

“You didn't take advantage.” Steve assured her, “We want you here. And if you were actually living here you wouldn’t have to worry about rent or utilities and you could take a job at a gallery.”

“I’m not going to just move in and mooch off of you. I’d have to be able to contribute.”

“You can help with groceries sometimes but you should focus on your student loans first since you’re not finished paying them.” 

“It still doesn’t seem fair.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel fair to us that you have this huge debt hanging over your head that you really didn’t have a choice in taking out so you could get an education. But, since we know you won’t let us pay it off, you can put your money towards paying it off faster yourself.” 

Emma was floundering her way through pros and cons, refusing to let herself get carried away at the idea of living with the guys. “But what if… what if things… don’t work out? I can’t do that to you guys.”

Bucky gave her a sad smile, he knew she was worried about their well being just as much as her own. “We love you, darlin’, how could it not work out?”

“What?” she squeaked out, not having expected that answer in a million years.

Bucky hauled himself up so he could pull her in against his chest, “I love you.” he told her earnestly. 

Steve took her free hand, rubbing his thumb over hand soothingly, “I love you too. We both do, and we want you to move in with us. Not because it’s convenient, not because you have more socks in this apartment than we do, but because we want to share our lives with you.” 

“Oh.” Emma squeaked out between tears. The guys were quick to wipe them away from her face, waiting with baited breath for her response. “Okay. Let’s do it. I love you too, both of you, so much.” 

Steve and Bucky enveloped her in a hug, holding her close while tears turned to giggles and then sweet chaste kisses and a few more happy tears. 

Emma was fifteen minutes late to work and gave her two weeks notice that very day. 

The places hiring in the city varied from large world renowned art collectives to small hipster galleries who only featured up and coming artists of one scene or another. Emma saw the allure of both types of places and applied everywhere that looked even remotely interesting. She got a few offers her first week, none that really felt right and one that was completely unpaid. The second week, panic was starting to set in. She was down to her last three shifts at the bar and had two more weeks on her apartment lease. Emma knew the guys wouldn’t push her to take a job for the sake of taking a job but she didn’t want to be out of work long. Her savings had dwindled a bit when she was down to part time while Bucky recovered but she had enough for another month with no pay if it came to it. She really hoped it wouldn’t though. 

Emma was chatting with a group of Friday night regulars, it would be her last shift seeing them, Sunday being her last day. Her phone buzzed angrily in her back pocket and she waited for it to die down but it persisted like a hive of bees. A call then, not a text. She pulled her phone out, trying to catch the call in time but it went to voicemail right as she swiped frantically to accept it. The number was unfamiliar and she hoped it was a gallery with a new offer instead of someone offering a timeshare sales pitch. Two agonizing minutes later a voicemail notification flashed and Emma excused herself for a minute to dart out back to listen to the message.

Hi Emma, this Pepper Potts. Steve and Bucky’s friend. Steve mentioned that you were looking for a job in an art gallery in the city and I was hoping to talk to you about that. I might know of an opening you would be perfect for. Give me a call back when you get a chance. Thanks, bye.

Emma stared blankly at her phone for a moment, dumbfounded. Pepper Potts, a friend of Steve and Bucky’s. Not Pepper Potts, famous, multi-billionaire, savvy business woman who Time had made woman of the year twice now. Emma blinked a few times, still getting her head around the seemingly causal call. She had to call her back, it would be rude not to. But what were the guys thinking not warning her that this could happen? And why would Steve, of all people, who railed against the evils of nepotism and the whole “it’s who you know” side of politics, try to have a friend give her a job. Well, she could at least give the woman a call back. Taking a steadying breath Emma dialed.

“Hello?” a cheerful, but slightly frazzled, voice answered. 

“Hi, Ms. Potts? This is Emma. Steve and Bucky’s… umm…” Emma trailed off. What was she anyway? Girlfriend, partner, lady friend? Emma added that to the mental list of discussion topics for when she got home. Meanwhile, she sounded like an idiot. 

“Oh, Emma!” Pepper chirped, saving her from further fumbling. “Thanks for calling me back.” 

“Of course. I don’t know what Steve told you but I’m just looking for entry level jobs at a few galleries around Brooklyn right now.” 

“Mhmm. Yeah, he mentioned - ohGodnotagain - sorry, can you hold on a minute Emma?”

Emma didn’t even get out a “yes” before she heard Pepper yelling “Morgan H. Stark!” followed by the sound of a crash in the background. There was a moment of hushed scolding and then a child crying and whining unintelligibly. 

Pepper came back to the phone with a long sigh. “Sorry about that. Every time I turn my back Morgan is taking a screwdriver to something trying to see how it’s insides work.” 

Emma bit back a laugh, “What was it this time?”

“The roomba. She’s only five but I swear she’s just a miniature version of her father.” 

“Sounds like you have your hands full.”

“And then some. Now, about the job. It’s not too far away, still in Brooklyn, it’s a nonprofit gallery where they feature up and coming artists who need help getting some exposure. We need a gallery assistant to start as soon as possible.” 

“We?”

“Yeah, I’m on the board of directors there. When Steve gave me your resume I hugged him. The timing is perfect and I think you’d be a great fit.”

“What’s the name of the gallery? Maybe I’ve already applied.”

“The Hideaway. We haven’t listed the job yet though.” 

Emma swallowed roughly. She knew of the gallery in one of Brooklyn’s trendier, more affluent neighborhoods. It was known for being the starting place for many well known modern artists. “Pepper, really I’m just looking to get my foot in the door to gain experience. I appreciate the offer but…”

“But what? You can get experience anywhere, come do it with us. How about this, let me stop by the guys apartment tomorrow and we can look at the portfolio of artists we have right now. Give you an idea of what we’re about? If you don’t want the job it’s fine, but at least take a look. I’ll bring brunch?”

Emma shook her head, she was going to wring Steve Roger’s neck for this. “Okay, I’ll take a look.” 

“Great! I’ll come over tomorrow around ten thirty?”

“We’ll be home.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then.” 

Emma hung up, torn between stunned and angry. She wasn’t taking a pity job at Steve’s friend’s gallery. He should have known her better than this. It was tempting to text him, vent some of her frustrations before she got home, but instead she tucked her phone away and went back out to the bustling bar where she could distract herself for a few hours.

It was a little past eleven when Emma finally dragged herself into the apartment. She was not going to miss the exhaustion of a ten hour shift bartending. Steve was perched on one end of the sofa, glasses slipping down his nose while he read a book. Bucky was laying across the other two seats, his head nestled on Steve’s lap. They looked so sleepy and sweet, she wanted to join them but she had a bone to pick first.

“You have some explaining to do.” Emma announced, setting her purse down on the breakfast bar. 

Steve looked back with wide eyes, pushing his glasses up a little, “What?” He sounded guilty too quickly. He knew. 

“Oh, I think you know. Let’s see if you can guess who called me at work tonight? It’s a friend of yours.” 

Steve gulped, “Sam?”

“Don’t play cute, Rogers. Why would you try to get me a pity job?” 

“I didn’t think-”

“Oh damn right you didn’t think. Do you know how that feels, Steve? I can get my own job! I know we’re cutting things close but I still have applications out there and if worse comes to worse I can call back one of the places that was interested and just take one of those until something better comes up.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish, a torn expression on his face.

Bucky, who was woken by their tiff, cleared his throat. “We know you can, darlin’. And we’re gonna be proud as hell when you find the right job. No matter how long that takes. Don’t take some job you’ll hate just because it’s there, that’s why you quit Matty’s.”

Emma shook her head, “I can’t just take a job I’m not qualified for because you’re friends with one of the directors.” 

“You’re not.” Bucky countered, “Steve mentioned it to Pepper because she asked how you were doing when they were talking this morning. It was a friendly call, that’s all. Pepper asked for your resume to see if she could throw out some feelers in the community for you. We didn’t know she was going to offer you a job.” 

Deflating a little, Emma scrubbed at her face. Annoyance turning onto herself for biting Steve’s head off. “I’m sorry Steve,” she mumbled “I’m an asshole.” 

Steve gave her a wry smile, knowing all too well the chagrin of putting his foot in his mouth. “Hear that, Buck?” he poked Bucky in the side, “I’m not the asshole this time.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, “You’re always the asshole, punk.” 

“Yeah, but you love me.”

“God help us all.” 

xxXxx

Pepper arrived the next morning with arms weighed down by a large leather tote on one arm and take out bags on the other. “I didn’t know what to get so I got everything.” she huffed out, setting her stuff down on the living room table. 

Bucky was sprawled out on the sofa watching yet another episode of How It’s Made because “Did you see it Steve? Who would have thought it was all in one tube like that?” He had been hooked on the show for months and Steve didn’t have the heart to make him pick something else. It reminded him of Bucky before the war, always so curious and eager to learn. Bucky did have the decency to turn off the TV and slide up so he was mostly sitting, making room for Steve and Emma while Pepper set up. Steve popped out from his studio and started rifling through boxes of take out before Pepper could even set them down on the table. 

“Thank you so much for bringing all this.” Emma told her, trying to play hostess since the guys were lost in the array of breakfast foods.

Pepper swatted Bucky’s hand away from a box of frittata, “Mine,” she practically hissed at him before turning to Emma with a smile, ���No problem! I’m glad you were willing to at least look at the portfolio from The Hideaway.”

Brunch was a mostly quiet affair. The food was plentiful and delicious, Pepper having impeccable taste in restaurants, as usual. Between bites of eggs benedict and maple pecan french toast, Steve and Bucky got updates from Pepper on a few things going on with the training program at the Avengers Compound. Steve huffed when she mentioned him coming out to speak to the new trainees. He still wasn't convinced they would want to hear from him since he no longer wore the mantle of Captain America; regardless of how many times Bucky told him that it’s a lifetime title, like being President. Emma agreed with Bucky but Steve forced a change in topics before she could do more than chime in with a “he’s right”. 

Steve offered to clean up the disaster on the living room table so Pepper and Emma could go over the portfolio binder for the gallery. Not wanting to be a distraction, Bucky politely escaped to the bedroom. Forty five minutes later Emma had to admit she was impressed. More than impressed, really. The Hideaway was the exact type of gallery she wanted to be a part of. Pepper gushed about the current team and how lucky they were to have such a tight knit group. It was a dream job but Emma was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“You don’t have to decide anything today. I can hold off posting the job publicly until Monday.” Pepper offered. 

Emma considered it for a minute, still unsure. “I really am tempted. It’s an amazing opportunity.” 

“You would be such a perfect fit for the team. I can see you thriving there.” 

“Me too but, Pepper I gotta be honest; would you be offering me this job if my application came through with the swarm of others?” 

“It would depend.” Pepper was direct, “If it came along with other equally educated and experienced people, then yes. And then for sure the interview would have sealed it. If it had come over with a batch of people more qualified and well suited, then possibly not.”

“Thank you for that.” Emma was relieved by the honesty in Pepper’s answer, “I’ll think about it and let you know by tomorrow night.” 

“Perfect.” Pepper smiled widely like she already knew it was a done deal. Emma thought it was too but she really needed to weigh things out before she jumped in with both feet.

After Pepper headed home, Emma joined Bucky in bed where he was reading a new copy of National Geographic. She figured that she might as well be comfortable while she made her mental pro and con list. Steve joined them after a little while, snuggling his way in between the two of them. 

“Have you decided then?” Steve asked Emma, throwing an arm around her waist.

Emma groaned, “Yes and no.”

“You want to take it, don’t you?”

“Yeah, so badly. But...”

“It seems too good to be true?” Bucky butted in.

“Yeah, it does. It’s the perfect opportunity. Great work environment, paid vacation and sick days, benefits, and holy shit pay bump.” 

“I seem to remember you stressing over something else that seemed too good to be true a few months ago.” Steve teased.

Bucky nodded along in agreement, “And look how well this turned out.” 

“I love you.” Emma kissed Bucky and then Steve in turn. “I think I’m going to take it. But,”

“No buts!” Steve exclaimed.

Emma rolled her eyes and continued unphased, “But, I want you to seriously consider giving a few talks at the compound. You would be such a good example for these kids, Steve.” 

“What’s the point? Who’s going to listen to the guy that can’t raise his voice without risking an asthma attack? These kids are training to work with the Avengers, with some of the best mentors on the planet. They’ll be fine without listening to the ramblings of a retired old man.” 

“Oh sweetheart no.” Emma wrapped herself around Steve, pulling him close so she could run her fingers through his hair and litter kisses across his face. “You are so much more than your body. Your mind is one in a million Steve, and those kids would be damned lucky to hear anything you have to say.”

Bucky shifted himself over to curl around Steve’s other side, sandwiching him between them. “Erskine didn’t pick you for your body.” Bucky reminded him gently. 

“What would I even say?” Steve relented.

“That would be entirely up to you. Just think about it, okay?” Emma pleaded.

Steve nodded in silent agreement. Thinking about it and actually doing it were two very different things. If he could actually think of something to say to a room full of twenty year olds then maybe he’d come around. 

Tag list lovelies: @godofplumsandthunder​ @remilupin22​ @supraveng​ @hiddles-rose​

If anyone wants added or removed please lmk!

[paperclipninja]

Younger post-ep ramble 6x03

This week’s episode of Younger, ‘The Unusual Suspect’, was a big one. No scenes felt wasted, each one moving the story along and it all felt very purposeful. Despite some capital H hotness and really light and funny moments being scattered throughout, mostly thanks to fave (and only) NYC agent Redmond and the resurrection of some truly classic Diana Trout, there was definitely the sense of tension on the rise. It’s been simmering since the end of this season’s first episode and I feel like this week we have hit an apex.

We open with brunch at Maggie’s and what one can only assume is a time jump (either that or Clare has recovered remarkably well from birthing a baby the size of a four month old) and right away an overarching theme for this episode is established, as Lauren enters raving about the latest hit podcast, Exonerated. I’m gonna come straight out and say that I am so into this premise. The excitement around the table sounded like the break room in my office most days, they definitely nailed the trend of true crime fixation. It immediately allowed for Maggie’s quip about white women loving murder, a delightful array of OTT facial expressions from Liza and Kelsey dropping in that Millennial will be meeting with Audrey Colbert, subject of the podcast, to nab her book before anyone else does. Of course the other big news is that Josh and Clare appear to be happily family-ing it up (though mommy wipes, daddy dipes = vom in my mouth a little bit) and Maggie is dealing with unresolved BoUBT (Back of Uber Birth Trauma). Lauren’s vow to help get Maggie back on the ‘h for hunt’ once again epitomises why I love her character so and I want to record her sympathetic ‘oh Divaaa’ as my ringtone. I just love that Maggie, of all characters, is the one who seems like she should be the most pragmatic when it comes to something like birth yet her coping level is zero here.

You know who else wasn’t coping? Me and my Liza and Charles loving heart as Liza suddenly up and left the brunch because she ‘was late for a thing’, cue the scene that was released as a sneak peek last week that I have definitely only watched a normal number of times *cough*. The set up for The Rubin Museum from the opening conversation was fab and the fact that Charles and Liza are using the podcast to frame up a role play situation is just too much. Obviously I had seen the scene prior to the ep and while it is certainly *insert flames here*, I can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like not to have expected it (actual combustion probable). I mean regardless, I will never think about a trip to the museum in the same way again. The voice-over narrating what we were seeing was such a great device that is really different to anything the show has done before, it built the anticipation of what was playing out and it felt like a scene from a movie. The moment when Charles turned and came face to face with Liza was a great reminder of how electric the chemistry between these two can be (actual lightening bolts were sighted) and quite frankly, seeing these characters being adventurous and lustful in their relationship is a yes on all fronts. I think the fact it all took place in a place of intellect and culture was extra fitting, it somehow kept the whole thing true to the characters and I am here for the #nerdlove. 

The office drama was amped this whole ep and that of course was largely due to the ever growing reign of our season 6 villain, Quinn. With the time jump since last episode confirmed by the fact that Quinn’s book is both published and sitting on the best seller list, Kelsey and Diana’s first encounter with Quinn as she uses the WiFi for a conference call included a) Diana saying goodbye in Mandarin, which was yet another lovely tidbit to add to this character while also setting up the classic Diana we got throughout this ep and; b) some of the best fashion and hairstyles all in one scene (and episode as a whole) ever. I mean the fashion on this show is always next level but this episode in particular took it up a notch: Diana’s high-neck printed electric blue top and Kelsey’s hair/makeup/outfit in the conference room were so stunning I was actually distracted by them. 

Kelsey’s office refurb was also noted, loved Liza’s ‘set it (Claw) on fire’ comment and of course, Diana telling Kelsey that now she is publisher, maybe she should stop speaking like a trucker was D. Trout golden line no.1 for this episode. Even better was seeing Kelsey, Diana and Liza settling into this new way of working. I adore the dynamic between these three and the way we’re seeing Diana adjust to her former assistant now being a peer without a fuss is why this show is so wonderful. It would have been easy to have Diana trying to assert herself and maintain some sort of authority, but to see her just want to get on with the work and do the best job she can gives a great credibility to the notion that this character is the best in the industry. I could pretty much write out every Diana Trout line from ‘The Unusual Suspect’ and leave this entire ramble at that (’why is everybody in this country obsessed with true crime? Actual people have died and they’re selling branded beanies on Etsy’ LOLLLLL) but I would then need to do that for Redmond because the fave one and only agent in NYC was back this week and as always, he was in fine form. 

The pitch of Audrey Colbert’s book is up there with the funniest scenes of this series, from the creepy af Audrey (A+ casting of Willa Fitzgerald) to Liza and Kelsey trying to play it cool while being hella freaked out to Redmond’s attempt to present a compelling pitch being railroaded by Audrey’s ‘crippling lack of media training’, it was Younger writing and delivery at its finest from start to finish. Seeing Redmond so unnerved by Audrey was unnerving in itself and really, I am so happy with the amount of Michael Urie in this episode. Our next encounter was of course when Kelsey and Liza interrupt his infrared sauna treatment (again, so many hilarious lines, I really feel that a transcript of the entire episode is about the only way to do it justice but may be problematic to pass off as a recap/review…or would it?) and discover that Audrey’s book is being shopped around thanks to the dagger next to Claw on the bestseller list, which = bulk sales = dodgy business = Chinese bots tweeting = Quinn is the worst (math doesn’t lie) = Audrey doesn’t want to be associated with anything suspicious on account of the fact she’s been accused of murdering two ppl (fair). I do want to back this truck up a little though to the way Kelsey and Liza discovered their next big hit was being pitched to half the major publishing houses around town.

Diana Trout hobbling into the office on crutches before dropping the bomb that her injury was the result of being so frazzled upon hearing the news re: Audrey going elsewhere, that she got caught up in her reformer (just go and re-watch this scene, you will not be sorry) is everything I never knew I wanted to see. The reference to Jackie Dunn, who you may remember has been a longstanding nemesis of sorts of Diana’s, was such an utter delight as a long time fan and once again, seeing Kelsey, Liza and Diana all equally vexed by the news was so great and continued to solidify them as a team. I promise no more direct quotes* (*this is a very loose promise), but ‘postpone the power-trip Kelsey, I am handicapped’ in response to Kelsey’s stunned expression upon Diana’s request for espresso, is so outrageously funny and makes this whole scene an absolute stand out on account of its hilarity. 

I missed Lauren and Diana interacting this week, however I appreciated seeing Lauren be the wonderful friend she is to Maggie and Josh. Taking Maggie to the support group obviously allowed us to meet Beth, who Maggie engaged for some one on one tutoring (looking forward to seeing where that goes this season) after returning to the store to apologise for running out during the group session. While Maggie was lining up her ongoing therapy, Lauren and Josh shared a sweet and heartfelt moment that highlights why their friendship is such a lovely one on this show. Obviously Josh had told Lauren that he and Clare had a moment that made him think, ‘maybe we should make this relationship work’ and Lauren is following up to see where his head and heart are at. 

I absolutely loved said scene between Clare and Josh, when he had finally settled the baby, asks Clare if she wants to go to her bed and then joins her on the floor when she says she sleeps where she can now. There was such a sense of unity and care and it made my heart swell. So in his discussion with Lauren we also find out the baby is named Gemma (last name TBC, for both father and daughter) and when pressed about what he actually wants, Josh reveals that he doesn’t think he and Clare are right for each other. I have said it before, but for all the wacky that Lauren can be, she is the most incredible friend who only wants the best for those around her in such a relentless and genuine way and this scene really highlighted that once again (the line about her dad having such a little bottom though brought us straight back to Lauren light in the best possible way).

The divorce proposal was such a great scene and while I was hoping that perhaps Clare and Josh could work things out, I am thrilled to see that the writers put both these characters on the same page right from the get go. I love that this show constantly bucks stereotypes and expectations of how certain characters and relationships will play out, so to see two adults who have an agreed desire to put their child first but know they need to do so outside a romantic relationship is something really unique on television. I have always enjoyed Josh and Clare’s dynamic and I hope we get to see a real, loving co-parenting arrangement play out.

Kelsey’s interaction with Zane when she is buying a bottle of Dom Perignon to celebrate scoring Audrey’s book (eek!) is my favourite interaction of theirs this season. Their banter was really effortless, Zane’s, ‘you’re not listening’, as he pulled out the cash to pay for the one remaining bottle smooth and a little bit over confident, but really played up that he has something in the works that is legit. I especially love that we later discover both are buying champagne to celebrate the same win. I feel like we also need to stop and appreciate that they were about to drop $400 between them on two bottles of bubbles like it was no big deal. What is this life? How do I get it?

Though admittedly Kelsey deserves a nice glass of something this ep considering all that she is dealing with. I have made no secret that I have struggled with Kelsey’s character these past couple of seasons and no one is more surprised than me at how much I am getting on board with her this season. Kelsey calling out Quinn point blank that she faked her best seller was so good to watch and seeing Liza backing her up and standing her own ground made this extra satisfying. Gah, I just LOVE how Laura Benanti plays Quinn and her stating that ‘the money is real, what else do you need?’ is so cold and matter-of-fact. What I love most about this whole confrontation is that it immediately made me think back to the first time we met Quinn - her whole presentation was about the fact that no one wants your success more than you do and that women helping women is actually holding women back. That right there should’ve been the red flag that her “helping” Liza and Kelsey was not legit. 

And so her true motivation for investing in Empirical becomes evident. It had nothing to do with saving an ailing publishing house, it was to ensure her book would be published, she could have some control over how big it would become and be seen to have the support of a reputable publishing house, all in order to gain name recognition so she could successfully run for Senate. In her mind, Kelsey and Liza benefit from the whole thing financially so it’s a win win but she also holds the power so feels like she has the upper hand. Which is why the scene at The Cut (which is so fab, the looks Quinn shoots Kelsey are searing), when audience members question the dagger next to her book, is so damn satisfying. Kelsey’s move to announce Quinn’s run for Senate is so bold, I am very on board and boy oh boy Kels, I think you’ve got yourself quite the adversary. I was very much Liza watching this all unfold, shocked, impressed and a little bit scared for and of Kelsey and what this all means.

Now Liza was late to the event because she was living out the next chapter of the podcast at the Brownstone which we need to discuss, however I first owe some of you an apology. At the end of last week’s ramble I suggested you may need a fire blanket at the ready after seeing the museum scene sneak peek to you know, contain the flames. I fear some of you may have deployed it prematurely (this is not a euphemism though I am very aware it sounds like one) in response to how damn hot that scene was, but I was not to know that we were going to get this later scene, in which Liza just wanders into the townhouse BECAUSE SHE HAS A FREAKING KEY (suspected ep 2, confirmed ep 3, appreciated always) and decides to have a good old snoop at her bf’s mail. Similar to the museum scene, this set up felt more like a movie than a typical Younger episode. There was an ominous weight to it; the music, the lighting, the Charles padding silently up behind her (barefoot again?) and the tension was palpable. 

Liza asks Charles about what’s going on, he provides a vague answer about moving some things around before asking her if she’s listened to chapter 7 of Exonerated, which conveniently mirrors almost exactly what just occurred, with Audrey’s ex finding her going through his things. Ok, so this is where it gets tricky for me. This entire exchange, from the way these two fall into that speaking in third person and wrapping a narrative around themselves, the way Charles wraps his arms around her, the way they look at each other, I mean, this whole thing makes my heart spontaneously combust because it is sexy and flirty, dripping with desire and just really really hot *reaches for backup fire blanket*. But then Liza is clearly distracted by that letter and Charles’ deflection and part of me is wondering why on Earth she isn’t pressing him harder for an answer or following up, I mean, we saw how open they were with one another last season, but then the other part of me looks at Liza and thinks, you are a person who has eyes and that whole situation is right there in front of you so I get it, go with it and worry about it later.

I am aware of how long this ramble already is, but I am going to do something a little different here and digress slightly away from the episode itself and put out some conjecture on my part. It could well be completely over-analysing (lol, I’m neck deep into a freaking novella about a 25 min episode of TV, I think that’s a given) but I know that there is concern about Charles behaving secretively and I have seen some people expressing disappointment in this season so far. 

For what it’s worth, my take on it is that it might seem as though some of the characters are behaving a little out of character but I feel that actually, the characters are behaving in ways we haven’t seen before because they’re in situations we haven’t seen them in before. As invested viewers we feel like we know these characters as whole people in every aspect of their lives when in fact, we’ve not seen Liza at the top of her game in her career or Josh as a parent or Charles in a romantic relationship or away from the office. So while the way they behave might not be the way we imagined it, to me it isn’t so much out of character as seeing a new dimension of the character. Also, the addition of flaws does not necessarily equate to destroying a character, it builds them out and makes them more real, if anything. 

In relation to Charles and Liza’s relationship and the ‘Charles is being shady’ concern, IMO the key purpose of that is to create tension and you can FEEL it building. As crazy as it may sound, I think the Liza/Charles dynamic thrives in the build and resolution of tension and that’s why their moments in this episode felt so electric and hot, it’s like those unspoken, unresolved tension points charge their chemistry. As much as I think I would love to have Charles and Liza sitting around blissfully happy (I mean, I would obvs), the reality is, it’s not that fun to watch. I believe the tension is building towards a resolution of sorts that will actually put them in a better place and move the relationship forward. (*Full disclosure: since writing this I listened to the podcast from ATX fest and Joe Murphy, one of the writers for Younger, said very similar things so if you listened to that podcast I promise I have not just taken what Joe said and pretended they’re my thoughts, I legit had this written and then heard (ngl, I may be feeling a little smug as a result). I’m putting it down to us both being Australian because clearly that is a thing that makes sense).

I also think there is an unsettled feeling this season because the entire premise of this show, the roles these characters played, the interactions we have grown accustomed to week after week, has been completely flipped upside down. As viewers we garner comfort from the routine of watching a show but also from knowing where the players are positioned, how they will behave and what it looks and feels like. I think the writers know exactly what they’re doing and are achieving exactly what they would’ve hoped (apologies writers if this is wildly inaccurate and I’m just assuming things incorrectly left, right and centre) - everyone is sitting in discomfort and it’s largely due to the unfamiliarity of it all. The set up, the way we’re seeing characters etc, it reflects what the characters themselves are experiencing on our screens, which is all kinds of meta and actually pretty cool. But the further you push that discomfort and make viewers sit in it, the greater the impact and more satisfying the resolution. It’s like waiting for a beat to drop in a song, the build up can become almost unbearable but damn it’s good when it lands. That’s how I feel this is all going to go. 

That is what I meant by this episode feeling like an apex, it feels as though there’s a limit to how far an audience can be taken in a state of flux without some resolve somewhere. And the writers know this, it’s what they do, it’s WHY we tune in. I’m not suggesting that everything is going to go back to the way it was, the evolution of a show like Younger is exciting and part of the fun is seeing where it goes, but we are three episodes in to a twelve episode season and while we consume it week to week, it ultimately has to make narrative sense across the whole season. It’s as though we’re at the end of an ‘establishing’ phase right now. So I am reserving any judgement until I see how it all comes together, but have no doubt there will be many resolutions and many new points of tension throughout.

Right now, I am thoroughly enjoying all that we’re getting and I think the writing this season has been excellent so far, with moments like the final scene of ‘The Unusual Suspect’ providing us with the first true cliffhanger of the season. Our last bit of Redmond for the ep was peak Redmond (I love that he dashed off to a better table uptown), and of course the big Mercury reveal, YESSS. That moment of realisation washing over Liza’s face, props to Sutton Foster, and I cannot WAIT to see how this all goes down. The prospect of inter-generational team ups of Kelsey/Liza vs. Zane/Charles while members of each team are in relationships with one another is the kind of set up I live for in a TV show. Is it July 10th yet?

[sunlightdances]

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader Prompt: “I have been driving for the last 5 hours and all I want is some god damn beef jerky, so GET YOUR HAND OFF THE LAST PACKAGE ON THE SHELF YOU MAY BE HANDSOME STRANGER, BUT NO ONE IS STANDING IN BETWEEN ME AND THAT SALTY SNACK” Rating: PG Warnings: Mild descriptions of canon-related injuries, nothing graphic. Author’s Notes: Something light hearted for your Thursday.

You have been driving for hours, so it’s not your fault that you’re a little cranky. You haven’t eaten in hours or slept in days. So you freaked out a little bit when you dropped out of college. It’s fine, it probably happens to people all the time. You’re sure you’re not the first person to just pack up everything they own, get in their car, and drive with absolutely no destination in mind.

So, that’s why you’re pulling into the first gas station you see, your stomach grumbling. Parking your car in an empty spot, you walk inside, rubbing a hand over your face as your exhaustion hits you like a freight train. You frown, thinking you should probably find a hotel soon or you’re going to be in trouble.

You head for the snacks, opting for convenience instead of a warm meal, and it takes you a second in your tired state to realize that there’s only one package of beef jerky left, and it’s currently in the hand of a man who’s scanning the chips on the other side of the aisle, his brow furrowed.

You think you must let out an involuntary noise of discontent, because he looks up at you for a brief second, looking away when he sees you staring at the empty shelf.

“Um,” you say, cursing yourself. Way to sound smart. “This is going to sound weird, but do you have your heart absolutely set on eating that?” You ask him, pointing at the package in his hand.

“Um.” He echoes back, his face the picture of confusion. “Kind of, that’s sort of why I grabbed it off the shelf.”

Great, you think. He’s a smartass.

“Okay, but how important is it to you?”

He barks out a laugh, looking at you like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you trying to talk me out of buying this?”

You smile in what you hope is a convincing manner. “I’ve been driving for five hours and I’m starving.”

He smirks. “I’ve been driving for eight hours, and I’m hungry too, plus I’ve got my brother to feed. He’s 6’4”, so he needs it more than you.” He snarks, and you want to punch him right in his attractive face.

“All right, look. I’ve got…” you fumble around your purse, looking for your wallet. “... three dollars.”

He looks taken aback for a minute before he recovers. “You’re serious? I don’t want your money.”

“Well, I want that beef jerky, so.” You tell him, your arms falling to your sides. You realize that you’re being ridiculous, but you’re not really that worried about it. It’s the hunger, you think.

“I’m not taking your money, and I’m going to eat this. Have a good day.” He says, and starts to saunter up to the cash register, but you run around him to block his way, a hand on his chest.

He stops short of running you over, and looks down at your hand with a raised eyebrow.

“What if I buy you something else?” You bargain, and the corner of his mouth tilts up in a half smile.

“Lady, why don’t you buy something else? I’m sorry, but I really have to go. Try the gas station a couple miles down the road. They’ve always got good snacks.”

He just walks right around you, up to the cashier, and when the bell over the door signals that he’s gone, you start to seriously wonder about the state of your life. Bargaining with strangers in the EZ-Mart… honestly.

You shake your head at yourself and grab a few other snacks before getting back in the car. You need to find somewhere to sleep.

.

.

.

You had seriously underestimated how much stuff you crammed into your car when you left college - boxes upon boxes are in your back seat, and you’re trying to figure out which boxes need to come inside the motel room with you, and which stuff you probably wouldn’t care if they were stolen out of your car in the middle of the night.

After the third trip to the car, you’re sweating a little, the summer sun beating down on you.

“Moving in?” A voice asks, and you jump, not having heard any footsteps at all. When you turn around, you almost groan, because of course it’s Cute Guy From The Gas Station. Why wouldn’t it be?

“Are you stalking me?”

“You caught me,” he deadpans. “My heart was all aflutter when you tried to bribe me for snacks.”

You blush, remembering how ridiculous you had sounded.

“Do you need any help?” He asks, tilting his head as he looks at you, arms crossed in front of his chest. You feel a pang of attraction run through you, and you look away for a second, trying to get yourself under control.

“I’ve got it. Thanks, though.”

He looks like he’s making a decision, and then he says, “I’m in 204, a couple doors down. If you need any help, feel free to knock.”

He leaves you feeling off balance with a smile and a wave, and you watch him and his broad shoulders walk down the small sidewalk to his room.

.

.

.

You wake up some time in the middle of the night with a jolt, hearing loud voices outside. Your first instinct is to get in your car and leave - you’ve heard rumors about these types of motels and really have no desire to be on the evening news because you’ve been murdered.

As you listen more carefully, you realize you recognize one of the voices, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Tiptoeing to the window, you push back the curtain slightly and can see him leaning against a sleek black car a few spots down from your own, his hand pressed to his stomach.

Even from a distance you can tell he’s bleeding, and your heart starts to pound. Before you can think about what you’re doing, you’re out the door, pulling a hoodie over your head.

The taller guy with him - his brother, you think - looks up at you. “You should go back inside.”

“He’s bleeding,” you say dumbly. Looking back at Cute Guy From The Gas Station, “You’re bleeding.”

He chuckles, and then winces. “I am? Hadn’t noticed.”

“What the hell happened?”

“Dog attack.”

“Fell down some stairs.”

Both brothers speak at once, and you look back and forth between them, unamused. “Okay. Tell me, don’t tell me, I don’t care. Do you need help?”

The taller one hesitates, but your new friend interrupts. “She’s harmless. Hopefully.”

His brother looks skeptical, but he seems to weigh his options. “Okay, sure. That’s-- can you help him get inside? I need to… I need to go finish up something.” He looks back at his brother. “Dean? That okay?”

Dean. You look back at him and his eyes are a little unfocused, but he shrugs. “Not like I have many other options, huh?”

“Okay.” You say. “Don’t worry, I took a first aid course, like… five years ago.”

Dean’s face brightens with a sharp laugh. “Don’t worry, she says!”

“Dean,” his brother says sharply, “let her help you get inside before you pass out. I can’t let you die when you still owe me a hundred bucks.”

“That’s because you cheated, Sammy--”

“No offense,” you interrupt, “and I really hate to break up this brotherly love, but can we get a move on before someone else comes out here?”

“She’s smart. Listen to her.” Sammy -- Sam? You don’t know -- says, with a pointed look at Dean.

He helps you get his brother inside their room before he takes off, pressing a first aid kit into your hands.

You’re left there feeling a little helpless and more than a little confused, but you sit down on the edge of the bed next to Dean, anyway. Tentatively, you reach out, moving his hand. He jumps a little at the touch of your hand, but lets you do it, eyeing you warily.

“What do you think? Am I going to live?”

You snort. “You’re pretty nonchalant for a guy who got attacked by a dog and then fell down some stairs.”

He grins, looking down sheepishly. “Don’t suppose you believe either of those things, huh? You seem pretty smart.”

“I don’t know about that. I just dropped out of college and have no idea what I’m doing with my life, but sure.”

He looks mildly alarmed. “Glad you’re here to give me stitches, then.”

Your eyes snap up to his. “Stitches? You didn’t say anything about stitches.”

“Kid. Look at me.” He gestures towards his abdomen. “Look,” he says, gentle, “it’ll be fine. I’ll talk you through the entire thing. Well, at least until I pass out. Then you’re on your own.”

You glare at him.

“Sorry,” he says, laughing. “Not funny. Got it.”

He manages to get his shirt off while gritting his teeth, and directs you to the supplies in the first aid kit that he’ll need. He also instructs you to grab his whiskey out of his bag, and before you can pour it on his stomach, he takes a swig, suggesting you do the same.

“You’re really not going to tell me how this happened, are you.” You ask mildly as you begin stitching. Your hands are a little shaky, but you try not to think about the fact that you’re doing stitches on a person.

Once you disassociate, it’s easier. Plus, Dean distracts you. “You wouldn’t believe me.” He says, and you roll your eyes.

“So mysterious.”

“Just make sure I don’t bleed out, doc.” He snarks back, and the both of you fall silent for a few minutes, you concentrating, and him sucking in ragged breaths whenever the needle catches. You frown, apologizing, and he waves you off.

“You’re doing great. I--” He stops, wincing, but then keeps talking. “I should be thanking you. You didn’t have to come outside.”

“You told me to ask you if I needed anything. Figured it should be a two way street.” You say, shrugging.

“Still.”

“Don’t worry about it. I-- I guess I have a sympathy complex, or something. I wasn’t going to leave you guys out there if you needed help.”

He smiles at you, his eyes starting to get hooded and you can tell he’s fighting to stay awake. “I never told you my name.” He says quietly.

“Your brother did.” You point out, and then, feeling courageous, “I was just going to keep calling you Cute Guy From The Gas Station, though.”

The smile he sends your way after that is truly breathtaking, and you have to look away, because Jesus, it’s like looking into the fucking sun. “Do I get to know your name?” He asks, “Or do I need to come up with a nickname for you, too?”

You blush, finishing up the stitches. “You’re all set.” You say. You decide to throw caution to the wind and tell him your name, and when he repeats it quietly, you feel it in the pit of your stomach.

“Not that you aren’t wonderful company, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall asleep in a few seconds.” He mumbles, head lolling on his shoulders. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply, and finish your job. When you look back up a few minutes later, he’s asleep.

.

.

.

Sam came back an hour or so later, and thanked you profusely for looking after his brother. He’s suspiciously covered in dirt and grime, but you don’t say anything. These dudes could be serial killers, for all you know.

You don’t think they are, though. There’s a kindness to them both that you know wouldn’t be there if they were sociopaths.

You head back to your motel room before Dean wakes up, and you feel stupid because you want to leave a note or something. It’s dumb, and you’re pretty sure you shouldn’t have all these feelings about a guy you literally just met.

You pretty much collapse into bed, and you’re asleep before your head even hits the pillow.

In the morning, you’re woken up by knocking on your door, and you’re somehow not surprised to see Dean there when you open the door cautiously, looking a little pale, but otherwise no worse for the wear.

“Hey.” He says, smiling softly at you. Your heart rate picks up.

“Hi. Feeling okay?”

“Pretty good, all things considered.” He rocks back on his heels. “I wanted to thank you.”

“You don’t have to--”

“Yes I do. You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to do any of it, but you did, and you made me laugh, and…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway. I’ve got something for you as a token of my undying appreciation.”

He reaches behind him and whips out a packet of beef jerky, and you can’t help it, you grin at him.

“I can’t believe…”

“It’s all yours, sweetheart.” He says, and your heart jumps at the term of endearment. “I think you earned it.”

“You’re an asshole.” You tell him, but you’re still beaming at him.

He grins right back. “Yeah, well. Listen, we’re going to get going. I just wanted to say thanks, really.”

“You’re welcome.” You reply quietly, looking down.

“I’ll see you around, I guess.” He says, hesitating, before turning to walk back in the direction of his car.

“Dean?” You call out, deciding that while you’re already making possibly life-changing decisions, you might as well do something a little crazy.

He stops, turning around with a questioning look on his face, and you stride towards him, your hands going to his cheeks to pull his mouth down to yours. He doesn’t miss a beat, hands falling to your waist and keeping you both from stumbling as you kiss him, hard. He makes a sort of strangled noise into your mouth but holds you tighter, not letting an inch of space get between you.

When you break apart, he looks a little dazed, and you can only imagine how you must look.

“For the road,” you say breathlessly, and he grins at you.

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

You laugh, embarrassed, but he tilts your mouth back up and kisses you again, a deep kiss that has your toes curling in your shoes as you match him breath for breath.

After, you watch him pull out of the parking lot, waving at Sam in the passenger seat, a piece of paper with a scribbled phone number on it burning a hole in your pocket, a plastic bag of gas station snacks in the other hand.

Dropping out of college is turning out to be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

[ellen-reincarnated1967]

An Avenger’s Flaw

Summary: You are gifted; you are an Avenger.  But you have a secret: when you are induced with panic, your powers take on a mind of their own.  Will you still be an asset to the team?  

Characters: Reader, Bruce Banner, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff

Pairings: Um, she’s kind of a loner but crushes on Bucky?

For @letsgetoutalive

Mental Illness Awareness Challenge

Beta’d by the awesomely talented @iwriteshortstuff  Thank you so much Claire!

Panic Attacks: pan·ic at·tackˈpanik əˌtak, noun: panic attack; plural noun panic attacks – a sudden feeling of acute and disabling anxiety

Symptoms: Shortness of breath or hyperventilation. Heart palpitations or racing heart. Chest pain or discomfort. Trembling or shaking. Choking feeling. Feeling unreal or detached from your surroundings. Sweating. Nausea or upset stomach. Feeling dizzy, light-headed, or faint. Numbness or tingling sensations. Hot or cold flashes. Fear of dying, losing control, or going crazy.

Superpower: Freezing Time

Your latest mission with The Avengers was pretty cut and dry.  Get in, find the Intel – which happened to be a who, a computer hacker from Des Moines – not a what, get out. Engage, disengage, knock out the bad guys that got in your way. That part tended to be Bruce, Tony, Steve, and Bucky’s MO, while you used your ability to stop time and thus freeze what was happening around you to assist in the mayhem that was a standard Shield operation.

What you tended to avoid were the thoughts that Hydra would also be there, maybe two steps ahead, as it was in your best interest to avoid those thoughts.  No one on the team knew, but when you had been captured along with Bucky two months back, your anxiety and panic attacks had come back.  You supposed water boarding, electric shock, and regular beatings would be the prime cause of the resurgence of your attacks.

The Avengers loved having you around; you had a great personality, kick ass powers, honestly, who else could make time stand still with just a single focused thought and the extension of hands?

You had stopped many complications; Tony was nearly decapitated by one of his many “projects” in the lab and if it weren’t for FRIDAY’s alert and your controlled focus on the robotics, Tony would probably still be a pain in the ass even without a head.

Natasha was mid-flight on her motorcycle as a stinger was directed her way, nearly rendering her unconscious. With your powers, you were able to freeze the attempted kill, and by the time you released your hold on her, Steve’s shield was in place to deflect the stinger, causing it to explode mid-air in a plume of smoke. Natasha landed safely, burning rubber to get to the next bad guy.

Today though, in sauntered Hans, one of Hydra’s henchmen; the same man that had relentlessly tortured you months ago.  The same man now looked at you with predatory eyes, approaching the line of Avengers who had your back.  All you had to do was cease his movements, stop him from taking another step as he raised his Luger towards you, but as you raised your own hands in preparation to stop the bullet, you recalled Bucky’s screams from that night. You felt yourself choking on water, unable to move on the table. Reflexively, you felt your body tense and retract into itself, beads of sweat lining your brow. Not from exertion, no, there wasn’t much to exert. You had blinked, and the gun went off, bullet whizzing through the air.

“No!”

You screamed in anguish. This can’t be happening, not here, not now, not when your team needed you the most, but the shaking of your limbs, twitching of your fingers, the numbness creeping down your jaw to your left arm, the detached feeling that you were powerless against the enemy caused you to freeze. Your hands dropped, the bullet mere millimeters from striking your chest plate, and the anguished cry of Bucky as he jumped and tossed you to the side like a rag doll was the last you heard.

All the fear, panic, all the anxiety about losing control of the uncontrollable had finally resurfaced, and had gotten Bucky shot.

Tiny lights flickered over your opened eyes. You blinked, realizing Bruce and his tiny penlight were to blame, checking you over for injuries or concussion.

You had always cared about Bucky, and his strength was something that you had always considered when in the field, like when he tossed you out of the way, but lately you had been stewing on what that strength would do in a less professional relationship. The mere size of Barnes made you wonder if he’d snap you in half like a twig.

Bucky.

“Bucky!” You shot up, rather tried to, but your arms were anchored to the table, straps over your chest.  You kicked your feet in frustration.

“Hey, hey, calm down YNN.” Bruce injected a syringe of something into your neck. “This is going to subdue your attacks for now. Tony’s working on something more stable, more…fashionable.”

“Where. Is. Bucky,” you grit out before the sedative had a chance to kick in. As if on cue, in he walked, non-metal arm in a sling, alive. You squinted up at him. “How are you not in a bed like me?”

“Super strength and healing, Doll,” he reassured you. “Rest, we’ll talk logistics later.”

“I’m so sorry, Buck, it’s all my fault, everything I touch turns to ash,” you mumbled as the sedative took hold. “I…wish…I…had…,” you dozed off, “control.”

Two days later you had woken up in your own room in Stark Tower, redressed in yoga pants, a tank top – sans bra – and when you went to lift your hands to rub the much needed sleep from your eyes, you noticed two slender metal cuffs on both wrists.

“What the f-?” anxious, you fought to tear them off, trying to yank them over your slender wrists. When you did, a tiny shock traversed through your body, and the anxiousness you were feeling slowly ebbing away.

“Hey, there, Panic.” Tony walked into your room, holding something under one arm, carrying a breakfast tray in both hands.  

“Har, har, Metal Head,” you snarked. “So I guess now everyone knows I’m just as much a freak as the ones Shield tries to apprehend.”

“Don’t worry, Coulson has no desire to commandeer you for his team of misfits. You’re stickin’ with us, Panic.” You sighed at the nickname.

“Tony, can you not call me that, please?”

“Why not,” he shrugged with a glimmer in his eyes, “it fits, just like my uniform is made of…,” he silenced himself, because he knew it was not made of Iron.  

“Right, well my panic attacks don’t define me, Tony,” you side-eyed him, annoyed.

“You’re right, but they did almost get you killed,” Tony’s voice was hushed, laced with concern, a rarity for him. He was always there for you, and it was evident in his eyes that he wondered just how long you had kept this secret from him.  He looked to you as the sister he never wanted, but was blessed with anyway.

“I almost got Bucky killed,” you whispered. “What if it was Natasha, or Wanda? They don’t have super strength,” you chided yourself. “There’d be no coming back from that, Tony.” You could feel the anxiety strangling your thoughts, all the what ifs, the endless possibilities of incoming fears and struggles, and suddenly the wrist guards shocked you twice, the second one almost sending you into convulsions.  Tony was quick to your bedside, the breakfast table knocked over, coffee and waffles staining your comforter.  

“Hey, YNN, hey, it’ll be okay,” Tony took you in his arms and rocked you as you sobbed, “I’ll have to reconfigure those cuffs for you, but in the meantime, I have this shirt, it’s like a compression vest they use on children with special needs, pretty much a huge hug in all the right places.”

“It won’t shock the shit outta me will it, Tony?” you sniffed into his t-shirt, “because that really sucked.”

“No, YNN, it’ll just feel like this,” and he held you tight, your chest pressing against his. The feeling of warmth and security quickly pushed the negative thoughts to the nether realm.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky and Steve had been standing outside your bedroom door when they heard your screams. Bucky held his breath as he watched Tony hold you close and Steve noticed the rigidness in his stance.

“She’s in good hands, pal,” Steve clapped him on the shoulder, “but I’m bettin’ you’d rather her be in yours, huh?”

“Let it go, Rogers,” Bucky snapped and cradled his good arm to his chest, hating that you were going through this mental torture.

Three missions out and you had yet to get back in the field, despite everyone trying to recruit you. Natasha even promised that you could fly the Quinjet, but you could see straight through her. You knew they wanted the best for you, but you were suffocated by the fear that your panic would take over and that next time, your teammates wouldn’t survive.

The compression shirt, or HAC as Tony called it (since Hugs and Cuddles just didn’t sound superheroish enough), was working, you’d give him that.  You still wore the cuffs, now recalibrated to a milder shock level, and coupled with the shirt, you were getting better at stopping time.

Bucky took it upon himself to help you recover. Who better, he thought, than the person you had been tortured with all those months back?

You were both sparring in the training room, when out of the corner of your eye you saw Steve toss his shield towards Bucky. The metal disc whizzed through the air, straight for his head.  You stretched out your hands on instinct, a blue current of light flickered from the cuffs – a new addition to your powers – and you concentrated on the flying saucer.

Everyone and everything around you stilled and as you walked slowly towards the impeding disc. With one hand you flicked it aside, the other keeping Bucky and Steve frozen.  

Once the shield was falling to the mats, you released the two Avengers from your hold.

“Nice work, Doll.” Bucky surprised you with a hug that lifted you off the ground, and before he tossed you over his shoulder you saw a smirk on Steve’s face.

“Why Bucky?” you asked.

“You owed him a save, YNN,” Steve smiled as Bucky put you down. You leaned down and tossed him his shield.  "What better way to see if you could do it than when you were distracted, am I right?“

“As always, Cap,” you were smug, but grateful.

“I see Panic is suited up,” Tony ambled in, his armor glistening.

“Tony, what did I tell you about that nickname?” you felt the anxiousness rising, but with Bucky’s presence and HAC, you breathed in and out and calmed.

“Reclaim it, own it, kid,” he instructed. “It may not be who you are, but it sure makes you one hell of a team player!”

“Just like I’m ‘The Winter Soldier’, ” Bucky chimed in, “but without the brainwashing psycho crap.”

“So what do you say, Doll,” Steve approached you, hand extended, “shall we get this show on the road?”

“I thought it was ‘Avengers Assemble’”, you winked and he grinned broadly.

“Natasha has the Quinjet prepped and fueled. How about we assemble outside, that is, if you’re up to a mission, Panic?” You grinned.

“Let’s do this.” You sprinted towards the exit with the trio of men behind you. “One day at a time, YN,” you said aloud, “One day at a time.”

Tags/4ever: @iwantthedean @jodyri @faegal04 @adriellej @stephizzle94 @d-s-winchester @oriona75 @buckysmetallicstump @sammyandddeano @chaos-and-the-calm67 @smoothdogsgirl @supernaturalyobessed @kas-not-cas @iwriteshortstuff @roxy-davenport @chloemac86 @20secspnfam4 @sleep-silent-angel @dauntlessdiva @waiting4thedoctor @mrswhozeewhatsis @adriellej @mayasmedberg @my-supernatural-dreams @jpadjackles @sleepywinchester @sup3rnaturalunkn0wn @faith-in-dean @bohowitch @stilinski15 @breexwrites @deanwinchesterisamazing @bennyyh @sis-tafics @dorky-and-i-know-it @wordstothewisereaders @percussiongirl2017 @sam-reidzugzwang @crzcorgi @sunriserose1023 @savvythedork @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @celahcain @winchester-writes @charliebradbury1104 @we-know-a-little-about-a-lot @freekryptonitecloud @everythingintensifies @i-like-your-assbutt @chelsea072498 @squirrelchester @chelsea-winchester @thetalesofmooseandsquirrel sorry!!!

@bovaria @captaincorruptor @stories-from-stark-tower bc i admire your avengers fics

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Younger post-ep ramble 6x03

This week’s episode of Younger, ‘The Unusual Suspect’, was a big one. No scenes felt wasted, each one moving the story along and it all felt very purposeful. Despite some capital H hotness and really light and funny moments being scattered throughout, mostly thanks to fave (and only) NYC agent Redmond and the resurrection of some truly classic Diana Trout, there was definitely the sense of tension on the rise. It’s been simmering since the end of this season’s first episode and I feel like this week we have hit an apex.

We open with brunch at Maggie’s and what one can only assume is a time jump (either that or Clare has recovered remarkably well from birthing a baby the size of a four month old) and right away an overarching theme for this episode is established, as Lauren enters raving about the latest hit podcast, Exonerated. I’m gonna come straight out and say that I am so into this premise. The excitement around the table sounded like the break room in my office most days, they definitely nailed the trend of true crime fixation. It immediately allowed for Maggie’s quip about white women loving murder, a delightful array of OTT facial expressions from Liza and Kelsey dropping in that Millennial will be meeting with Audrey Colbert, subject of the podcast, to nab her book before anyone else does. Of course the other big news is that Josh and Clare appear to be happily family-ing it up (though mommy wipes, daddy dipes = vom in my mouth a little bit) and Maggie is dealing with unresolved BoUBT (Back of Uber Birth Trauma). Lauren’s vow to help get Maggie back on the ‘h for hunt’ once again epitomises why I love her character so and I want to record her sympathetic ‘oh Divaaa’ as my ringtone. I just love that Maggie, of all characters, is the one who seems like she should be the most pragmatic when it comes to something like birth yet her coping level is zero here.

You know who else wasn’t coping? Me and my Liza and Charles loving heart as Liza suddenly up and left the brunch because she ‘was late for a thing’, cue the scene that was released as a sneak peek last week that I have definitely only watched a normal number of times *cough*. The set up for The Rubin Museum from the opening conversation was fab and the fact that Charles and Liza are using the podcast to frame up a role play situation is just too much. Obviously I had seen the scene prior to the ep and while it is certainly *insert flames here*, I can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like not to have expected it (actual combustion probable). I mean regardless, I will never think about a trip to the museum in the same way again. The voice-over narrating what we were seeing was such a great device that is really different to anything the show has done before, it built the anticipation of what was playing out and it felt like a scene from a movie. The moment when Charles turned and came face to face with Liza was a great reminder of how electric the chemistry between these two can be (actual lightening bolts were sighted) and quite frankly, seeing these characters being adventurous and lustful in their relationship is a yes on all fronts. I think the fact it all took place in a place of intellect and culture was extra fitting, it somehow kept the whole thing true to the characters and I am here for the #nerdlove.

The office drama was amped this whole ep and that of course was largely due to the ever growing reign of our season 6 villain, Quinn. With the time jump since last episode confirmed by the fact that Quinn’s book is both published and sitting on the best seller list, Kelsey and Diana’s first encounter with Quinn as she uses the WiFi for a conference call included a) Diana saying goodbye in Mandarin, which was yet another lovely tidbit to add to this character while also setting up the classic Diana we got throughout this ep and; b) some of the best fashion and hairstyles all in one scene (and episode as a whole) ever. I mean the fashion on this show is always next level but this episode in particular took it up a notch: Diana’s high-neck printed electric blue top and Kelsey’s hair/makeup/outfit in the conference room were so stunning I was actually distracted by them.

Kelsey’s office refurb was also noted, loved Liza’s ‘set it (Claw) on fire’ comment and of course, Diana telling Kelsey that now she is publisher, maybe she should stop speaking like a trucker was D. Trout golden line no.1 for this episode. Even better was seeing Kelsey, Diana and Liza settling into this new way of working. I adore the dynamic between these three and the way we’re seeing Diana adjust to her former assistant now being a peer without a fuss is why this show is so wonderful. It would have been easy to have Diana trying to assert herself and maintain some sort of authority, but to see her just want to get on with the work and do the best job she can gives a great credibility to the notion that this character is the best in the industry. I could pretty much write out every Diana Trout line from ‘The Unusual Suspect’ and leave this entire ramble at that (’why is everybody in this country obsessed with true crime? Actual people have died and they’re selling branded beanies on Etsy’ LOLLLLL) but I would then need to do that for Redmond because the fave one and only agent in NYC was back this week and as always, he was in fine form.

The pitch of Audrey Colbert’s book is up there with the funniest scenes of this series, from the creepy af Audrey (A+ casting of Willa Fitzgerald) to Liza and Kelsey trying to play it cool while being hella freaked out to Redmond’s attempt to present a compelling pitch being railroaded by Audrey’s ‘crippling lack of media training’, it was Younger writing and delivery at its finest from start to finish. Seeing Redmond so unnerved by Audrey was unnerving in itself and really, I am so happy with the amount of Michael Urie in this episode. Our next encounter was of course when Kelsey and Liza interrupt his infrared sauna treatment (again, so many hilarious lines, I really feel that a transcript of the entire episode is about the only way to do it justice but may be problematic to pass off as a recap/review…or would it?) and discover that Audrey’s book is being shopped around thanks to the dagger next to Claw on the bestseller list, which = bulk sales = dodgy business = Chinese bots tweeting = Quinn is the worst (math doesn’t lie) = Audrey doesn’t want to be associated with anything suspicious on account of the fact she’s been accused of murdering two ppl (fair). I do want to back this truck up a little though to the way Kelsey and Liza discovered their next big hit was being pitched to half the major publishing houses around town.

Diana Trout hobbling into the office on crutches before dropping the bomb that her injury was the result of being so frazzled upon hearing the news re: Audrey going elsewhere, that she got caught up in her reformer (just go and re-watch this scene, you will not be sorry) is everything I never knew I wanted to see. The reference to Jackie Dunn, who you may remember has been a longstanding nemesis of sorts of Diana’s, was such an utter delight as a long time fan and once again, seeing Kelsey, Liza and Diana all equally vexed by the news was so great and continued to solidify them as a team. I promise no more direct quotes* (*this is a very loose promise), but ‘postpone the power-trip Kelsey, I am handicapped’ in response to Kelsey’s stunned expression upon Diana’s request for espresso, is so outrageously funny and makes this whole scene an absolute stand out on account of its hilarity.

I missed Lauren and Diana interacting this week, however I appreciated seeing Lauren be the wonderful friend she is to Maggie and Josh. Taking Maggie to the support group obviously allowed us to meet Beth, who Maggie engaged for some one on one tutoring (looking forward to seeing where that goes this season) after returning to the store to apologise for running out during the group session. While Maggie was lining up her ongoing therapy, Lauren and Josh shared a sweet and heartfelt moment that highlights why their friendship is such a lovely one on this show. Obviously Josh had told Lauren that he and Clare had a moment that made him think, ‘maybe we should make this relationship work’ and Lauren is following up to see where his head and heart are at.

I absolutely loved said scene between Clare and Josh, when he had finally settled the baby, asks Clare if she wants to go to her bed and then joins her on the floor when she says she sleeps where she can now. There was such a sense of unity and care and it made my heart swell. So in his discussion with Lauren we also find out the baby is named Gemma (last name TBC, for both father and daughter) and when pressed about what he actually wants, Josh reveals that he doesn’t think he and Clare are right for each other. I have said it before, but for all the wacky that Lauren can be, she is the most incredible friend who only wants the best for those around her in such a relentless and genuine way and this scene really highlighted that once again (the line about her dad having such a little bottom though brought us straight back to Lauren light in the best possible way).

The divorce proposal was such a great scene and while I was hoping that perhaps Clare and Josh could work things out, I am thrilled to see that the writers put both these characters on the same page right from the get go. I love that this show constantly bucks stereotypes and expectations of how certain characters and relationships will play out, so to see two adults who have an agreed desire to put their child first but know they need to do so outside a romantic relationship is something really unique on television. I have always enjoyed Josh and Clare’s dynamic and I hope we get to see a real, loving co-parenting arrangement play out.

Kelsey’s interaction with Zane when she was buying a bottle of Dom Perignon to celebrate scoring Audrey’s book (eek!) is my favourite interaction of theirs this season. Their banter was really effortless, Zane’s, ‘you’re not listening’, as he pulled out the cash to pay for the one remaining bottle smooth and a little bit over confident, but really played up that he has something in the works that is legit. I especially love that we later discover both are buying champagne to celebrate the same win. I feel like we also need to stop and appreciate that they were about to drop $400 between them on two bottles of bubbles like it was no big deal. What is this life? How do I get it?

Though admittedly Kelsey deserves a nice glass of something this ep considering all that she is dealing with. I have made no secret that I have struggled with Kelsey’s character these past couple of seasons and no one is more surprised than me at how much I am getting on board with her this season. Kelsey calling out Quinn point blank that she faked her best seller was so good to watch and seeing Liza backing her up and standing her own ground made this extra satisfying. Gah, I just LOVE how Laura Benanti plays Quinn and her stating that ‘the money is real, what else do you need?’ is so cold and matter-of-fact. What I love most about this whole confrontation is that it immediately made me think back to the first time we met Quinn - her whole presentation was about the fact that no one wants your success more than you do and that women helping women is actually holding women back. That right there should’ve been the red flag that her “helping” Liza and Kelsey was not legit.

And so her true motivation for investing in Empirical becomes evident. It had nothing to do with saving an ailing publishing house, it was to ensure her book would be published, she could have some control over how big it would become and be seen to have the support of a reputable publishing house, all in order to gain name recognition so she could successfully run for Senate. In her mind, Kelsey and Liza benefit from the whole thing financially so it’s a win win but she also holds the power so feels like she has the upper hand. Which is why the scene at The Cut (which is so fab, the looks Quinn shoots Kelsey are searing), when audience members question the dagger next to her book, is so damn satisfying. Kelsey’s move to announce Quinn’s run for Senate is so bold, I am very on board and boy oh boy Kels, I think you’ve got yourself quite the adversary. I was very much Liza watching this all unfold, shocked, impressed and a little bit scared for and of Kelsey and what this all means.

Now Liza was late to the event because she was living out the next chapter of the podcast at the Brownstone which we need to discuss, however I first owe some of you an apology. At the end of last week’s ramble I suggested you may need a fire blanket at the ready after seeing the museum scene sneak peek to you know, contain the flames. I fear some of you may have deployed it prematurely (this is not a euphemism though I am very aware it sounds like one) in response to how damn hot that scene was, but I was not to know that we were going to get this later scene, in which Liza just wanders into the townhouse BECAUSE SHE HAS A FREAKING KEY (suspected ep 2, confirmed ep 3, appreciated always) and decides to have a good old snoop at her bf’s mail. Similar to the museum scene, this set up felt more like a movie than a typical Younger episode. There was an ominous weight to it; the music, the lighting, the Charles padding silently up behind her (barefoot again?) and the tension was palpable.

Liza asks Charles about what’s going on, he provides a vague answer about moving some things around before asking her if she’s listened to chapter 7 of Exonerated, which conveniently mirrors almost exactly what just occurred, with Audrey’s ex finding her going through his things. Ok, so this is where it gets tricky for me. This entire exchange, from the way these two fall into that speaking in third person and wrapping a narrative around themselves, the way Charles wraps his arms around her, the way they look at each other, I mean, this whole thing makes my heart spontaneously combust because it is sexy and flirty, dripping with desire and just really really hot *reaches for backup fire blanket*. But then Liza is clearly distracted by that letter and Charles’ deflection and part of me is wondering why on Earth she isn’t pressing him harder for an answer or following up, I mean, we saw how open they were with one another last season, but then the other part of me looks at Liza and thinks, you are a person who has eyes and that whole situation is right there in front of you so I get it, go with it and worry about it later.

I am aware of how long this ramble already is, but I am going to do something a little different here and digress slightly from the episode itself and put out some conjecture on my part. It could well be completely over-analysing (lol, I’m neck deep into a freaking novella about a 25 min episode of TV, I think that’s a given) but I know that there is concern about Charles behaving secretively and I have seen some people expressing disappointment in this season so far.

For what it’s worth, my take on it is that it might seem as though some of the characters are behaving a little out of character but I feel that actually, the characters are behaving in ways we haven’t seen before because they’re in situations we haven’t seen them in before. As invested viewers we feel like we know these characters as whole people in every aspect of their lives when in fact, we’ve not seen Liza at the top of her game in her career or Josh as a parent or Charles in a romantic relationship or away from the office. So while the way they behave might not be the way we imagined it, to me it isn’t so much out of character as seeing a new dimension of the character. Also, the addition of flaws does not necessarily equate to destroying a character, it builds them out and makes them more real, if anything.

In relation to Charles and Liza’s relationship and the ‘Charles is being shady’ concern, IMO the key purpose of that is to create tension and you can FEEL it building. As crazy as it may sound, I think the Liza/Charles dynamic thrives in the build and resolution of tension and that’s why their moments in this episode felt so electric and hot, it’s like those unspoken, unresolved tension points charge their chemistry. As much as I think I would love to have Charles and Liza sitting around blissfully happy (I mean, I would obvs), the reality is, it’s not that fun to watch. I believe the tension is building towards a resolution of sorts that will actually put them in a better place and move the relationship forward. (*Full disclosure: since writing this I listened to the podcast from ATX fest and Joe Murphy, one of the writers for Younger, said very similar things so if you listened to that podcast I promise I have not just taken what Joe said and pretended they’re my thoughts, I legit had this written and then heard (ngl, I may be feeling a little smug as a result). I’m putting it down to us both being Australian because clearly that is a thing that makes sense).

I also think there is an unsettled feeling this season because the entire premise of this show, the roles these characters played, the interactions we have grown accustomed to week after week, has been completely flipped upside down. As viewers we garner comfort from the routine of watching a show but also from knowing where the players are positioned, how they will behave and what it looks and feels like. I think the writers know exactly what they’re doing and are achieving exactly what they would’ve hoped (apologies writers if this is wildly inaccurate and I’m just assuming things incorrectly left, right and centre) - everyone is sitting in discomfort and it’s largely due to the unfamiliarity of it all. The set up, the way we’re seeing characters etc, it reflects what the characters themselves are experiencing on our screens, which is all kinds of meta and actually pretty cool. But the further you push that discomfort and make viewers sit in it, the greater the impact and more satisfying the resolution. It’s like waiting for a beat to drop in a song, the build up can become almost unbearable but damn it’s good when it lands. That’s how I feel this is all going to go.

That is what I meant by this episode feeling like an apex, it feels as though there’s a limit to how far an audience can be taken in a state of flux without some resolve somewhere. And the writers know this, it’s what they do, it’s WHY we tune in. I’m not suggesting that everything is going to go back to the way it was, the evolution of a show like Younger is exciting and part of the fun is seeing where it goes, but we are three episodes in to a twelve episode season and while we consume it week to week, it ultimately has to make narrative sense across the whole season. It’s as though we’re at the end of an ‘establishing’ phase right now. So I am reserving any judgement until I see how it all comes together, but have no doubt there will be many resolutions and many new points of tension throughout.

Right now, I am thoroughly enjoying all that we’re getting and I think the writing this season has been excellent so far, with moments like the final scene of ‘The Unusual Suspect’ providing us with the first true cliffhanger of the season. Our last bit of Redmond for the ep was peak Redmond (I love that he dashed off to a better table uptown), and of course the big Mercury reveal, YESSS. That moment of realisation washing over Liza’s face, props to Sutton Foster, and I cannot WAIT to see how this all goes down. The prospect of inter-generational team ups of Kelsey/Liza vs. Zane/Charles while members of each team are in relationships with one another is the kind of set up I live for in a TV show. Is it July 10th yet?