#man that word limit has really gotten thrown down the drain the past couple of requests huh

[midnight-mourning]

Sneaky Santa

❄️❄️Midnight's DCA December Day 9❄️❄️

cooked this up last night for y'all, but waited to post to make sure it was actually coherent lmao, anywho, hope you enjoy! Edit: reviewed this morning and chat 2 am midnight was cookinggg

Prompt: ok ok i have a pretty vague idea that i really love. y/n would be a burglar who breaks into the pizzaplex on christmas eve/day (cos no one wants to work at christmas time, so there should be minimal security, right?..). but they quickly sense they are not alone and dca interaction ensues :') i feel like you could go different ways with this, full chase sequence, or just witty banter with the dca. you can play with around the y/n's motives for committing theft/breaking in. i'd love to see what you cook up :D

Word Count: 2630

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The side door opens with a click, and as it creaks ajar, you can't help the grin that splits your face. Success, and after 15 minutes of fumbling in the cold, you're more than happy to finally get inside. And get to work, for that matter. 

You shove your kit back into your pocket, and adjust your mask. Slinking inside, it's as quiet and dead as you hoped. Even the cameras, which you'd think they'd bother to power on for this very reason, don't seem to be active. All the better for you, really. 

Still, you proceed with caution, while the place is more than dead in terms of human staff, there are some bots lingering about. From the last time you were in here you think they were just called S.T.A.F.F. bots? Doesn't matter, you didn't need to take any chances. 

You keep to the shadowy parts of the building, making your way to your first stop; Chica's gift shop. You make quick work, grabbing the limited edition kids jewelry set, and a plush or two for good measure. You make similar stops throughout, a makeup set and costume from Roxy's, a gator golf mini club set, a microphone signed by Freddy himself. Not to mention again, anything else you can grab your hands on. 

You wanted this trip to count, if you were going to be doing something illegal, might as well go all out, yeah? 

You won't deny, it had been a bit of an inner conflict for you at first. You had morals, stealing was wrong and all that jazz. However, stealing from a multi-million dollar corporation who wouldn't even notice the teeny-tiny little dent you've made in their merchandise? Yes, still wrong, but surely not nearly as bad. At least, that's what you tell yourself. 

You glance briefly at the list in your hand, and the map in the other, as you chow down on a cupcake you swiped earlier. You're sitting on a railing overlooking the atrium, the area quiet enough to not draw any attention. Though, still so far so good from what you've been able to tell.

None of the main attractions have been out and about, and if you had to guess, they were either doing their own thing in their rooms—which, an odd but endearing thought to have—or they were simply powered down to conserve energy over the holidays. Regardless, you're able to check off the locations on your map, and the items on your list in an easy peace. 

As luck would have it, you're well ahead of schedule. Only an hour or so in and you're already down to your last location. Circled in red marker and starred; Lucky Stars Gift Shop. 

You'd saved it for last because it was one of the trickier ones to get to. But, with how easy the rest of the night has been, you'd argue it's well worth the risk at this point. While your haul was more than enough, you knew that if you could score there, you'd be set. 

So, finishing your cupcake with a wipe of your shirt sleeve, your off. 

When you arrive, much like all the other locations, the door is thankfully unlocked. You slip inside, and set to work. You were looking once more for a specific item in particular, in this case as set of pajamas. Smalls, along with a pair of matching nightlights if you could find them. 

You find the pjs soon enough, stuffing them in with the rest of your haul. It was starting to get heavy now, and you truly looked the part of a burglar with your big canvas sack. To be fair, it wasn't like you could fit all this in your backpack. Even though you'd foolishly considered it for a brief moment. 

The nightlights are a harder find, not anywhere within easy sight among the toys and stuffies scattered throughout the darkened shop. To be safe though, you swipe a few of those as well. 

You finally spot your prize while doing a sweep over the entire place, both set up on a high shelf behind the counter. You puff out your cheeks, of course they just had to be there of all places.

You shake your head, no matter. You weren't leaving without those nightlights. Especially after catching the sight of the price when trying to order online. Just for merch for the Daycare Attendant of all things. 

Setting down your bag, you start to climb onto the counter, swaying slightly in your rush. You lean over the gap behind the counter and the shelf, finding that you just barely can't reach.

You grit your teeth, and lean further, doing your best to keep your feet steady. When your hand makes contact with a box, you internally cheer. Quickly, you grip it, and the other while you're at it. 

You struggle to contain your excitement, giggling to yourself as you step fully back onto the counter with your goods. 

"Well now, what do we have here?"

"Something of a thief, by the looks of it." The voice turns darker, chuckling. "And not a very clever one, at that."

You freeze then, but keep calm. You were too close now. You weren't expecting any guards at this point, but certainly you could handle these two, you've come too far to not try, anyway. 

You turn, tone smooth. "Well, that's not very nice. I think I've been doing pretty good so far—" The words die on your tongue when you realize that the person behind you are in fact, one bot. One of the very bots that strongly resembled the ceramic copies in your hands.

The blue and white animatronic tilts his head at you, red eyes narrowed. Moon, from what you already know.

"You were saying?" He asks. 

Initial shock gone, you shake your head, huffing as you hop down from the counter. "I believe I've done pretty well so far, not to toot my own horn or anything. And with these, I'll be more than happy to get out of your hair. Or, whatever the equivalent is for you, I suppose." You stuff the nightlights in your bag, head held high. 

"Is that so? You'll just walk on out of here, without a bit of confrontation or trouble?" The naptime attendant sounds more amused than anything, so you'll keep trying your luck. 

You shrug. "Well yes, I really would rather not be a burden on you. Would hate to be the cause of disruption so close to the holidays. Consider it a gesture of the heart." You put your hand to your chest, bowing slightly. 

"Gesture of the heart—" Moon laughs then, hard. 

You take the chance to slip by him, crossing your arms as you lean against a clothes rack. "Something the matter? I'll have you know I mean what I say, especially to a pretty face."

"A pretty, pretty face?" He asks between chuckles. The bot pretends to wipe a tear. "My, you're a curious little thief aren't you?"

You wink. "I like to keep things exciting. No need for unnecessary tension and all that, you know? And if I wasn't on the job, well, I'd be using more than just my words, let's say that."

You're almost to the door now, hand ghosting over the handle. If you can get a head start, you'll surely make it. Unfortunately, you're not so lucky. 

"Well, I'm afraid to disappoint, but I believe tension is all I have to offer, you Star. I hope you'll understand."

You keep your eyes locked on each other for a moment more. Then, as he launches toward you, you rip open the door, running out into the light again. 

As you're running, you hear a voice call out behind you. "What? You're not going to try to woo me too? Am I good enough for you, Sunshine?"

"Of course you are!" You say back. "I just figured a change of scenery would do us some good, is all."

You find you have no other choice but to enter the Daycare itself. Certainly not your favorite option, but you can hear the playtime attendant gaining on your fast. You'll have to fake him out in here and hope for the best. 

He chuckles. "How kind of you! So tell me, what's convinced you this was a good idea, friend? You have me oh so curious."

"Ah, I wouldn't want to bore you with all the details." You wave your hand, then jump to climb one of the playset walls. "That's much less fun. Instead, tell me about yourself? You come here often?"

You hear him close behind, just missing at swiping your leg in his grasp. "Well, I live here, so as it would turn out, yes! You seem too familiar with the layout yourself, Starshine."

"What makes you think that?" You scoff. Though, you can't say he's wrong, you're just hoping the mask is enough to keep your identity a secret. Would hate to be banned now. 

You stare down at him, head in your hands as Sun stares up at you, rays flicking and eyes narrowed. "We got a peak at your little collection. You're well aware of what's the priciest items here! That's something that takes time, and planning."

"Aw, why thank you! If I wasn't preoccupied, I would return that compliment with more than just verbal appreciation."

He leans against the playset, gaze focused on you. "You could always try."

You grin, and for the briefest of seconds consider the offer, then shake your head. 

"Ah, I would. But I've got no guarantees it won't turn sour, in the end." You tsk drearily. "I'm afraid our love must stay as it is. Treasured from afar in secrecy. Surely you understand, no?"

 Sun nods, hand going to his faceplate just as dramatically. "Oh course, how foolish of me to consider such. If only—Hey! That's cheating!"

You snicker to yourself as you race across the playset. "I'm sorry, my dear! But time is of the essence. Perhaps another time I can listen to your sweet nothings—"

You slip, foot catching the wrong side of the plastic bridge. Your eyes widen as you begin to fall, then squeeze shut as you brace for impact. 

It doesn't come, instead, you find yourself in a reassuring grip. Peeking an eye open, you find Sun staring down at you, concern evident in his eyes. 

Your breathing is heavy as you wait for him to do something, anything. 

"I know those eyes." He says in the quiet. "It's you."

Ah, shit. 

In a state of utter defeat, and total shock, you wind up bound in a spare set of jump ropes, sat in one of the tiny chairs for good measure. 

Meanwhile, Sun is pacing the back and forth in front of you, speaking in a one-sided conversation to his counterpart. 

"But why, surely there's no reason for them to have been—"

"I know, I know. It's wrong, but that doesn't, no, no you're right."

"What if we, it might work. I just don't want to—" He turns to stare at you, then shakes his head.

You sigh. This blows. You'd spent so long planning this out, and now you're about to lose everything. Unless, you can convince them that you really meant no major harm. 

"Listen. I know this looks, bad. But I can explain!"

The bot turns to you then, curious, but suspicious. You don't blame him. 

Your head hangs low, guilt sinking in in that moment. "Look, money's tight. Really tight. Why do you think I come here to get daycare services? It's dirt cheap, you know. And, and the kids were just so excited for Christmas this year, I saw an opportunity and I just,"—You shake your head—"I'm not proud, at all. I just, wanted to give them something nice, you know? That's the honest truth. So, before you turn me in, please, just give me a chance. You can take everything back, but please let me walk out of here tonight. I, I won't come back, I'll find other arrangements, just please, please don't tell anyone about this."

You wait for him to start laughing at you, you expect it even. Even if it was the truth, it was still a ridiculous notion. All this for the sake of some toys? God, imagine what the cops are going to say when the get a load of this—

The jump ropes keeping you tied up suddenly loosen. 

Looking up, you see Sun's gaze is on you, unreadable in that moment. Then, he hands you your sack, and your backpack, and points to the door. 

"I, you're, you're letting me... really?" You're more than surprised, you're flabbergasted. 

He nods, helping you to stand. "I believe you, we both do. We've seen how much your care for them, and we understand. To a point, that is. Now hurry along, before it gets too late."

"I, I don't know what to say..."

Sun chuckles. "I think you'll be better off not worrying about your words for once, Sunbeam."

"Still, I just,"—you shake your head, and in a brief moment of unthinking, wrap your arms around the bot in a hug—"I mean it, thank you."

He stiffens, but returns the gesture. 

You pull away after a moment, slinging your bags back over your shoulders. "You know, if I'm not banned, we should um, do this again sometime. In a more, legal setting."

"O-oh?"

You smirk. "Yeah. What? I told you, I mean what I say."

You turn then, heading for the door before they change their mind. Though based on Sun's last words to you, you doubt that.

"We'd like that!" He calls, and for some reason, the sincerity of it makes you blush under your mask. 

Sure enough, when you discover that Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Plex is hiring, in Superstar Daycare no less, you find yourself easily able to fulfill that promise. 

"Almost ready for naptime, Starshine?" Sun asks as he comes up to where you stand leaning against the security desk.

You nod. "I am, but are you?"

"What makes you say that?" He asks, tone anything but innocent.

You tsk. "You've not been subtle today, Sunny. I can tell when someone wants to kiss me, it's my sixth sense, so to say."

"Just like how lock picking, bribery, pick-pocketing, and seduction~ are also your sixth sense?" He asks, leaning down to your height.

Your cheeks heat up, and you cough. "Of course."

Sun chuckles, closing the gap between the two of you with a brief peck. You are on the clock, after all. 

When he pulls away, flicking the lights off, you find Moon staring down at you with that same look. 

You huff, smile on your lips. "Let me guess, you want a turn now too?"

"Of course not." His hand cups your face with a tsk. "Could you think so little of me?"

You grin as he bends down further.

He shakes his head slightly, "No, I think I'll take a bit more than just one simple kiss."

"One not good enough for you?" You question. 

"Not for all the trouble you've been. I think at least three kisses are in order, to make up for it, don't you?"

Your arms wrap around his neck with a giggle. "Well, I certainly won't protest."

You meet somewhere in the middle, and just like you always do these days, find yourself grateful to your previous self for the, really, quite stupid idea of trying to break into the plex the night of Christmas Eve. 

Because sometimes bad ideas can have good outcomes, and this was a clear sign of that. 

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Thank you for the request @soupdweller!! Was a very fun little idea that I MAY have gotten carried away with hehe (i see the word banter and HAVE to go all out yk?), hope you had as much fun as I did :)

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[d3-iseefire]

Yet When The Other Doth Far Roam, Chapter One

Summary:

Jane Rebecca Barnes has spent a lifetime protecting Steve Rogers.

She protected him from bullies he seemed to attract like a dog attracted fleas.

She protected him from the winters that did its best to kill him every damn year.

She protected him from her own treacherous heart that refused to see him as a brother no matter how many times her brain gave the order.

She protected him, no matter what it took, no matter what it cost. Even if it meant joining the military. Even it if meant leaving him behind. She did it all without hesitation, without question because it was Steve, and she’d do anything for him.

Because she loved him, and she’d be with him til the end of the line.

No matter what.

Note: This story is a sequel to my FemSteve story, “Gold to Airy Thinness Beat,” and follows the events of “First Avenger” from FemBucky’s POV (meaning we won’t be seeing a lot of the Steve to Cap transformation but will instead be seeing what Bucky went through after she left). The reason it’s a sequel is that the third story in this series is a multiverse story where Stephanie/Bucky will meet Jane (Rebecca)/Steve and also a few others. Then there will be a fourth story following another person we meet in that third story, and maybe a few oneshots. :D

Because I know someone will ask, she has the name Rebecca (and goes by it) because of the third story where there are going to be several Bucky’s running around and I need a way to start telling them all apart. :D

To the several readers who have patiently waited four years (and politely asked along the way): I’m sorry it took so long and I hope it ends up being worth the wait. :)

Rating: T Warnings: None Other Important Tags: Eventual Happy Ever After (I don’t write sad endings. There’s enough of them in real life, without me adding in fictional ones. Also, I literally said in the note that she and Steve would be meeting Stephanie and Bucky in the third story so there ya go!). :) :)

Jane Rebecca Buchanan Barnes, so named to appease both grandmothers and her father's bizarre obsession with the 15th President, stood at the back of the theater and scanned the crowd for the third time. The flickering light from the screen gave her just enough to make out the backs of people's heads and, with a sinking feeling of half-despair and half-resignation, she searched in vain for a particular blond head she already knew she wasn't going to find. 

Dread fell over her, quickly solidifying into what she referred to as the “Steve Rogers Effect.” She’d taken her eyes off him for five seconds and he'd promptly gone and done something stupid. Again.

She spun on her heel and pushed out of the theater and into the cold, and somewhat stagnant air, of Brooklyn. She headed toward the alley that ran alongside the building with the air of a bloodhound locked on a scent and let out a sigh of heartfelt despair as she picked up the telltale sound of a fight.

Insofar as a massive idiot beating up on a guy half his size could be called a fight.

She rounded the corner just in time to see the guy's fist smash into Steve's face with enough force to spin him completely around and send him crashing to the ground like a broken rag doll.

Rebecca’s gut clenched and she sucked in a harsh gasp at how hard her best friend hit the ground, and how still he stayed after. Fear washed over her, along with a near blinding rage that had her almost literally seeing red.

She grabbed the brute’s shoulder and spun him around to face her. He raised his fist, but she was prepared for it. No one willing to beat up on a guy half his size was going to give a rat’s ass about hitting a woman.

She ducked under his haphazard swing and came up inside his guard, if it could even be called that. Before he could process, she snapped the heel of her hand into his jaw, stepped back and put all her weight into a kick straight into what her mother liked to call the family jewels.

Just moments earlier she’d been bemoaning the fact that her new military uniform required her to wear heels. She now thought perhaps they weren’t so bad after all as she watched all the color drain from the brute’s face as he slowly sagged to his knees.

She kept part of her attention on Steve as she waited for the jerk to recover and felt a rush of relief at the sight of him slowly struggling to his feet.

Guess she wasn’t going to get arrested for homicide today after all.

"Get out of here," she ordered the brute as he slowly got to his own feet. She recognized the glazed, drunken look in his eyes, the same her old man used to have right before he decided knocking her mother around was a good idea.

Rebecca stood as straight as possible, once again thanking the heels for the extra couple inches they gave her, and tried to emulate the expression her mother had worn the day she’d finally thrown her husband out the door and told him to never come back.

The guy muttered something under his breath but staggered away, his awkward walk probably brought on by more than just the alcohol she could smell on his breath.

Rebecca didn’t let her relief show on her face. Fights were a simple fact of life when it came to being around Steve Rogers. He had a singular knack for finding trouble, and she’d suffered more than a few cuts and bruises from a lifetime of pulling him out of whatever scrape he’d thrown himself into headfirst.

Even so, she doubted her new superiors would have been impressed had she shown up to ship out sporting a shiny black eye.

She shifted her attention to Steve, confident the bully wasn’t going to change his mind and return. He was fully on his feet and the knots in her stomach loosened at the steadiness in his stance and the clear look in his eyes. He had blood on the side of his lip, and his clothing was mussed, but he didn’t appear to have suffered any lasting injuries.

Mentally, she kicked herself for having been late to the show. If she hadn’t gotten caught up in visiting a few old haunts she’d have made it before Steve got into a fight and he wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all.  

"Should you have been doing that in a skirt?" Steve asked with a slight grin, wiping the blood off the corner of his lip and pantomiming the kick she'd just done.

Rebecca rolled her eyes and managed to hide her irritation. Just once, just once, she’d like to see him put a fraction of the effort into staying safe that she did in keeping him safe. Instead it was always this, quips and jokes like he hadn’t just gotten his bell rung halfway to Newark.

“Shut up, Rogers,” she said, biting back what she’d really like to say. “I swear, sometimes I think you like getting punched."

It was all she could say. Anything else and he’d take it as her pitying him. Steve hated pity. He took it as a challenge to go do something stupid simply to prove he could, and that was the last thing she needed or wanted on her last day in Brooklyn.

"I had him on the ropes," Steve said confidently, blinking rapidly and bending over as a wave of dizziness assailed him.

Rebecca tensed and a muscle in her jaw tightened. Steve Rogers, the walking paradox. Hero complex the size of Brooklyn trapped in a body so frail she was sometimes terrified he'd shatter just from the effort of getting up in the morning. Always ready and willing to help anyone who needed it but hated receiving any help in return.

Except from her. Barely.

He hunched over farther, wheezing as his lungs struggled to draw in air. As she waited for him to recover, and resisted the urge to try and help, Rebecca caught sight of papers scattered on the ground. She crouched to pick one up, and frowned as she recognized the form. An enlistment sheet, with the word “rejected” stamped across the front. She’d like to say this was the first time she’d caught Steve with one, but it wasn’t even the fourth or fifth. 

Damn it all, why couldn’t Steve accept that he wouldn’t last five seconds in the military? Hell, forget that, why couldn’t he accept that he had the body of an asthmatic 80-year-old? She got that he didn’t want to be treated like an invalid. She even understood the sheer size of the chip he carried on his shoulder. She got it, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t see what was right in front of her eyes.

Steve might have more heart and bravery than half the blokes in Brooklyn but it didn’t mean a thing when it came to the body he was trapped in. All the wishing and willpower in the world wasn’t going to get him past his physical limitations. All it would do was get him an early grave, and that was the one thing she was determined to prevent, no matter what it took.

“How many times is this?" She waved the form at him, and then frowned down at it. “Oh, you’re from Paramus now?” she asked sarcastically. “I hear the weather is lovely there this time of year.”

“Pretty sure it’s not,” Steve muttered. He straightened slowly, eyes running and face red from the coughing fit. He reached for the form, but Rebecca held it out of his reach. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to lie on these things.”

“Only if you get caught.” He reached for it again and, this time, Rebecca allowed him to snatch it from her hand. He folded it and stuffed it into an interior pocket of his threadbare jacket. He started to say something else, but paused as he seemed to notice the uniform she was wearing for the first time. In addition to the pumps she’d also been forced to put on the skirt Steve had complained about earlier, uncomfortable nylons, jacket, dress shirt, and tie. There was also a hat which she’d put on at an angle to try and look like slightly less of a stuffed shirt.  

She already missed her trousers. She’d been given a pair when she started working at the factory since they were safer around the machines than skirts or dresses. The first time she’d put them on she’d sworn she would never go back to dresses, public scorn be damned.

Should have known she’d wind up back in a skirt again, and that it’d somehow end up being Steve’s fault.

"You're still going through with it?” Steve asked. His face fell, and Rebecca resisted the urge to ask why it was fine for him to join, but not her. That line of questioning would just cause an argument and she didn’t want her last day with him to be spent fighting.

“You knew I was,” she said instead. “It was just a matter of when they gave me my orders.”

Steve scowled. “Is it because of me? Cause I kept talking about it?”

Rebecca threw an arm across his shoulders and physically dragged him around to face the front of the alleyway. “Not everything is about you, punk,” she lied.

Truth was it was about him, but not for the reasons he thought.

Steve tended to get sick in the winters. It was like clockwork. The weather got cold, and Steve got sick. This time around, however, Steve had gotten sick. Really sick. Sick enough that a bunch of his friends, Rebecca included, had pooled their money together so he could go see a doctor.

That doctor had written a prescription and stressed how vitally important it was that Steve get it and begin taking it immediately. Rebecca had offered to go get it, leaving some of their other friends to make sure Steve got home and put to bed safely.

In her mind it had all been so simple. Go get the medication, give it to Steve, watch him get better and continue on with their lives. Simple, right up until she’d been standing in front of the pharmacist and listened to him quote an obscene price. A price neither of them could hope to pay, not if they worked for a year, not if they hit up all their friends for every last penny they had.

He’d barely been able to breathe. That had been her last sight of him before leaving to get the medication. Propped up between Jenny Smith and Joe Harris, barely skin and bones, his face a ghastly shade of white, lungs heaving and soaked in sweat as a fever raged under his skin.

He was going to die. Without the medication, possibly even with it. She was going to lose her best friend, the person who was so much a part of her that she sometimes felt they shared the same soul.

She’d panicked. Full blown, out of control, panic. She’d threatened the pharmacist, started screaming at him, practically accused him of murder for not handing over the medication. As images of Steve dying, dead, ran through her mind her panic had risen and she’d beat her hands on the counter, rising onto her toes as if she were planning to leap over the counter and take the drug by force.

Perhaps that was exactly what she’d meant to do, would have done if not for the timely arrival of a middle-aged blonde woman wearing a military uniform. She’d listened quietly to Rebecca screaming for a few seconds, and then stepped forward and handed over the money.

Rebecca had been stunned into silence and, in those few moments, the woman had simply turned and left. It was the slamming of the door that had spurred her into motion, following and stopping the woman to thank her profusely.

It was then that the woman, who’d introduced herself as Linda Jones, had revealed she’d gone into the pharmacy specifically to find Rebecca. Linda had seen her earlier that day, she’d explained, in a fight with a boy. He’d made an advance on her, and then tried to get aggressive when she’d turned him down. 

Linda had planned to step in, only to quickly realize there was no need. She hadn’t had the time to speak to Rebecca after the fight but, later, had seen her again as she’d gone into the drugstore.

She’d proceeded to offer Rebecca a job interview then, refusing to explain anything about it other than it’d be for the military. Rebecca had accepted, feeling she owed Linda that much at least for the medication.

She’d made it back to Steve’s in record time after that, and spent a restless night watching him fight to breathe. The next day one of their friends had come to relieve her and she’d gone to the address Linda had given her.

It had been an old warehouse, not comforting, but she’d gone inside anyway, half convinced she was about to be mugged. Instead she’d found Jones, dressed in trousers and a close-fitting shirt. The other woman had challenged her to a sparring match, where she’d proceeded to soundly beat her, several times. 

Even so, the woman had apparently been impressed enough to offer Rebecca a job with something called the Strategic Scientific Reserve, or SSR, a unit dedicated to eradicating an arm of the Third Reich that went by the name of Hydra.

Rebecca had never heard of it and Jones refused to elaborate beyond saying that the position would be dangerous but, if Rebecca accepted, she'd be involved in making one hell of a difference.

Rebecca had refused. Steve needed her. What if he got sick again or got himself in over his head, which he managed to do at least once a day? None of their friends knew him the way she did, and he refused to listen to anyone else but her.

She'd started to leave, only to stop in her tracks as Jones had mentioned what the pay for the offered position was. It was high, higher than anything she’d ever dreamed of, let alone thought she could ever earn. It would be more than enough to get Steve a better apartment, warmer clothes, maybe even some of those treatments she kept hearing being touted for asthma.

She knew nothing could cure him entirely but if she could do something to help at least. Maybe stop him from getting sick every single winter, help him struggle less when he tried to breathe…

It could make all the difference in the world. Every time he got sick, every time his body took another battering from his fight to simply live, it was worse. The coughing just a little harsher, the fever higher, and the recovery slower. She wasn’t stupid. She knew his body couldn’t keep it up forever. She knew what that would mean, eventually.

But if she could help... Make it easier, as easy as it possibly could be under the circumstances?

So it wasn’t so much of a struggle for Steve to simply live…

She’d asked if she could stay until Steve was better. Linda had accepted, and then Rebecca was filling out paperwork and, before she knew it, she’d enlisted in the Army.

She hadn't told Steve until after he'd recovered. He’d wanted to know why, and she’d made up some excuse that didn’t even make sense to her, let alone him but she’d refused to explain any further and he’d finally stopped asking.

Life had seemed to return to normal after that and she'd almost managed to forget about it all, until her orders had arrived along with the stupid uniform she was currently wearing.

She'd spent most of that day going to all their friends, and all their neighbors, extracting promises from them that they would look after Steve for her while she was gone.

It scared her to think of him without her there to back him up, or notice when he started to get sick, but she tried to keep her mind on the bigger picture. Getting enough money for that apartment, and the new clothes and a Steve who didn’t have to fight so hard and would live longer, and happier, because of it.

Whatever she had to do to help him, she would. Even if it meant leaving him behind for a time. Even if the thought of being separated from him made her heart feel like it was ripping in two.

Steve was still staring at her, eyes narrowed in concern, and she cleared her throat and forced a smile for him.  

“107th," she said with a trace of real pride because who would ever have thought some little unwanted, nobody girl from Brooklyn would ever make an officer in the Army? She hadn’t even known women could make officers. "Sergeant Jane Rebecca Buchanan Barnes.” Saying her full name was always such a pain and she wished they could have just put her nickname, Bucky, on the tag instead. Steven had given her that nickname, back when he was a child and had heard her mother call her Becky. He’d thought she’d said “Bucky,” and Rebecca had never bothered to correct him. By the time he figured it out on his own, the nickname was stuck.

Steve frowned. "That was the regiment my father was in."

Rebecca knew that. She also knew the 107th was the regiment Steve had his heart set on joining. He’d been trying to enlist for so long. It was probably the reason he’d gotten sick, not that he’d ever admit it. Standing in all those lines in the cold couldn’t be good for anyone, least of all him. “I’m shipping out tomorrow. I’m going to help with communications."

It wasn't exactly a lie. Jones had been so vague on what she'd be doing that, for all Rebecca knew, it could well be the truth. To be honest, there was a part of her, albeit a small part, that was excited to go. She wasn't excited to leave Steve behind, there was no part of her that would ever be excited about that, but she was going on an adventure. Off to see what lay outside Brooklyn.

They’d reached the street and Rebecca tugged him around the corner to head off down the block. It was too late to go see the movie, which was fine with her. She hadn’t been much in the mood anyway.

As they walked, she did her best to not think about how it felt to have Steve so close to her, his body heat warm against her side even through the fabric of her uniform jacket.

He saw her as a little sister, she knew that. Her life would have been far simpler had she been able to continue seeing him as a little brother. She’d tried, over the years, to stuff her feelings away, to convince herself that he was like a brother to her, and nothing else, but her heart stubbornly refused to listen.

She wasn’t foolish enough to ever risk letting him find out. She knew he’d let her down gently. He would, but then the words would always be there, hanging between them. He'd start watching everything he did and said, convinced he'd somehow give her the wrong idea, or because he was trying to be sensitive to her feelings. Their relationship would turn awkward and strained and it would all be because she couldn't keep her stupid mouth shut.

He was trudging, she noted, dragging his feet and staring at the ground as if it held all the answers in the world. She bumped him with her hip, and then pulled a folded newspaper out from inside her jacket and slapped it against his chest.

"Come on," she said, practically manhandling him in the direction of the apartment building where they both lived. “It’s my last night. We’ve got to get you cleaned up."

"Why?" Steve asked, unfolding the paper in confusion. "Where are we going?"

She grinned and slapped the headline on the front page of the paper, showcasing the science fair happening later that evening. "The future."

Follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24923605/chapters/60316162

[kiruuuuu]

Doc/Lion oneshot in which a secret comes out which Lion would much rather have kept from the rest of Rainbow. (Rating T, angst + happy ending, ~2.4k words) - written for @big-r6s-fan!! Thank you very much again for commissioning me 💗 I enjoyed myself writing this :)

.

Lion was 15 when lying became a necessity.

Before, it had been a fancy, a brief display of power: he could deceive people if he wanted, but it was no more than a trump card he was never forced to play. When he went out with his friends, his parents hardly showed enough interest or worry, making a lie redundant, and his peers didn’t really care either about his religious upbringing or other interests. He felt being the younger sibling keenly, and Sophie oftentimes reminded him of all the things she wasn’t allowed to do at his age, unaware of how much he actually took advantage of this freedom.

Many things happened at 15 which interfered with this dynamic, deeply disturbed his relationship not only with his family but also his friends. He stole his dad’s car for a joyride and ended up getting caught. The parent of an ex-friend he long ditched for being a teacher’s pet saw him drinking together with older kids. He snuck into the school’s chapel and pissed in the holy water. He started smoking, lost his virginity, and shoplifted. His parents didn’t find out about all of it, but they did find out about enough, gathered clues from half-hearted responses and all the details he omitted, saw it in his face. He had to get better at lying, if only to trick their system of regular texts and calls, checking homework, rigid curfew.

Not only that, he learnt to keep secrets to prevent ridicule. Just like most of his friends, he claimed to be an atheist since they were the loudest group and often harassed others for believing – in truth, he doubted yet hadn’t faltered. Church involvement repelled him as did the strict moral code, but he never fully gave up the idea of a higher power. He kept quiet about liking some of the catchy songs on the radio, about his crush on the prettiest girl in his class, about enjoying some of his classes, about his reading habits. He didn’t want to be uncool, so he went along with his peers, easily agreeing and keeping most of the things he truly held dear close to his heart instead of on his sleeve.

It resulted in fewer problems. His parents thought him converted, his friends thought him amiable and he started to enjoy telling lies.

One of his friends was already 18, owned a car and lived alone – in Lion’s eyes, he was the pinnacle of maturity, something to strive towards. It didn’t matter his vehicle was on the verge of falling apart and that his flat stunk of stale weed and had no wallpaper and that he worked in a supermarket; he could stay up whenever he wanted, had his own money, and could go wherever he pleased. Not only that, he also never took no for an answer. No matter how hare-brained the plan, he was on board, no matter how unachievable the dream, he gave support and encouragement. The little word which Lion had heard one too many times from his parents lately was missing from his vocabulary.

At some point, his friend told him to take his clothes off. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. This, too, Lion never disclosed to anyone.

Just like the fact that he liked it.

.

Years took their toll on him. One of the very few things he kept from his adolescence is his taste in music which he doesn’t readily share with others from his church. He doesn’t speak about his faith with his colleagues. The extent of his escapades has never reached his parents’ ears. Not once has he told any of his girlfriends about the men with whom he fooled around. At times, it eats at him, every little secret, every little lie another bite out of his conscience, and though he’s trying his best to follow the commandments, it’s a habit he simply can’t kick. It spares him so many intrusive, difficult questions that it’s just not worth giving up.

There’s one man in particular who seems keen on testing his limits, however. There’s no reaction from him when Lion attempts to change the topic, every excuse merely makes him dig deeper, every wall that’s thrown up causes him to redouble his efforts of scaling it – once he’s identified an issue, he refuses to let go until he’s received a satisfactory response and his bluntness frankly intimidates Lion. He has trouble dealing with it, walked off a couple of times instead of opening up but with time realised that judgement never followed. That his concessions were never met with disdain. That his bareness was reciprocated in kind.

It’s hard to accept that the one person who carefully dismantles the web of lies, half-truths and excuses he weaves as protection used to be his enemy.

But by now, he’s starving for affirmation and takes what he can gets without seeming desperate, and when Doc refuses to back down even when confronted with some of Lion’s unsavoury past, he eventually gives in. Hands himself over. Allows Doc to rummage through the myriad of memories he usually keeps under wraps, and watches helplessly as the other man treats it more like a historical museum than contemporary art – he reassures Lion that while all of it contributed to his personality, he’s greater than the sum of its parts. He sees something in Lion no one else does, and so he fiercely, jealously guards the emotions shared between them from the rest of the world. This is his. He will not risk ridicule. He will not let it wither in sunlight where it flourishes in darkness.

Which is why he’s overcome with dizzying nausea when Dokkaebi walks in on them.

They were cautious, both of them averse to endangering this fragile understanding between them, and though they began living in each other’s skin outside of work, they avoided each other in Hereford. Not obvious enough to draw suspicion but rigorous enough to resist temptation. This day, it just so happened that Lion had lab results to drop off at the end of his shift, and Doc was still around, and so they exchanged a few words. Maybe stood a little too close. Doc said something soothing, Lion reacted with a rare smile, and warm fingers found his own, lips neared his.

A quick peck. No more. But Dokkaebi bursts in just then and clearly realises what’s going on and though Lion scrambles to revert back to the persona which can lie like it breathes, he’s gotten used to not needing it in Doc’s presence and is therefore too slow.

Awkwardness settles in his bones, guides Dokkaebi’s stilted words and stiff movements, laces Doc’s curt response, causes Lion’s face to burn and him to take an unnecessary step backwards. It squeezes his heart until it desperately pumps against the iron grip, blackening the outside of his vision, and with a formal excuse, he leaves. He nearly misses the doorknob on the way out due to shaking fingers.

She knows.

And if she knows, so will everyone else the next day. His and Doc’s feud spread like wildfire the moment he joined Rainbow and there’s no doubt this tasty bite of news will do the same. They will all know.

His phone starts buzzing before he’s even home. Composure is a virtue and he thanks the Lord for gracing him with it or else he might’ve swerved his car into a ditch. Teeth chattering, he stops by the side of the road and turns the device off – he doesn’t need this unconditional compassion right now, even if he’s unsure what else he needs. All he knows is that he’d break down if the calm voice on the other end asked him whether he’s alright.

Intrusive thoughts haunt him almost like a badly edited narration over a bleak independent film. You don’t deserve him, and he’s fairly sure he’s hungry, so he puts a slice of bread into the toaster. Doesn’t it contradict your faith? He hasn’t even taken off his shoes, so he unlaces them by the couch, leaves them lying in the way. Believe me, you two aren’t gonna last. Coffee sounds good right about now, even if all he has is instant. Fucking coward, hasn’t even come out and probably blackmails Doc. Kettle, water, cup, spoon, powder. The metal in his hands feels too smooth. Wasn’t his kitchen a little bigger? He could’ve sworn it wasn’t dark out when he arrived. He’s still an arrogant twat. Great, his toast is cold now.

The voices of the people he’s forced to interact with every day are merciless.

It’s like he’s run a marathon and, despite being wholly drained, the residual adrenaline fires up his mind in uncomfortable bursts. Sitting down for longer than ten minutes is impossible and he finds himself going through his qualifications at one point. He’s good at his job. He’s sure he can find another one elsewhere.

Now and then, faces flash before him. The priest he told to go fuck himself when he tried to talk to young Lion about responsibilities. His parents after being informed about his fatherhood. Claire when she realised he was serious about the abortion. His own son upon seeing him the first time. And, lastly, Doc. The day his colleagues’ blood added to the crusty mess already on Lion’s hands.

He won’t be able to bear more. He’ll break if the rest of Rainbow adds to this embarrassingly long list of shocked, appalled, disgusted expressions, especially since it’d be over something so dear to him. So crucial to his survival. He can’t stand them shunning him for having found his heart’s desire.

Already resigned to a night of no sleep, he jolts upright at the sound of his doorbell. Sits there, motionless, paralysed in indecision. He should let him in. He doesn’t want to.

It still rings now and then five minutes later, every noise running marrow-deep. He trusts Doc fully, but he doesn’t trust himself.

For once, his mind comes up with a reasonable objection: isn’t he a little old to be self-sabotaging like this?

Doc doesn’t mention the wait once he’s crossed the threshold. He won’t get it, not with how supportive his family has been, not with how popular he is, not with how little he encountered rejection in his life. And yet simply seeing him helps.

“I don’t want to lose you”, Lion breathes into his hair and the reassurances convince him that his lover genuinely doesn’t understand – he whispers the words which usually soothe Lion, promises him to stay by his side and remains unaware of the real problem. It matters not that he’s loyal when no one will talk to them. It’s irrelevant how supportive he is when open hostility will make coordinated teamwork unachievable. The tension will carry over until it either permeates their entire relationship, leaves them irritated and frustrated with each other, or until Lion is reassigned. Or potentially leaves of his own accord.

Both would be the end of them.

In exposing their feelings, they have killed them. And though Doc’s fingers will eventually grow tired of brushing away wet streaks, there will always be more tears.

.

Needle pricks in his back. He feels them wherever he goes, head held high and seemingly impervious – but the gazes riddle him, erode his self-control and he’s sure that eventually, there’ll be more holes than substance. Wandering through the base is nightmarish, an omnipresent sense of dread unshakeable. None of the people around him dare to speak anywhere but in their minds, and so he’s powerless to defend himself. They all know.

Every smile is malicious, every bout of laughter directed at him. Today, the universe has assembled to judge over the mockery that is his life and finds it lacking.

Doc’s words are etched into the back of his brain, not as encouragement but as a reminder of how naive his lover is. Doc desperately holds onto this fundamental trust towards humanity, ignorant of his privilege, ignorant of how revered he is, how the seas part for him, how no one dares to speak ill of him. He blindly assumes his experiences are universal. It’s easy for him to confuse his own brightness reflected back at him with another source of light.

Lion isn’t so lucky.

Whenever anyone approaches him, he expects the worst, flinches pre-emptively and stumbles his way through conversations which should’ve gone a lot smoother. They shoot him more and more odd looks the further the day progresses, and it’s not just the albatross around his neck they see. A glance in the mirror confirms he looks like death.

Montagne is a good friend and Lion values his opinion, yet conversing with him is like nails dragging over a chalkboard. He inquires about Lion’s well-being and lies like this one hardly count anymore. The brief talk has him sit down or else he might’ve started swaying, and the deafening roar of his thoughts almost makes him miss Montagne’s parting statement: “I’m happy for you and Gustave. I wish you two all the best.”

He -

He can’t mean it, can he?

A day later, in passing, Buck says with a smile: “You’ve snagged a good one. Don’t let him get away, eh?”

And Ash, at the end of the week: “I’m very glad it’s working out with you and Doc.”

Lion has never received this many friendly words. Most of the team captains send him on errands which carry him past Doc’s office. Hibana assigns him and Doc together for an exercise without a second thought. Twitch begins buying one coffee more each morning.

The burden lifts. The queasy feeling dissipates. His future brightens. It’s an incredible experience, and the more he adapts, the warmer the others receive him. It’s a mutual thing, glowing and strengthening his confidence, and eventually he even admits Doc was right from the beginning.

“They don’t treat me any worse”, he adds when sharing his observations with a wholly relieved Doc, loose and content and not at all shy with his displays of affection.

“Of course not”, comes the gentle reply. “Everyone deserves happiness, Olivier. It’s time you start believing it.”

Lion has to concede that here, by Doc’s side, looking forward to a good night’s sleep and a challenging job with supportive co-workers, it’s a lot easier to trust in these words.

[kerfufflewatch]

ah, what’s better than writing siblings being incredibly awkward (and also Lucio’s there)

(with a hint of Gencio)

(which is why Lucio’s there)

--

52.) Accidentally Witnessed kiss +

67.) When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More

Genji is in the med bay past visiting hours because he likes it to be empty when he needs his care, because no matter how comfortable he is now with his body, he still feels vulnerable when he has to have someone start pulling bits of metal off. It's simply easier to limit the number of people examining his body, and that is easier done after hours. He’s not sure why the figure sneaking through the window is in the med bay, however.

The healthcare-slash-maintenance portion of his visit is over, but Genji had found an excuse to linger in helping Lúcio gather supplies from the back room. Genji had been a little reluctant, at first, to let anyone other than Angela work with him, but Angela’s so busy nowadays with the care needs of an entire team. Besides, Lúcio had proven himself to a quick study--and rather pleasant company, if Genji’s being truthful. Genji squints into the darkened bay, which is unlit except for the light slanting through the closed office blinds nearby, and finally recognizes the darkened silhouette as Hanzo.

Hanzo, who is quietly, carefully, pulling up a chair next to the bed where McCree lay.

“What in the hell,” Genji says aloud, unthinking. Lúcio immediately snaps his head up and follows Genji’s gaze around the corner.

“What the hell,” he agrees mildly. “Isn’t that your brother? Did he come through the window?”

McCree had been asleep when they passed through earlier, but there’s some shifting of the shadowy lump in the bed now. The bedside lamp snaps on, casting bright light on both of their faces, and Genji can’t help grimacing.

McCree looks awful. Par for the course, all things considered, considering he had been thrown out of a second-story balcony earlier that day and tumbled ten feet across London cobblestone after taking a plasma round to the ribs. He would live, and really had not come all that close to death in the first place, but his injuries were severe enough to worry. Despite Angela’s healing, the right side of his face is still a gruesome canvas of red and purple bruises under scabbing abrasions, and squares of gauze peek out from under his hospital shirt.

Genji glances at Lúcio, who gives him a helpless shrug back. They should reveal themselves and put away their supplies, but whatever moment it is that requires Hanzo to sneak into the bay at night--for McCree, of all people--is a moment that feels too delicate to interrupt.

“Not that I’m complainin’, but what are you doin here so late?” McCree asks, asking the question on everyone’s minds.

“I . . . wanted to see that you were well,” Hanzo says slowly, addressing his folded hands in his lap. “The debriefing took too long, and I was unable to get here before the med bay was closed for the night.”

McCree laughs quietly, weak with exhaustion. “You coulda come by tomorrow,” he says. “I’m not goin’ anywhere for a couple days. Doctor’s orders.”

Hanzo smiles, but it is a bit forced. He asks just how McCree was injured--he was far away when the incident occurred, sniping from a rooftop--and as they talk, Genji feels a deep, growing sense of suspicion.

“So, uh,” Lúcio says awkwardly, quietly. He shifts the box in his hands. “Are they a thing? I didn’t think they were.”

Genji shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I would have known.”

He’s joked, of course, that Hanzo clearly had some deep-seated romantic feelings for McCree that he was too stubborn to even notice, let alone act upon, but he never had anything concrete. This could just be the standard Hanzo level of melodrama while he visits a friend, but Genji isn’t so certain.

That’s not even getting started on McCree’s “is he serious or not” flirting for the past eight months.

“Huh.” Lúcio shifts again. It’s clear he’s uncomfortable, not just tired of the weight in his arms. “I mean, I don’t know your brother all that well, but that seems like a thing.”

“I mean, you are not wrong.”

Lúcio laughs a little, prompting Genji to look back at him. “Sorry,” Lúcio says, “it’s just--it’s really hard to imagine Hanzo being into anyone.”

“No, I don’t blame you,” Genji says. “Even when we were young, he was not very interested in others. I only know of a couple people he showed interest in at all.”

“Now that sounds right.” Lúcio leans around Genji to sneak a better peek at the scene, then back again quickly before he can be caught. It’s decidedly unstealthy, but Genji finds it amusing nonetheless.

“Though to be honest,” he adds after a moment, “I did not expect this out of McCree, either.”

“Really? Don’t get me wrong, he’s cool and all, but there also isn’t a person on this team he hasn’t flirted with.”

Genji laughs quietly. “That is true,” he says. “But he’s . . . He has his own demons. Everyone here does. He’s been very careful, compared to when I knew him when Overwatch was still official.” McCree is still far friendlier than Hanzo and one of the more sociable members of the team overall, but Genji knows the difference. The McCree of ten years ago drank a lot less whiskey, faked a lot fewer smiles, spent so many fewer days locked in his dorm claiming a bad night.

The Recall has been good for them both, he thinks.

“Yeah,” Lúcio says after a moment. “I guess that’s true. He hasn’t told me much, but I get some of it. Guess it’s--”

“Because you were being a fool!” Hanzo snaps suddenly, startling them out of their conversation. They both look back simultaneously to find Hanzo glaring at McCree, leaning forward as though trying to threaten the bedridden man.

“C’mon now,” McCree says, unfazed. Somehow, he looks like he’s smiling in the face in the face of Hanzo’s anger. “Wasn’t nothin’ I don’t do on a regular basis.”

“You were hurt because you were not paying attention,” Hanzo growls.

“I was payin’ plenty of attention. I knew the guy was there when he shot me. He just got the upper hand, which happens sometimes.”

Hanzo looks like he wants to yell again, but abruptly, the fight seems to drain out of him. He slouches in his seat with a heavy exhale. “I am sorry,” he says. “I did not come here to yell at you. I am well aware that you are more than capable of taking care of yourself.”

“What’s got you so bothered? This is hardly the first time I’ve gotten hurt. Sure it won’t be the last, either.”

Hanzo doesn’t answer for a long time, unmoving. Genji finds himself holding his breath. Hanzo lifts a hand, hesitates, starts to take it back, and ultimately rests it on the bed. It’s only by McCree’s reaction--suddenly staring down at the space in disbelief--that Genji realizes Hanzo must have taken his hand.

More words are spoken. Genji can’t hear, but he can guess well enough at the nature of them. “Wow I wish we’d gotten out of here like five seconds faster,” Lúcio says.

Hanzo looks down at their joined hands on the bed, then up again. Then he leans in suddenly, and Genji can’t quite contain the strangled noise he makes when he sees his brother kiss McCree.

“Holy shit,” Lúcio breathes beside him. Genji internally echoes the sentiment.

There is a moment where, despite Hanzo initiating a kiss, McCree does not respond, and Genji slowly tenses. This is Hanzo baring his soul, and his brother might be a grown adult and McCree one of his oldest friends, but if he has to witness McCree push Hanzo away when there is no good reason to do so--

But then McCree softens and kisses back, and Genji lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Genji tries to tear his eyes away, distinctly aware that he is watching his brother and his close friend in a deeply intimate moment, but he’s drawn back when Hanzo suddenly pulls away. “I am sorry,” he says, barely loud enough to be heard. “You are hurt, and this is . . . sudden. Are you certain you--”

“God, Hanzo, for once in your life just shut the fuck up,” McCree breathes before pulling Hanzo back in with a hand around his neck. Genji chokes on a poorly-suppressed laugh, and beside him, Lúcio snorts with amusement. They both look away, realizing they’ve spent too long watching what is happening, Genji in particular aware that he is watching his older brother engaged in a passionate kiss with their mutual friend and teammate.

But . . . awkward as it is, it’s nice to see Hanzo going for something, for once. Allowing himself to have something.

Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to go on much longer than a few more seconds. He soon hears murmuring between the two of them, nothing that he can understand, followed by a chair scraping on the floor. A moment later, the window gently slides open and shut, and the med bay is entirely silent.

“Well then,” Lúcio says mildly. “We just watched McCree and your brother get together. That’s something.”

“It’s something,” Genji agrees.

Lúcio fidgets a little with the box he still folds, looking at the top. “It’s kinda sweet, though,” he says after a moment. “Awkward, but it’s nice that they got something like that, you know? In the middle of all this stuff that we do for Overwatch, that they managed to find something good.” He smiles up at Genji, and Genji’s heart does an odd little stutter at that.

Before he can decide what that means and what to do about it, they are interrupted by the sound of McCree loudly, intentionally, clearing his throat.

“I wasn’t asleep when you went by the first time,” he says. “And I ain’t seen you come out. So I highly recommend you finish your business and get on out of here before I change my mind and tell Hanzo you were there the whole damn time.”