freakmastergeneral

You weren't sure how to take it really, but you were also busy with your own stuff relative to the surprisingly busy Christmas season at the bar, so maybe it was something similar. You wanted to press for details whenever you tried to pen another message, but at the same time you didn't want to take the risk of coming off as too nosy or too annoying - and just in case you would possibly flag the tiny FBI agent living inside your phone at all times if you did.

So, you just let it be.

It wasn't until a few days after Christmas that you finally heard from him properly. You were unwinding with a long hot shower after a busier Saturday shift, only to see a few small notifications pop up with his name when you checked your phone once you were out. You open it only to be greeted by an absolute dog-pile of photos of the Thunderbolts; some where they were totally geared up in some sort of presumably professional setting, others where they were in more casual, slightly more festive attire. You never took John for an amature photographer, but its clear that some of the photos were also at the behest of probably someone like Bob or Alexei, including some adorable group photos by a rather tiny Christmas tree in some kind of meeting room you didn't recognize.

With the photos came a small smattering of messages underneath, almost like a tag tied on the side of a belated Christmas present.

Just a taste of all the nonsense I've been dealing with for the past few days… <

Weeks? <

Kind of lost track but, regardless. <

Hope your holiday was more relaxing than mine. <

You don't know why you have the instinct to tap the call button on his contact instead of just texting some simpler reply, but the phone only rings twice before it abruptly stops.

"Hello?"

You almost want to kick yourself when you feel your heart skip a beat at the sound of his voice. Your busy work had definitely helped settle down the flames of your crush, even if it was just a smidge, but a single word in that familiarly gravelly tone was enough to ignite it all over again.

"Hey! I, uh…I dunno," You stumble over your words a bit with a nervous smile, trying to readjust yourself on the bed, "I figured calling would be better than texting to catch up."

"Yeah, makes sense." He replies with a chuckle. "So you saw the photos then?"

"I did! They're very adorable," You admit with a smile, popping him on speaker before swiping through them again, "Though I am kinda bummed you guys had a little Christmas party without me."

"Felt more like pulling teeth than partying." John clarifies. "Alexei kept trying to get us to do stuff - go see Christmas lights, make us do a Secret Santa, all that kinda stuff - but we all really just wanted some peace and quite after the fucking circuit they made us work all week." He sighs, and you hear the familiar clink! of ice against a glass in the background. "I'm just glad it's finally over."

"Tell me about it. Now we just have to make it to New Years in one piece."

"God, don't remind me." He groans, alongside the equally familiar glug of what you assumed was the bourbon you gave him. "At least you had the hindsight to give me something to help get through it." He notes, but then pauses. "I don't think I ever said thank you, by the way, so…thanks."

"You're very welcome." You answer back with a smile stuck to your face. "As a bartender it's my job to always know what my customers need."

"Ouch. I'm just a customer to you now?"

"No, you dummy," You tease, "If you were just a customer for me to milk cash out of, I'd be a lot more flirty with you, that's for damn sure."

"So you just think I'm broke?"

"I didn't say that!"

"Eh. Kinda did."

"Oh whatever." You giggle with a roll of your eyes, taking him off speaker and bringing the phone back to your ear. "What kind of salary do you even make as a superhero anyways?"

"Less than you think." John answers honestly, albeit somewhat bitterly. "But we do get a decent 401k match. And dental."

You can't help but scoff. "Can't believe being a superhero is somehow more stable sounding than any normal ass job I've worked." You say as you lay back on your bed. "Maybe I'll have to fall into a vat of radioactive goo sometime, or…do whatever people do these days to get superpowers."

That draws another chuckle out of John, which pulls the undeniable smile on your face even wider. "Mhm. And just how many vats of vague radioactive goo do you think actually exist in the state of New York?"

"I mean, there's gotta be at least one, right? Stupid rich techie assholes are probably dumping shit into the Hudson as we speak- oh! Hey, speaking of rich assholes-" You straighten up as soon as the reminder hits your consciousness, "I…actually managed to get New Years off."

You weren't sure if it was the booze moving through his system or the weird pivot you took, but John sounds just as stunned as you felt about the whole ordeal. "…Wait, really?"

"I know, right?! I didn't think it was possible for a bartender to get THE drinking holiday off - well, maybe besides Saint Patrick's Day I guess - but turns out if you work for a guy for a while and bring in some superhero clientèle, he might get a little soft around the edges."

"Wow, that's-" He's silent for a moment before finally finishing his sentence. "That's great."

Your brow knits together a bit. "You say that like you're not excited."

"What? No, no, I am-" He sighs, and you can practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. "I am. Really. I wouldn't have extended the invite otherwise, you know that."

"I know, I know." You try to reassure, but a thought can't help but prickle in the back of your throat before it slowly manifests itself past your lips. "…If you don't want me to come though, it won't hurt my feelings."

"No, it's- goddammit-" He mutters to himself before speaking up again, "Look, I'm sure you know this, but this isn't just some fancy party. This is real bureaucratic government bullshit we have to deal with, and it's not only stuffy and boring as hell, it's-"

"An unnecessary peacocking arena for rich assholes?"

You hear John stifle a laugh. "Well, that too, but the biggest thing is that this isn't something anyone can just waltz into. Everyone in there has some sort of agenda, good, bad or otherwise, and if something happens-"

"You don't want me to get in trouble?"

He sighs again, but this time it seems to be more in relief. "…Yeah. In a sense."

Your smile softens a bit, your heart squeezing in your chest just enough for you to notice. "I appreciate the concern John, but I'm a big kid, remember? I promise, pinky promise, that I won't stir up any trouble at this thing-"

"Oh c'mon, you don't have to-"

"Ah-ah. Let me finish." You tut. "And, if you get a weird feeling about anything, if you feel like something is about to go down that's well above my pay grade, you tell me to leave, and I will. No questions asked."

A silence lingers between the two of you on the line, but when John finally does say something, it's almost like he feels sorry for you. "You don't have to do that, y'know."

"I know, but…I want to make sure I'm the least of your problems at this thing, and this feels like the least I can do." You purse your lips as a sudden thought crosses your mind. "Although, I might ask you to cover the cab fare if I dip early."

John just scoffs out a laugh, "Fair enough…and, thanks."

"Hey, can't help if your military brain needs a plan of action for every little thing." You tease. "Figured it'd help put you at ease."

"It...weirdly does." John admits. "Jesus, am I really that easy to read?"

"Eh, not necessarily. Just gotta pay attention to the right things." You try to reassure, but you can't help but poke at him a little more. "And also the super obvious things, but mostly the right ones."

"God, I hate you sometimes."

"Hey, don't hate the messenger, hate the message. 'To be loved is to be perceived' and all that."

There's a lingering silence after you say that, and even though it lasts a few seconds, you can't help but bite your own tongue a bit.

"…I guess so." He eventually huffs. "So…I'll pick you up and take you to the Tower on Saturday at about, like, seven or something?"

"Sounds good to me." You reply with a nod, pulling your phone away from your ear to write down a little reminder for yourself. "Oh, or should I say, 'yes sir!' like I'm your little chipper cadet now or something?"

"Oh shut up. I'll see you Saturday."

"See you Saturday." You parrot back, your face practically beaming as you hang up the phone.

Walker never took himself as a fidgety person, and did his damnest not to seem like one. He always walked, talked and stood like a solider: spine straightened, shoulders back, trying to come off as the hard-earned proof that everything he's been through has been for some greater purpose after all. But here he was, standing at the doorstep of your apartment building, restlessly tugging at the sleeves of his jacket, thumbing over the grooves of the Army sigil engraved on his silver cuff links.

Hell, it didn't help that he was practically teased out of the Tower as he left to pick you up, insisting to the team that five people did not need to be deployed to pick up "a god damn glorified prom date."

"Oh, so it is a date?" He heard Ava call out just before the elevator doors closed on him, scoffing while his cheeks burned the whole ride down.

Assholes.

He didn't know why he was so nervous - or rather, he knew why he would be nervous, but every reason sounded more irrational and more stupid than the last. If the team somehow made a fool of themselves, he at least had control over his own actions so he wouldn't be caught up in the consequences. If Valentina or Mel (or worse, both) had some harsh words for him bringing a guest, he could pass the blame more evenly on by claiming it was a the entire team's idea, which wasn't technically a lie. If some random Avengers-level threat decided to roll up in a limousine along side them, you'd go straight home, just like you promised, and they'd handle it.

So why the hell was he still so uneasy?

He feels every burning second tick by after he presses the buzzer for your apartment number, the cool metal of his watch having mellowed out to a comfortable weight on his wrist on the brisk commute over.

Soon enough, your chipper voice cuts through the static of the speaker. "John?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Oh, hey! I'll be out in like, five minutes, just hang tight!"

"Alright, but we gotta get moving." John replies, pulling up his watch as he notes the time. He made sure to arrive early just in case something happened, plus to accommodate for time to get back to the building and to the entourage of black SUVs that were taking them to the venue.

It wasn't your fault really, or at least you weren't doing this to him on purpose. He was certain you'd behave yourself despite your personal shortcomings with certain politicians and other people that would surely show their faces tonight. Maybe he was just nervous about things being taken the wrong way? If the press showed up tonight, which some probably would, would some trashy tabloid blast your face out there if you're even within a five foot radius of him? Or what if it wasn't some trashy tabloid, but an actual reputable news source, or worse, some stupid fucking influencer who somehow got an invite filming just one brief interaction out of context.

If he really was worried about it that deeply, he could just bail right now. Text you that something had come up, that he had to be called back for an emergency mission, something to get him out of even the sheer possibility of the world seeing him with you - no, that's not it-

Something to get you out of being seen by the world with him, of all people.

Just when he's descending back down the stairs and pulling out his phone to text you, he hears the door open behind him as soon his foot hits the pavement.

"Hey, I was about to text you, uh…we should probably-"

As John turns on his heel, tucking his phone back in his pocket while moving to look up and face you, he freezes. He stares at you with his mouth still partially open, slightly slack-jawed like it's all he can do as your looks halt him mid sentence.

When you told John off hand that you "might have something that can work," he was thinking of something more simple. Something like a cute little cocktail dress maybe that was just classy enough to get away with at such a high caliber event, or maybe even a simple suit you'd stuffed in the back of your closet. But this?

A silver-bordering-on-nickel dress hugged your figure like marble sheets draping across an ancient statue, shimmering in the streetlights with a small slit on the left side of the slim skirt rather appropriately rising to your knee. Other than that slit, the dress simultaneously covered you chastely while still highlighting all the dips and curves of your body in a way John never knew was possible with a piece of clothing. There was even a piece of silver hardware resting on your left shoulder, a silver hoop seeming to be the primary suspect as to how the fabric draped over you so elegantly. You even had the perfect earrings to match, silver warbled hoops dangling from your ears that caught the light beautifully, along with some strappy silver heels and a simple silver clutch.

While you were known to get dolled up to a certain degree for your shifts and occasionally on your days off, getting invited to something so fancy called for something a bit more…dramatic. Considering you hadn't done a true full face of make up in God knows how long, you'd enlisted the help of some of your friends earlier in the day as you were getting ready. Your eyes were somehow more doe-like than they ever had been before, long lashes batting at your date for the evening through glitter-covered lids. A touch of rogue tinted your cheeks and the tip of your nose, your facial features a little more deliberately carved out with some subtle contouring. Despite the more fancy face get up, you decided to stick with a classic last-ditch lip look you always relied on - a hint of liner on the inner part of your lips, ombreing out under a shiny layer of your favorite lip gloss that had seen you through many nights out.

John closes his mouth, taking a moment to blink - taking a moment to breathe.

You look at him, your eyes glittering like your gown in the low light of dusk before looking down, brushing your hands over the fabric. "What? Is there something on my dress, or-"

"No, no, you're fine. Just-" John folds his arms over his chest, giving you a proper once over. "Wow."

You can't help but let out a nervous laugh as you feel his eyes rake over you. "I clean up nice, right?"

Understatement of the fucking century.

"Yeah." John manages to reply, clearing his throat as he watches you start to descend down the short flight of stairs. As you do, he reaches out his hand like a proper gentleman, keeping you steady as you walk the rest of the way down. Jesus, you even had your nails done for this damn thing, silver swirled accents on slightly longer nails glittering in John's grasp like diamonds.

"Well, just for the record, you clean up nice too." You speak up with a radiant smile - the same one you always had. "You look really handsome."

John blinks again, letting out an awkward chuckle as he lets go of your hand that he was still absentmindedly holding, brushing off his suit. "Oh, uh, thanks. Haven't had to wear something like this in a bit, but, still fits just fine."

"So you just had this dorky little bow tie hidden away in your closet and you didn't tell me about it?" You tease, playfully adjusting it while still making sure it sat straight under his collar.

"Wh- It's not dorky, it's basic black tie, everyone knows that."

"Oh yeah? Where's your cummerbund then?"

He frowns, looking down at his suit then back up at you. "My what?"

"Y'know, that weird thing old timey dudes wear with their suits to catch their crumbs at dinner or whatever." You gesture over your stomach like you were wearing a belt. "You snap it on here and it makes you look like a little penguin."

John's nose crinkles. "I have no clue what you're talking about."

"What? It's a real thing, I promise!" You insist. "I only know about it is because the boys in my high school choir had to wear them when we had performances. Didn't help us in the cool department, but at least we got good scores for our acapella competitions."

John's face uncrinkles for a moment in slight surprise. "You were in choir?"

"Yeah! What, did you think I'd choose, like, home ec as an elective or something?"

John shrugs. "I don't know, just…I swear every time I learn something new about you it puts something else into perspective."

You raise a brow. "Oh yeah?"

John presses his lips into a fine line, looking out into the street as he tries to think of something to say. "Yeah, like, how you can talk for so long without taking a damn breath." He ends up teasing right back. "Probably learned some kind of magic breathing technique that just lets you talk and talk and talk-"

"Haha, very funny." You dryly reply, though you're unable to wipe the smile from your face as you playfully jab his ribs with your clutch. "I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to talk on the way to…wherever this thing is."

"Oh, right," John recalls, rearranging what he was going to say before you walked out the door, "We should get back to the Tower, they're probably waiting-"

Before you could lightly protest about John making you walk all the way to the Tower in heels, a loud succession of honks calls out from behind you on the street. Usually you'd chalk it up to some typical New York traffic shenanigans, but it grew even louder as a long, sleek black limousine merges into the lane closest to the sidewalk before pulling to a stop right in front of your door.

Well, sleek as it could be with the brazen star-shaped logo it had with clear white lettering below it on the driver's door - Red Guardian Limo Service.

You read the tagline aloud under the name. "…'Protecting you from boring evening,' huh."

John is already swearing under his breath by the time the window rolls all the way down, revealing Alexei behind the wheel in a nice maroon suit, along with a drivers hat and driving gloves. "Your chariot has arrived!"

Your cheeks puff out as you try to hold back a laugh, looking back at John only to be met with the pure anguish on his face. He gives you an almost apologetic look before he steps forward to lean down in front of the window. "Alexei, what the fuck are you doing here man."

Alexei gestures to the dashboard in front of him. "I am your ride to the gala tonight, I thought that was obvious-"

"No, no, we were planning to go back to the Tower and ride in the vans or whatever with Valentina and the others, remember?"

Alexei just shrugs. "Well, they already left. Something about not being able to wait for your return-"

John swears he feels a vein pop up beneath his temple. "What do you mean they already left?!"

"I fear you should really have your hearing checked, Walker." Alexei comments, only for John to groan and back off from the window, running his hands over his face. Alexei's brow scrunches in confusion, leading him to emerge from the limo to continue the conversation. "So, naturally, I come to rescue." He clarifies as he walks around, initially set on Walker until he passes a glance at you, then does the world's strongest and most obvious double take that looks like it could've popped every bone in his neck.

He gasps, muttering something in Russian before hastily walking up to you, taking your hands in his. "My dear, have you been hiding this radiant goddess away inside you this whole time?" He regales dramatically, getting a flustered laugh out of you as warmth rises to your cheeks. "You are stunning, I am nearly at a loss for words-" He looks back at John, who catches his glance only to see Alexei not-so-subtly mouth 'HOLY SHIT' to him before turning back, giving you a warm smile. "It will be an honor to have you in my limo tonight, truly."

"Oh, no, it's my honor to ride with the noble Red Guardian behind the wheel." You reply with a gentle smile, doing a little curtsy to draw a deep laugh from Alexei. "And it looks like you clean up just as nice as I do."

"Ah, of course," Alexei beams, his smile turning sly as he strokes his still bushy but slightly less crazy beard, "But I wish I could shine with even a fraction of your radiance."

"You're too sweet, Alexei, really."

Alexei just shrugs. "I only tell you what my eyes see."

The sweetly intimate moment is slightly broken by John's muttering of expletives just over Alexei's shoulder, prompting you to both turn around as John messes with his phone. "Goddammit, why isn't anyone answering-"

"…Well," Alexei says as he turns back to you, seeming to brush John off, "We should get this show on the road, ah? Don't want to be late for such a fancy event, you know."

He walks over to his limo, clearly taking pride in being your gentleman driver as he opens the door for you, revealing a sleek black interior with slightly worn but still nice-looking leather seats.

You look back over at John before walking over to him, lightly tugging on the sleeve of his tux. "C'mon John, it'll be fine. We'll just…be the ones pulling up in style."

John huffs, but when he finally breaks his eyes from his phone, he can't help but linger over your face. Beneath all the various creams and powders and whatever else was invisibly enhancing your features, it was still just…you, at the end of the day, and for some god damn reason, it made him almost think everything was going to be fine.

John sighs, straightening himself and his suit he shrugs. "Well…not like we can just walk there anyways."

"Says the guy not wearing heels." You say with a roll of your eyes, threading your arm through his to playfully tug him towards the door. "C'mon soldier boy. We've got a party to uncrash."

He lets you tug him along, a small smile cracking at the edge of his mouth. "Uncrash? Really?"

"What? I know you'd hate me if I said we were crashing it - I mean, I technically am, but still."

Alexei watches with a shit-eating grin as you both slide into the car, giving John the most obvious wink in existence before shutting the door on you both.

"…I feel pretty protected from a boring evening," You lean over and mutter as Alexei gets back into the driver's seat, trying your hardest not to sputter into a fit of laughter as you meet John's eyes. "Don't you feel protected from a boring evening John?"

"Don't." John groans, taking in the interior of the car more as Alexei starts to pull away into the road.

Much to his relief, your smile just softens, gently nudging his shoulder as you turn to stare out the window, fidgeting with the clasp of your purse in your lap.

It clearly takes John a minute or two to adjust to the drive considering his history with Alexei behind the wheel, shifting in his seat and tugging at his suit every now and again as you rode in relative silence. This car was definitely nicer than the one took them across the desert - it even came with working air conditioning, and a more complete mini bar sitting at the near-opposite end of the car.

"By the way," Alexei calls out from the driver's seat, "You are more than welcome to help yourself to the fine Russian vodka back there."

Your eyes drift from your view out the window and catch on a large bottle just ahead at the mention of it, a big red logo and barely readable yet clearly Russian text on it a few feet away.

"I'll pass, but, thank you." John awkwardly calls out with a nod.

You, on the other hand, figured you could use something to calm your secretly frazzled nerves as the reality of everything was starting to set in. It was one thing to be invited to this thing in the first place, which you were still secretly wondering how serious the proposition was, even in the back of a limo on the way there. Your friend who you'd been blatantly crushing on for the past few months was sitting next to you, somehow even more comically handsome than he'd ever been before in your presence, taking you to a fancy event you couldn't even imagine fantasizing about, as his date.

Well, a group date, sure, whatever that meant, but you were still on your way to the venue with him by your side. That had to mean something, right?

You wondered what the scope of super soldier powers were all of a sudden, because God forbid he could hear how fast your heart was thrumming in your chest, feel the way your pulse was giving yourself away completely under your skin.

"I think I might have some, honestly." You mention to John, holding out your glittery clutch to him as you shift to the edge of your seat. "Mind holding my purse?"

John nods, taking the purse from your hands as he watches you attempt to trek the inside of a moving vehicle, in heels, towards the little bar just ahead.

"Careful!" John calls out as you wobble bit, but you just laugh it off and reassure him you were okay with a thumbs up.

"It's fine, I've got it!" You call back, making it to the bar with one last wobble, one hand clutching onto the small protruding counter while the other grabbed the small neck of the bottle sticking out of the built-in ice bucket. You're surprised to find that the logo was actually a genuine wax seal, bearing the text 'JEWEL OF RUSSIA' in gilded lettering, with the same color wax sealing the twist off cap.

"Hey, I didn't know they named a vodka after you Alexei." You note with a smile, getting another laugh out of Alexei from the driver's seat.

"Oh hush, you are too kind, really." Alexei beams back while keeping his eyes on the road, clearly taking the boost to his ego in stride. "Enjoy it my friend - it is the good stuff, really."

"Cheers to that." You say as you raise the bottle slightly to him, trying your best to break the seal but finding it somewhat finicky. "Damn, do you need to be a fucking super soldier to open this?"

"Ah, I would help, but…" Alexei vaguely gestures to the steering wheel.

"Hey John?" You call out, "Mind helping me out with this?"

"Huh? Oh, sure." John speaks up, briefly pulling him out of his own thoughts that he'd quickly sunk back into as he watches you attempt to make your way back, the vodka bottle stuffed oh-so gracefully under your arm for the sake of your leverage.

Unfortunately, the more run-down streets of New York apparently had other plans for you.

The limo jostles violently as Alexei cruises over a nasty pothole, with the back taking a brunt of the shake up like you were on some old school rollercoaster. You were almost back at your seat before you started tumbling forward in the chaos, clasping onto John's broad shoulders ahead of you without a second thought to steady yourself. John attempts to catch you before you could crash into him on the seat, but the surprisingly slick fabric of your dress causes his hands to slip a bit too far past your hips as your collarbone nearly collides with his face.

You don't get to see how quick color rushes to his cheeks, his face beaming bright red when all he can take in is…well, the fact that his face nearly slammed right into the plushness of your chest, for one, but also the smell of that god damn perfume, the one that he rather vividly dreamed about just over a week ago.

In the microcosm of time that was this brief moment before you'd jerk away from each other and just (hopefully) go back like nothing ever happen, there's just one lingering thought that crosses John's mind:

Well, at least this limo doesn't have-

The car suddenly hisses with the sound of a fog machine activating, being made even more visible by the colorful LEDs shifting from the edge of the ceiling - and the worst part, of course, was the speakers firing up:

Touch me baby, put your lips on mine,

Could go to hell, but we'll probably be fine,

I know you want it, baby you can have it,

Oh I've never done it

Naked in Manhattan!

It wasn't something John recognized right off the bat, but unfortunately you would know that iconic voice and catchy building synth line anywhere. That being said, even a name like Chappell Roan couldn't pop into your head as you felt John Walker's hands right on your ass, his lips unintentionally ghosting over the collar of your dress. Thankfully you'd caught yourself just before your knee could slam into his crotch, pushing back to hover above him, both of you reading the palpable embarrassment on each other's faces plain as day.

"Fuck- Shit, I'm sorry-"

"N-no, shit, I'm-"

It all happens in a flash, but the lingering feeling of his hands practically burns through the fabric of your dress as you sit back down beside him, the mountain of apologies rushing from both your mouths clashing in the air, barely audible over the music blasting from the speakers just behind your seats. You almost want to hide your face in your hands, feeling an unbearably embarrassing heat crawl up your neck, your cheeks, even your-

Wait a minute.

Wait a damn minute.

It comes over you in waves, but once it starts, the laughter is hard to contain let alone stop. You throw your head back as you run your hands over your face, tears of laughter brimming in your eyes as you look over at John who, naturally, looks absolutely horrified.

"Do you not know this song?!"

"Wh- No, of course I don't!" He almost yells, his embarrassment clear as day with his face being the reddest you swear you've ever seen it.

"Do you know who Chappell Roan is?"

"Why the hell does that matter right now?!"

"BECAUSE, John," You emphasize over the speakers, "She's a lesbian who makes songs about being a lesbian!"

You hold up a finger to silence any further questions or confused stammering from John, who was clearly processing what that all meant as you partially sang the next few lyrics to get it through his thick, assumingly heterosexual skull:

"Hair clips and lip gloss,

French kiss sitting criss-crossed,

If I don't try, then it's my loss-

An inch away from more than just friends."

John just blinks, staring at you with such a deep seated confusion taking over his face, then shifting his attention to Alexei guffawing in the driver's seat before groaning deeply, taking shelter from the lingering embarrassment behind his hands.

Taking some odd comfort and a hint of guilt from your shared flusteredness, you pull out the bottle of vodka that was still somehow safely nestled under your arm, taking another crack at opening up the damn liquor that you both definitely needed right now. "Goddammit- Why can't I break this fucking-"

"Give me that-" John suddenly interjects, perking up to snatch the bottle from your hands and crack the lid open from it's waxy imprisonment like it was nothing. He takes a quick swig and swiftly makes a face, letting out a small cough or two before offering the bottle back to you, his gaze locked onto the stretch of limo in front of you.

You can't help but smile a little, gently taking the bottle from his hand and taking a small swig yourself - you also can't help but wince a little as it burns in your throat - before capping the bottle, nervously wringing your hands around the neck of it. You didn't even know what song was playing anymore, it now having faded into some fuzz of noise as you both sat there in what could've been the most awkward silence of both your lifetimes.

"…You really don't know who Chappell Roan is?"

John groans again at your question, less in frustration with you, but as if he could exorcise the sheer embarrassment out of his body somehow by doing so. "No, I don't."

You nudge his arm with your hand, holding it out to him. "Hand me my clutch."

He does it without any protest while still not making eye contact, but can't help but look a little confused as he hears you pop it open with a snap!

Since your bag was so small, you weren't able to fit your normal everyday distractions and knick knacks, but you did manage to cram some old wired headphones in there, along with some lip gloss and smaller essentials from your wallet. You stick the jack into the bottom of your phone, putting one earbud in your ear before offering the other out to John, waving it in front of his face. "Here."

John stares at it for a moment before his brow furrows again, finally looking back at you. "…You brought headphones?"

You just shrug. "Never know when you're gonna be stuck somewhere for an indefinite amount of time." You justify with a smile, nudging the earbud at him again. "Now put it in."

John's shift briefly between the dangling earbud and your face for a moment before gently taking it from your hand and popping it into his ear. You scrolled through your phone for some more Chappell songs - you can't just not educate him on one of the hottest pop artists of the last few years.

"Here," You point out as you hold your phone where he could also see your screen, tapping on a song, "This is one of the more popular ones and it's pretty cute. There's even a little dance for it and everything."

"What, like, the Macarena or something?"

You can't help but laugh as the opening cheers for HOT TO GO! start playing. "I mean, technically yes, but also absolutely not."

John holds his hand up to the ear bud to try and hear the song better, and you do your best not to accidentally yank it away as you hear the chorus start. You mouth along with the words while you do a slightly smaller version of the choreography, spelling out H-O-T-T-O-G-O with your arms before pointing towards John, then lightly guiding your hands down your torso. John just watches with a soft yet slowly growing smile, chuckling as you nudge his shoulder to try and get him to join you on the second chorus. He just laughs as he shakes his head, you exaggerating your moves even more the second time around before belting the bridge along with the track. He finally gives in one the last few spellings, doing smaller movements but still clearly charmed by your infectious enthusiasm.

You're caught in a giggling fit by the end of it, your cheeks starting to ache a little from how hard you were smiling. "You should teach that to the other Thunderbolts. Might be good for your publicity if you start doing cool trendy TikTok dances." You joke.

"Well, not like our public image couldn't get any worse." He noted with his usual sarcasm, a small cheeky smile plastered to his face as he nods down towards your phone. "Do all of them have dances like that?"

"Lucky for you, they don't actually." You clarify with a mischievous smile. "At least not all of them. Some of them are really fuckin' sad actually, but those are honestly my favorites."

"Could've fooled me." John teases. "Is that why you're so 'happy-go-lucky' all the damn time? You just listen to super depressing music when no ones around to siphon all the sadness out of you?"

"Hey, don't knock it till you try it." You tease back, leaning a bit closer to show him the next song you wanted to play. "Here, this is probably my favorite on the album-"

Once he pulls to a gentler stop at a red light, Alexei can't help but catch glimpses of you two from the rear-view mirror. As you seem to babble about the song that was playing or softly sing along to the words, he can't help but notice how John's gaze on you softens, how his shoulders finally seem to relax as he tries and fails to evenly divide his attention between the lyrics on your phone and your face.

Alexei smiles to himself, sighing happily as he turns his focus back to the road.

It didn't take as long as you anticipated to finally arrive at the venue, the event itself practically announcing itself to you with the glowing lights shining on the columns carved into the building. There was also a small crowd of well-dressed attendees starting to file in from the looks of it, a few cameras and reporters also seemingly posted at the sides as they ascended the stairs that led into the building.

"We have arrived!" Alexei announces with a boisterous laugh. "Sit tight - I will get the door."

While John just sighs, you simply nod at Alexei's little declaration as you watch him step out of the car, a sinking feeling in your stomach starting to spread as the door slams behind him.

Even with everything you'd done to mentally and physically prepare yourself, even knowing damn well what this whole thing entailed (or at least having some sort of idea about it), your breath can't help but shake a little as you tuck your phone and earbuds back into your clutch.

And, of course, John notices.

"Hey." John gently calls out, causing you to look up from your lap. "Don't tell me you're thinking of bailing on me now?"

"What? No, absolutely not-" You clear your throat as you smooth out your dress. "I guess, uhm…nerves are just starting to get to me, that's all."

John hums in understanding, looking out the window to assess the scene ahead of you - always the soldier, trying to think tactically through every little detail.

"Well…" He starts, turning back to face you, "Usually getting in is the hardest part. Once you're past those doors though," He makes a point to gesture to the entrance just ahead, watching as other attendees in fancy attire stroll up without a hitch, "It's a cake walk, I promise."

You look just over his shoulder, apprehensive eyes looking like they were planning to make an escape more than an entrance. Without thinking, John gently takes your hand from your lap, pulling your attention right back to that handsome face right in front of you.

"Just keep your eyes on me, okay?"

You softly nod, watching as John nods back before Alexei opens the car door for him to exit. As he's stepping out onto the sidewalk and extending his hand back inside the limo, your heart itches to leap out of your chest as you reach out and clasp your hand in his. Feeling the the gentle tug on your arm as he helps you out of the car, his clear eyes watching you carefully as you steady yourself on the concrete, it was all weirdly soothing and exciting all at once.

"See?" John says with a smile as he lets your hand slip out of his grasp. "You're a natural."

You can't help but smile a bit more bashfully, even as your nerves finally start to settle. "I guess so." You reply back, but you smirk a little as your brow quirks. "You trying to say I look like a rich asshole?"

"I'm trying to get you to stop putting words in my damn mouth." John throws back.

"Ah, now you think I'm broke?" You joke with a smile, and John just scoffs.

"I mean, everybody is 'broke' in some sort of way, if you think about." Alexei suddenly speaks up, pulling you both from your little private world.

"That might be the most insightful thing I've ever heard you say, Alexei." John notes.

Alexei grins with a nonchalant shrug. "It is because I am insightful man."

John just slowly nods. "Sure bud."

Alexei just smiles, but the joy from his face is cut short by the sudden cacophony of car horns from behind the limo. "Ah, shit- I will rejoin you later! Surely there is valet or…something around here."

Alexei dismisses himself with a tip of his drivers cap, you and John watching as he runs back to his drivers seat while yelling at the awaiting cars just trying to make their way to the venue.

"Where the fuck is he even gonna park that thing?" You ask, and John just shrugs.

"Not our problem." John answers simply, his eyes quickly scanning over the small crowd outside before spotting a familiar face buried in her signature tablet. "C'mon. Gotta check in with someone first before we head inside. Let me do the talking, okay?"

"…Okay?" You say with a hesitant smile, following just a step or two behind John as you both approached the base of the stairs.

The woman looks up, seeming to immediately recognize John with how quickly her face went from slight relief to annoyance. "Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to be with us in the envoy-"

"Well, I would have, if you guys didn't leave early." John throws back.

"What? What do you mean?" Mel tries to correct. "We didn't leave early, we left at the time we all scheduled, like we planned."

"Wh- but, Alexei-" John freezes for a moment, blinking once before letting out a frustrated sigh before muttering under his breath. "Those motherfuckers-"

Mel brushes off his sudden epiphany with a wave of her hand and a small shake of her head. "It's fine, whatever, what matters is that you're here-" She cuts herself off, looking around over John's shoulder and seemingly to just gloss over you entirely, "Where's Alexei?"

"Oh, uh, I think he's trying to find parking somewhere." You helpfully speak up with a smile.

Mel stares at you like she had only just now registered your presence, turning her seemingly disapproving gaze back to John. "I'm sorry, who is this?"

"O-oh, sorry, I'm-"

"This is our plus one." John clarifies before you can stumble over your own tongue, clearing his throat and introducing you by name to Mel.

"Wh- Wait, I'm sorry- our?"

"Yeah, it's like, a group thing." John continues, albeit a little less confident with every word that left his mouth. "We all wanted them to come, so-"

"Even when I explicitly told you to not bring anyone else?"

This, of course, was news to you, your eyes widening as you look over at John for some kind of explanation.

"…Well-" John starts, stumbling over his words just a tad, "I mean…like I said, we all wanted them to come. Just ask the rest of the team."

Mel forces a smile as she hugs her tablet to her chest in an attempt to cross her arms. "You really expect me to believe that when you guys couldn't even decide on catering for your lunch last week?"

"Oh come on, you're still hung up on that?!"

"You would be too if you saw the new 'World's Mightiest Heroes' nearly kill each other over pizza toppings."

"Okay, you and I both know Yelena was the one that started that-"

"Hey, uh," You meekly try to interject, "I can just call a cab and get the fuck out of here, if it's really-"

"No, no, you're not." John more sternly answers for you, less of a demand and more as a declaration as he turns back to Mel. "Look, Mel, I swear, I'm telling the truth, and if Val ends up giving you shit for it, then just…I dunno, blame me specifically if you have to. Say it was my idea, that I snuck them here or something, and that you had no way of knowing - you wouldn't even have to lie about that part, technically."

Mel's face scrunches as she takes a deep breath, opening her eyes to stare daggers into John's expectant expression. "…Alright. Fine," She concedes, going back to tapping away at her tablet, "I don't know how they're going to get in anyways with the guest list being so-"

Mel's voice is suddenly cut by a small look of shock washing over her expression, before her brow somehow furrows further at her screen, pointing up at you without looking away from it. "Wh…Why is- Their name is already in here."

You and John meet each other's eyes in equal surprise before trying to take a glance at the screen she was tapping away at. Mel was already looking at a list of names that were supposedly on the RSVP list, with a small section for all the names of your dear Avengers highlighted - along with your name just at the bottom, followed by the note: Official Guest of Mr. Barnes.

"Was wondering when you guys were gonna show up."

As if comically on cue, everyone's eyes suddenly fall on Bucky Barnes as he makes his way out of the building, his hair slicked back to compliment his well styled suit, all black with a matching bow tie, small yellow-gold cuff links complimenting the stripes of what was visible of his virbranium arm.

Your face must've lit up like a Christmas tree with how a small smile tugs at the Winter Soldier's face as he approaches. "I knew you had a soft spot for me." You tease as you nudge his arm.

"I guess you could call it that." He admits, shoving his hands into his pockets as he gives you a once over. "Y'look nice."

"Why thank you sir." You're practically beaming now as you give him a little curtsy. "You don't look half bad yourself when you aren't solemnly staring into glass of whiskey."

Bucky puffs out a chuckle. "Might be staring into one pretty soon depending on how the night goes."

"I'm sorry-" Mel's voice cuts in, "Just- How do you know them, again?"

"Relax, Mel, they're just a friend. I made a personal call for them to come tonight." Bucky clarifies before turning to you. "Don't say I never did anything for you."

"Never have, never will." You emphasize with a grin, crossing your fingers over your heart before leaning into him a little. "So, does this mean I have to be stuck to your side all evening, Mr. Barnes?"

"Absolutely not." He clarifies, his typical tired sternness already itching to return to his face. "I already have enough to deal with tonight with these guys."

You can't help but stifle a laugh as he shoots a look towards John, who's brow immediately furrows. "What are you looking at me for?!"

"Then I will be on my absolute best behavior." You reassure with a cheeky smile as you look back at Bucky.

"Mhm…" Bucky hums, looking around for a moment. "Wait, where's Alexei?"

"Trying to find parking for his limo." John speaks up.

"His limo?" Mel asks, already seeming to dread whatever the hell that meant.

One of Bucky's brows shoots up just a tad. "He's still doing the limo thing? Where the hell did he get enough money for another limo?"

"Another limo?!"

John sighs. "Don't ask."

Your brow furrows slightly with just a hint of confusion, but you shrug it off as you clear your throat. "Well, I guess there's no point in waiting for him to try and figure out how to parallel park that damn thing." You say as you clasp your hands together, bag tucked away under your arm. "Are the others already inside?"

"Yep, and anxiously waiting for their guest of honor." Bucky answers, nodding a reassuring goodbye to Mel before offering out his arm to you. "Shall we?"

You answer with a smile, locking your arm with his as you both start to make your way towards the entrance. John also gives Mel a passing nod before following not too far behind, moving up to walk on the other side of you.

"Told you." John reiterates with a smile. "Now you've got nothing to worry about."

You smile right back at him before your attention is snapped back by the double doors opening in front of the three of you.

As if transported by some oddly elitist time machine, the venue opens up like a portal to a first class party of the future right before your eyes. Elegant silver and gold decor lined almost every surface, complimenting the well dressed cast of characters scattered and clustered around the venue - including some you certainly recognized. Most were just ones you knew in passing; government officials of New York, some senators you'd catch on the occasional news cast, larger heads of corporations you didn't pay much attention to. Larger banners ringing in the new year were draped from the tops of the ceiling, along with a few decorative holograms showcasing the GRC's logo and images of the work they've done over the years.

Then, of course, standing near the corner of one of the bars set up throughout the venue, a familiar and far more friendly faced trio was chatting away about something you couldn't make out from this distance, but it didn't take long for their collective gaze to shift to you with Bucky and John by your side.

Yelena's hair was slicked back, with a dark lip and moodier eyeshadow complimenting her short sleeved black dress, hugging her figure while looking surprisingly comfortable. Bob was dressed up in a nicer black suit, a classy tripe of satin lining the sides of his pants along with a fancy double breasted coat, but despite the nicer attire Bob still nervously fidgeted with one of the loose ends of the ribbon-like tie emerging from the collar of his dress shirt. His hair was also a bit slicked back, and he honestly looked more like an adorable caricature of a butler than a guest, but you could tell he was doing his best to stand a bit taller and seem just a little less like a complete fish out of water.

Ava's outfit was probably the most impressive transformation of the night. Despite having to compensate for her rather utilitarian Ghost-tech, Valentina had found a way to take away some of the tactical bulk and replace it with softer, more elegant fabric. The larger device on her neck that hid away her signature mask was replaced with a more simple mandarin collar, draping a silken cloak-like fabric over her shoulders and down to her knees. In place of a utility belt was a more normal silver clasp, holding up more billowy fabric draping down her legs and creating the illusion of a more put together gown than a bulky technical suit. On top of it all, her hair was more elegantly pulled up into a bun, being held together by a long stick of silver with a larger white pearl at the end.

Yelena's eyes widen along with the smirk on her face as she sees the three of you approach, a flute of half drunk champagne sitting in her hand. "Wow, look at you."

"Look at me?!" You parrot in slight disbelief. "Look at you guys! You look gorgeous!"

You detach yourself from your lovely Avengers arm candy to give Yelena a squeeze, then quickly moving to hug Ava and Bob. "Gang's all here then." Bob lightly jokes with a smile.

"Not quite." Bucky notes, tossing a glance to Yelena.

"God, I warned him about parking that thing," Yelena groans as she rolls her eyes. "You all saw it, right? There's actual evidence that I told him it was a bad idea?"

"Yes, we did." Ava agrees flatly. "And if I ever hear that level of stupid bickering again between you two, I'm phasing into your bodies to clamp your vocal cords shut."

"…You can do that?" Bob cautiously asks.

"Want to find out?" Ava challenges.

Before Bob can answer, but just enough time so he can shrink away just a tad, a familiar booming voice comes up from behind you all - "There you are!" Alexei greets with a smile.

Your initial reaction is to smile and wave, but your arm falters halfway when you see who's by his side as he approaches. Of course there's Mel, naturally, since she was probably the one who somehow wrangled Alexei in from outside in the first place - and then, there was the single person you were dreading to encounter the entire damn evening.

You'd only caught more artificial glimpses of her in passing - snippets of reports on her government duties and investigations into her shadier connections, or random interviews you'd catch on passing news articles while mindlessly scrolling - and while a million and one of your harshly worded thoughts crossed your mind in an instant, only one shot through cleanly enough to parse through all the profanities you could throw her way.

She was…shorter than you expected.

Even with the fancy black heels clacking against the floor adding a few solid inches to her height, the general appearance of Valentina Allegra de Fontaine looked just as warped by her own lust for power as you thought it would, given her reputation. Her head was held high, a well kept facade of a smile greeting significant figures as she passed them by, but her stride never lost focus as she continued to cross the room right towards you.

"Hey, relax." Bucky leans in to quietly reassure you. "Just…try not to say too much…or, anything, really."

You were at least thankful the coldness of Valentina's arrival was contrasted by the warmth of Alexei's sheer presence, now slightly altered by his missing drivers cap and gloves. "I'm so used to driving my limo, but not parking it, ah?"

"Maybe we should've just biked here then," You can't help but awkwardly crack with a smile, "Would've saved y'all some gas money."

Alexei thankfully laughs to fill the blossoming awkward silence, but your nervous glances towards the other Thunderbolts immediately cancelled out your fleeting relief.

"…Charming." Valentina notes dryly, still wearing the smile she uses to entertain guests she really couldn't give two shits about. "This is your little guest of honor then?"

"Go easy on 'em Val." Bucky intervened. "They're just a civilian. And a friend."

"Oh Bucky," she says almost dotingly, infuriatingly so, as she walks up to straighten his bow tie, "I would never dream of hurting a little hair on their head, or their ego." Valentina tries to reassure, before turning back to you.

"Since it seems everyone else knows who you are," She snidely comments, extending her hand, "Valentina Allegra De Fontaine."

You hesitate to reach for her hand, but still do, making sure your handshake still felt firm as you introduced yourself by name. "I've…heard a lot about you." You awkwardly greet.

"Oh, I'm sure you have." Val notes with a certainty that makes your skin crawl, but it evaporates from her expression as she moves a little closer. "So? How does it feel to be the darling of the New Avengers?" She asks more innocently. "I'm sure you feel on top of your little world right now."

"Uh…I guess?" You admit. "I-I mean, this is all very lovely and I'm thrilled to be here, but, uhm…they're just my friends, y'know?"

"Aw. Humble and cute." Valentina fawns with a smile, glancing back over to Bucky. "Really picked a winner with this one."

You can't help but force a smile as she makes her way towards you now, not afraid to lean into your personal space. "Just a word of advice," She lowers her voice, any feigned kindness from before absent in the small space between you, "Stay out of everyone's way tonight, keep that pretty mouth shut, and everything will be just fine. Got it?"

You can't help but tighten your grip on your clutch just a tad as you force a smile.

"Yeah, of course."

Though I'd take you more seriously if you weren't such a bitch about it.

Valentina seems satisfied with your subjugation, giving you a small nod. "Atta girl." She imparts with a smile, patting your shoulder lightly before turning her attention back to the rest of the Thunderbolts. "I expect everyone to be on their best behavior tonight, all right?"

"When haven't we been?" Ava drones sarcastically.

Valentina brushes off Ava without a second thought, starting to go into more in depth plans of the various big shots the Thunderbolts were required to speak to tonight, either for securing more funding or public support, or just to rub elbows for Valentina's reputation. Once her eyes are off John when she finishes his personal list of social chores, he gives you a pointed look. You good? He mouths.

You nod with a small smile, giving him a small thumbs up. He smiles back softly before his attention is snapped back by Valentina, clearing his throat as his face falters back to his default frown.

"Attention all esteemed guests," A sudden call from some distant intercom announces, catching everyone's attention in the vicinity, "If you are participating in our charity auction this evening, please proceed to the auction hall. The auction will start in 15 minutes."

"That's our cue." Valentina remarks. "Let's hope they have an extra seat for your friend."

Valentina leads the charge as she walks off towards a set of large wooden double doors, Mel trailing close behind with her handy tablet tucked under her arm. The rest of the Thunderbolts follow suit, filing into a smaller group as the crowd starts to file into the room, leaving you and Bob trailing behind just a touch.

"…You look beautiful, by the way." Bob leans in to shyly comment as you walk, his cheeks turning a touch pinker before your very eyes.

You don't know what it was about the way Bob said it, but despite all the hassle from Valentina you've already been catching tonight, the tightness forming in your chest starts to loosen a bit. "Thanks Bob, you're too sweet." You quietly reply, nudging his shoulder with a smile. "You look handsome too, but you always do."

A fresh redness spreads all the way to the tips of Bob's ears as he registers the compliment, trying to brush it off with a nervous chuckle. "O-oh, thanks. Val already had this thing tailored for me, but, uh, this is actually the first time I've ever worn one…I think."

A smile starts to blossom on your face. "I guess you could say it suits you then." You crack with another, more playful nudge.

While some of the Thunderbolts who overheard you let out a collective groan, even garnering a small "boooo" from Yelena, Bob just tries to stifle an earnest snort. "You had that one locked and loaded, huh?"

You just shrug. "Maybe. Just wanted to see how long it'd take me to use it."

You're both still smiling as you make your way into the auction room, a relatively smaller but still impressive showroom lined with rows of fancy looking chairs with fancier people starting to fill in their seats. The Thunderbolts and yourself slowly file into a line as you shift with the crowd and make your way to your respective seats, professionally reserved with a small sign with The New Avengers proudly inked in beautiful cursive font. Much to your surprise, there actually was a seat marked for you, but your name was substituted on the placeholder in favor of the repeated phrase, Guest of Mr. Barnes. You were also the notable the end marker of this superhero filled side of the row, with Bucky taking his appropriate seat next to you. John, Ava, Yelena, Bob and Alexei filed in and shuffled awkwardly among themselves to find their seats beside him, leaving Mel and Valentina on the edge of the row.

You take your seat without much fuss, but you notice Bucky's eyes locked on something, or someone, just behind you. You glance over to see an older gentleman, probably no younger than 70, slowly shuffling over to make his way towards your row, wearing what looked like an oddly casual hat that definitely stood out against his more official white suit.

"…You good Buck?" You ask as you turn back towards him, gently nudging his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He puffs, trying and failing to get comfortable in his own seat. "Just don't get too chatty with the guy sitting next to you."

"Jeez, okay," You reassure, "It's only the third time y'all have asked me to stay quiet. Next thing you know you're gonna ask Ava to shut off my vocal chords as insurance."

Bucky sighs. "I know, I'm sorry, but if you're not gonna listen to anything else I say tonight, at least do me a solid with this one."

You glance back at the old man, now caught up in some conversation at the end of your row. "What? Is he some secret billionaire asshole I need to worry about?"

"No- Well, sort of." Bucky clarifies. "He does have money, but, his name is Stan Lee. He's a well-respected vet, but, he uh…also has mouth on him."

You quirk a brow at Bucky. "Stanley? You on a first name basis with this guy?"

"No, Stan Lee." He emphasizes. "And, surprisingly, yes. He was a private in the 107th infantry with me, actually."

Your eyes widen. "Holy shit."

Bucky just sighs, but both your shifts gaze as you hear the older man start to scoot into his seat beside you. It should've been obvious when you saw him across the room, but now that he was a bit closer, you could make out the out of place cap as a WWII veteran's cap, covered in various badges and military honors.

"Nice to see you again, Mr. Lee." Bucky greets with one of the more friendly smiles you'd seen on him so far tonight. "You here with your usual crowd?"

"Nah, thought I'd go stag tonight for once." He says with a smile, but his eyes are clearly more set on you as he lowers his glasses to get a better look. "And who's this beauty with you tonight?"

"Oh, uh, hi!" You greet awkwardly, giving him your name as you offer to shake his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Lee-"

"Oh please, Mr. Lee was my father," He cuts in with a smirk, taking your hand with a firm shake. "All the ladies call me Stan."

Hm. Gross. "Well, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Stan." You awkwardly answer back.

"Pleasure's all mine, really." He reassures with a smile, looking back up at Bucky. "You won't mind if I steal her for a dance later tonight, will ya Buck?"

"I would, actually." Bucky answers surprisingly firmly, but still trying to keep his flimsy politeness afloat. "They're just here as a friend, not so much to…mingle."

"Ah, that's a shame, but you know I can't object to you Buck." Stan replies, but he still leans in a bit closer to him, dropping his voice to still clearly audible whisper. "Don't let this geezer try to keep you all to himself tonight, sweetheart."

"I'll…try my best." You reply rather dryly, which seems to leave Stan content enough as he leans back in his seat. You notice him reaching under it to grab a paddle with a number on it - the weapon of choice for people with too much money on their hands to absentmindedly throw onto luxury items they probably didn't really need.

After a bit of sustaining ambient chatter and people finding their rightful seats, a plucky young auctioneer wearing a simple suit with a bright red bow tie walked up to the podium standing tall on the left side of the stage. He pulls out a small gavel from behind the shelter of the podium, lightly tapping it on the sounding block to get the room's attention.

The first few items go off without a hitch. Innocuous pieces of art you'd rather want in the MoMA than some random asshole's third penthouse, ancient paraphernalia you can't help but ponder of the questionable attainment of, even some small fragments of superhero history that came from the Battle of New York just a decade or so ago - God, was it really that long ago now?

It takes all of your will power to not stealthily pull out your phone and headphones to throw on a podcast or something during the duller moments, something you also caught John and Yelena trying to do, but judging by how were quickly snapped back by Mel, you figured it'd be safer to just try to entertain yourself in the expanse of your mind instead.

You couldn't help but be a little caught up in the ridiculousness of it all the more you thought about it as the auctions progressed. Thousands of thousands of dollars were being thrown left and right by these people like it was just pocket change they found in their couch, but normal everyday people outside of this building were starving in the street, dying from insane medical bills, suffering under under some insane myriad of things this beloved capitalist hellscape had uniquely created and trapped humanity in.

What you wouldn't give to give these rich assholes something to briefly suffer from. Briefly. Just a small thorn in their side, some petty form of revenge in the face of everything.

"Hey, hold this thing for me, will ya?" Stan asks, breaking your downward spell of thoughts as he practically shoves his auction paddle into your hands. "Gotta go powder my nose."

"Huh? O-oh, sure, of course." You answer, shifting slightly as Stan gets up to awkwardly shuffle out of the row. You look down at the paddle in your hands, the numbers 616 painted on in fancy red script.

"Our next item for auction is a real treat." Notes the auctioneer, smiling as an assistant removes a covering of red fabric over a clear acrylic cube. Inside was some sort of partially destroyed but certainly intricate helmet of some kind, a thick gold band resting almost like a crown in laid with a steel colored dome, the sides of it draped with some kind of foreign chainmail you'd never seen before.

"This is a Chitari Helm that was recovered from the Battle of New York, and although it is partially damaged, if anything it stands to remind us all of the destruction that took place that fateful day. It also certainly proudly serves as a symbol of the bravery of those heroes who took on those invaders and proudly protected our city."

Huh. Something actually cool. You can't help but think.

The auctioneer smiles gleefully towards the crowd as he raises his mallet. "The bidding will start at $1,000."

Quickly, the numbers start to rack up from various voices in the audience - $1,500, $1,750, $2,000.

"Can I get $2,500?"

And then, without really thinking, you decide to test something. You slowly start to raise your hand, your paddle now rising just above your shoulder-

"I see $2,500 for the lady in silver!"

Oh.

Shit.

The Thunderbolts heads whip to the side to see you raising Stan's auction paddle, with Bucky in particular staring befuddled daggers into you as his metal hand snatches your wrist out of the air. "Are you crazy?" He hisses under his breath.

You just blink, looking like a kid who just got caught sticking their hand in the cookie jar to any nosy onlookers. "What? He's not even here, I'm not gonna do anything stupid." You try to reassure him.

"You're already doing something stupid." John butts in from beside him.

"Guys, it'll be fine," You quietly reassure. "These assholes could stand to pay a few extra bucks to charity for some richy rich piece of junk they'd want."

Both John and Bucky's looks are still stern, but Bucky at least lets go of your wrist to avoid any further attention he could possibly cast on him or you.

"…They've kinda got a point." Bob quietly brings up, but the pair of super soldiers swiftly shoot their mental daggers in his direction before he can try to further soften the severity your actions.

"$3,000!"

The declaration turns your attention back to the auction, where you notice some smarmy looking man closer to the front raising his paddle and his voice despite being so close to the stage. You watch as he turns to consult with some woman sitting beside him, probably some accountant assistant or member of whatever sort of team he had.

"$4,000!" You call out above the crowd, raising your paddle even higher this time.

You watch as the man's head whips in your direction, large square glasses obscuring his face, but you could at least tell that he wasn't expecting someone else's bid.

He turns back to the stage, raising his paddle again. "$4500-"

"$5,000!" You immediately yell out, an infectiously cocky smile spreading across your face. Even if you were only making one slimy billionaire squirm in their seat, it was worth it for the pure rush running through you.

The man's double take towards you is less intense this time, but it doesn't stop him from raising his paddle again. "$5,500!"

"$6,000!!"

"$6,500!!!"

The auctioneer grins, letting out a small chuckle himself behind the mic. "Oh, we're really in it now folks - can I get $7,500?"

"$8,000!" You yell out above the crowd as you raise your paddle even higher.

Yelena and Ava look like they were about to keel over with how hard they were stifling their laughter, while everyone else on the team looked at you like you were the fucking Grim Reaper incarnate - except for Alexei, who looked even more proud that you would ever think was possible for a man like him, and Valentina, oddly enough, who only looked mildly surprised given the circumstances.

"$8,000 from the young lady in silver." The auctioneer notes with a grin, turning towards the man once again. "Your move sir?"

Your smirk that's settled on your face wavers a bit when he doesn't immediately jump up with an answer, leaning towards his associates as they start talking among themselves.

The auctioneer glances between the two of you, but the small smile curling on the corners of his lips (even from this distance, mind you) made him out like he was an eager referee for a western standoff. "Going once…"

Oh fuck. You might accidentally buy this thing.

"Going twice-"

Did you even have $8,000 to your name? How many shifts would you even have to work to save that much, to make that much? Were they even going to charge you- were they going to charge Stan? Sure, Stan probably has money, but $8,000 doesn't just disappear without someone noticing.

Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck were you even thinking?!

"$10,000!"

Part of the room gasps as your competitor's declaration hits the air, your body freezing like a deer in headlights as your head practically whips itself around to look over at him. That sly bastard doesn't even bother to look back at you to realize the sudden mercy he's granted you.

The auctioneer's eyes find you along with everyone else's, and you decide now is the time to end this little charade with a simple shake of your head.

"Sold!" The auctioneer calls out. "To the rather competitive gentleman for $10,000! Well played sir."

You almost pass out in your seat as the gavel hits the sounding block, finally ending the rollercoaster ride that you now desperately wanted off of. Your eyes wander back over to your friendly competition, seeing one of his cohorts lean over to whisper in the man's ear, and you find his eyes are still set on you through the shine of his glasses. He even has the nerve to give you one last glint of a smile before turning back in his seat.

"What a douchebag..." You hear Bob mutter, only for Yelena to gently elbow him in the ribs.

Once the room finally settles down, you hear a familiar shuffling and small hushed flurry of "Sorry hon- 'Scuse me-" from beside you.

Stan reappears as if he'd only been gone for a few seconds, casually taking his seat again beside you with a smile. "Hey sweetheart - what'd I miss?"

"Oh, uh, nothing much." You explain a bit breathlessly, handing him back his paddle. "Just a few boring paintings and some other boring stuff."

"Huh. Typical." Stan passively sighs, but he leans in a bit closer. "The black market ones are always more interesting anyways."

You let out a strained yet soft laugh, and you can't tell if he's joking or if he's serious as you try and fail to relax in your seat.

A few smaller items come and go with a lot less interesting fan fare, but at least it gave your heart rate plenty of time to climb back down from its unintended high.

"And now, to introduce our last item of the evening," The auctioneer states, and you say a silent prayer to whatever higher power that this auction is finally coming to a close. "Please give a warm welcome to Saber Security Technologies CEO, Archer Brooks."

Much to you and the other Thunderbolt's surprise, the man in the glasses you just had your little bidding war with earlier rises from his seat, making his way to the stage with a few long strides through the appropriate amount of applause.

"Thank you, thank you-" He calls out to the room as the applause dies down, his strong New York accent striking you like a shovel to the back of the head, "It really is an honor to be here, truly, but even more so to have the opportunity to present this item for your bidding tonight."

"The last couple of years have been…challenging - for everyone of course, but also for those of us where the safety and security of people is our entire job." Brooks states. "The entire world has had to adapt to this new constant barrage of threats, the kinds that we could never even begin to think were possible. Super geniuses gone psycho, warmongering aliens from outer-space, even genetically juiced-up super soldiers gone rogue - no offense to those in the room with us tonight, of course."

He weakly gestures to the row where the Thunderbolts were sat, causing a few eyes to stray over to Bucky, John and Alexei. Bucky and John straighten themselves up a bit in their seats, while Alexei just smiles and waves. "None taken!" He shouts back at Brooks with a small laugh.

A small scattering of chuckles rise from the room, and Brooks just nods in reply.

"What I'm trying to get at is," Brooks continues, quickly getting back on track, "The stakes have truly never been higher, for all of us. Thanks to my father, a man who proudly dedicated his life to the safety of his neighbors for over 20 years in the NYPD, he instilled in me that it is all our fundamental duty, our right, to secure our collective safety in the face of these evolving threats by evolving ourselves - and, in the case of him having a little nerd like me for a son, the assets we can create and use to our advantage against them."

More subtle laughter rings throughout the room, but everyone's attention is quickly drawn to the small but audible noises of some sort of device being powered on, whirring just to the side of the stage and hidden behind a solid red curtain.

"This piece of tech is the start of something bigger. Not just for our company, but for - what I believe - is the future security of humanity as a whole." Brooks declares, starting to stand a bit taller as a proud smile blossoms across his face.

"Ladies and gentlemen," He announces as he slowly lifts his arm, gesturing towards the side of the stage, "I am pleased to present, FOXHOUND."

The room sucked in a collective breath, sharp gasps resounding as a large, quadruped machine slinks into the stage's spotlight. You could hear the weight of its metallic mass in every lumbering step it took, notable thunks emanating across the room as it saunters up to a small elevated platform to stand proudly before its newfound audience.

Even from this distance, the machine was terrifying and impressive all at once. Its silver sheen reflecting the spotlights, two small slits on the front of its face glowing with a soft, white light that vaguely resembled eyes interrupted by a small, black diamond shape in the center of its forehead. Its "ears", if you could even call them that, were more like two sharp diamond shapes that jutted out from its head, slightly twitching as its head moved to scan the room. Even its tail was metal, a rounded whip-like thing swaying softly from left to right, almost as long as the machine's body itself. Despite its sharper shape language and overall terrifying aura set by Brook's whole schpeal, it was acting rather docile, simply watching. Waiting.

"I mean, nothing against my fellow techies in arms, but, c'mon," Brooks proudly gestures towards the machine, "Boston Dynamics has nothing on this, frankly."

Another, notably smaller wave of laughter echoed across the audience, though it was certainly more nervous than before. Brook's flashes his million-dollar smile to work its magic as his gaze sweeps across the crowd, almost in reassurance that his humble creation wouldn't accidentally kill them all on the spot.

Then, of course, his eyes catch on something.

"Mister Lee," He suddenly calls out in your direction,"Mind if I borrow your date for the evening?"

It takes you a second to realize he's talking about you, before Stan nudges your shoulder with a playful smirk to hammer it home. "Go on!"

It takes half a second for you to register the cold metal of Bucky's hand catching your wrist yet again, not holding it as tightly as last time, but just enough to stop you from rising out of your seat. "You don't have to do this." He mutters without looking over at you.

"It'll be fine Bucky." You quietly reply. "It's just an asshole trying to settle the score to his ego. I can at least handle that."

Bucky's hesitant sigh is cut off by said wounded ego - "Aw c'mon, don't be shy now." Brooks goads from the stand.

You let out a nervous chuckle, slowly rising from your seat as you feel every eye in the room suddenly set themselves on you, including the remainder of your beloved Thunderbolts with all their mixed reactions. Alexei seemed to be the only one happy for you, giving you a gleeful thumbs up while the rest of the team had an air of 'what the hell are you doing???' plastered all over their faces. A soft applause waves across the room to help dispel any awkward silence as you make your way out of the row of seats and towards the small stage, maybe trying a little too hard to keep yourself steady in your heels as you did so.

"…Five bucks says they break the dog." Ava leans over and whispers to John, who immediately glares at her. Ava just pretends to look offended before leaning back in her chair with a smile.

To your slight surprise, Brooks actually steps out from behind the podium to offer you his hand, steadying you as you climb up onto the slightly raised stage. "Easy does it." He teases softly with a sly wink, guiding you to stand just next to the podium. "All you have to do is stand there and be pretty. Should be easy for ya."

You bite back against every instinct to roll your eyes, and simply nod instead.

Why do these entitled assholes all have to share the same stupid shit talk dictionary?

He lets go of your hand to walk back to the podium, speaking once again into the microphone just in front of him. "FOXHOUND is our latest development in more hands-on security measures, you could say." "

You head turns as you hear the thunk of FOXHOUNDS footsteps, and you're too distracted by the giant metal dog walking towards you to notice John visibly tense in his seat, fists clenching tighter and curling into his lap

"Don't worry, it doesn't bite," Brooks teases, "Civilians, at least."

Brooks detaches the microphone from his stand, some offstage assistant emerging to hand him a tablet of some kind in a rather bulky black tech case. He takes it graciously, moving to stand beside you on the presentation stage as the metal hound circles you curiously - or, as curious as a dangerous looking robot dog could be.

"FOXHOUND is equipped with our peak biometric recognition technology to immediately identify friend from foe."

The small faux eyes fade and brighten as it finally stills beside you - it blinked at you, you realize - a gentle white light pulsating from it as Brooks looks up at you from the tablet. "Go on." He goads with a smirk. "Give it a command."

Your eyes go wide, setting themselves back on the metal hound staring right back up at you. It was more like a wolf than a dog up this close, it's hulking metal frame standing at the height of your rib-cage while it was still just on all fours.

You release a shaky breath, clearing your throat as you let out a squeaky, less than firm command. "…Sit?"

The lights of its eyes fade and brighten yet again, tilting its sharply shaped head to the side as it plops down on its hind legs, its metal tail wagging just a touch faster than it was before.

More calm laughter erupts in the room, including a nervous chuckle of your own as you cautiously reach out a hand to the robot's face. Much to your surprise, this scary looking security robot has the nerve to nuzzle into your palm , a raising a few 'aws' ringing out from the crowd in response.

"It's uniquely trained on the public data of the masses," Brooks casually continues, "Think social media handles, blog posts, that one terribly named email you still have from 2009. It filters through it all to create it's own unique identity profiles, then matches the person or persons in their line of sight against public criminal databases we've been granted access to. from around the globe.

"And, the ability- no, the privilege," Brooks corrects himself, "To beta test our FOXHOUND technology in your respective field, is exactly what's up for auction tonight."

The crowd gasps, excited mutters and chatter breaking out among the respective guests.

"You gotta be shittin' me." Bucky curses under his breath.

"The winner will also have access to some of my own programmers and staff, along with myself, to help facilitate this testing and ensure the best results possible, both for you and for our program." Archer reassures, tapping away at a few things on the tablet again before tucking it under his arm, gesturing to the best of his ability to you and his creation. "Can we get round of applause for my beautiful volunteer, please?"

The fire returns to your cheeks in more welcome sense as gentle applause breaks out from the crowd again, nervously giggling and waving as FOXHOUND proudly straightens its posture beside you.

Brooks turns to hand the mic back to the auctioneer, who takes his rightful place back on the podium, small gavel in hand. "The bidding will start at $500,000."

After concluding with the most vicious bidding war of the night - one that even Valentina dropped a bid or two on, though ultimately lost - you join the other Avengers as you all exit the auction hall, walking back out to the main ballroom as their voices join the more eager chatter of the crowd now surrounding you.

"Kind of an odd place to reveal such a big piece of tech." John offhandedly comments, clearly trying to sound unimpressed. "Especially some weird…robot dog thing."

"Unless you wanted to make the right kind of impression." Ava notes, plucking some little snacks from the various trays that passed by. "Or try to out shine a bunch of newly appointed public-facing superheroes."

"Oh please, have some respect for yourself." Valentina suddenly cuts in from the front of the group. "A robot dog isn't going to save the world on its own, but you all somehow already have. At least you have that over it."

"Says the person who's actively working with that same company for our tower's security measures." Yelena throws back. "That's a conflict of interest if I've ever seen one."

The other Thunderbolts seem surprised such a casual drop of consequential info, but Valentina just rolls her eyes. "Someone's been doing their homework." She sneers. "Saber Securities already has a government contract with the military, and we were offered a little piece of that pie, that's all. It's called getting on the ground floor of technological advancements." Valentina pauses to glance back towards you. "Seems like your little friend can understand that much."

Your body tightens as your face burns with raw embarrassment, but for a second you almost think Valentina weirdly respects you, albeit in her own ludicrously bitchy way.

"Ah, technology-schmology," Alexei cuts in, his lacking ability to read the room on full display, "It is too fickle to rely on theses days. I'd rather have real dog - super dog even. Like Krypto!"

"Well, magical mutts that shoot down from outer space are in short supply these days, so this is the next best thing." Val replies rather dryly as she turns to face him. "Maybe if you're good Santa will get you one next Christmas."

"Really?"

Val just throws Alexei a look, causing the large man to shrink a little in mild disappointment.

As you wander back to the table with the team, Val briefs them on how they'll be split up tonight for optimal shoulder rubbing purposes. You did your best to make it clear you didn't want to intervene, occupying yourself with some people watching that was surprisingly dull considering your subjects. Fancy rich folks who's money is their whole personality, government drones kissing ass for endorsement money -

"You think they could've at least invited some actual celebrities to this thing." Your let out as your thoughts finally manage to grumble past your lips.

John, who was tasked with babysitting the remaining table of Ava, Yelena and Bob while the others were making their personal rounds, just scoffs as he moves to lean against the table beside you. "I'm sure there's famous people here, just…not the normal kind of famous, y'know."

"So not actually famous." You try to clarify. "Just more of the rich-people-circle-jerk kinda famous, all because what? All the actual famous people were booked tonight? Because Ryan Seacrest is personally holding them hostage for a New Year's Rockin' Eve or something?"

John just laughs. "Wouldn't be surprised if he was."

"I swear, I think that thing is secretly one of those, like, 'illuminati humiliation rituals' people theorize about online…Wait." Your train of thought trails off as your eyes scan across the room, and you let out a soft gasp as you nudge at John's ribs. "Hey, who's that girl Bucky's talking to?"

John glances over in the direction you were already looking, spotting Bucky at one of the nearby tables chatting with a strikingly pretty blonde woman he was sure he recognized from somewhere.

"Oh, that's uh, Sharon Carter I think." John clarifies as places the name to the face. "They go way back apparently."

"Way back as in…they're a thing?"

"Oh, hell no. They worked together to try and stop that terrorist group that attacked the GRC building a few years ago."

"Oh shit, yeah! I remember hearing about that."

"Yeah, well, I was actually there, so-"

You raise your brows as you throw an incredulous face at him, but as you pull bits and pieces of news stories you remember catching glances of, there might've actually been some mentions of a "disgraced Cap candidate" somewhere in there.

"Holy shit, you were!"

John can't help but smirk a little at your awed reaction. "Yeah. Saved a ton of these people's lives, actually." He gestured vaguely around the room. "No big deal."

Despite the impressiveness of it all, his tone makes you roll your eyes with a smile. "Well, the one thing money isn't is bulletproof. Maybe you should hold it over some of their heads tonight."

"Well, it can sure as hell buy you bulletproof shit." John notes.

"Touché." You reply with a smile, glancing back over at Bucky. "So, if they aren't a thing, why's she here at this fancy party then?"

"…I dunno." John answers unsurely, crossing his arms over his chest as he contemplates. "Maybe the GRC is trying to make amends or something. I know she's back in the CIA nowadays after she was on the run for a while. Sam Wilson even got her a government pardon for helping out Steve Rogers and him back in the day."

"Wow…" You can't help but be impressed by her connections even from this distance, but your brow is quickly furrows. "Wait, what did she do to need a pardon from the government?"

"Something about stealing Cap's shield and Sam's wings back for them when things were going to shit with the Avengers before the blip." John says with a shrug. "Guess it pays to have powerful friends in your debt all the time."

"Hm. Wonder what that's like." You tease, looking up at him with a smile.

John just chuckles again. "Hey, I sure as hell couldn't tell you."

You eyes flick back to Bucky for a moment, and you can't help but notice that Sharon was actually drawing a genuine smile on his face. You've maybe been lucky enough to draw something similar out of him once or twice in the shorter time you've known him as his bartender, but you were honestly just more glad to see he had more good company to keep himself with.

"So…does that mean if I ever commit a heinous act of treason, you're the first person I'm gonna have to call?"

John just rolls his eyes. "Hell no. If anything I'd probably have to bring you in myself."

"But what if I had, like, a really good reason to do it?"

John's amusement falters slightly, but he still lets out a softer chuckle as his eyes find the floor beneath him. "…Doesn't really matter if you had a good reason, from my experience."

Your face drops slightly, but before you can apologize, a gratingly familiar voice pipes up just beside John.

"Alright soldier boy, you're up." Val calls with an artificial smile, lightly tugging at John's sleeve to get him to follow her as it pulls his gaze from the floor. "Gotta rub elbows with some government officers - lovely to meet you, by the way."

Just as quickly as she had appeared, Val waves you and the rest of the remaining table of heroes off before walking away with John and Mel at her side. John throws a glance back towards you, showing off a weakly reassuring smile before turning his attention back to Val as she leans a bit closer to him. "I really don't know where you find these women John- or where these women find you, I guess."

John doesn't even get a beat to respond before Valentina is already greeting a group of well-dressed and militarily decorated gentlemen nearby, doing his best to throw on a somewhat genuine smile as his grueling small talk of the evening truly begins.

You're admittedly a bit sad to see John go, but you figured that was some of the price you'd have to pay to briefly rid yourself of Valentina's overbearingly elitist presence.

"Alright," You declare as you turn back to your remaining Thunderbolts, leaning onto the table like you were going to brief them with a mission of your own, "Now that the bitchy buzzkill is gone again, who's gonna dance with me, hm?"

"Oh hell no." Yelena quickly objects. "I wouldn't be caught dead dancing in front of these assholes."

"I practically have two left feet anyways," Ava notes with a strained smile, "But you're cute for asking."

"Aw, c'mon guys- I mean, there's literally a band right there!" You point out, gesturing to the small string quartet in a corner of the venue.

"Yeah, for ambiance." Ava points out, taking a sip of some champagne she'd nabbed from a tray earlier. "Not like any of these stiffs can dance anyways."

The two other remaining Thunderbolts at the table expertly dodge your gaze, even when you put on your cutest pout in protest. "But it's literally a ball-"

"Gala-"

"Whatever." You cut off Ava's swift correction without a second thought. "You can't treat me to just one dance while we're all fancy like this?" Your eyes quickly dart over to Bob, pulling your biggest puppy dog face as you lean closer to him. "Pleeeease?"

"O-oh, no, no," Bob stammers, subtly trying to scoot away from you, "I don't think-"

"C'mon Bob, it's just one dance, I-"

Before the Yelena and Ava can stop or even try to warn you, your hand is already clasped around Bob's to try and pull him out of his seat.

The music quickly fades as everything around you is permeated with a thick miasma, lightless shadows saturating your surroundings until you're enveloped in an all-consuming darkness. Your heart barely has time to plummet to the pit of your stomach before it fades just as quickly, but doesn't take you back the ballroom.

Your heels sink slightly into the soft grass now beneath you, a haze of gray clouds covering the sky as you stare out at the empty streets of a cul-de-sac you hadn't thought about in half a decade.

You're slow to turn as your bearings remind you where you are, the faint muffled sound of voices yelling and screaming coming from what you feared was behind you:

Your childhood home, that red brick, vine-covered hell hole with white-lined windows and a crackled sidewalk leading to the screen door, fills your vision like water in your lungs, your breathing staggering at the sight.

You watch, unable to tear yourself away as a younger version of yourself storms out the door, slamming it open with a tinny BANG! and stomping out despite the sprinkle of rain just starting overhead.

"Well, God forbid I try to build a fucking life for myself, huh?" You mutter through grit teeth, though your voice quickly crescendos towards someone inside. "I wish you were still fucking DEAD."

Your father's voice chases after you like hellfire licking at your heels, the burlier man following you out into the building rain. "IT'S A GOD DAMN SHAME OF A LIFE IS WHAT IT IS-"

You stop yourself, spinning on your heel and throwing down your bags to slam your hands to your chest. "BUT IT'S MY LIFE, DAD! MY FUCKING LIFE!"

Your father doesn't care, a silver cross waving like a warding sign across his chest as it rises and falls with his declarations. "IT'S A GOD DAMN FUCKING SIN, THE LOT OF IT!"

"SO WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT DAD, HUH? WHY NOT JUST KILL ME ALREADY SO I CAN PARTY IT UP IN HELL LIKE I'M SUPPOSED TO?"

You watch as you storm up to meet your father in the middle of the pavement, thunder booming all around you as if the gods themselves were bearing witness, as if you had the power to summon lightning to smite the both of you to hell right where you stood.

"JUST FUCKING SAY IT." You spit out right to his face. "JUST SAY I'M A FUCKING PATHETIC, WORTHLESS, PIECE OF SHIT FA-"

Your own father's fist, still bearing the tough steel of his wedding band, collides with your face with no mercy, sending you tumbling down to the ground to land on your own hastily packed duffel bag. Your lower back flares with the familiar pain of how you awkwardly landed on a hardback book you shoved in there somewhere, your right eye pulsing with the pressure and the pain of the color-shifting bruise it would hold onto in the hours and days after.

He sneers at you, knuckles gripped tight at his side, looming over your body like a tormenting specter. "Fuckin' pathetic."

You and your younger self can only watch helplessly as he turns away, slowly making his way back towards the door.

Your hands flex at your side, your breathing shallow and your body tense with…everything. In this moment you remember how paralyzed you were by fear, your one fleeting chance of rightful vengeance stamped out like a cigarette butt under your father's boot.

But it's been years since then, and by now, you've had more than enough time to think of what you'd really wanted to do.

Despite your fancier attire, you trudge forward through the now muddying ground, leaning down to grab a loose piece of concrete from a more a broken part of the walkway. It weighs lighter than you expected, but you continue forward anyways, thunder crackling louder as if in accompaniment to your every step.

Raising your arm to the sky as you approach your father from behind, the angry sting of tears brim in your eyes as you attempt to bring it down on the back of his unsuspecting skull-

In a flash before contact, something steps in front of you to grab your wrist, something stronger than you expect, and the rage in your vision fades for a fleeting moment at the sight of a kinder, more familiar face.

"…Bob?"

He seems just as shocked as you are, but is still holding your wrist with an iron grip, his blue eyes practically pleading with you before his voice can squeak it out.

"I-I…I'm sorry, I-"

The blackness from before consumes the scene around you, fading once again as faint yet familiar orchestral music hits your ears. You look back at your hand, the pointed edges of your clutch's clasp digging into you, gripping it with a petrified strength you didn't know you had.

You feel a rogue tear slip down your cheek as you glance to the side, the two remaining Avengers looking like they were about to spring out of their damn chairs, their stares laser focused on you. Your attention is swiftly brought back to Bob as he slowly brings your hand down with his, gently taking your bag from you with his free hand.

You both can't help but notice the stinging imprints it left behind on your palm.

The shame on Bob's face is painfully palpable, but despite it his nervous voice is able to croak out, "…You okay?"

You do your best to blink away the remnant tears stinging your eyes, taking a moment before letting out a deep, shaky breath, lungs tensed from holding one in for far too long. You pull yourself free from his grasp, his hand falling from you with no resistance, like grains of sand in the wind.

"…Yeah." You eventually manage to get out, not even acknowledging the others as you try not to visibly tremble. "I, uhm…I need a drink."

Without another word, you do your best to wipe your face as you turn and make a swift beeline for the bar just across the room. Bob, in a similar silence, slides right back into his seat, resigning himself to try and sink into the floor beneath him and disappear completely as he holds his head in his hands.

The room blurs at the edge of your vision through the lingering tears stinging your eyes, causing you to miss zipping past the table where Bucky and Sharon were catching up. It's also far behind you before you can notice Bucky turning around, noticing an extremely concerned Yelena hover over Bob slumped in his chair, and swiftly excusing himself from the conversation.

The bartender spots you from a few feet away, greeting you with a friendly smile that you try your best to weakly reciprocate when you finally get close enough. "Hi. Whiskey double on the rocks, please."

You do your best to steady yourself with a few deep breaths, knowing it was bad when you had to pull out old breathing exercises your therapist taught you on the fly. As you take your glass with a wavering smile and a thankful nod, you couldn't help but feel a little relief as the first sip of whiskey burned on it's way down, fighting tooth and nail to take your mind off that scene you were forcibly sent back to. Hell, your back almost instinctually flinches when you feel a piece of the wooden counter press into that same spot in your back, straightening yourself up as your still somewhat bleary eyes wander aimlessly around the room.

Shit, what even was that? You'd heard of trauma victims having vivid flashbacks, sure, even suffering through your own the first few years after you left home, but that was clearly an entirely different beast. The sheer vividness of it all, the way you could feel the rain gently tapping the top of your head, the weight of the humidity in the air, the sting of that small stripe of metal making precise contact with the flesh and bone of your cheek.

The room slowly starts to descend into a haze, not from foggy vision or another fit of shadows, but just with the idea that you could still be thrown into that memory so vividly at all. Five fucking years later, and you thought you'd be over it by now, that you'd finally put that shell of a life behind you completely.

You can just barely feel the chill of the glass as you grip your drink a little tighter.

"…Rough night?"

The thick New York accent cuts through your mental fog like a car horn on the street, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin as you glance towards the man standing next to you. "Uh, n-no, just," You stammer, trying to string some semblance of something believable together in your thrashed about brain, "I, uh, like to party, what can I say?" You get out with an admittedly strained smile.

The man almost looks confused, but just chuckles, adjusting his glasses before turning to the bartender. "Same for me please." He orders, the bartender nodding and pouring up some whiskey in another glass of ice. He gingerly takes it from them, then raises it to you, the crystalline glass glistening under lights of the room. "Just a couple of party people at one of the lamest New Year's parties of the century."

You can't help but let out a weak laugh, clinking your glass against his before you both take a sip, the whiskey burning against the lump still resting in your throat. "Y'know…why is it the more money and power you get, the lamer you actually become?" You decide to randomly ask, hoping the stranger would vapidly fill the air. Maybe some lighter conversation would do a better job of distracting you than the whiskey, hopefully.

The man just laughs, shoving his free hand into one of his pockets. "Shareholders have that affect on you after a while." He admits. "Sometimes I worry I'm getting lamer by the day."

It takes you a moment through your self-induced haze to actually realize who you're talking to, but the memory comes back quick with another slip of your tongue. "At least you're building a cool robot dog. That's probably a million times cooler than what anyone else in this room will do with their entire lives."

"Well, that depends," He poses, turning more to properly face you, "Entirely on what you're doing for the rest of the evening."

It was your turn to laugh more fully, sputtering out like an engine trying to start as his intentions reach your ears. "Oh really? My evening is more valuable than a huge piece of soon-to-be militarized tech?"

"It does when such a pretty face makes me pay over $5000 more than what I anticipated for an auction item I so desperately wanted." He draws out with a smirk, moving his free hand from his pocket to hold it out to you. "Archer Brooks."

You give the man a good once over now that he wasn't some annoying head in a crowd or an occupied presenter on a stage. He was taller up close, hair slicked back with a slight 5 o'clock shadow that made him look a little more rugged than you'd expect some high honcho tech bro to be. His clearly 70's inspired glasses framed his face in a way that made him look a bit older, but not in an unwelcome sense. You were finding his accent didn't bother you as much as you thought it would, but that could also be the whiskey and the severe lack of dick appointments in your life recently talking.

You take his hand, giving him your name without much of a second thought. "Just had to make you sweat a little, that's all." You tease. "Gotta make men like you work for something in your life for once."

He chuckles, still holding your hand as he shrugs. "Touché."

Instead of shaking it, he has the nerve to bring your hand to his lips, just barely brushing them against your knuckles before bringing it back down and letting it slip from his grasp. "The pleasure's all mine…but I am curious," He states, his voice growing quieter as he moves in a bit closer, "How does a little minx like you find yourself at a big government shindig like this, hm?"

"O-oh, well…" You hesitate for a moment, but the liquor starting to soften your edges lets your tongue slip. "I'm actually here with the Avengers."

His brows raise in surprise, but not as much as you'd expect. "Oh, really now? And how exactly did you get to know the god damn Avengers?" He blatantly asks through a chuckle. "You're not some secret superhero or government agent or somethin', are ya?"

"Oh God no. I actually know Bucky- uh, Mr. Barnes," You correct, "Through my job."

"Really? Fascinating." Archer practically purrs. "Cause you seem far too smart to be just a secretary to the guy - though, you're definitely pretty enough to be one."

Your awkward flustered laughter echoes across the room, causing Walker to twitch as he tries to steal a glance mid conversation. His brow furrows when he clocks that the weird robot dog guy is chatting with you so casually again, and while you seemed to have a handle on it, he couldn't help but feel that something was…off.

He feels a small nudge on his arm, looking over to see Mel trying to direct his attention back to the conversation at hand, and he does his best to center himself again.

It takes him all of five minutes until he can't take it, trying his best to more covertly steal another glance over at you again, though this time his blood really starts to boil when he notices that tech head had moved even closer to you somehow, pulling something out of his suit jacket -

"-wouldn't you say, Mr. Walker?"

It takes John a second to realize someone else had said something to him, trying and failing to relax the ruffled look on his face. "Huh? O-oh, yes, uh…"

Val quirks a brow at him, John suddenly fumbling for an answer to a question he was absolutely not aware of. "I, uhm-"

"I think what John means senator, is-" Mel suddenly cuts in, saving his ass with some bullshit answer that she definitely had on stand by for something just like this.

John's eyes naturally drift back to you, and- Jesus Christ, it was a god damn business card, one that he was now scrawling something onto with a pen he'd also grabbed from in there somewhere.

"…Yeah. That." John weakly confirms, before he just clears his throat in defeat. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

As he breaks off from the government groupies without even a word to Val or Mel, he briskly makes his way back to the Thunderbolts still at the table. His gaze on you finally breaks though when he notices Yelena hovering close to Bob, a surprisingly tender hand on his shoulder.

God, he leaves these guys alone for five minutes-

"What the hell just happened?" Walker asks accusingly as he approaches. "And why the hell are they chatting it up with Dr. Dynomutt at the bar?"

Bucky is quick to shut down Walker as always, rising from his seat beside Bob and grabbing him firmly by the arm. "Take it easy Walker." Bucky warns quietly, looking over John's shoulder before meeting his eyes. "…Bob might be having an episode."

"What?!" John hisses back, his eyes going wide. "See, I told you, I told you guys this would happen, I-"

Bucky's grip on his arm tightens. "Just listen." He hisses. "They tried to grab Bob's hand for a dance, and…they saw something. We don't know what, but, it was definitely something."

"And you just let them run off to the bar?!" John reprimands, struggling to keep his voice low.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Bucky hisses right back, "Let's run after the one person that can supposedly handle themselves, like they've said all night, and leave the possibly sentient black hole all by himself to sulk us all into the abyss again."

Both their gazes flick back over to Bob, still being comforted by Yelena as he clearly tries to pull himself back together. "I-I'm fine, really-"

John tries to stare a hole straight through Bucky as he yanks his arm free, scoffing to himself as he starts to stride across the ballroom without another word.

"-and y'know, there's gonna be an after-party too. Maybe, we could-"

"Excuse me."

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sternness of John's voice, sounding more like a parent catching their kid sneaking out than a friend. "Oh! Hey John-" You greet with a smile, but your voice starts to teem with concern when you notice the glower set on his face. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." John emphasizes, making it clear as day to you that he was, in fact, not fine.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. America himself." Archer greets despite John's demeanor. "John Walker, right? Pleasure to meet ya, I'm-"

"I know who you are, asshole." Walker spits before he can stop himself, leaving both you and Archer in stunned silence as he completely ignores him, his gaze sternly set on you as he reaches for your wrist. "C'mon, let's go-"

"John!" You let out before he can finish his sentence, turning back to Archer apologetically. "I-I'm so sorry, I-"

"No no, it's okay," Archer reassures, softly putting a hand up as he meets Walker's gaze again. "I guess it wasn't Mr. Barnes I should've been worrying about then."

John's brow furrows, crossing his arms as he stands a bit taller. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, well," Archer starts, taking a sip of his whiskey before vaguely gesturing with his hands, "I mean…I'd just assume that, with your somewhat recent divorce, someone like you might move on a bit slow, but-"

Your eyes widen, and John just freezes.

His whole body visibly tenses. His fists drop his side and tighten till his knuckles burn white, and his jaw muscles flex with how tightly clamped they are as you watch the light leaves his eyes.

"O-oh, no, no, it's not like that-" You stammer out nervously, your heart hammering in your throat as you put your drink down on the bar top, ready to stop whatever nonsense was about to start. But once you lay your eyes back on John…

He doesn't argue. He doesn't yell or throw something back in his face, doesn't explode or lunge at him, or anything you'd expect for him to frankly have the rights to do.

He just…stares.

"Oh, my apologies." Archer offers, innocently placing a hand over his heart. "Didn't mean anything by it, really, just heard about it through the grapevine. You know how it is."

John says nothing, but your barely hidden scowl towards Archer says enough. "Well, it was lovely to talk to you, Mr. Brooks, but I think John was just grabbing me for a dance, right?"

John blinks, as if suddenly yoinked back into the realm of the living as slight confusion cloaks his anger. "What?"

Before he can make anything worse, you give Archer a dismissive smile and a nod before hooking your arm with John's, gently turning him as you guide yourselves away from the bar.

"Jesus fucking Christ." You mutter under your breath once you were out of earshot, glancing back at the bar briefly before looking up at John. "You looked like you were going to kill him."

I wanted to. John thinks.

"Fucking asshole." He grumbles instead.

"How the fuck did he even know about that?" You rather innocently ask, and John finally lets out the tight breath that'd wedged itself in his chest without him realizing.

"Divorce filings are public records." John loosely explains, briefly recalling when a few smaller shithead tabloids managed to get a hold of them in a similar, shittier way. "Maybe he dug around for it when he was making that-" He gestures vaguely, but can't think of a quippy enough insult through his leftover haze of anger. "Thing."

"Why would a robot dog need to know about your fucking divorce?"

"I don't know!" John weakly argues. "To piss me the fuck off, specifically?"

"Jesus- okay, forget about the dog." You stop in your tracks, gently yanking him back towards you and facing him fully. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"I told you, I'm fine." John reiterates with a loaded sigh. "Bucky, uhm…Bucky mentioned something happened back at the table, so I wanted to make sure you were okay."

You can't help but puff out a feigned laugh. "Nothing happened, John, it's fine-"

"You sure?" He insists. "You're absolutely sure nothing happened?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" You lie. "I'm totally fine. I promise."

John huffs, his shoulders finally dropping somewhat as he glances back towards the Thunderbolts table. Bob was standing now, nodding and still chatting with Yelena while Ava and Bucky were watching closely.

…Okay, maybe you really didn't see anything. How were they supposed to know anyways, really? Bob did seem to have his powers under control, at least for the moment. Yelena had always been there to help talk him down if he was getting back to a darker place, and Bob himself had been doing his best when it came to his newly mandated therapy sessions after his initial void out.

Besides, even on the off chance you probably did see something, John knew well enough from his own experience that those types of memories weren't something you just casually bring up in conversation.

…Maybe it was fine then.

Maybe. Possibly.

He looks back at you, a frown still seared onto his face as you look up at him.

"…I was 'grabbing you for a dance' then?" He brings back up, raising his brows as he folds his arms over his chest. "Really?"

You let out a small sound of surprise, feeling the heat rise back up in your cheeks again. "What?! I was put on the spot, okay-"

"You know this isn't one of those types of events, right?"

"God, for the seven billionth time, I know," You groan, "But there's literally a band and a big open space in the center of the damn room, and it's still called a gala, so-"

John can't help but chuckle a little. "You really wanna tear up the dance floor that bad?"

"No!" You weakly protest. "Well- sort of-"

John sighs. "You're hopeless."

"Oh shut up!" You throw back, batting at his arm. "Can't someone dream about having a sweet Cinderella sort of moment?"

"Oh yeah, really loved when Cinderella charmed the big robot dog and got it to do tricks for her. Classic stuff."

You roll your eyes and groan, but you can't deny the smile starting to creep up on your face. "Fuck you."

John chuckles, a small smug smile forming on his own. "…Well, now I'm not gonna ask you to dance with that attitude."

"Ha ha, very funny."

John's brow furrows slightly. "What? I'm serious."

Your sarcastic expression falters a bit, the warmth in your face now crescendoing to a full inferno. "You…actually wanna dance with me?"

"Well…yeah." John answers with a shrug. "I mean…not like the night can get any worse."

To your surprise, John starts walking ahead of you towards the small corner where the event's quartet was centered, leaving you standing there just gawking, a bit dumbfounded. "Are you coming or what?"

If John wasn't watching so closely, you might've tried to pinch yourself.

"I- yeah, I'm coming."

As you approach, Walker takes your hand gently as he guides you over, his grip firm enough that you could feel him holding back his strength as you make your through the crowd. Only a few of the onlookers cast a glance or two over to you, including the musicians who's eyes briefly drifted from their sheet music as you approached.

If there was one thing about John Walker that you knew, it's that this man committed himself to tasks like nobody else, no matter how stupid or inconsequential it was. Despite knowing this, your heart still tries to leap from your chest as he pulls you closer to him, raising his hand that was still holding yours, while his free one moved to rest on your waist. You hesitantly bring your free hand up to his shoulder, and just like that, John helps you set a rhythm as you start to sway slowly to the music.

In all the close proximity you've had to John over the past few months, for some reason you can't bring yourself to meet his eyes, your vision darting around instead to the various elegant tiles decorating the floor beneath your feet.

Maybe, if you don't look at him, you won't say something stupid. You won't choke on your own tongue about how good he looked in that stupid well tailored suit, with that stupid bow tie, and that stupid watch, and especially that stupid musky cologne that was suddenly enveloping your senses now that you were so close to him.

Just don't look at him. Don't look into those stupid, stunning blue eyes that were looking right at you.

Looking only at you.

John tilts his head down a bit closer to yours, trying to pull your gaze back. "…You okay?"

"Hm?" You manage to squeak out, glancing briefly into his eyes before looking off towards the musicians beside you. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

"…You sure?"

"Yes, John, I'm sure." You weakly reassure him with an attempt at a more solid gaze. "I promise, you don't need to fret after me at every turn."

"I'm not," John argues, "I just…want to make sure you're okay. That's all."

You press your lips into a fine line, trying your best to hide a smile or, really, a completely internal squeal. "…Well, I'm definitely a lot better now that you're dancing with me."

John scoffs, but you swear you see his cheeks were growing just a touch redder every time you look back at him. "Yeah, well, just don't step on my toes and we'll be fine."

"It's a slow dance John. I couldn't fuck it up even if I tried."

"Hey, don't underestimate yourself."

"Oh shut up." You throw back, before your whiskey ridden tongue almost gives you away again. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Archer guy lit a fire under your ass all of a sudden."

John's eyes widen, and if you weren't sure of it before, the flush on his cheeks was definitely obvious now. "What? No- that dweeb? Absolutely not-"

Now it was your turn to raise a brow at him. "Uh huh. You sure?"

"Yes! He was clearly creeping on you, so I decided to, y'know. Step in."

"And now you're dancing with me?"

"Yeah? Because you wanted to, and-"

"And did you mean to step in…so he wouldn't think I was single?"

John freezes again, but it's much less hostile than before. "…Well, not…intentionally."

Despite your heart trying to leap out through your throat, you cover its desperate attempt to be heard with a small laugh. "Hey, relax," You try to reassure, "I'm just busting your balls John."

"…Right." John answers after almost too long of a pause. "Yeah, right."

"Hey- look who finally got their dance at least." Ava calls out, turning the remaining Thunderbolts back at the table's attention towards you and John on the other side of the room, slowly swaying to the music.

"Well that's…nice." Bob lets out, admittedly still a little strained from his brief Void episode.

"Who knew Void would make ultimate wing man, ah?" Alexei tries to joke with a grin, having finally returned from his own escapades of trying to eat as much of the catering as possible without anyone raising a fuss.

"No, no." Yelena firmly cuts him off, pointing at him sternly. "Don't you get any ideas-"

Bucky groans as they start to descend into their typical father-daughter bickering, Ava carefully patting Bob on the shoulder. "Well, at least we have our entertainment for the rest of the night."

Before Bucky can warn Ava to not goad them on any further, his eyes lift from rubbing his eyes with his hand to notice something - the auction room was…oddly dark, one of it's doors cracked open slightly with curtains covering door's windows, obscuring the inside of the room from view.

Then, he hears it. That quiet, mechanical whirring again.

Bucky lightly touches Ava's shoulder, his gaze locked on the doors ahead. "Stay here. Don't let them kill each other."

"No promises." Ava emptily assures, but her brows furrow in concern as their eyes follow his path towards the auction room.

Your dance with John had now dissolved into a comfortable silence between you, still gently swaying at the music carried your every move in its slower tempo. You try and make eye contact with John again, only to give up immediately at the instant sign he notices, your eyes instinctually flicking over his shoulder.

You softly gasp. "Hey, look!"

John glances over his shoulder at your hushed command, and notices an older couple nearby taking their own stance near you, now slowly swaying to the music just a few feet away, their wedding bands briefly glinting the light.

John just chuckles softly, looking back down at you. "Guess you're a trendsetter now."

"Oh, whatever." You shrug off with a smile. "It's just sweet, that's all."

With your eyes still contently watching the old couple sway just behind you, John can't help but just…look at you. The softness of your gaze, the weight of your hand in his. The warmth of your skin below the surface of your dress, bleeding into his hand as he gently held the curve where you waist met your hip.

He almost...wanted to apologize. For what, he wasn't entirely sure - I mean, where would he even start? He was honestly amazed at the fact that you were both back to just being whatever this was, like he hadn't just ignored you for weeks, partially on accident, but also partially on purpose. Ever since he had that dream about you, he couldn't bear to think about you, to risk thoughts like that surfacing again, trying his damn hardest not to ruin the one normal thing in his life. You weren't just some pretty face that stumbled into his life, you were his friend, someone he respected and trusted just like you respected and trusted him, despite everything.

But, God, you were so…beautiful.

You just had to be so fucking beautiful, didn't you?

[OPERATION: FOX HUNT - INITIATED]

You don't know what moved you to do it - maybe you just wanted to avoid the awkward eye contact, maybe you were growing tired through the whole emotionally vampiric energy surrounding you - but you let the world around you deafen as you lay your head on John's chest.

Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump-

John's heart, thrumming away like a well oiled engine under his dress shirt, gives himself away before any words could even try.

[ENGAGING LETHAL ARSENAL]

You hand on his shoulder slides down slightly, curling just beside your head on his chest, just…resting. Sinking into him fully, letting him hold you steady as you continue to sway in his arms.

"…Hey John?"

John glances down at you, and you swear his gentle gaze lingers on your lips for a split second. "…Yeah?"

[TARGET SIGHTED - ENGAGE]

"Would you…maybe want to-"

Before you can finish your sentence, before you can finally have some sort of catharsis for the months-long feelings you'd kept so close to your chest, Bucky Barnes reenters the ballroom by being violently thrown through the auction hall's doors.

Splintered wood and shattered glass scatter across the floor as he lands just a few feet away from you, cuts already marking his face with small streaks of blood as he pushes himself up off the floor. He whirs back his vibranium arm as he widens his stance, facing the more audible humming of machinery now making its way through the debris.

Whatever docile aspects that were a part of FOXHOUND's design and demonstration were suddenly nowhere to be found. Long metallic claws sheathed out from its paws, its metal whip of a tail now sporting a sharpened spear-like tip at its end. A synthetic snarl clawed its way from its mouth, metal spikes of teeth gnashing before emitting a piercing, horrible screech, something akin to a thousand nails scraping down a single chalkboard all at once.

The room collectively grabs at their ears to try and shield themselves from the horrible sonic blast, you and John included as you also squeeze your eyes shut. You feel the crowd thunder around you as you sense guests swarming to leave the building in a panic, along with the sturdiness of John's arms around you as he pulls you closer, a feeble attempt to shield you from the oncoming chaos.

Your ears are still ringing as you slowly pull your hands away, the muffled tenor of John's voice piercing through the higher shrill of screams surrounding you.

"-LENA, HELP GET EVERYONE OUT OF HERE-"

Despite John barking orders right next to your ear to his teammates, your eyes can't help but be drawn to Bucky in the center of it all. You watch as the robot lunges for him, Bucky landing a haymaker right on the hinge of its jaw with his metal arm. Surprisingly, it tanks the hit, briefly tumbling over from the force before landing right back on its feet. Bucky's eyes go wide - if this was made by any other metal, the vibranium in his arm would've at least put a dent in it, much less blown it clean off - but its jaw was still firmly in place, not even a scratch.

The beast lunges for Bucky again, bracing for impact the vibranium takes the brunt of it. FOXHOUND's jaw latches onto his forearm, metal teeth sinking through the fabric of his suit. Thankfully it doesn't bite through his arm, but Bucky still has to fight for leverage to make sure his prosthetic doesn't get violently yanked out of its socket.

"Hey, HEY! Look at me!"

Your hazed over attention snaps back to John as you look at him, feeling his hands gently push you forward as he ushers you away from Bucky and towards the sea of civilians still trying to evacuate. "Go with Bob, get outside and as far away from here as possible, alright?!"

"O-okay-" Is all you can manage, your voice trembling more than you anticipated as you notice Bob's familiar shape just ahead of you, but the fear welling up in your chest makes you turn back, hesitating. You feel John's hands slip from your backside, briefly trailing down your forearm before he snags your hand, giving it a quick, strong squeeze.

"It'll be okay, just GO!"

You just wordlessly nod, finally turning around to fully face Bob.

John quickly vanishes back into the crowd, but Bob finds you just as swiftly, doing his best to make sure you don't get separated by all the madness. "Just- Just follow me, okay?" Bob instructs, though he seems just as shaken up as you are, trying his best to navigate through the chaos ahead. "Grab onto my jacket!"

You don't need to be told twice, your clammy hands snatch the fabric as you both weave through the noise surrounding you.

The streets outside were almost as much of a shitshow as the ballroom, hoards of people spilling out of the venue and into the busy New York streets, sirens echoing off the buildings from blocks and blocks away.

You'd be able to have more of your wits about you at this point if it weren't for the panic starting to set in.

You can't help how your mind churns up and spits out that scene of Bucky fighting for his life on repeat. Sure, you didn't know much about real superhero nonsense or the latest innovations in robotics, but you knew damn well that Bucky was supposed to have put that damn dog down with just a sucker punch. They were all in there, no protection, no weapons, nothing but the dresses and suits on their backs and the super abilities that could clearly only carry them so far.

If Bucky couldn't stop it, did the others even stand a chance? Did anyone?

"I think…I think we're okay…" Bob notes as you start to reach the edge of the crowd on the street, but your grip had now curled even tighter into his jacket as he looks back at you. "…You okay?"

Your eyes were a bit glazed over that this point, your mind racing with the endlessly gruesome possibilities, your breathing growing shallow as your heart tries to makes a break out of your chest, your throat-

Bob tries to reach for your shoulder, but you instinctively jerk away before you can stop yourself. Bob's eyes widen, his reach faltering as his arm slowly sinks to his side, that familiar guilt from earlier coming back in full force.

"I- shit," You try to claw out from your tightened throat, "Bob, I'm sor-"

"N-no, no, it's…fine." Bob says, still shrinking away from you.

"…There's- there's gotta be something we can do, right?!"

"I-I dunno," Bob admits, "I mean, the cops are gonna be here soon, I'm sure-"

Bob's fumbling attempts at reassuring you fall on deaf ears as you finally try to take in your surroundings. Everything was practically an attack on your panic-driven senses, but your eyes catch on a familiar face in the more rowdy part of the crowd.

You find Archer Brooks struggling to fight off wave after wave of a newly formed mob, ready to tear him apart over his creation unleashing itself to the world. You can barely hear his protests over the rest of the noise, especially with more remaining guests and staff desperately spilling out of the building. There were even some of the caterers still evacuating from the alley nearby-

Wait.

There were caterers.

There were fucking caterers.

And you'd catered enough events in your bartending career to know that meant one thing - there was another way back into the building.

Before Bob can try and stop you, you're already rushing off towards the angry mob just ahead of you.

"Hey! Jackass!" You call out, practically having to bully your way through the crowd to get even remotely close to him.

Archer's eyes somehow find you in the crowd, adding another angry head to his growing list of problems. "Fuckin' Jesus- sweetheart, believe me, now is NOT the time-"

"You know how to turn that thing off?!"

"What? Of course I do!" He yells back, "But LIKE I TOLD THESE PEOPLE, I can't do SHIT without the-"

All the adrenaline from before now burns in your veins as you snatch his wrist, using all your limited strength to drag him unwillingly through the angry crowd and down towards the alley on the side of the building.

Jesus fucking Christ. You were going to save the Avengers.

John Walker is taking cover behind a nearby table, suit already fraying at the edges, and even in all the chaos of it all he can't help but wonder if they're all going to make it out of this fucking mess alive.

Bucky was the first to go down, his vibranium arm only able to do so much before it managed to pin him to the ground, clawing at his chest before Bucky managed to turn the tides and try to tear it apart with his super strength. Not even a super serum could tear whatever super metal this thing was made out of, and it didn't take much to latch its jaw back onto his arm, throwing him to the wayside like an old torn-up chew toy. He was still breathing, thank fuck, but he definitely wasn't in good shape to keep fighting.

Ava already tried to phase through it to somehow rip out its machinery, but imagine everyone's surprise when it managed to leap away from her, kicking her back with its hind legs before she can even realize it can see her. The claws scratch deep into her suit, deep and sharp enough for Ava to start to feel her physical form start to falter as she cries out in pain, her atoms being ripped apart from her and sewn back together in real time.

John's heart is thudding in his ears as he tries to come up with a plan, think of something that can get them out of this fucking mess, when he spots a metal serving tray just to his left.

It wasn't his shield - Hell, it was barely even half the size - and it certainly wasn't that solid…but it could work.

John dives for the platter, snatching it from the ground and swiftly rising to his feet before running head first towards FOXHOUND. Without the familiar straps his shield would normally come with, he's forced to hold it with both hands, swiftly dodging FOXHOUND's swipes at him as he tries to close the gap. FOXHOUND bears its teeth, gnashing at John like a feral dog before it goes for a full on bite. John tries to brace himself with his makeshift shield, but FOXHOUND's powerful jaw comes down and practically folds it in half over his forearm, a horribly makeshift bracer being the only semblance of protection between John's arm and the metal fangs that could tear him to pieces.

With its mouth firmly latched to John's arm, its teeth slowly starting to make headway through the metal as is continues to close its jaw, it fails to notice Yelena as she hops onto his back, crossing her arms and bashing her electrified widow bite cuffs right down onto its metal skull. John's too busy fighting through the pain of metal teeth starting to breach the meat of his arm to warn Yelena, FOXHOUND's whip-like tail swatting at her as its blade-tipped end slices at her arm.

"LENA!" Alexei bellows from the other side of the room, both him and John watching helplessly as the tail wraps around her ribs, throwing her off as she thuds across the floor.

Bucky does his best to rush to her despite the pain, dragging her to safety behind one of the makeshift bars. "Hey, hey, it's okay-"

Alexei wastes no time to try and take vengeance, letting out what can only be acquainted to a battle cry as he sprints towards John and FOXHOUND.

"Are you sure about this? Like, really sure about this?"

You can't help but groan at Archer's insistence, but you knew it was fair to ask. "No, but it's our best shot of getting this thing under control." You argue, doing your best to navigate through the larger industrial kitchen you'd entered into.

Archer follows in hot pursuit, his dress shoes furiously tapping against the tile floor behind you. "God, you're fuckin' crazy-"

"Oh, I'm the crazy one?!" You throw back in his face as you stop dead in your tracks. "I didn't make an unstoppable fucking murder robot, dickweed!"

"I meant it as a compliment!"

"Yeah fucking right." You spit back, turning your back to him as you resume your stride. "Just get ready, I think we're almost out-"

"I'm sorry- remind me again what your fucking plan is here?"

"I told you-" You repeat, looking back over your shoulder at him as you walk, "You go find the auction hall and get your stupid tablet to turn it off-"

"While you do what?"

"While I find a different way into the ballroom and…standby as the back-up plan."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

You angry gaze on Archer falters for a moment. "…It means I go out there and try to talk to the fucking dog."

"What?!"

"It means if you can't turn it off before it all really goes to shit, I have a plan."

Archer groans, running his hands through his now disheveled hair before throwing his arms wide. "Look around sweetheart! We're already waist deep in this shit, and I don't see it getting any worse-"

"It will get worse if it kills the only people who can try and stop it, who also happen to be my fucking friends!" You yell back, jabbing a pointed finger right into his chest. "During your presentation it did what I told it to, so maybe I can get it to listen to me again!"

Archer's eyes look like they're about to blow out of his sockets, even from behind his glasses. "That's your plan?"

"Do you have a better one?!"

Archer groans loudly, throwing his hands up in the air before they fall back at his side as he turns on his heel to pace. "Un-fucking-believable."

You run your hands down your face, not caring if you smear your make up as you try to steady your own breath for once. "Look, you can hate me all you want after this, but this is the only way to make sure nobody fucking dies tonight." When you catch him pacing towards you again, you reach over to grab his shoulders, halting him in place and forcing him to look at you. "Just…trust me."

Archer just stares at you for a moment before he sucks in a breath, his eyes darting between the double doors just ahead of the both of you and your face.

"…Fuck it."

Before you realize what's happening, Archer grabs the sides of your face, your noses clashing haphazardly into each other as he pulls you in a for a quick, harsh kiss. You don't even have time to slap the stupid look off his face before he releases you and backs off, smirking as he starts making his way towards his exit.

"Just in case everything really does go to shit." Archer explains breathlessly, "Now, go find that fucking ballroom."

When you make your way out of the kitchen and through the winding backrooms and hallways of the venue, you're greeted by exactly what you were afraid of - the New Avengers actively getting ripped a new one by Archer's hell hound of a robot.

Alexei, with large cuts littering his cheeks and suit, has the dog by the tail now, narrowly avoiding being sliced to pieces by the end of it as he starts swinging it around and around. Once he builds up enough momentum, he launches it as hard as he can to the side, hoping it slams into the wall and at least gets stunned for a moment.

Much to everyone's surprise, it twists in the air to land on it's feet on the wall, using the force to propel itself off it right back towards Alexei. He only survives by Ava weakly phasing back into view to tackle him out of the way, causing FOXHOUND to land and skid across the ornate flooring with a terrible screeching sound, sparks flying in its wake.

Before it has a chance to leap for Alexei again, John practically roars as he launches one of the tables nearby towards it - and FOXHOUND fucking catches it, like an oversized wooden frisbee clenched in its eager metal maw. It rears back, twisting its body in an unnatural way only a machine possibly could, throwing it right back at John without any room to move or even breathe.

John's body collides head-on with the flat surface table, slamming him right back into the wall behind him with a loud CRASH!, leaving a hefty John-sized indent in the brick as his beaten and bloodied body slumps down onto the floor. The machine lets out a low pitched, artificial growl, its sights clearly set on finishing the job as turns back around, readying itself to barrel towards him at full speed.

You don't know exactly how it happened - how your legs started bolting ahead at a break neck pace despite the heels you were wearing, how you managed to swipe a stray silver tray from the floor on your way over, how you even had the faintest notion that you could somehow protect John from this absolutely terrifying technological advancement. You stand in front of his collapsed body, raising your make shift weapon to the sky in some pathetic, meaningless attempt to protect the man you didn't even fully realize you loved.

The dog bounds closer, closing the gap in seconds, and your eyes slam shut to brace yourself for some kind of violent impact, some random assortment of readied blades scoring your body to pieces…

But it doesn't come.

Your eyes flutter open, and you realize you somehow aren't dead right where you're standing. You look down, and the violent machine that was just tearing the Avengers a new one is halted in front of you, sitting as if you'd personally commanded it to. It's blood red interface fades to the soft, familiar white you saw in the demonstration right before your eyes.

It doesn't last long though, as the light abruptly shuts off, the robot collapsing lifelessly to the ground in front of you.

The platter drops from your hands, clattering to the ground as you stare at FOXHOUND's inanimate form. Your gaze flicks to the other side of the room, and you see Archer, breathless from bolting out of the busted doors of the auction room, tablet in hand, arms slumped to his sides in clear relief.

The room is dead silent, save for the faintly distant noise of something crackling outside…

Fireworks.

Times Square was just a few blocks away from the venue.

"…Happy fuckin' New Year." Archer mutters under his breath.

You have to stop yourself from fully collapsing to the floor, watching as Bucky helps an injured Yelena out from behind the bar, a large gash on her arm poorly bandaged with some table cloth scraps he likely improvised. Alexei is holding Ava in his arms like his own child, trying to soothe her through the clearly painful phases as he atoms jitter in and out of existence.

You do your best to slowly turn around, dropping to your knees to look over John's still collapsed body.

"…John?"

It comes out broken, terrified, but your fears are just barely extinguished when you notice his back rise and fall with his strained breathing. He grunts, attempting a few times to push himself off the floor before you practically dive in to help, but your shaking arms don't add much leverage. Finally, he sits up, adjusting himself to lean back against the wall. Blood dribbles down from a gash on his head and onto the collar of his dress shirt, his suit torn and roughed up from the entire encounter.

John's vision is blurred, practically spinning as he tries to adjust after getting slammed into a god damn wall without his typical protective greaves. You weren't medically trained in the slightest, but you did your best to gently move his jacket to make sure he didn't sustain anymore serious injuries. You notice the wetness of his sleeve before you even see the bite marks on his arm, John having haphazardly wrapped it in some fancy cloth napkins he must've improvised like Bucky did.

You move your hands to cradle his face, tears finally bubbling to the surface of yours as you try to get John to look at you. "H-hey, John? C'mon, stay with me-"

"Wh…" His eyes flutter for a moment, pupils blown out from the adrenaline clearly doing their best to adjust as he mutters something you don't catch.

"H-hey, it's okay, it's-it's dead or, something, I don't know, but-"

John's good arm comes up off the ground, raising to grab onto your bicep with his hand. His mental fog seems to come down slightly as his brow scrunches at the sight of you, muttering your name a little more clearly. "Why…why are you here?"

"Archer said he could find a way to stop the dog if he could get back inside, so I figured since there was catering shit, there had to be a back entrance or something we could-"

You suddenly feel John grip your arm more firmly, his hand beginning to curl around it like iron.

"Why…are you here?"

"I-" As you try to form a sentence to further explain yourself, you can't help but wince as John's grip just gets tighter.

A sound closer to a growl than anything human snarls out of his mouth behind tightly grit teeth. "Why…did you do that?"

"I-I," You trip over your own tongue - how do you even begin to explain such a visceral instinct? "I-I, I don't know, I just-"

He sits up more now, startling you with a sudden explosion of energy behind his beratement. "You don't know?!"

"I- I wanted to help-"

A small, strained noise makes it's way out of John's chest, and he somehow finds the strength to sputter out a harsh laugh, some traces of blood-filled spit hanging out of the corner of his mouth. "You…walked into a room full of half-dead superheroes, and thought you could help?"

The unfamiliar venom in his tone strikes your chest like a poisoned tip arrow, but you swallow harshly against the lump building in your throat as you attempt to take it in stride. "Wh- It was going to KILL you-"

"I told you to evacuate with everyone else-"

"What the fuck else was I supposed to do, just stand there and watch you get mauled to death?!"

John yanks you towards him, his now bloodshot eyes searing into you. "You PROMISED."

Whatever next protest you were trying to summon immediately dies in your throat, but the growing pressure on your arm keeps you tethered to reality. As you try to tug yourself free of his super soldier grip, it was almost starting to hurt.

"John, let go-"

Bucky finally looks up from tending to Yelena at the sound of Walker's shout, catching a glimpse of your confrontation before calling out, "Walker-"

"AND WHAT IF YOU DIDN'T STOP IT, HUH?! WHAT THEN?" Walker's continuing roar rips from his chest like another open wound, clawing its way into your heart with no mercy, forcibly yanking you back when you try to squirm away. "WHAT IF YOU JUST STOOD THERE AND LET THAT FUCKING THING TEAR YOU TO FUCKING PIECES-"

"WALKER."

Bucky's voice bellows up to the ceiling, echoes bouncing off the walls and finally tearing John from his heated trance. Bucky wastes no time, carefully leaving Yelena with Alexei as he starts to make his way across the room. "Let them go."

Walker's breathing was ragged, his shoulders tense with adrenaline and the rage of disappointment. Why did you of all people have to throw yourself into the line of action? Why did you have to save him?

This…this was exactly what he was afraid of in the first place.

John huffs, releasing your arm before letting himself collapse a bit against the wall, clearly having used his last bit of remaining energy on his outburst. He grumbles something almost unintelligible, a barely audible rumble from deep within his chest.

"Fuckin' pathetic…"

SMACK!

The impulsive command strikes through the nerves and muscles of your arm like lightning as you slap John across the cheek, a gut reaction carved out by some old, vengeful spirit now freshly stirring inside you. John's head stays limp as he now looks off to the side, his bloodied cheek blooming with a softer red under his skin in the flat shape of your palm.

It doesn't take long for police and paramedics to swarm into the building, shouts for their respective back up echoing to the high ceiling above the chaos. You feel a different pair of strong arms around you as Bucky gently lifts you from the ground, ushering you off with the nearest paramedic before turning to call more over to John and Yelena. You feel a tinny, crinkly sheet of some kind get wrapped around your shoulders, your vision and senses in a haze as you're escorted through the rubble of scene and out of the building, into the cold, now-January night.

Ushered out to the edge of the curb, blue and red lights flash and coat the scene as a paramedic checks your vitals. You vaguely register the various news vans already arriving at the scene, various reporters and camera men already questioning witnesses to get the bigger picture before any of their colleagues could. The chatter surrounding you blends together in a continuous cacophony, until it all just fades into some unfamiliar white noise.

The paramedic says something to you that you don't quite catch, but you nod mindlessly in an attempt to get them to leave. It surprisingly works, them grabbing their go bag and heading back up the stairs behind you - but their place is quickly taken up by a darker shillouette stepping in front of you.

"…I think this is yours."

Your haze somewhat breaks as you register the shiny black shoes in your line of sight, looking up to see Archer Brooks holding out your long-forgotten clutch.

You only look long enough to register his face, not meeting his gaze as you take it back from him without a word.

"…I'm not even gonna to begin to ask for context, but," Archer says softly, clearing his throat as he squats down beside you, "If it's any consolation…I'm sorry."

You pull the shock blanket tighter over your shoulders.

"…So," Archer finally says after a pregnant pause, "That really was your back up plan?"

"…Yeah." You weakly answer.

"How did you know that would even work?"

"…I didn't." You admit.

Archer's face falls for a moment. "Y'know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you have a fuckin' death wish."

You puff out a sad excuse of a chuckle. "Maybe I do."

Archer can't tell if you're joking or not - and frankly, neither can you.

"…Do you have a ride home?"

"I was…probably gonna wait for a cab, honestly."

"Jesus-" He mutters under his breath, looking at you incredulously. "On fuckin' New Years?"

"…Shit. Good point."

Archer sighs, tapping at his leg as he looks over your shoulder impatiently, something clearly trying to take his attention back from you. "Look, I need to talk with the cops, but, uh…if you wanna to take my ride home, you're more than welcome to." He gestures up the road to a large black Cadillac SUV, parked on the side of the street just ahead of the crowd. "My driver knows the entire state of New York like the back of his hand, he can take you to wherever you need to go. Wouldn't hurt a fly either."

"That's…listen, I appreciate it, but, my friends-"

"Who? The fucking 'Avengers'?" He cuts in harshly, "The ones who didn't even bother to thank us- to thank you for saving their asses just now?"

Your body can't do much else but freeze, meeting Archer's gaze as you just stare at him, into him. You barely even notice how your eyes start to sting with freshly forming tears.

Archer puffs out a breath, sweeping back his hair in a weak attempt to recompose himself. "Sorry, I- That was out of line."

You press your lips into a fine line, looking away as you wrap yourself up even further into your shock blanket.

"Look, just…go home." Archer says. "Get a nice hot shower, a good nights rest, call some…other friends, maybe. This is the least I can do for you after all this."

Archer's eyes catch on an officer nearby, nodding to them before rising from his spot in front you. "You have my card, if you need anything. Anything at all." He reminds you. "I mean it."

With that, he walks back into the fray of frazzled guests and first responders, your ears only catching some small apology of his before it all fades into the buzz surrounding you.

After what feels like an eternity unwinding before you, hiding yourself away in the makeshift cover of your shock blanket, you finally come to terms with the fact that if you sit there much longer, you'll practically become a human statue just sitting side of the road.

You gather up any remaining strength you can gather, wadding up the blanket and tossing it into an open and waiting ambulance nearby before walking on shaky legs to the Archer's car.

You see a man in a sleek all-black suit open the car door, gesturing for you to come inside. "Evening ma'am."

You just nod as some semblance of a greeting, slowly sliding into the sleek black leather interior as the door shuts gently behind you. It doesn't take long for him to circle the outside car, watching him through the thoroughly tinted windows before he climbs into his rightful seat.

He glances up into the rear-view mirror, adjusting it slightly to catch your gaze. "So…where to?"

Your hands curl around the base of your clutch. If this were any other terrible party or just horrendous night out, you would want nothing more than to just go home and crawl into bed, never to return to the outside world until your next shift at the bar.

That somehow doesn't stop some terrible impulse from leaving your lips, your voice trying its best to be something steady in the uneven storm of an evening still ahead of you.

"…You know where that after-party is?"

The world decides to fully detach itself from your being as you step out of the car, the barely sentient husk of your body swaying slightly in the wind. You watch as you stand, still dolled up but long disheveled in your fancy dress and freshly smeared make up, outside of some kind of underground nightclub you had no clue existed. The pulsing music muted by the layers of brick and self-induced vignette between you and your senses beckons you forward like a siren, stepping inside to be swallowed whole by a heavy, grimy darkness.

You make the mistake of grabbing not one, but three free mystery shots being carted around by some sexy bottle girls around the place, deciding to seize the rare opportunity to get absolutely fucking wasted. Despite having encountered many people lost in a sea of liquor on the shore of your bar, seeing and knowing the destruction that kind of vice can reign first hand, you start to slowly understand why so many people chase the bottom of the bottle as your senses blur impossibly further. You feel more hot tears sear across your cheeks, how John's eyes bore into you like your father's all those years ago, and you sloppily reach for another handful of shots in a desperately futile attempt to dull it for good. The alcohol vaguely stings as it goes down your throat, like a notion of a punishment, but it falls on deaf nerves as your vision starts to falter.

The next thing you know, your lips try to find solace in a stranger in the bathroom, arms wrapped limply around their neck as you barely feel them sloppily lay their impulses into you. Their tongue slithers on the edge of your throat like a vile parasite prodding for entrance, teeth clashing and scratching against your own, biting down with no remorse for the sensitive flesh of your lips.

Your mind flashes back to the dream you had of John. One that, in the past few weeks, morphed and changed as your unconscious mind replayed it behind tired eyes. Waking you up with coffee, kissing you tenderly. Making you breakfast, only to get distracted by slow dancing in the middle of the kitchen. Stupid jokes and warm laughter over half-burned toast and rubbery eggs, but you insist that they're better that way anyways. Gentle whispers you never thought you'd hear someone say to you, modern prose that sounded like it could've competed with the deepest and truest lovers of history.

In your borderline blackout stupor, you do your best to shove the stranger off you, feeling tears race down as you push yourself out of the stall you were cornered in and back out into the club. The strobing lights blind you temporarily as you make your way through the dense crowd, not caring how harshly you'd shove people out of your way.

Breaking out of the building into the chilly December - no, January air, you delay in reminding yourself - you instinctually wrap your bare arms around yourself as you brace for the weather. You could feel the tears clinging to your face now in the cold, along with the dark streaks mascara down your cheeks and smeared lip gloss across your lips. Through your bleary vision the roads were now slick with slush and ice, and the sky was still somehow clear. Your whimpers and choked back sobs condense into a tangible haze in front of you, only to be swiftly carried off by the icy winds cutting into your skin.

Stumbling towards the ominous black SUV that brought you to this wretched place of your own volition, you yank your phone out of your clutch to start furiously typing. Hammering your thumbs into your phone's keyboard, you treat each strike of a key like it would smack John across the face again and again on his way to wherever the fuck he was now.

You manage to slur out your home address to the driver before fully collapsing in the back of the car, not even bothering with a seat-belt as you curl up across the now cold leather seats beneath you. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes like you'd push them back into the recesses of your skull, hoping the darkness would consume you whole, and you'd wake up back home like none of this ever happened in the first place. Like trying to shove a cork back into an overflowing bottle, you feel your onslaught of tears stream down the side of your arms and your cheeks, giving into the absolute despair that had been slowly gnawing at you all evening.

Fuckin' pathetic…

You couldn't stop your shallow, heaving breaths even if you tried, hyperventilating as you try to fold yourself further inward, hoping to hide yourself away like a curled mollusk shell buried in ancient stone and debris. You wanted to sink into the seat, beneath the grimy asphalt speeding past under the car, straight into the ground dead and buried, never to be seen again.

You wish you could collapse into John's warm embrace like you did in the quinjet again. Ask him to hold you and squeeze harder and harder and harder until you only felt the pressure and none of the pain.

Why were you built to care so deeply? To love and want so badly to be loved, only to be dashed on the rocks of the reality that accepting your love was an impossible task to the rest of the universe.

"…Ma'am. We're here."

The gruff voice from the front of the car calls out, lightly tugging your lone tether to reality. You let out a few harsh puffs, sniffling as you push yourself off the seat, a small tear stain clearly marking your anguish on the car ride back.

"S'thank you." You slur, but your nose is stuffed, and your voice is hoarse. It barely sounds like you, like the person were now - it sounded like the blubbering of a small child, one who's existence was lost and shoved down so deep, you didn't even know it was still there, aching all this time.

You open the door, being greeted once again by the chill in the air as you stumble out of the car. You slam it shut behind you, your fist tightly gripping the railing of your stairs as you make your way up, and fish your keys from your purse.

When you enter your apartment, banishing the void that had now consumed it with the light of the dim hallway lamps, you yank off your heels and pull the door shut behind you. You don't bother to even turn on the lights as you drop your clutch, hearing it clatter to the ground somewhere nearby as you stumble through the darkness and into your room. You do your best to squirm out of your dress in the dark, feeling around a bit on your bed before finding a big, comfy hoodie to bury yourself in, along with endless layers of blankets waiting for you with an artificial embrace. You only realize then that you're still clutching your phone in an iron fist, opening it to reread a message you barely remember sending.

2:27 AM

> FUCKYOUFUCKYYOUFUCK OYOU FUCKIHOYUT FUCK YOU

You type out one last, actually coherent message, sending it before peeking out of your cocoon to throw your phone halfway across the room, hopefully to never be seen again as you cry yourself to sleep.

2:51 AM

> im sorry

thanks for reading! huge thanks to my besties @raemoriendi @fairyysoup & @verasadventures as always :) this chapter honestly took a lot more out of me (if you couldn't tell by how god damn long it took for me to get it out lol), but it was also setting up a lot of stuff for future chapters, so it was going to be a meatier one no matter what :'D i even made a post breaking down my outfit inspo for this chapter if youre interested in that kinda thing! hopefully i'll get the next chapter out by the anniversary of civ life like i said! but no promises lol. thanks again for everyone being so patient while i worked things out in my real life lol, and i hope you look forward to whatever comes next!