#goddamnhowling

M’gann did her best to avoid most of the Nomads in the days following the abrupt rise and fall of Arnim Zola’s homicidal coded remains. Her telepathy wasn’t much of a secret anymore. The rest of the Nomads had felt it in their minds. In spite of M’gann’s best efforts to assure them that it was non-invasive, that she wasn’t reading their minds or seeing anything they didn’t explicitly want her to see, she could sense that many of them had changed towards her. She couldn’t exactly blame them.

She cooked simpler meals so she could spend less time in the kitchens. Kept to her room or the solitude of the woods nearby in her odd hours when she wasn’t working. She hadn’t quite cut her time in the dovecote, but she’d been camouflaged more often than not as she moved through the halls to get there and back. She was up there with the birds when she sensed Bucky’s signature approaching. From the open door side of the dovecote. Of course. He didn’t know she could phase through walls and she wasn’t about to give that away. Camouflage was a no-go if he was already looking straight in her direction. Inadvertently or not, Bucky had effectively cornered M’gann. “Hey, there,” M’gann said awkwardly, pouring a little pile of pigeon feed into one of the boxes and pretending to be very busy pressing it into an upside-down cone for the eager birds. “Long time no see. How goes it?” She grimaced. How goes it? H’ronmeer, she needed to sound more like an actual human. 

M’gann’s telepathic radar kept the signatures of everyone living in the Mousehole, and anyone else who wandered within her resting range, constantly on her mind. The close proximity over several months, too, meant that M’gann had naturally acclimated to most of the Nomads. Diana and the rest of the League, though some of their imprints had initially faded during her three-year hiatus, M’gann could sense without needing to search over incredibly long distances. After living among the Avengers, she’d acclimated to them as well. No. Finding Bucky wasn’t hard.

The hard part was actually asking what she needed to ask instead of hopping from foot to foot and ultimately deciding to spend the evening doing something else that needed to be done around the Mousehole. Levitating all the dust and cobwebs from the floors and ceilings of every hallway in the fortress to see just how big a dust-bunny she could put together, for instance. Totally necessary and about the size of a Holland Lop. She didn’t make a habit of avoiding Bucky. Far from it, M’gann enjoyed spending time with him. He knew what she could do. She didn’t have any reason to hide herself from him. And he was good company. The real problem was that this was a big favor to ask, and M’gann knew it. She knew full well that he might say ‘no’ and be angry that she was preparing for such a mission. But she couldn’t put off asking any longer.

He was on a patrol, and M’gann came walking up from the direction in which he was heading so that he could see her coming. Even came from a part of the fortress with a side door, though she hadn’t used it, so it wouldn’t seem like she was popping up out of nowhere. Didn’t want to startle him. “Good evening,” she said with a little wave. “I was hoping to run into…” M’gann trailed off. His hair was different. His hair was very different. All the telepathic radar in the world and she couldn’t sense a haircut. M’gann nodded a few times, composing herself. If she were lucky, he’d chalk up the redness in her cheeks to the cold air. “You look very handsome.” Good. “I guess it’s been a few days, huh?”

She’d been unusually excited to get back this time. No pigeon tonight. No squirrel, either. Tonight, there was venison. M’gann had taken pains to prepare the hind legs the night before. About thirty pounds between them. Dry rubbed with salt, garlic, red pepper, rosemary, and juniper berries. She lovingly carried them to the counter and drizzled them with olive oil and pigeon stock before popping them into the oven to work on the sides.

She had the kitchen to herself most nights, save for the occasional person going in or out of the fortress, so it was all the more surprising when Bucky Barnes came by and didn’t immediately head through to the mudroom. M’gann put the salt down and gave him a quizzical smile.

“Are you hungry, Mr. Barnes? The deer won’t be ready for another hour and a half, but I can make you a sandwich in the meantime.” She turned to wash her hands. Bucky wasn’t one she knew well. Not personally. They’d said ‘hello’ in passing, but never spoken more than a few words at a time. Not by reputation either, though she knew he was close to Steve and Natasha. “How are you liking the Mousehole?”