Barton Home, USA
Spring 2016
It was probably pushing it to stay as long as they were, but none of them could quite bring themselves to leave just yet. They all needed the respite—and not just the kind that came from the chance to literally rest—that the Barton household and its occupants so easily offered.
The house was calm as the day began to wind down. Clint and Laura were upstairs, in the process of getting their baby down and the two older children starting to get ready for bed. Despite the fight the excited troops were giving—Lila especially, since her older brother was naturally allowed to stay up a bit longer and she wasn't—it was still plain that the archer was very obviously relieved to be home and able to hold Cooper, Lila and little Nate close.
Beating even the youngest occupants of the house to bed, Nina and the Twins were already lost to the world. Though really, they had been for most of the day, having retreated to the guest room usually set aside for Natasha at Laura's incontestable insistence not long after the lunch she'd fed them. And despite all effectively being adults themselves, Nina and the Twins had all piled into the same bed like a litter of puppies, each curled and cuddled into the other two as though they were children themselves again. Unless Nadine was very much mistaken, which she was sure she was not, the three of them would easily sleep through until the next morning at least, or until roused. Though, it was more likely to be the latter, Nadine ceded privately, if reluctantly.
She didn't want to leave either.
Outside, twilight was beginning to show the first hints of creeping over the view out behind the former summer kitchen-turned-sunroom where Nadine had retreated for some solitude of her own, bathing the fields and woods in a soft, tranquil glow. It wouldn't be long before it was too dark to see the path Sam had disappeared down when he'd slipped out for an evening run to clear his head half an hour before. But the sun had yet to surrender the sky just yet, its dusky light still lingering even as a pleasant coolness began to replace the warmth of the late afternoon. Not long after Laura had insisted they all eat—but before Nina and the Twins had disappeared, Nadine had sought out some time to herself and Clint had kept his word and driven Scott to the closest bus stop so he could make his way home to his own family—the day had turned overcast and a light rain had fallen for just over half and hour. Not that it looked it now. All evidence of the shower was long gone.
It was going to be a beautiful evening.
A peaceful evening.
Unlike the last time Nadine had set up at the same window, her hands didn't fly over the small collection of weapons she'd gathered and arranged neatly on the work counter in front of her. Her pace was far more sedate. More relaxed.
All the tension, all the unease and dread and outright fear she'd been suppressing since London—no, longer, beginning to build since the news of the Accords had broken, or perhaps even since Lagos—was finally properly bleeding away as she finally had the chance to properly process and come to grips with everything that had happened. Because so much had happened.
Everything had changed.
And it had left her feeling completely unsteady. Like the world had tilted beneath her feet and all the shadows of her past that she had forcibly brushed away to the secret, hidden corners of her mind over the years had rushed forward to dig like barbed hooks beneath her skin, festering and dragging at her to a degree she'd never experienced before.
Until Sokovia.
Until the mission became personal.
And everything that had happened in the last few days?
Personal was an understatement.
Her and her daughter's safety had been put at risk thanks to a dangerous bit of reactionary legislation; her daughter's father had come back into her life; her daughter had appeared in the middle of a desperate fight and revealed herself to be not just Enhanced but powered, and thus in more danger than she'd already been; her relationship with Steve had finally and indelibly changed in a way she had never dared hope.
Her daughter had learned the truth about her father.
And every secret Nadine had left had been laid bare.
To say it had all affected her more than she'd dared let on was an understatement. Really, it had affected her so much so that she'd been unable to keep it all carefully contained as she'd long been trained, her control slipping dangerously at times.
What had happened during her time alone with Steve in Vienna had been a balm she'd sorely needed, a release in more than just the physical sense. It had helped her find a measure of balance again, as had the closure she'd found with Barnes and the candidness with Nina. She'd broken new ground with all three of them, and she was still adjusting to what that meant for her personally.
But now, here in the quiet sanctuary the Barton house? Indulging in the grounding, soothing familiarity that came with mindlessly maintaining her weapons? It was here, amid the familiar, messy, innocent normality of the young family that she was finally able to truly give herself time to come to terms with the irrevocable ways her life had changed. How all their lives had changed.
And it was like, in doing so, she'd found her equilibrium again. Like the world had steadied beneath her feet even if it still looked a little sideways.
More than that, she felt...lighter. It left her feeling like she had after opening up to Steve and Natasha and Nina after Sokovia; like a weight had been lifted and a binding around her soul loosened. Only the feeling was much, much stronger, this time.
It really was over.
She was completely at ease, and she honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so...free.
It was an odd feeling, to be sure.
She didn't look around as Steve stepped through from the kitchen into the sunroom where she worked, his familiar tread—always surprisingly light for a man of his stature—alerting her to his presence. She unconsciously leaned into him as he came to a stop next to her, his arm settling lightly around her waist as she finished up with her compact Glock.
A byproduct of her upbringing, Nadine had never really craved nor demonstrated physical affection, save where Nina and Natasha were concerned. But with Steve? Something in her always seemed to ease at even his most unconscious touches. It was comfortable. Reassuring. Grounding.
The silence between them was comfortable and neither was in a hurry to break it.
"Sam still on his run?" Steve finally asked softly, reluctantly ending the peaceful moment. Nadine nodded, automatically starting to work on one of Barton's Heckler & Kochs.
"He should be back soon," she confirmed, her voice just as low as she looked up to Steve. The feeling in the sunroom was tranquil in a way that made anything louder seem unnecessary. Steve nodded absently, a hand rubbing along his freshly shaved jaw—his hair was still damp, she noted distantly, and judging from the looseness of his frame, the hot shower he'd excused himself for had done him good. It was clear that he'd benefitted from the sanctuary of the Barton house too. He looked...lighter. Like how she felt. "Things are still good upstairs?" He smiled fondly, automatically glancing over his shoulder up toward the second floor.
"All of them still sleeping," he reported, his tone echoing the satisfaction Nadine felt at the news. That was good. They all needed it; the Twins, Barnes and, to a lesser extent, Nina all still had a lot of recovering to do that rest would only help along.
Steve hesitated then, his lips thinning slightly as a ghost of the reluctance Nadine similarly felt surfaced on his open features. She primed the chamber of Barton's freshly cleaned and reassembled sidearm and placed it carefully back on the table. Turning to lean back against the counter, she looked up at him properly, her hand rising to settle lightly against the waistband of his jeans as she studied him, her thumb impulsively slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to rub lightly against the skin of his hip. Finally he sighed, his hand rising to chafe distractedly against her upper arm.
"We should probably wake them, soon." Why was left unsaid, but she easily understood; she'd already been thinking the same thing. They needed to move on. They were putting the entire Barton family at risk by staying as long as they had, no matter that the Barton parents had insisted on it—and kids too, really, given how happy little Nate and his older siblings had been to see their honorary older cousins.
Nadine let out a long, slow exhale.
"Let them sleep a little longer," she said before nodding absently outside, "Sam's not back yet, anyway." Slowly Steve nodded, looking down to study Nadine's features much as she'd been studying his. His fingertips rose to graze tenderly across her cheek.
"You keep checking with all of us to see how we're doing," he said softly after a long moment, his brow furrowing in a faint, concerned frown, "but I don't think anyone's asked how you're holding up." She smiled sedately at the question, leaning up to kiss him deeply, her fingertips smoothing among his neatly shaved jaw in a way that made a soft chuckle rumble in his chest.
"I'm alright," she assured him as she pulled away before her tone turned faintly wry, "besides, Laura already beat you to it." He wasn't entirely convinced by her assurance, though his lip quirked despite himself at her small attempt at teasing. It earned him a fondly exasperated huff. "I promise, Steve," she said in all earnestness, "despite everything, I'm—I'm good."
And she meant it. Though there was still one thing weighing on her. "I just..." she faltered, giving in and looking back over her shoulder, past the weapons arrayed behind her to the small, folded slip of paper she had laid carefully on the windowsill. Following her gaze, Steve seemed to understand at once. His hand smoothed reassuringly up and down her arm.
"Nat?" She nodded in silent answer. Not that she needed to.
She had yet to reach out to the number written on the note in a script almost as familiar as her own.
Not long after arriving at the Barton house and settling in, Laura had drawn Nadine aside, placing the folded piece of paper into her hand with a reserved but sympathetic smile. As Steve had come up beside her, his sharply questioning look matching hers as he too recognized the handwriting on it, Laura had let out a small sigh, looking between them apologetically.
"Nat's already been and gone," Laura had informed them sedately, then. "She barely stayed long enough to give me that, figuring that it wouldn't be too long before you all showed up." The Barton matriarch had smiled wryly then, her affection for the redheaded spy clear before she sobered once more. "She didn't even stay long enough to say hi to the kids, saying it was too risky since she was fairly certain she was being tracked." Nadine had gotten the distinct impression that, despite the very real concern the other woman hadn't quite managed to hide, Laura had still needed to restrain herself from an exasperated eyeroll as she'd related that. They all knew Natasha wouldn't have risked so much as thinking of visiting the Barton home if she hadn't been confident she'd lost anyone tracking her. But Nadine could understand her sister's caution.
Frankly, it was a concern she shared. Nadine didn't like the idea of putting the Barton family at any further risk anymore than she knew Natasha would.
But unlike Natasha, not only was moving on a little harder for them to do just then, but almost as soon as Laura had relayed Natasha's message she was insisting they stay. Neither Nadine nor Steve had managed to even open their mouths to suggest they move on as well.
"None of you are in any shape to go anywhere just yet," she'd said firmly, pinning both of them with a look that just dared them to disagree before turning on her heel and starting on lunch.
Nadine sighed, leaning unconsciously into Steve's hand where it rested on her hip, mirroring her own hand on his. She wasn't entirely sure yet why she hadn't just called the lone phone number written on the slip of paper. Really, there was no reason not to. Her sister wouldn't have left it if it wasn't secure, just as she wouldn't have left Nadine's Work phone on the Quinjet where she knew Nadine would find it if she wasn't certain it hadn't been compromised.
Because if Nadine was being honest? Natasha was even more paranoid than Nadine was.
Nevertheless, nerves threaded with prickly strands of dread fluttered in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't help but fear that, exceptional as her sister was at disappearing, that something had happened to her. Just as she couldn't help but fear—no matter how irrational she knew the very idea to be—that, somehow, she had managed to damage her relationship with her sister in Leipzig; be it from losing her temper over Natasha keeping Nina's powers to herself to choosing to stand with Steve no matter the consequences. Even if it meant breaking the Avengers apart.
She felt Steve's eyes on her, his concern for her once more evident even without looking at him. He didn't need to say anything. As she looked up to meet his warm gaze, his unspoken question was unmistakable; why hadn't she called, yet? After all, surely the sooner they made contact with the rogue redhead the sooner they could rendezvous with her; there was little doubt that was why Natasha had left them her message.
A flash of frustration flared through her, then, and it wasn't aimed at Steve. No, it was aimed solely at herself. Hesitating the way she was wasn't her. And she knew her sister, probably better than anyone. Her nerves were unfounded. She knew they were. And that abrupt reminder made them all the easier to brush away.
Biting back another sigh—an exasperated one, this time—she reached over to snatch up the wrinkled, folded note. It was clearly from the pad that Laura kept stuck to the fridge, the faint impressions from past grocery lists etched into the paper, just as it had clearly been crumpled as though tossed out. Unfolding it, smoothing the creases reflexively much as she had when Laura first handed it to her, Nadine reread the succinct message jotted under the number: Appointment?
She nearly scoffed, easily able to picture the sly look that had likely teased at her sister's face as she penned the note and proceeded to crumple it up before handing the scrap to Laura. She had to grant that her sister was devious, really. It was so simple that, had anyone after the redheaded operative searched the Barton house, they very likely would've dismissed it without thinking twice as just another discarded reminder that had once been stuck to the fridge.
Hiding it in plain sight, as it were.
A sly grin of her own tugged at Nadine's lips as she slipped her Work phone from her pocket, suddenly knowing exactly how to pass along where they were headed next. Her grin widening as she caught Steve's brow furrowing at her shift in behaviour, she brushed her hand down his forearm to lace her fingers with his as she tapped in the number and hit call.
Her mischievous grin grew nearly smug as her call predictably went straight to voicemail.
"Yeah, hey, Nat? Remember that cat of mine? The one that really didn't like my old boyfriend?" Steve nearly choked on a huff of laughter as he caught onto what she was doing, his expression turning almost fondly exasperated. She raised a brow at him, her perfectly conversational tone—expertly threaded with just a hint of the kind of desperation that came from being in a bind, if she said so herself—not faltering for a second despite her amusement thanks to her extensive training. "If you're not too busy, think you could check in on him?" And with a bright and effusively grateful thanks to round out her performance, she tapped the end call icon with satisfaction.
If Natasha wanted to speak in codes that weren't codes, Nadine was happy to oblige. Steve chuckled under his breath, raising a brow at her in return.
"Think she'll get the message?" he asked dryly. Nadine chuckled, her fingers tightening on his as she shrugged indifferently.
"We'll know if she shows up in Wakanda, I suppose," she replied offhandedly, lips twitching against a smirk. Chuckling, Steve leaned down to capture her smiling lips with his, pulling her closer and tugging her arms up to curl around his neck as he took advantage of the quiet moment alone.
Something Nadine was happy to indulge in, opening to the entreating kiss and letting him press her back against the counter, his fingers tangling in her hair as his other hand braced against the counter, sheltering her with his larger frame.
It was with a reluctant sigh that they broke apart as their touches and kisses began to grow a little too heated. Much as the idea of Steve taking her on the counter sent a thrill of heat through her, Nadine wasn't exactly keen on the idea of the Bartons or Sam or anyone else in the house walking in on them; the sunroom wasn't exactly the most private room in the house.
Didn't make it any easier to stop, though. A sentiment Steve shared if the stifled groan she felt more than heard as he leaned his forehead against hers or the way he edged his hips back from hers was any indication.
But, loath as they both were to cooling the heat growing between them, it was a timely call.
Both of them looked around then, the final remnants of their intimate moment interrupted by the sound of the Barton adults making their way downstairs, followed shortly by the sound of the side door squeaking faintly as they let themselves out onto the porch. Nadine let out a long, slow exhale as she caught a glimpse of the Barton couple settling onto swing outside through the window on the other side of the main floor from where she stood with Steve.
"Do you really think they'll let him stay once they realize he's here?" Nadine asked softly, sobering. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steve turn back to her. His shoulders hitched in a half-hearted shrug as he inhaled deeply, giving him time to organize his thoughts before answering.
"Now that Zemo's in custody? I think Tony'll be able to make his case." He didn't sound entirely sure, a measure of reserve in his voice betraying that he still worried despite his confidence that Tony would do everything he could for Clint.
The billionaire was nothing if not loyal to his friends. He would do everything he could, Nadine had little doubt.
Just what he'd be able actually manage, on the other hand...
Nadine withheld a sigh. She couldn't say she didn't share Steve's caution. Not given Secretary Ross' antagonism toward the Avengers. She genuinely feared that he would come down hard on Clint just to make an example since the rest—Steve especially—had slipped through his fingers.
It was then that Nadine frowned, a faint sound teasing just at the edge of recognizable range. Around Steve, across the family room and through the window, she could just barely make out the Bartons straightening, Clint tensing as Laura lifted her head from her husband's shoulder. In front of her Steve shifted, similarly alert. He'd heard it too.
But it was Nadine who placed the sound first. Or at least, she was the one who voiced it first.
"That's a helicopter," she murmured, looking to Steve in alarm. Sure enough, a moment later the distinctive shadow of a helicopter was passing over the house to lower itself gracefully down next to their Quinjet in the field out beyond the barn. Instinctively, Nadine's hand slid behind her, her fingers curling around the familiar grip of her compact Glock as she straightened. Next to her, Steve twisted, sparing a brief, concerned glance up to the second floor where the most vulnerable of the house's occupants slept before he too turned his full focus to the new arrival and who might be coming for them.
Only for a single figure to emerge from the helicopter and approach the house, hands shoved casually in his pockets. Nadine and Steve exchanged a startled look.
Stark.
And he was alone.
In unspoken agreement, Steve slipped away, retreating upstairs almost silently. The fact that the billionaire was alone and without the suit changed things. It left them both hesitant to act without knowing why he'd come.
He had to know they were there.
Steve only paused when he realized Nadine wasn't immediately following, sparing her a brief, concerned look. But she subtly shook her head. Stark undoubtedly already knew someone was here—their Quinjet gave that away. And while he might suspect who all was hidden away inside the peaceful white farmhouse, there was little point in confirming it.
Plausible deniability, as it were, if he had indeed come with of some manner of goodwill.
Besides, of the two of them, she had a feeling that Stark would likely respond better to her. She rather suspected that, time to cool down and think things through or not, having Stark and Steve in the same room so soon after Siberia would not be wise. While she knew Steve had made his peace with what had happened in the former missile silo—even going so far as to slip out for a short time back in Vienna to send off a letter to Tony in at least a small attempt to start mending bridges—she didn't think he was quite ready for a face-to-face just yet. Things were still a little too tender.
And she very much imagined it was the same for Tony. At the very least.
She turned back to her temporary work area, leisurely beginning to gather up her materials and the weapons she'd been tending to. She was in no hurry. Distantly, she could just barely pick up the sound of Tony and the Bartons' voices. Though she couldn't make out any words, what with the kitchen, living room and a window between her and them, what little she could make out of the tones being used suggested it was relatively favourable news Stark was delivering.
That was a small relief.
She didn't pause in her deliberate movements when the faint murmur of conversation faded entirely, nor did she outwardly let herself react when she heard the distinctive squeak of the screen door.
A moment later, her sidearm was in her hand and pointed steadily at the door to the kitchen with a distinctive click.
"I could've been one of the Barton Juniors, you know," came the indignant reply to suddenly having a gun pointed at the centre of his chest. Nadine nearly snorted, still not looking around, though she did look up, peering absently out the window to the field and woods that hemmed the property. Though she was careful not to show it, all her attention was on her visitor.
"You have a very distinct tread, Mr Stark." The billionaire made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a hum at her response, stepping further into the sunroom. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, her aim still trained on him, Nadine nearly grinned at the affected nonchalance he was attempting to maintain. The effect was rather hampered by the way his dark gaze kept darting to the gun in her hand.
"So? Retirement wasn't all it was cracked up to be, was it? You certainly didn't stay retired long." This time it was Nadine's turn to stifle a scoff, finally sparing Tony a wry glance at the flippant question. He just shot her an expectant look in response. But he wasn't quite good enough to hide the wariness in his eyes.
"Neither did you," she replied enigmatically, finally flicking the safety back on and lowering her Glock, setting it back on her makeshift workstation. And nearly smirked at the not so subtle breath of relief Stark tried to suppress. His mouth twitched when she didn't elaborate. Not that he seemed surprised. He fidgeted subtly as he turned his gaze back out the window they both stood before.
"Things keep coming up," he countered pointedly, falling back on his characteristic nonchalance with a lazy gesture around him. "Kinda surprised to actually find you here. Fugitive with experience like you? Sticking around at the home of a recent prison escapee? Not your smartest move."
"Nina wanted to see her godson," Nadine said with a dismissive wave and careful nonchalance of her own as she stepped back from her makeshift workstation to take a seat on the wicker loveseat that sat against the interior wall. "Imagine my surprise when I walked in the door to see Clint was standing right there." It wasn't even strictly a lie. Barton had already been standing in the hall when Nadine had walked in the door herself, nor had she actually specified her degree of surprise...or lack thereof, as it were.
The best lies weren't lies at all, after all.
Stark gave a faint chuckle as he turned to lean back against the sill, his lip twisting as though he found something funny against his better judgement. "You're good, I'll give you that." Nadine's lip quirked if its own accord. "Of course, it's not like we don't know you were there." Her head tilted as she studied him. There was a faint tension there that he'd very nearly managed to hide as he looked with affected interest around the homey little sunroom.
"Oh? Where?" she asked conversationally, earning herself a faint scoff. They both knew she knew he was referring to The Raft and that he wasn't fooled by her feigned ignorance. But neither commented on it. It was a game. One that neither really wanted to play but felt compelled to, regardless. Tony looked back to her, the trace of an impressed grin on his face.
"Neat little set of backdoors you put in to my security and tracking protocols on the jet, by the way," he said then, stepping the subject sideways, "I almost genuinely missed them." She didn't answer at first, considering him and precisely what he meant by it.
"Well, it's a good thing I'm such an overly pragmatic person," she finally replied carefully. "I always make myself a back door." Despite himself, Stark chuckled.
"You really are a piece of work, you know that, Ryker?" She didn't respond verbally, just dropped her chin slightly in acknowledgement as she continued to watch him. He crossed his arms over his chest, growing thoughtful, then. Stark was no idiot. She saw it easily in the way his gaze sharpened on her.
And she was fairly certain she could guess what he was going to say, next.
"So, for someone who's so pragmatic, you have to know that running isn't going to work, forever." She tilted her head again, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
"It worked for me for almost eighteen years," she pointed out.
"And if you didn't have to anymore?" Nadine's eyes narrowed at the sudden shift in the billionaire that came with the question. He was perfectly serious. And there was no question where he was going with it. He was hoping—again—that if he could get her on his side, that she could help bring Steve in peacefully. Nadine held back a heavy sigh.
He was still hoping he could fix everything. That he could make things right. She could see it in the careful way he was trying to maintain his usual self-assured demeanour, deflecting from just how...frustrated he felt, how...powerless. It nearly startled her to realize that was what it was. Stark felt powerless. Like no matter what he did, everything just kept going wrong.
Like he'd failed at the most important job he'd had.
Protecting his team. HIs friends.
His family.
Nadine didn't answer for a long moment, carefully considering her response.
"It's not that simple, Stark," she said quietly.
"It can be," he countered, some of his confidence reviving as a crooked smile tugged at his lips; a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I managed a deal for Barton; an offer to get him off hard time in The Raft and under house arrest instead if he agrees to the conditions." And frustration of her own sparked in Nadine's chest.
"They had no business placing him in The Raft in the first place—"
"He broke the law, Ryker," Tony cut her off, abruptly sounding about as irritable as she felt, "just like the rest of them, just like—"
"Me?" she broke in with a challenging look. "Going after Zemo was the right thing to do, Stark, and you know it. This?" She gestured absently around them, her meaning clear, "this was exactly why Steve didn't want to sign the Accords in the first place. Thanks to Ross, the oversight committee was so fixated on putting down Barnes that it ignored what was really going on. And because you signed? You all couldn't do a thing about it without going rogue once you'd finally realized what was really going on.
"Not that it exactly stopped you in the end," she pointed out almost wryly, not missing the minute way his shoulders tensed and the skin around his eyes and mouth tightened at the mention of Barnes, but moving past it without additional comment to his apparent relief, "which, by the definition of the Accords, makes you a criminal now too, Stark." He shot her a nearly derisive look.
But they both knew he couldn't exactly deny it, either.
"So is that what pulled you out of retirement?" Nadine frowned, momentarily confused at his meaning. "So you could stick it to Ross?" She shot Tony an aggravated look at his clarification.
"No," she answered tersely.
"Your crush on Rogers, then?" She nearly gaped at him, but instead settled for fixing him with a narrow-eyed glare. He at least had the decency to look abashed at the silent admonishment.
"Is it really that hard to believe that I have a conscience? That I have morals?" she countered, coolly. "They might be different than yours, more flexible perhaps, but even if it doesn't always seem like it, believe it or not I do have them. Going after Zemo was the right thing to do," she finished, her conviction on the matter perfectly clear.
"But he wasn't looking to unleash a horde of mindless super-assassins on the world," Tony pointed out, a frown creasing his brow. Nadine nearly scoffed.
"We had no way of knowing that at the time," she reminded him evenly, though a trace of impatience coloured her tone. "We couldn't have known. But it wasn't a risk we could afford to take."
"And so you chose to become a fugitive." Nadine sighed at the overly simplistic conclusion. But he wasn't exactly wrong either.
"The instant the Accords became law, that choice was made for me, Stark," she contradicted quietly after a long moment, "and you know it." His lips thinned against a grimace, his features growing tight with strain and guilt as he drew in a long, grounding breath in a small attempt to calm his growing frustration.
"Then help me make you another option," he said after a long moment trying to reassert his affected confidence—she could see now that that was all it was, a front—his careful enunciation and drawn features betraying further just how unsettled and desperate he was. "Help me with damage control. Help me fix things." Nadine fought back a scoff, anger vibrating in her chest as she struggled to contain her annoyance that he kept acting so naïve when she knew he was anything but—or perhaps he was just in denial. Her eyes narrowed on Stark as her impassive mask snapped into place.
"You risked my daughter's life and sold yourself and your team out to someone like Ross because you were blinded by guilt," she said icily, her patience growing thin. "What makes you think I'd help you?" He jerked as though he'd been slapped, his features immediately growing guarded.
"Because I can help you right back. You help me convince them to come in peacefully and I can help all of you—Nina, Rogers, Wilson, the Maximoffs—the same way I helped Barton." Nadine sighed as he pushed off from the sill—absently massaging his left hand as he did, Nadine noticed with an internalized sigh of dismay, recognizing the tic—needing to move in his agitation. She fought against the way her eyes wanted to slide shut against what she was reading from him as he paced to the side window, his back to her. No...it wasn't denial. It was hope. A desperate, forlorn hope that he couldn't bear to let go of despite having come to realize it was in vain.
And if she was reading him right? He'd known it was hopeless before he'd even stepped onto his helicopter to come here. Yet still he was trying. And much as a petty part of her wanted to hold onto it, her anger began to fade again at the realization.
She held up a hand to silence him as he turned back to her, mouth opening to continue.
He wanted to make it work so badly, she actually ached for him.
"You know I can't, Stark," she said softly, almost apologetically. But there was no doubting that no amount of bargaining or wheedling or arguing on his part would work and he knew it. She wasn't about to be budged. Tony slumped back against the windowsill, vaguely sullen even as entreaty played across his features. She levelled him with a steady look. "If I do, not only will I be arrested, but you know they'll arrest Nina as well. And then she'll be forced onto the Register and things I've fought to keep secret for her safety will be forced into the open."
"Things like what?"
"Things like who her father is."
"And who might that be?"
"Nice try, Stark," Nadine said with the ghost of a smile. And seemingly despite himself, Stark huffed out a small chuckle. But it quickly faded to a weary sigh as his arms crossed, one rising to rub unconsciously at the bridge of his nose, only to wince as he accidentally put pressure on the healing bruise below his right eye. Nadine let out a long slow breath, looking down at her hands where they clasped tightly in her lap. She consciously forced her fingers to loosen.
"You know, I was considering telling you," she confessed softly, though not without a subtle, hard note to her tone as she looked up to him, "before all this started. After everything you've done for Nina? After how important you've become to her?" Stark looked momentarily shaken, his jaw flexing as he stuffed his hands back in his pockets. She knew he understood precisely just how significant an admission it was. Her lip twitched humourlessly as her lingering anger at him rose once more, her voice growing cool again as she continued, "but then you broke my trust. I trusted you to protect my daughter, Stark, my everything, and you put her in danger," she said calmly, her voice a long step past cool into dangerously icy. "That's not something I can forget easily. She could've been killed because of the stunt you pulled in bringing her into this. She was safe in Cambridge. She was safe away from this life.
"And now she's not, anymore. None of us are. Do you even know what they did to the Twins in the Raft? What those damned collars were doing to them?" For a brief moment his features grew pinched at her blunt statement, almost as though he was going to be ill. And she knew from that look alone that he'd been just as sickened by the dangerous measures that had been used on the Twins to suppress their powers. It told her a great deal.
It told her why he'd come alone.
And why he hadn't asked who all was upstairs despite his not so subtle look up toward the second floor whenever she'd mentioned Nina or the Twins.
Despite how hard he was fighting, he was considering just letting them go.
But then it was gone, hidden behind his characteristic—if much more subdued than usual—self-assured mask. She inhaled deeply and straightened in her seat, her gaze once more impassive and fixed heavily on him. "And at the end of the day, all you did was play into Zemo's hand because you were so fixated on those damned Accords.
"And because of that, we all lost," she finished quietly. The billionaire's shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly, his left hand unconsciously fisting and though his features remained almost haughty in his unconcerned affectation, guilt and remorse nevertheless seemed to pour off him in waves. Nadine sighed heavily. Even she couldn't quite manage to maintain her righteous fury at the man; he just seemed so...broken.
And she just felt...tired. Bone-tired.
Enough damage had already been done. To everyone. None of them were blameless, and they'd all suffered because everything had spiralled out of control before any of them had realized the throttle was stuck.
Outside, twilight had well and truly fallen, bathing the Barton homestead in cool blues and rich purples even as the first stars began to appear overhead. And though the last dregs of daylight still hung on, the only real illumination left in the sunroom came from the light over the kitchen sink, spilling gently through the pass-through behind Nadine and the doorframe across from Tony, painting his features with a sharp contrast between light and shadow. Nadine rose from her seat then to stand near the window, her arms crossed loosely over her torso. She needed the moment it took to cross the narrow room to get her thoughts in order. And, much like Tony and his instinctive instinct to pace, she needed the fleeting outlet the movement provided.
"Even if—and I stress if—you could convince Secretary Ross not to bury us—especially me, Barnes and Steve—do you really think any of us could live under someone's thumb for the rest of our lives?" she finally asked candidly, her weariness and her incredulity bleeding into her voice despite her careful control; not that she truly cared, at that point. "Under the thumb of someone like Ross who wants nothing more than to use people like us as his own personal attack dogs? C'mon, Stark. You know us all better than that. You know Steve better than that."
Tony's lips thinned, his eyes dropping from hers as he fought the way the corners of his mouth tried to tug downward. Then, eyes narrowing and jaw tensed, he looked to Nadine. And at once she knew she'd misspoken.
This time her eyes did slide shut against a wash of self-reproach.
"After everything with the Team's been through, survived, together? You're still going to throw it all away? You're going to stand by while Rogers abandons his Team? To resign Wilson, the Maximoffs, your daughter to a life on the run? For what, to spite Ross? For Barnes?" he challenged hotly, his eyes suddenly hard and nearly wild in the dim light. Nadine's jaw clenched before she could stop it, but she managed to hold her own ire in check. Her fist flexed against her ribs beneath her crossed arms, purposefully pressing against the lingering ache in her side to help ground herself while the other tensed where it lay on her forearm. What she'd said had not only stung him but poked at wounds that were still far too fresh and, as she probably should've expected, he'd reacted defensively, even indignantly on pure instinct. She wasn't even sure he realized he did it. It was another means of deflection.
It was clearer now than it ever had been that it was how he hid his pain.
But she didn't back down, turning from her watch out the window and levelly meeting his eye once more. She didn't bother to hide her own ire at his behaviour. A muscle in Tony's jaw ticked in his struggle to regain control of his temper.
"I could care less about Ross," she said as calmly as she could manage after a slow, bracing breath; it was a sensitive topic for her too. "But yes. I chose to help Barnes. And I intend to keep helping Barnes." Tony bristled, his dark eyes flashing.
"He's a murderer, Ryker!" Tony snarled, his features twisting with a potent mix of grief and fury that left her heart aching for him, "He killed—"
"I know," she cut him off as firmly and as gently as she could manage, her hand lifting from her arm in a reserved gesture of appeasement, her anger fading once again in the face of his pain. "Steve told me what happened, what Zemo showed you." She sighed heavily, giving in and dropping her intent gaze from his as she lifted her raised hand further to massage at her temple. She didn't really want to get into such a tender and potentially volatile subject, not with Stark still as angry and hurt as he was, but she still felt she had to address Barnes. Inhaling a deep, calming breath, she carefully weighed what she felt she needed to say.
What he needed to hear whether he wanted to or not.
"No one's blaming you for being angry," she continued after a moment, once she was sure he'd calmed enough to let her speak without interrupting angrily. She looked over to him, hoping against hope that she could reach through his anguish at least a little, to maybe get through to him on some level. "I'm angry for you. But to blame it on him? Barnes was the weapon, Tony. Nothing more. The programming HYDRA forced on him made him as much a victim as your parents; he had to watch himself kill his friend...and he couldn't do a thing to stop it." Her voice was nearly vibrating with heartache and rage for what had been done to Barnes...and by extension to Tony.
Because even though he could be childish and irritating more often than not, she had come to see him as not just a colleague over the year that she'd gotten to known him, but a friend as well.
If a rather aggravating one, at times.
And that was without considering everything he'd done for Nina.
He couldn't meet her eye. Nadine's gaze dropped to her crossed arms once more, and she had to swallow back against the lump trying to form in her throat.
"I've been him, Stark. I know him. I but even I can only guess at what he's suffered. He has nothing," she all but murmured, "He has no one left, save us. Until two years ago, he didn't even have his own mind. So yes," she affirmed, looking up to Tony again, "if anyone deserves help, it's him. And I won't apologize for that."
The silence that fell once she'd said her piece was tangible, the weight of what she'd said pressing in on both of them. It was a long time before either of them could bring themselves to speak. But eventually, Tony straightened with a sharp inhale, his lips thinning and jaw tensing as he steeled himself.
"I should turn you in," he said bluntly, his usual offhanded demeanour returning even if the faint tremor to his voice gave just how shaken he was away. "All of you."
"Probably." She agreed absently, sparing him a knowing glance. "But you're not going to." Tony finally looked to her, his astonishment only partially affected.
"Oh? I'm not, am I?" he asked, almost patronizingly. Nadine wasn't fooled by his theatrics.
"No." Stark scoffed, smiling disbelievingly at her simple, succinct answer.
"You know me that well, do you?" he challenged. Nadine turned to face him, propping a hip against the counter as she considered him.
And before she could help herself, she was considering everything that had brought them to this moment. Everything she knew of his character, every reaction—unconscious and otherwise—that she'd witnessed and deciphered, every move she knew he'd made, every motive she'd discerned. She hadn't planned on answering, but as the rest of their conversation replayed through her swiftly moving thoughts, she couldn't quite fight the instinct that, just as he'd needed to hear what she'd said about Barnes, he needed to hear the conclusions she'd come to.
No matter how painful they might be.
She couldn't fight the feeling that he needed someone to say what he was thinking aloud.
To validate the truths he was struggling to accept...and afraid to admit to himself.
"I know you've been handed a harsh dose of reality," she said after a long moment, long enough that Tony started to fidget under her thoughtful scrutiny. "I know you've realized that you might have made the wrong call with the Accords, or at least, that Steve wasn't anymore wrong than you were right. I know you've realized that, in working with Ross, you've made a deal with the devil, and that you have no choice but to keep playing the game even if your pride would let you admit you were wrong. Because that's the play you made and you'll stick to it.
"And because you can't afford not to. Because you're caught. Trapped, even." Despite her carefully maintained composure, there was no hiding the thread of empathy that managed to seep into her voice. Tony's jaw had grown so tense that she wouldn't have been surprised if his teeth were starting to ache. And sure enough, as she spared a brief glance to his left hand, it was beginning to tremble once again before he stuffed the limb into his pocket. But he didn't interrupt, nor did he move to leave despite the defiant shadow surfacing on his features; an instinctive and possibly even unconscious defensive reaction, she suspected.
He just stood there. Listening. She inhaled deeply around the sympathetic ache in her chest.
Steve wasn't the only one who had a tendency to carry the weight of his mistakes as penance, she realized sadly.
"I know you're going to deny that I'm right," she pressed on frankly, absently tracing a score the lined the edge of the worktable with a fingertip as she spoke, "and that you might even believe it too. But it's there. The doubt.
"You no longer believe in the Accords," she said softly, decisively. Tony jerked where he stood at the far end of the counter, his guarded gaze snapping up from sightlessly watching her fingers move along the top of the varnished wood to her face, shaken by her calm certainty. "But you're going to keep fighting the fight anyway because someone has to." She lifted her chin then, meeting his eye almost challengingly.
"Just like you're going to let me walk out of here," she said steadily. "Just like you're going to let Steve keep fighting the fight just as you intend to do." The conflicted feelings flooding Tony were nearly tangible as he met her eye, his jaw working as though debating whether or not to cut her off. But she knew she was right. She could read it on every tense line of his body, from his faintly hunched shoulders to his hands where they fisted in his pockets, and in the guarded tightness of his features.
She let out a long, slow breath then. "But I also know you're bitter and wounded about the fallout between you two. About the Accords. About your parents. It hurts and it feels like he has betrayed you at every turn by choosing not to stand with you or by keeping the truth about your parents from you or by keeping you from Barnes and that's not something you can forget even if you wanted to," she pressed on carefully, keenly aware that she was treading a razor sharp line between giving him what he needed to hear and pushing him too far, "though I think you've already forgiven him, even if you or your pride can't admit it yet. And I know that if the situation ever arises, there's a very good chance that you won't use the phone he sent you—the one that I suspect is in your pocket right now—" the minute way he tensed, his chin dipping faintly toward the inner breast pocket of his sport jacket was more than confirmation enough "—on principle...and out of fear that, even if you need him, even if you're able to set your wounded feelings aside, he won't answer even though you know as well as I do that he won't hesitate to come if you call.
"So yes. I do know you, Stark," she said with a soft, decisive finality that seemed to echo between them.
He didn't speak for a long time, his features conflicted and stunned, angry and vulnerable all at once. But he finally looked up at her, his dark eyes bright.
"It's like you don't know me at all, Ryker," he dismissed, his voice strained and hollow.
And unable to hold her eye, he spun on his heel, striding out of the sunroom, through the farmhouse and out the side door with a brusque "keep an eye out for company, I'll make sure they're relatively friendly...and let Lang know if he turns himself in in the next twelve hours, he'll get the same deal," aimed at Clint as he passed him and Laura where they sat on the porch.
Leaving Nadine alone in the dark, sinking wearily onto the wicker loveseat of the sunroom.
A/N: Thanks for reading!
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