Calm
It was good that we had holidays to distract us; Odin was still out, Thor and Sif were still missing, and Loki was getting nervous. I actually caught him chewing his nails. We had a lot of parties to attend; there was the campus-wide Christmas party, when there was an open house for everybody's families and one down at the visitor center. For the team, we had Christmas again at my house; it was becoming a tradition. New Years Eve was in the rec room, also as usual. Peter didn't come out this year; he had a party to go to with MJ. I just hoped that he'd stay put at the party instead of running after baddies.
This year I wore a Zac Posen dress, a few years old but who cares? It looked great on me, which was the whole point. Blue and slinky, it had an interesting collar and flirty flares along the hem. We had hors d'oeuvres and drinks, and played with the new jukebox Tony had made. A huge digital library allowed customized playlists, and there was a wrinkle that you could dedicate a song to someone and this would be announced before the song played. So we got a game going where you had to choose a song to describe you and then you had to choose at least two songs for teammates. Everybody made their selections and we stood around waiting for the jukebox to shuffle.
First up, Tony dedicated Panic at the Disco's "Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time" to all of us. Then Wanda dedicated The Gap Band's "You Dropped a Bomb on Me" to Tony, which got a roar. Natasha had chosen Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation" for Bucky, and Tony had chosen Will Smith's "Party Starter" for himself. He started to strut and we ended up having a sort of mosh pit of Avengers. Next up, Natasha had chosen "Black Widow's Eyes' by the Who for herself, followed by Tony's choice of Jimmy Buffett's "Captain America" for Steve. It was meant with affection. Jim dedicated "Killer Queen" to Natasha; she laughed and raised her glass to him. Vision had chosen "Cradle of Love" for himself; I'm never quite sure if he has a sense humor. Sam chose "This is How We Do It" by Montell Jordan for the group. My choice of AJR's "I'm Not Famous" came up, and everybody laughed. I dedicated the Mowgli's "I'm Good" to Bucky and popped in Queen's "We Will Rock You" for the team for good measure. Tony had dedicated Meghan Trainor's "Me Too" to me. I flipped my hair and led a dance line around the the room. Then my choice for Scott, "Pretty Fly (For a White Guy)" came on (it's surprisingly hard to find an insect-related pun without resorting to Adam Ant) and Steve, showing an unexpected familiarity with pop music, chose "Work This Body" by Cage the Elephant for himself. Wanda dedicated "Our Lips Are Sealed" by the Go-Gos for the ladies. The ultimate Avengers playlist rolled on, and this entertainment kept us going till midnight. I thought it was interesting to see everybody's choices for themselves. Sam had chosen "Lean on Me" by Bill Withers, for example, which was perfect.
At midnight we broke out the champagne and toasted to another year where we all came out of the old one ok. The party broke up shortly after, and like I usually did, I stayed behind and tidied things to make Housekeeping's job easier and less gross. I wasn't surprised when Steve stayed to help; the man is incapable of leaving somebody to do the work.
We sat back down on a sofa to finish the last bottle of champagne; when the last of it was divided between our glasses I got up to toss the bottle into recycling and wandered by the jukebox to punch in a few songs. We chatted about nothing as the Clash wondered if they should stay or should they go, and when I finished my glass, I kicked my feet up on the sofa arm and put my head on Steve's lap. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed as I complimented the second design he'd made for my field uniform. It wasn't all that different, but it had a kind of sexy dropped waist and had small mesh panels down the sides, across the upper chest, and across the small of the back, meant for missions in hot weather. Given the other fabrics and the armoring, it might reduce the internal temperature by a degree or two, but it was the thought that counted. His fingers sifted through my hair as we talked. The Barenaked Ladies wondered "Who Needs Sleep?" When "Dangerous Woman" came on, I decided I'd better more direct since he didn't seem to be picking up on the musical cues.
"When you were having that crisis with your PTSD, I could have been more understanding, tried harder for a compromise. I regret that. I miss you." I just kind of blurted it out, careful not to over-think and edit myself into utter stupidity. He looked down in surprise and his hand on my hair stilled.
"No, I was wrong to ask you to do that. It was cowardly. The wrong thing to do, definitely. I was just afraid...that if I wasn't strong and handling everything, you would think less of me. And that that was so unfair." I thought he was going to start to cry. Alicia Key's "Fallin'" flowed out of the speakers.
I reached up and touched his cheek. "I'm sorry," I said. He kissed my palm and pressed it over his heart.
I could feel his heart racing. "Forgive me for not having enough faith," he begged. I squirmed and sat up, bringing his head down for a kiss as I wiggled onto his lap. It felt momentous, like we were on the edge of a precipice. At the end of the song the kiss ended, and he stood up, placing me on my feet, pulling me to the door. We raced down the stairs and across the yard to his apartment. When I skidded in my stilettos, he picked me up and carried me.
Later in the morning, it was a very tight fit in the shower and I suggested that mine was bigger, for next time. Like the gentleman he was, he gave me a toothbrush and let me have first crack at the bathroom for grooming. I browsed his bookshelves as I waited for him, noting some new additions. When I saw his sketchbook on a shelf, I pulled it off. Last time I'd looked at it, he'd been doing landscapes as well as my costume designs, and I wanted to see his new work. This was a new one, I could tell from the cover. There were sketches of the team on the first pages, including one of Tony lecturing, finger waving. I chortled and turned the page. There was one of me and Peter, his arm around my shoulders, listening as I said something to him. The next few pages were just me. In varying stages of undress. Then a few pages of me as Winged Victory (with a head) and Athena, with spear, crested helm, and shield (I grinned to see that his star was on the shield rather than Medusa's head), and as an Amazon, cloth covering my groin, carrying a sword, bare breasted. The next was half done, me in the quinjet holding the ribs that had cracked when Cobra had squeezed me. It was wrinkled, like he had been about to tear it out but changed his mind. The next two were nudes, me as a '40's-style pinup, very provocative, me in the style of Mucha, romantic and sensual. Then a few...action shots. I presume it was him in the drawings with me; not much of the man was visible, but the proportions were correct. My eyes opened wide.
"Er...." Steve was nervous as he saw what I was looking at.
"I thought you were still on landscapes," I said nonchalantly, closing the sketchbook and walking toward him.
"Umm.." he tried again.
"You're so talented and imaginative," I said, stopping in front of him, then gave up the teasing. "You make me look flawless."
"You're perfect to me," he said softly. I pressed myself against him for a kiss.
"We don't have to go for breakfast," he started to say as his hand located the zipper on my dress, but was interrupted by a banging on the door.
"Quit playing with yourself and get out here!" Bucky shouted, and I started to chuckle. "You're coming to breakfast with us."
"Does he do this often?" I asked him, and he looked pained.
"Only when he thinks I'm getting moody," he said glumly. I winked at him as I handed him the sketchbook and hustled to the door.
"I can guarantee he's not playing with himself," I said to Bucky's shocked face. Behind him, Natasha started to grin and turned away when she burst out laughing.
"Uh, of course you're invited too, Emma," he said awkwardly, and started to smile when Steve walked up behind me and put his hand on my hip. Bucky was still a little embarrassed by his faux pas as we went to the caf. After breakfast, Steve and I went to my house and the dogs made themselves scarce until dinner.
After a couple of days like this, I invited him to bring some things over and I started to demand rewards for finishing the obstacle course.
My mind had a tendency to wander, and I had to exercise some discipline to keep focused. We were gearing up for the real trial of the new arc reactor engine. It had taken several prototypes to get everything working. At first, I'd machined the parts too close and they wouldn't move. Then it was too loose, and a few more models to get it right. We'd tested it, we knew it worked...in the lab, sitting on a plinth. But now it was mounted on a motorcycle and this was what we'd been waiting for.
I met the engineers and mechanics and Tony on the runway. "We should have a test track," I said to him as Natasha walked up to us. She'd be testing the motorcycle and she looked eager.
"This better be decent," she warned us. "I'm going to be so disappointed if performance is subpar. I ride only the best," she said, then nodded to someone over my shoulder. "Isn't that right, honey?" she said, and I turned, tamping down the chortles, to see Bucky looking somehow both inscrutable and embarrassed. Tony didn't bother to stifle his laughter. Steve put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head as the rest of the team assembled. Then Natasha strode over to the motorcycle and swung her leg over the seat, tugging on her helmet. It started on the first try, always a good sign. The engine itself was quiet; she shot forward with the smallest motion of her hand and I smiled in victory. She'd never needed to worry about the power. Our concern, actually, was that there was too much and might be dangerous. The engineers had their laptops out and were looking at the data that was rolling in from the sensors. Natasha circled the runway once, then started another, testing the handling. When she finally pulled up, we all cheered and I gave Tony a big hug before going to congratulate the engineers and mechanics who had designed the motorcycle and talking to Natasha.
"We have GOT to do more missions where I drive this thing," she said, exhilarated. Bucky winced, but when Tony encouraged everybody to have a try, he was the first one in line. Then Steve drove, then me, then Sam and Scott and Tony.
"We need a fleet," Sam said. "We could be our own motorcycle club, driving around the country on these fine things, righting wrongs as we go."
I tried to imagine Vision in a leather jacket, cruising the highway, and my brain got stuck. Then Tony wanted to talk about modifying the design for other vehicles. The engineers took the motorcycle away and I felt a little bad; they were going to test it to failure; I had to remind myself that we could and would make new ones. It was important that we find out how the new alloys and the new design would perform under high stress. Our party began to disperse; Steve walked me to the turnoff to my workshop and we parted company.
When I went into the workshop, there was a pile of metal fragments on the bench. I knew I hadn't left anything when I went to see the testing. I sifted through the fragments, frowning. Then I shoveled it all into a box and ran up the hill.
I burst into the room with Loki's cell and he stood up, surprised by my entrance. I made the guard open the door and shoved the box at Loki. As soon as he took it, the guard locked the door again and looked at me reproachfully, but I didn't care. Loki poked through the fragments, and I knew he'd seen what I'd seen when his fair skin went bone white.
"What could destroy Mjolnir?" I asked him, trying and failing to keep my voice level. Loki just stared at me.
"I don't know."