Finally, a cease fire
Before I went to bed, I chatted with my friend again, giving her the general context of Bucky and explaining what the trouble was here. As I'd expected, she had some helpful suggestions for me, and I clicked off Skype feeling a lot better.
The next morning, the pups bolted their breakfast and went outside to play while I selected a hearty breakfast from the buffet. I was reflecting on the previous night's conversation when I felt a hand on the nape of my neck. I looked up, startled, to see Steve with his plate. I waved at the other chairs at the table. "Have a seat."
"I wasn't sure if you'd want to talk after last night," he said, sitting down, then standing again. "Forgot my coffee. Can I bring you anything?" I still had an almost full mug of coffee, so I asked for orange juice. While I waited, I crunched my way through a piece of thick-cut bacon. So good.
"I had a conversation with my therapist friend last night," I told him when he'd started eating. "Both to give her some background about Bucky's situation and to get some insight about the situation here." Steve looked up, surprised and attentive. "She had an idea that I'd like to run past you, suggesting that he do his initial therapy in New York rather than coming here and doing it remotely. It might be easier for him to work through everything he's experienced on his own. I think it would serve two purposes, actually: one, making his transition from Winter Soldier to an autonomous person easier, and second, easing pressure here. There would be more time for consideration and deciding what to do. There's certainly the possibility that he might not want to join the Avengers, that he might want to choose an ordinary life," I said gently.
Steve poked his fork around his eggs. He didn't say anything. "I told Constance that I'd cover his bills and expenses," I said. "I don't know what his finances are like or even if HYDRA bothered to pay him anything, but I'm willing to ensure that he's got somewhere to live and funding while he does therapy and gets on his feet. Who knows how the Army will calculate his back pay and how long it will take to get to him? I've got more money than I know what to do with, thanks to Stark's ego and a great financial advisor, so I can afford it."
"Why would you do that?" Steve asked. "After all he's done."
I swallowed some juice. Fresh squeezed. There are definite advantages to being an Avenger. "Because he's important to you, and we're friends, so that makes it important to me. It's the same reason I've made an effort with Loki, because Thor's my friend, and why I'll make an effort with Sif. Why I haven't just crossed Stark off. Because we're more than friends, we're a kind of hugely dysfunctional family. It's the right thing to do; he's a veteran and he's been through enough. And frankly, it's good for me too. I've been really focused on myself for a long time, that dysfunction extends to me. But here's an opportunity to help someone with specific, substantial problems. The money isn't really important past the ability to get what I need, but here I can use my skills to rebuild an arm, make a real difference for somebody. A whole, functioning arm, which is something that had never crossed my mind. I don't really like blood, so I never wanted to be a doctor. But this I can do, help make this prosthetic. Maybe I can manage a sort of flesh tone to the metal so it blends a little better." I stop and ponder that. "Have to find out where he'd like to live," I mumble, starting to compile a list. "A house would probably be better than an apartment that has neighbors who might make a fuss. I wonder if he's got valid ID."
Steve cleared his throat and I looked at him. "Thanks."
I smiled a little and went back to breakfast. "This means that the pressure on Stark can be lowered and maybe then he can creep out of the corner he's backed himself into. Gives everybody some breathing room."
"I'll be talking to T'Challa after breakfast," Steve said.
"Great. Get his input on all this. He probably knows Bucky's state of mind pretty well right now. Also ask him if he can send me the specs for the arm? If I've got the measurements and schematics, I can start the work, maybe get it done by the time they get here, and then it will just be a matter of sticking it on and making sure it works." I gestured with my hands, demonstrating.
Steve started to laugh. "You're an...unusual woman."
"I'm weird. I know, you can say," I nodded. He laughed harder.
"Am I interrupting?" a voice snapped, and I rolled my eyes. It was Stark, with male-onset PMS.
"Yeah, but have a seat anyway," I said, gesturing to one of the other seats with a piece of melon on my fork. "Saves me the trouble of hunting you down later. Plans for Bucky are in abeyance for the foreseeable future, so you can calm down now."
"Are you helping him?" Stark stared at me.
"Yep." I ate the melon. Nice.
"Why? After all he's done--"
"After all you've done, I'm still trying to understand you and make allowances for you, rather than ripping out your arc reactor and walking away. As to why, I'm tired of focusing on my own problems. It's boring, not particularly useful, and the prospect of new challenges and helping somebody who has it worse than me is appealing."
Stark stared at me, his lip curling, then looked from me to Steve. "You're two peas in a pod, both of you so much better than the rest of us."
"Don't be an ass," I said, rolling my eyes, then barked a laugh. "Since that's not possible, try to be less of one," I said, anger and contempt getting the better of me. "In fact, unless it's for a group activity, stay the hell away from me. It's a lot easier for me to consider your viewpoints and work with them when you're not in my face insulting me. In fact, after yesterday, I'm amazed you have the gall to speak to me." The fury was bubbling up again.
"Emma," Steve said calmly, and looking where he was looking, I realized I'd folded my fork and the tines were stabbing my hand. And not going through. I unfolded the fork, smoothing it out again, and placed it on my plate.
"You're such a hypocrite," I hissed at Stark. "You're all furious that Steve withheld the information on your parents' assassination but you sat on that information about my mutation. You dug it up and sat on it until you could use it to hurt me. You continue to employ the men who were responsible, which is disgusting. It's a good thing that there are fans of Iron Man, because Tony Stark alienates people like nothing I've ever seen. You will never understand why people will want to help somebody like Bucky because that kind of compassion isn't in you, or if it is, it's drowned in the ocean of self-pity and entitlement you cultivate." I shoved my chair back and stomped out. Good that the dogs were off playing since I wasn't in the mood to pull them off Stark this time. I stomped all the way to my workshop.
The flowers I'd gotten in Seattle were wilting and dying; I had to throw them away. When I checked email, there was already a message from T'Challa with the specifications for the mechanical limb. He also said that the biomechanical parts were on their way so I could incorporate them when I was ready. My spirits lifted as I sifted through the information and made a list of supplies I'd need. I placed the order with my suppliers using my own accounts, then stood back from the table and stretched.
Then I went to find the head of the landscapers and explained what I wanted to do. He was enthusiastic and we went off to look at catalogs together. Then I borrowed a spade and went back to my workshop and started to dig some flowerbeds.
It was hard going, and by the time I had the grass removed for the first, smallest bed, I was ready to dramatically scale back the plans for the other ones, and if my skin was normal, I'd have had huge blisters on my hands. Right about then, three of the landscape crew showed up, laughed when I said I was just about to cut back, and took over competently. I retreated to my apartment where I took a long, relaxing shower. Then I went back to the caf, reluctantly, for a late lunch. I'd worked up an appetite. There was nobody I knew there, so lunch was certainly a happier occasion than breakfast had been.
After lunch, I helped our party-planning group plus Maria Hill, a ferociously competent woman, get ready for the evening's festivities. We set it up in the party room, where I inconspicuously added a dollar for the curse I'd said to Stark to the swear jar, and by the end, it looked nice, with a table ready for a buffet of appetizers and hors d'oeuvres, pretty flower arrangements everywhere, streamers and candles too, placed where the streamers and confetti were less likely to make contact with the burning candles. We had little packs of confetti for when we toasted the happy couple.
I groomed the dogs extensively and provided new collars for them, then took the dry cleaning bag off my dress for the evening and steamed out a few small wrinkles. I'd planned to wear a 50's style suit, slim skirt with a fitted top, three-quarter length sleeves and portrait collar, and gloves, but it was too loose still, so I went with my second choice, a really nice vintage knockoff of Dior's New Look. This one fit perfectly, and I curled my hair before pinning it in a messy knot at the nape of my neck. Evening makeup, pearl strand, diamond starburst earrings I'd bought on Etsy, then stepped into the crinoline before putting on the satin pumps. The midnight blue satin dress had a lovely sheen to it and the tone complemented my skin and set off my hair. I picked up my gift, and went over to the party, enjoying the sway of the skirt as I walked.
It had been difficult to come up with a wedding present for the gods who had everything, so in the end, I'd made one; his and her torcs. Thor's was appropriately large, having a nice weight to it but not being too heavy, ending in cabochon star sapphires. Sif's was lighter, smaller, with an elegant twist; the finials were roses, and I'd used fancy cut rhodolite garnets at their hearts. Making the torcs had been fun. Maybe once I got too old for making armor I could move over to jewelry.
I was early, but not the earliest; Natasha, Bruce, and Maria were also there, along with Thor and Sif. I gave them my gift before too many people showed up. I wasn't really sure they'd like them, but I think they did; Thor put his right on after examining the play of the sapphires. Sif of course had already chosen her accessories, but she seemed very pleased, and in relief I went to the bar, where Natasha, also in a lovely cocktail dress, was doing the honors as she flirted with Bruce, who alternated between enjoyment and shyness. It was cute. I put down water bowls for the dogs, who were hanging out by the guests of honor, and accepted a vodka martini with a lemon twist, not too dry.
"You starting a sideline business?" Natasha asked.
I laughed. "No, but now I know what I can do in retirement."
Bruce scoffed. "I can't imagine you retired."
"Well, I'm not going to be able to make armor forever," I said practically. "And we all know I have no future in conflict mediation." That got some big laughs.
"Well, just so you know, I have a birthday coming up," Natasha said blandly.
"I also have a birthday," Maria put in.
"I don't think I could really rock a necklace," Bruce said wistfully, and we all laughed.
The party itself was nice and relaxing. I ignored Stark completely and he stayed out of my way. Everybody had come in for it, including Peter.
"This is really different from the parties I usually go to," he said as we were waiting our turn at the pool table.
"What do high schoolers do for fun these days?" I asked.
"It's mostly like hanging out, but with more people and booze if you can divert some from your parents, and dancing," he said. "I'm not really in the cool group."
"Don't see why not," I said, looking at him. "You're smart, funny, and cute." I laughed to myself as he squirmed a little. "I wasn't popular in high school either."
"No way," he said, and this time I laughed out loud.
"My friends and I were good girls," I said, thinking back to the days of neon and big hair in Reagan's America. "A little too rule-abiding to be cool, although it wasn't like we were outcasts, just not cool."
"You look too glamorous to be a geek," Scott said, joining us, and we grabbed Sam to play a game as teams.
"This is why it's good that high school is only four years," I deadpanned, and everybody laughed.
Later, I sat with Wanda and Vision on the sofas and Wanda put flowers from the vases in my hair as we talked about clothes and made plans to go shopping. Then it was time for a few Earth customs; we had a wedding cake for them--Tahitian vanilla and chocolate, fondant with a lacy piped design, raspberry coulis on the side--and champagne. I saw Peter try the wine and grinned at him. After some toasts--all of them tasteful, fortunately--we threw the confetti. This was the high point of the festivities, and afterward, the party died down. People started to drift away after then, and once everybody had gone, I picked up a bit, winding down. It had been a really good party and it looked like everybody had had fun. I wasn't cleaning up entirely; we had a housekeeping staff and I didn't want to seem like I didn't think they'd do their usual superb job, it just seemed rude to leave the mess. The food, with the exception of the cake, had been finished off, so I filled the dishwasher and got that started, rounded up the plates and glasses that remained, and vacuumed up the confetti. The pups didn't like that much and hopped around, yapping at the vacuum.
"That was a good party," Steve said from behind me, and I jumped in surprise and turned, hand over my heart.
"Didn't know anybody was still here," I said, then turned off the vacuum and started winding the cord.
"Thought I'd pick up a little," he admitted, taking the vacuum and rolling it back to the closet. "What else?"
"I was just going to put the last bit of cake in the fridge," I said, and he popped it in. "I like your suit," I added. It was kind of retro, but updated; fine charcoal gray wool, with a white shirt and sterling silk tie.
"It's not too much, is it?" he said, fiddling with the cuffs.
"No, it's perfect," I assured him, and after a last look around, he offered his arm and we walked to the elevator.
The night air was cool, the stars twinkling overhead as we ambled back to the residence, the dogs lagging behind. We chatted a bit about the party, the flowers I was going to put in the new beds by my workshop, and parted at the door.