Chapter Text
She slides her hand from his as soon as the sedan rounds the corner. He lets his rest on the seat between them. He immediately misses the warmth of her. He absolutely hated these things. These forced public outings that were supposedly good for his image. Though he knew if they were good for his image, they were good enough for the US Government to loosen that last little bit of the leash they have had him on since his pardon.
Plus he would endure a million more outings like these, if it meant he got to hold her hand a little longer.
“Seems like a good program, yeah?” She asks as she begins to scroll through her phone. “Odin knows this neighborhood was long overdue for community support like this.”
That turns his stomach with guilt. It was a good program. The people he met today truly did deserve the new community center and youth programs that he cut the ribbon for. He didn’t agree to show for the right reason though. He agreed to be the guest of honor, bringing much needed press, not because he had any particular interest in the project before he got the call. He took the opportunity because he knew she would join him.
He knew he’d get to hold her hand.
“Yeah.” He clears his throat and loosens his tie. “They sure did.”
She nods and hums her agreement as she continues to scroll. She pauses on something on the screen. She lifts the phone to show him her findings.
It was a picture of them from the event already uploaded to a local paper’s website. It was only a matter of minutes now until it was picked up and ran through a larger national circuit. She smiles her approval at the image on the screen and winks at him. She continues on with her scrolling, presumably trying to find more of the same or read the attached blurb.
The sedan slows at the back entrance of their lodgings. The driver gets out to open the door to allow them to walk through the hotel kitchen on their way to the service elevators.
“Thanks Jim!” She beams. “You were a wonderful guide this trip.”
“Ma’am.” The driver tips his hat and his cheeks adorn a pink hue.
The elevator ride is silent save for the light rickety sound from the carriage ascending the floors. When the lift doors open he gestures for her to go out first. He briefly holds, allowing the scent of her to waft past him as she goes.
She gets to the door first. He is the one with the key so she turns and politely waits for him to join her and swipe the electronic strip. The door opens to the common area of the two bedroom suite they share. She kicks her shoes of not five feet into the room and starts unbuttoning the front of her dress on the way to her bedroom door. She turns as if she remembers something just then. She doesn’t bother to clasp the front of her garment close as she faces him. He knows it is not right to look. He knows he should keep eyes firmly on her face as she addresses him. He is going to have to add this to another sin to atone for when all is said and done because wrong or not, he can’t help but chance a quick glance.
The tilting scales of karma are immediate. The delicate fabric peeking out from the area will surely taunt and tease him in his dreams. He'll forever hear it whisper not yours every time he pictures it again.
She lets out a small breath of a laugh. As if he needs to be further chided by the universe, he realizes he has been caught. Still, she doesn’t try to cover herself.
Is she? Could it be that she is doing this on purpose? Does she want him to look?
He stands stronger to hold her gaze after that thought. Though nothing in her is matching his intensity. He feels the moment slipping as quickly as he imagined it.
“If you order dinner, can you order something for me?” She asks.
He nods.
“Thanks.” She places her hand over her chest now as if it is an absent minded after thought. “I’m going to go shower.” She motions to her bedroom door with a slight jerk of her head.
He nods again.
After the door closes he scrubs a hand down his face before removing his suit jacket. He lays the blazer over the back of a barstool sitting at the island marking the kitchenette area of the suite. Next he frees the tails of his dress shirt on his way to the hotel landline on the counter space.
He orders something he knows she’ll like from room service and gives the time of an hour from now for it to be delivered. He turns around to fill one of the old fashion glasses from the bar with two fingers of the complementary aged whiskey the hotel supplied them at check in. It is an incentive gift to ensure their repeat business when they find themselves in the D.C. area again. It seems his new reputation did more than just positive exposure for charities and nonprofits. To his absolute horror he is becoming something of a celebrity.
The knock at the suite door stops him from draining the content of his glass and filling another. He checks the digital clock on a far end table even though he knows it is far too early for their dinner to be delivered. The knock sounds again and he opens a drawer near his hip. It was one of the few spots he stashed a weapon at check in. His image may be getting better but the threat of danger was never going to be a stain he would be rid of. He secures the chamber of the glock and slips it in his waistband in the back of his pants. With sure strides he makes his way to the door. He hones the element of surprise by pulling it open without asking who was there and tipping off the visitors that he stood on the other side. He watched the two agents adjust to his sudden appearance.
“Sergeant Barnes.” One greets while fumbling slightly with his badge. “I’m Agent Willow with S.W.O.R.D extraterrestrial unit. This is my partner Agent Chan.”
He keeps his face nearly frozen with the exception of raising his brow in an annoyed invitation to explain what they were doing at his door. The agents remain unaware of the complete contrast to adrenaline coursing through him at the mention of the agency they represented. He could guess what they were here for. It was the one thing he swore to protect over all else with a literal vow.
“Sergeant, sir.” Agent Chan begins hoping to gain some ground that Agent Willow had not. “We were hoping to have a word with Doctor Lewis, if we might?”
He stands taller now. His hand drops from the door handle. It would appear to be an unnecessary establishing of dominance over the agents but in reality he moves his hand behind him to grip the pistol pressing against his lower back. He doesn’t withdraw it or even make a show of having any sort of inclination for a knee jerk reaction to violence in their presence. He takes the time to allow his hand to form to the familiar handle and center him. Without alerting his visitors he clicks the safety.
“What business do you have with my wife?”