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Being part of the so-called New Avengers wasn’t anything you, nor your teammates, had expected. There were the expected missions, training, and living in the Watchtower. However, most of your days were different from what you had thought was in store when Valentina announced the team as the New Avengers.
Bucky and Yelena had stepped up to lead the team. On paper, Valentina owned the Watchtower you all were living in. The reality was that she managed the media of the team. Bucky focused on strategies using the team’s strengths while Yelena managed keeping the team together and working as a team. Ava could often be found working in one of the labs within the tower. Alexi spent many hours between the common room and testing the equipment in the gym. Bob found a sense of confidence in the kitchen when he wasn’t reading by a window. John was often analyzing reports or training.
Somewhere in all the missions, living together, and reeling from each individual trauma the seven of you had bonded into something. It was messy and dysfunctional, but you’d learned that, despite everything each of you had survived, there was nobody else you would trust the way you did your team. Each relationship between everyone is vastly different depending on who was involved. But this allowed everyone to have the support they needed no matter what issue they were facing this time.
***
It’d been a bad night for you, the first time you wandered out your room and found John sitting in the common area. He was focused on the large TV, flashes of light illuminating him leant forward on the couch in the darkened room. Quietly, you sat in the chair next to the couch, head resting against an armrest while you draped your legs over the other. John was playing a videogame, flashes of gunfire and grenades surrounding his character. The volume was low, leaving you straining your ears to hear the movements of the other characters on screen. It wasn’t until John released a frustrated huff and you heard the plastic clunk of his controller being put down that you’d begun to calm down from the nightmare.
“Couldn’t sleep?” You tentatively ask, trying to gauge what mood he’s in.
“Something like that.” His reply is clipped.
You tilted your head back, eyes landing on him as he dragged a hand down his face. “What are you playing?”
“Modern Warfare. The newer one. Not like–,” he heaves a sigh, “not like the third one, but the one from a few years ago when it was brought back.”
You hum, not entirely sure you follow what he means. You watch as he stretches, the sound of his back popping filling the silence that had settled between the two of you once again, then he picks the controller up once again. As his attention reverts back to the large screen, yours eventually follows.
You don’t know how long you stay there, slumped across the chair and watching him complete missions. The only thing you do realize is that when you wake up to the common room filled with sunlight, a blanket was draped over you.
***
You had moments with everyone.
Sometimes you would join Bucky when he was cleaning his guns. Other times one of you would find each other in the gym. Frustrations worked out with a punching bag. Running on the treadmill while you drown in thoughts. Lifting weights until the tremble you felt was from exhaustion instead of fear.
Yelena would loudly declare a girls night, guiding you and Ava to her room. The three of you would find the worst reality shows possible while talking through whatever was happening in life. Yelena would sit with her guinea pig in her lap, Ava laying across the foot of the bed, and you took the beanbag chair. One week the focus was on how Yelena wished Alexi would stop sharing so many stories about her childhood. Another Ava was frustrated that her suit modifications weren’t working the way she was expecting them to.
Quiet was often found in the form of Bob. You could always trade books with him, laugh while making a mess in the kitchen together, or have someone to run errands with. Some days you need to seek solace in mundane tasks, reminding yourself that reality doesn't always involve situations of life and death. In those times you were grateful for the perspective that came with Bob.
Alexi was loud in his care of the team. Declaring praises to everyone, believing there wasn’t anything the team couldn’t face. He acted like a doting father, even if his expression of this sentiment was bizarre at the best of times. While he continued to pick up Wheaties due to the fact Valentina had gotten the team to be on the box, Alexi also purchased little things for everyone. There were times he’d walk into the watch tower with a new knife for Yelena one day, another he had the next book in a series for Bob.
It was all surprisingly domestic.
John was different. There’d always been some part of yourself hidden away from everyone, pieces you’d thought too broken for anyone but yourself to acknowledge. Somehow John had slipped past your defenses and you hadn’t even realized. Nights much like that first one when you’d found him playing a videogame after waking from a nightmare. Sometimes it was you who couldn’t sleep, the tower too silent so far above the city leading you out the common area to sit on the deck. This led to nights where John was the one to find you instead. Sitting there, looking out over the lights of the city. When he first started sitting outside with you, he’d light a cigarette. Slowly, he’d stopped smoking as much until you couldn’t remember the last time he’d even stepped out with a pack of cigarettes.
You were never certain when the two of you would just exist near each other or when tentative conversations had the potential to happen. Slowly, the two of you began to open up to each other in ways the rest of the team would ever experience. The ghosts that haunted your dreams were slowly eased away by your late night talks with John. John had in turn sought you out to talk through his frustrations about not having the opportunity to begin to try and fix things with his son.
***
The rest of the team was off handling their assignments, leaving just you and John at the Watchtower. John had just returned from his most recent mission, suit torn and face covered in soot. You were benched, balancing on crutches and ankle securely set in plaster.
Making your way down the hall, you didn’t hear John’s footsteps approaching. As you rounded the corner you slammed into him, crutches preventing you from catching yourself as you bounced off him. You couldn’t prevent the yelp that escaped you as you began falling backward, eyes screwed shut as you braced yourself.
“Woah,” John muttered, “careful.”
He wrapped an arm around your waist, steadying you, while he took a slight step back. Heart racing, you blinked up at him.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” you excuse. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” You worry.
John’s quiet chuckle releases some of the tension in your shoulders. “I’m fine, it takes a lot more than you throwing yourself into me to be hurt. Are you alright? Didn’t hit your cast or anything?”
“Just wounded my ego,” you shrug, “more.”
The laugh John gives is stronger. He unwraps himself from your waist, hovering just a moment longer as if he’s expecting you to fall. “Alright, well, I’m going to put on some civvies. Meet you in the common room?” He steps aside so you can keep working your way forward.
“It’s your turn to pick food.” You place your crutches ahead, swinging your way through the step. “So you better hurry up. Otherwise I might just feel obligated to–”
“You are not subjecting me to any version of any housewives show.”
“Ava keeps saying I need to catch up.” You call over your shoulder as you round the corner.
As you work your way to the couch, John mutters something about how he’ll be just fifteen minutes. Chuckling to yourself, you reach the couch and sit down, carefully propping the crutches against the coffee table. You mindlessly scroll through the options of what to watch. Eventually you settle on some heist movie, not wanting something too hard to focus on as you stifle a yawn. As you stretch you bump one of the crutches, making the pair of them clatter to the ground.
John’s voice suddenly comes from beside you, “I’m going to put these against the wall.”
“Thanks,” you sigh in defeat.
John waves away your appreciation, settling the crutches into the corner. Settling beside you on the couch, he leans forward and gently lifts your legs up and settles them across his lap. He rests one hand on your uninjured ankle while scrolling his phone with the other. You stare at him, eyes scanning his profile. His hair is damp from his shower, he’s wearing a black shirt and a pair of plaid lounge pants, and his brow is furrowed slightly.
“I know you said it’s my turn to pick the food,” John starts while typing on his phone, “but what was the name of that barbeque place you said was near here? The one you suggested we all try a few weeks ago.”
“Mason Jar?” You tilt your head as the hand against your ankle gently tightens its grip.
“That’s it! I was thinking we could order something from there.” He taps against his screen a few times. “What do you want? The usual?”
You snort, “I doubt ordering from there twice makes me have a ‘usual.’”
He looks at you, face deadpanned, “So you don’t want the chicken and waffles?”
“I do,” you reluctantly admit, “I just mean–”
With a small smile John interrupts, “That so far you’ve only ordered one thing from them both times it's been delivered. Then, when you and the girls stop by there you still get that.”
You blow out a puff of air, rolling your eyes as he laughs. Soon he sets his phone down and leans back against the couch. The two of you watch the movie, sitting in a pleasant silence, and his fingers trace idle patterns against your leg. Just as another yawn escapes you John’s phone buzzes.
“The food’s here,” John gently lifts your feet up and slides out from beneath you, “I’ll be right back.”
John makes his way toward the elevator, entering once the doors open. You stay stretched out on the couch, yawning again. The credits of the movie make their way across the screen, lights dimmed, and you feel yourself blinking slower every time. Sooner than you’d expected, you relax fully into the cushions.
Unsure of when exactly he’d come back, you feel John’s arm sliding beneath you. He lifts you and suddenly you’re gently rocking in his hold as he walks. You curl into his chest and loosely grab his shirt. His grip on you tightens, pulling you closer against him.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, “just bringing you to bed.”
You weakly hum, burying your face into him. “Don’ wanna s’eep.”
John’s chest vibrates against your ear. “You need to. How long’s it been since you slept?”
“You left,” you sigh.
John stops. “What?”
“Y’lef me,” you slur. “Was ‘lone.”
“Baby,” John’s pained tone doesn’t register to you.
“Jus’ wan’ you t’stay,” you admit, no longer hiding your thoughts and feelings.
John’s walking again as the gentle sway returns. Far too soon, you feel a mattress beneath you. John’s fingers wrap around yours softly, guiding your hands out from around his shirt. You don’t hide the slight whine that escapes you as a blanket settles over you.
“I’m right here,” he promises. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The bed dips down beside you, John’s warmth seeping into you through the blanket. His arm settles over your waist, and he pulls you closer into him. You settle with his chest pressed against your back, his chin resting atop your head, and legs tangled together loosely.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “You’re safe, baby, you can go to sleep now.”
“Safe,” you agree with a sigh.
As you finally fall asleep, a gentle kiss is pressed against your hair.
***
Yelena practically bursts through the door of your living quarters, “So what are you wearing tonight?”
You shove the last of your weapons into the duffel that’s open on the bed. “My gear?” You question while zipping the duffel closed.
“What?” Yelena complains loudly. “But your anniversary–”
You hang your head in frustration. “I know, but I just got assigned a mission. I’m supposed to meet up with Bucky downstairs at six,” you sigh. “It’s supposed to be a quick mission, though. Simple in and out.”
“So I go,” Yelena reaches for your closed duffel.
“You just got back–,” you begin.
“Early.” She interjects.
“–from a mission,” you continue. “You deserve a break. I can go, John and I already agreed to celebrate when I get back.”
Yelena rests her hands against her hips and gives you an unimpressed look. “But today is anniversary! Big deal! Six months!”
“I know,” you worry your lip.
“So I go,” she says as if the matter is settled. “My gift.” Before you can protest further, she grabs the duffel off your bed and slings it across her shoulder. “I will tell Walker you are staying! Now, what are you wearing?” She smiles while grabbing her phone.
A fond warmth makes you smile while turning to your closet. You pull out options, holding them up to Yelena as she helps you decide what to wear. A lot of back and forth on whether you own anything that isn’t practical later, you find yourself in a fitted pair of jeans and green sweater.
“Why do you never wear that sweater?” Yelena throws her hands up. “It’s perfect!”
You laugh.
“I’m serious, it looks great on you. So different from your usual,” Yelena gestures back toward your closet, “that. So dark and boring. Colour suits you.”
“I don’t know. I usually worry about other things,” your phone chimes as your alarm goes off, “like going on missions. And being on time to meetings.”
She opens her mouth to speak just as her phone begins to ring. With a dramatic sigh she answers, “Yes, Bucky, hello. I know, I am coming now.” She pauses. “Yes, I have everything.” Another pause. “Yes I have read the assignment,” she holds her hand out for the folder beside you. “You doubt that I can do this quietly?” Her grin is amused as she turns toward the door with a wave. “You implied it.” Her voice grows fainter as she heads toward the elevator.
You stand in front of your mirror, smoothing down your hair and double checking your makeup. A gentle knock comes from your door as you grab your shoes. Quickly, you step over to open it, revealing John. You pause, taking in the flowers being held out to you. As you grab them you let your eyes move down him. The sleeves of the flannel he’s wearing are rolled up, his shirt is tucked into his jeans, his brown belt matching his boots. Your eyes meet his as you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him.
“Hi,” you smile into the kiss.
“Hi,” he kisses you once more before taking a step back. He, too, takes in your outfit and smiles. “I definitely owe Yelena.”
“I’m gonna grab a vase for these and put on my shoes, then I’ll be ready.” You grab his hand and guide him into your room.
“I was thinking we could check out the Whitney,” John suggests.
Walking back in with the vase of flowers you smile. “The art museum?”
John scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah. I thought, maybe, something quiet could be nice. A break from all the chaos. A date where we can actually get out for a few hours, forget about all the,” John gestures vaguely, “this. The heroing.”
You pick back up your heels. “I’ve always wanted to go to an art museum,” you admit while sitting on the edge of your bed.
John walks closer, kneeling in front of you. He gently takes the heels out of your hands.
“I remember. And, it shouldn’t be too busy either.” John lifts your foot slightly and slips on a heel. “They’re open late on Fridays, but since we’re going to be there when the restaurants nearby are busy there shouldn’t be too many people there.” His fingers carefully latch the buckle of your heel.
“You’re spoiling me,” you cup his cheek as he shifts to putting on your other heel. “Greeting me with flowers. Remembering when I mentioned always wanting to go to an art museum. Helping me into my heels so sweetly,” you lean forward and kiss his cheek. “How’d I get so lucky.”
“You didn’t,” John stands up, “I did.”
He holds a hand out to you, helping you up. You slide your hand into his, his fingers lacing between yours. The two of you make your way to the elevator, heading down to the garage.
“You’re good at this,” you swing your connected hands.
John looks down at you in disbelief. “At what?”
“Caring.”
***
John’s arms settle around your waist as you reach for your coffee mugs. “Morning, baby.”
You grab one of his hands while reaching for the coffee pot, a sleepy hum all you can manage. You fill the two mugs with the dark liquid. You pour just enough milk into each for them to resemble a warm brown compared to the inkiness left in Alexi’s wake, dropping a spoon of sugar into John’s before sliding his cup closer to the edge of the counter. With a final squeeze, John untangles himself from you and takes the cup with a kiss to the top of your head.
You pad your way to the barstools across the island, ready to have the assistance of your coffee to wake up. John opens the fridge and pulls out the eggs. You watch as he moves about the kitchen, pulling out a bowl. He sets to work chopping and mixing. By the time he begins to make the first omelet you feel significantly more awake.
“How was your night?” You ask softly. “I don’t remember you coming to bed.”
John shrugs. “It was fine. I was going over some reports to make sure I didn’t forget anything.”
“Oh, I thought those weren’t due until next week.”
“They aren’t, but with me being out of town next week I wanted to go ahead and send them to Ava. She said she’d hand them to Bucky when he got back from his mission.”
You frown, trying to remember if John had mentioned this trip to you already. You understood things slipping through the cracks, but him leaving for a full week? It wasn’t for a mission, and he hadn’t mentioned it.
John sets the omelet in front of you. “I was hoping you would want to come with me? I already got everything cleared for us if you did, so we wouldn’t be leaving the team in a lurch.”
Those words clear the weight that was building in your chest. “Of course I’ll go with you. Just let me know when we’re heading out to…?” You trail off questioningly.
The way John’s shoulders stiffen surprises you. He wasn’t usually so guarded with you anymore. “We’d leave tomorrow night. It’s about fifteen hours to drive back home to Georgia.”
“Oh.” You feel as if that one word doesn’t begin to cover your surprise.
John keeps his gaze downward. “Yeah. I usually go back every year at this time. With how new the team is, I know it’s kind of a surprise to everyone. Luckily Bucky understood and helped me get everything else squared away before his mission.”
You get up, making your way to stand in front of John. You guide his chin up, making him meet your gaze. “Of course I’ll go with you, John. I remember it was around this time when everything happened in Latvia, but I didn’t realize when exactly he’d,” you swallow the lump forming in your throat for the pain John must’ve been experiencing. “I’m sorry that I didn’t know. I’d be honoured to go with you.”
John’s eyes flood with tears. He nods, tightly grabbing your hand. “Thank you,” he says gruffly. “I’ve never had– I go stay with Mrs. Hopkins. Support her through the grief. She takes it harder now that her husband passed, too. I want her to know she isn’t alone.”
“You aren’t alone either,” you promise. “You deserve to grieve, too.”
He wipes his eyes. “I wish Lemar could’ve met you.”
“I wish I could’ve met him,” you admit. “The times you’ve mentioned him, he sounds great.”
“He was,” John chokes out a laugh. “He would’ve loved you. Tease the shit out of me, too, for taking so long to tell you how I felt. But he’d also be happy I wasn’t alone anymore.”
I love you, too. You thought.
It was a promise. One that you hated was broken for him so many times. A promise you knew you would never break.
His shoulders relaxed slowly as he began to tell you more about his life before. When things seemed so much simpler with his best friend by his side.
***
“Happy anniversary,” John says as you answer the phone.
You pull the covers back on the bed. “Happy anniversary! How are you?” You curl up on John’s side of the bed.
“I just finished up the assignment, and I’m about to start the drive back.”
“Are you sure you want to drive now? It’s kind of late, honey.”
There’s the sound of John jingling his keys. “I’ll be fine, it’s only a few hours this time. I want to see you.” The engine roars to life.
“Do you want me to wait up?” You cringe as you yawn through the end of your question. “I can stay on the phone.”
“You need to rest, baby. It’s almost eleven and I don’t want you forcing yourself to stay up until two.” John’s voice is warm with his concern. “I’m sure you had a busy day, so just relax and I’ll be home before you know it.”
“It was my turn to handle the shopping,” you begin. “I got Bob to tag along this time. He’s been doing better about not being alone so much.”
“That’s good,” you hear the faint rumble of John’s motorcycle, the only evidence he’s begun to drive.
“Yeah! We had to go to, like, three stores to get it all. I had to use your truck, we were out of practically everything.”
“That’s why I made sure to leave you my key, so you’d take the truck.”
You yawn again. “I know, and thank you. But it just feels weird to just take it. I get that you keep saying I don’t need to ask to use your things–”
“They’re more like our things.” John interrupts.
“Fine. I know I don’t need to ask to use our things, but I still think of the truck as mainly yours. It was weird not having you in it.”
John laughs. “You mean you missed sitting there while I drove? Wanted to be my passenger princess? All you’d have to do is just sit there. Looking all pretty while choosing the music and having me answer all your questions.” He teases lightly.
“Fine, you caught me!” You laugh. “You just had to leave me to my own devices. Making my way through traffic, having to load everything into the truck, opening my own door. How could you do this to me? I thought–” You’re cut off by another yawn. “I thought you were the muscle between the two of us.”
John hums.
“Plus,” you continue, “I finished the book I was reading.”
“You did?” John quietly prompts.
“Yeah, you were right. It wasn’t the officer covering up the murders… was the lady from the… the one they kicked out of….” Your sentence trailing off as you relaxed into the pillow beneath you.
You don’t know how long it’s been, but you feel John slip into bed behind you. You stir slightly, rolling over to face him. You bury your face into the junction of his shoulder. A content sigh escapes you as you fall into the stillness of sleep fully, once more.
It’s the gentle feeling of a hand rubbing circles into your back that wakes you. Sunlight streaming between the window and the curtain.
“Morning sleepy girl,” John greets. “How’d you sleep?
You stretch, enjoying the way your muscles loosen at the motion. “Really good. When’d you get in?”
“About an hour after you fell asleep on the phone.”
You press a kiss to his jaw. “Sorry. I tried to stay up.”
“Don’t apologize for sleeping. It was cute. I like hearing you breathe, it’s reassuring.”
“You didn’t hang up?”
“Why would I?”
You pull back and stare at him, raising an eyebrow.
John tightens his hold around your waist and rolls the two of you over, propping himself over you. “So what if you fell asleep. I like listening to you. Hearing about your day, the sound of you in the other room, the steadiness of your breathing. It lets me know you’re alright.”
He leans down and peppers your face in kisses. You weakly try to push him away, laughing as he keeps leaning in.
“Happy anniversary,” you giggle. “I know we agreed not to buy gifts, but I got you a surprise.”
“Now I don’t feel so bad for your surprise either.” John rests his forehead against yours.
You swat his shoulder. “You made me promise I wasn’t buying you anything. Which, technically, I didn’t buy you anything. I just paid Mrs. Hopkins to ship them–” You begin rambling.
John pulls back, brows furrowed. “Baby, what did you do?”
“When we visited Georgia, I might have reached out to your high school and requested copies of the pictures and videos you and Lemar were in. I also kind of got Mrs. Hopkins to help me by sending copies of the letters and pictures the two of you had sent while deployed.”
“I don’t deserve you,” John weakly confides.
You hold his face carefully between your hands. “I think you do. That’s why I’m here. A year ago, I chose you. And I have never regretted that decision. Just like I will keep choosing you, no matter how much you keep worrying that one day this’ll all be too much. Because that could never happen.”
John shifts to the side, sitting beside you. You tentatively sit up, moving closer to him. He holds your hand, staring down at the touch.
“I know I’m not perfect,” he admits. “I’ve never claimed to be, but you’ve always treated me like I was. You know how majorly I’ve fucked up. Somehow, you managed to accept my actions,” he shifts to hold your gaze. “You’ve also seen the ways I’m trying to do better. To be better. I lashed out after Latvia. When Olivia divorced me and I lost custody, I spiraled harder. You became my comfort. You helped me without even realizing it.”
You wipe the tears that had begun to fall.
“I don’t see myself ever getting married again,” John chokes out, “for fear of myself. But I also don’t see anyone else being part of my life the way you are. You’re it for me, baby. I promise you, one day I will become deserving of you. I won’t make the same mistakes over again. I plan on being in your life for as long as you’ll have me. ”
John slides one of his hands away from yours. He grips the bottom of his shirt, fluidly pulling it off. Your eyes land on dark ink contrasted against the skin of his chest. Over his heart, in what you recognize as your own writing, is your name.
“You’ve marked my very being with your love. I thought it was fitting to show just how thoroughly I’m yours.” John’s cheeks are flushed.
You hover your hand over the reddened skin of his chest. John loosely guides your touch closer, settling your hand just below the fresh tattoo. A new wave of tears floods your eyes.
“I can’t believe you got my name tattooed on yourself.” You admit.
“You’re part of me,” he says simply. “I wouldn’t be where I am now without you.”
Your eyes trace the tattoo again. “You’re part of me too. And I don’t need a ring or a tattoo for you to show me how you feel. I just need you.”
John cups the back of your head, pulling you in. The kiss is unhurried, his touch sweet against you.
“I didn’t have an assignment,” John murmurs against your lips. “There was an opening for me to get it done yesterday, and I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed for your claim on me to be as obvious on the outside as it is on the inside.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you give a fond shake of your head.
He pulls you closer, sliding his hands up the back of your shirt. You wrap yourself around him, letting him lay the two of you back down. You gently trace the area around your name, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your fingertips. The warmth you feel toward him is overwhelming, unable to express just how much you love him.