The Fall - Book 2

231. ...You're worried about TACT?!

⚠️ TW: mention of torture; mention of SA; mention of brainwashing/conditioning; mention of human trafficking; emesis ⚠️

JULY 19, 2020 — AVENGERS COMPOUND — BUCKY

Réa and I talk it over, and decide to join the others for dinner. We enter the kitchen to find everyone except for Tony, Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey scattered between it and the lounge. Nat and Clint are at the island: she's making a salad and he's stirring a pot at the cooktop, and Scott and Bruce are setting the table.

"Hey, you two," Nat greets us. "Perfect timing...the spaghetti is almost ready, the garlic bread's done, and I'm just finishing up the salad."

"Wait, did you make your chicken spaghetti?" Réa asks, her voice filled with hopeful excitement, and I can't help the small grin that tugs at the corners of my lips.

Nat nods. "I did."

My wife holds her belly and looks down at her bump. "Mac Tíre Beag, you're having the best day for food today," she murmurs, and my grin turns into a full smile.

'She's always so cute,' I think, warmth filling my chest.

We head to the table; I pull Réa's chair out for her, then take my usual seat to her left. The others gradually join us, with Steve and Caroline taking the seats across from us. We all fill our plates, passing dishes back and forth across and around the table. As we eat, Caroline begins conversing with my wife, who takes a few minutes to relax, but once she does, the two of them are going non-stop, with Wanda and Nat joining in as well.

Steve is being his usual self, easily conversing with Clint, Mitchell, and Sam, but there are multiple times when I catch him furtively glancing at Réa, a crease between his brows. The fact that he's looking at her with that expression—looking at her like she's a threat—has anger simmering in my veins.

Without missing a beat in her conversation, Réa takes my hand, interlacing our fingers; at the contact, the ire inside me fades. I'm grateful that, even without a link open between us, she's able to read my emotions, and—in true Réa fashion—knows just what to do.

When dinner is over, Mitchell and Harris volunteer for clean-up duty, and the others begin to file into the lounge. I hear Caroline tell Steve she's going to run up to his suite and that she'll be right back; she pecks his cheek, then leaves the room.

Once Caroline's gone, Réa approaches him.

"Steve, could I please speak with you?"

He stares at her for a long moment. "Sure," he finally replies.

He heads toward a corner of the room, and Réa follows. I take a seat at the kitchen table, far enough away that they have some space, but close enough to hear their conversation.

"What? Want to yell at me some more?" Steve snaps, and my jaw clenches at his churlish tone.

"I...I wanted to apologize. For how I handled things in the gym." Réa pauses. "I let my emotions get the best of me, and, while I meant what I said, there was a much better way to say it. I'm sorry I wasn't as tactful as I should have been."

"'Tactful'...you're worried about TACT?!" he ends on a shout, and I notice the others falling silent at his outburst. "YOU SAID ALL OF THAT TO ME, AND YOU'RE WORRIED ABOUT THE DELIVERY?!" he continues.

I stand and make my way over to the pair.

"Careful, Steve," I warn, my tone practically a snarl.

"Oh, what, she has a bad dream and almost sets fire to your room—almost hurts you—and spews all kinds of hurtful crap because she's emotional," he sneers the word, "but I'm the bad guy?!"