Hell Bound

Three

My first meeting was a success. Or at least, I thought it was. Everyone seemed happy to see me even though I had no idea what I was doing or how to get started. They did, though, and it got underway relatively quickly. I didn't really need to do anything other than keep conversations alive and prevent people from taking over or hogging all the attention. I could see why it would make Sam happy. And although I didn't think I'd ever be able to fill his shoes, it was definitely a better use of my time.

The kid, Graham, never spoke. He sat at the back of the room, listening to everyone else talk. He even stuck around for my second meeting. Occasionally he would crack a joke or a smile, but he didn't seem to want to share his experiences. I couldn't blame him for that. I didn't share either. But the great thing is that no one pushed anyone else. Everyone was there for support. And maybe free coffee and cookies.

When the last meeting finished, and the crowd dissipated, Graham stayed behind to help me put the chairs and tables away. Then he walked me back out to the parking garage, lugging my heavy box in his hands instead of allowing me to do it myself. I told him multiple times that I didn't need any help, but he said he couldn't stand there and watch me struggle with something too big for my "tiny baby arms." I couldn't argue with that logic. I'd rather it be because my arms were too short and not because my shoulders were too weak.

Once I got home, the contented haze faded. I'd only been back in DC for a short time, but I felt even more alone than ever. I used to find peace in my house. But I also used to work so much I was hardly ever there. I was an introvert, and too much interaction wore me out. But that didn't mean I wasn't lonely. Bucky, Steve, and Sam were only part of my life for a short time, and now I wasn't sure if things could ever go back to how they were before. I didn't think I even wanted it to.

I was only supposed to have meetings three days a week and twice a day. I had different groups for each meeting, and I wasn't sure what I would do with all that free time. Sam had a second job to supply extra income and keep him busy, but Sam was also just genuinely better at not burning out.

When I got to work the next day, Deanna was sitting behind the desk again. She gave me the same offer of help, but I declined. We talked about Sam for a moment before she let me go. I was almost shocked to find Graham in the exact same spot I'd seen him the day before. I stepped into the room, and there he was under the window with his book.

"Oh, hi," I said, carrying the box over to the table. "I wasn't expecting to see you again until next week." He stood up but thankfully didn't salute me.

"I don't have much to do during the day at the moment," he explained. Then he walked over to me and began to assemble the table.

"You really don't need to help me." He gave me a cold stare with steel gray eyes that were still wide and youthful.

"You have two good knees, and I have two good shoulders. So between the two of us, we make one good person." I laughed and shook my head.

"I guess I can't argue with that."

"Right. So you be my knees, and I'll be your shoulders."

"Alright, I guess."

He seemed much more talkative as he helped me set up the room. He told me all about his book. I'd never read it before, but I liked hearing him tell me about it. I might as well be reading it anyway since he seemed to realize he'd caught my interest and then decided he'd walk me through the entire first section.

But once we had everything set up, we stood back waiting for guests. I decided to ask him about his silence the day before.

"So, how come you don't like to talk?" I questioned. "You said the meetings help you, but you were quiet yesterday." He chewed on his lip and shook his head, gazing around the room as if searching for a distraction. He was taller than me by almost a foot and had a thick head of messy brown hair. But he was stringy like a beanpole, and I was pretty sure I could knock the wind out of him if I just elbowed him a little too hard.

"It just helps to know that I'm not alone, you know? I don't like to talk about it. Sometimes I do if it comes up or I think I need to, but—most people here already know, and listening makes me feel better than talking. I guess I don't really want to take the spotlight off of someone who might need it more." I nodded slowly. "What about you? You didn't talk much either."

"My job is to mediate. Not talk about myself."

"Sam used to tell us stories. When conversations died down, usually. We all knew about what happened to him and his friend Riley. It helped us connect with him, I think."

"I don't really like to talk either. I think I'm better at listening." The first guest arrived through the open doors and spotted us. I waved as the little old man hobbled over to us with his cane.

"Well, you're going to have to do a lot of listening with this old man," Graham said as he went to greet the newcomer. He clapped him on the shoulder and helped him reach me.

"Who are you?" the old man asked. "I don't think we've met before."

"Oh, right. Sorry," I replied. Then I went to introduce myself.

Graham stayed for both meetings and then showed up again the next day. And the week after that. I began to grow accustomed to finding him there every day. He never missed a meeting.

Over the next few weeks, we figured out a routine that worked for both of us. He would help me set up the tables and chairs and walk me to my car every afternoon, and I'd bring him lunch.

Even though my life wasn't entirely back on track, it was good to have a routine again. One that didn't involve me camping out on Stark's deck all day long. Even though the routine and boring thing hadn't worked out for me before, it was nice to feel useful. My therapist said she didn't think I was making much progress, though. Mostly because I wouldn't talk to her about anything other than my dreams and my time in the military. I found myself opening up to Graham much easier than I did her. And sometimes, when we'd be setting up for a meeting, we'd both be laughing so hard we'd have to stop and breathe before getting back to work.

But one day, when I was on my way home from the grocery store, I spotted his familiar face on the side of the road as I passed a Mcdonald's. He was sitting on a patch of grass, quietly reading under a frail-looking tree. First, I thought he must work there. Then, while waiting for a traffic light to change, I realized he wasn't wearing a uniform. Instead, he was wearing the same basic outfit I always saw him in—a pair of jeans with a t-shirt. Usually, something with a pop culture reference. He had a backpack tucked under his bad knee.

He was at every meeting. He showed up early. He lingered behind when everyone else was gone. He wore almost the same clothes every day. The only compensation he asked for in exchange for help was food, and he'd been reading that same book for weeks. It never occurred to me that he should have finished it already. Several times over, given how often he read.

There were two possibilities. Either the kid was a setup. Or he wasn't doing too well.

I turned my car around on the next road and drove back to the Mcdonald's. He was still sitting under the thin tree, bouncing the knee propped up on his raggedy backpack. He didn't even notice my car pull into the space just a few feet away until I honked the horn. He jumped and then spotted me in the driver's seat.

He was usually a very jovial kid, always eagerly waiting for me like a loyal Labrador. But for a brief moment, there was a flash of irritation. He quickly masked it and walked over to my car. I rolled the window down.

"You want dinner?" I asked.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," he replied. That wasn't really something I'd expect from a spy. I studied him as he stood by my car, with his dirty shirt and backpack full of holes.

"Don't make me order you," I told him. He grinned.

"You can't."

"You hungry? Do you want dinner or not?"

"Maybe. What're you cooking?"

"Get in the car."

"You're not gonna murder me, are you?" I gave him a look, and he just smiled and went around the side of the car.

"Wow, this is a nice car," he said, settling in.

"Thanks. It's just a loan." I pulled out of the lot and started to drive out onto the street. The screen in the center of the dash lit up. I groaned out loud.

"Miss Hayes, Mr. Stark is on the line," Jarvis informed me.

"Of course he is. Put him on," I told the AI. He rarely talked to me now that I wasn't living with Tony. But I was weirdly fond of him.

"Who the hell is in my car?" Tony said through the speakers.

"You really need to stop doing this, Tony. It's really creepy."

"I told your sister I'd keep an eye on you, and I think she'd want to know if you were picking up hitchhikers." I glanced at Graham, who seemed fascinated by the conversation. He was probably starting to piece things together now. If he hadn't already.

"He's not a hitchhiker. He's my friend. A kid from the VA. Wilson knows him."

"I'm actually twenty-three," Graham informed me.

"Sorry," I replied.

"It's alright."

"Hey, you. Kid. What's your name?" Tony asked.

"Um—Graham McGuire, sir."

"What's your social security number?"

"Tony, you can't ask him for his social security number," I pointed out.

"I need to run a background check. Make sure he's not working with Hydra."

"Jesus Christ. I'm just taking the kid to get dinner. Butt out." He went silent, and I immediately regretted my choice of words.

"Like on a date?" he asked after a long pause.

"No, not on a date, you dunce. I'm pretty sure that's against the rules. First of all."

"Like that's ever stopped, anyone. I'm pretty sure there's a rule against dating your own publicist too."

"You're your own boss. You're allowed to bend that rule. I'm not. Now, will you mind your own business?"

"Since they tried to kill you and now apparently want you alive, I think it's reasonable for me to check the kid out. Especially if you're taking him on a date. ESPECIALLY since the last guy you went out with put a bullet in your shoulder. And don't even get me started on the one before that." I groaned.

"Tony—I love you—you're like a brother to me, so I want you to know that what I'm saying is coming from my heart. You need to shut the hell up."

"Hey, kid. Does the VA have your information on file?"

"Um—I guess so," Graham replied.

"Good. I'll get back to you." Then he cut out, and the screen went blank. The car was silent for at least a full sixty seconds as Graham processed, and I fumed.

"So can I ask you a question?" he started.

"Yes, that was Tony Stark."

"Holy shit. You're friends with Iron Man?"

"We're not really friends in that it wasn't by choice. More like—association. He's dating my sister, and I lived with them for a few months this summer. He's a constant pain in my ass, and I regret letting him loan me a car that can detect extra passengers. And is also a tattletale."

"You lived with Iron Man?! And you're friends with Captain America? And the Falcon? Who else do you know?" I shrugged.

"I met Dr. Banner a few times when he came to see Tony." I knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment his eyes bugged out of his head.

"HOLY SHIT, YOU MET THE HULK!" Then I inwardly cursed Tony and told myself to refrain from slamming my head into the steering wheel. I decided it might be best not to let him know Romanoff was on my speed dial. It was more a matter of protection, but I had a feeling he would overlook that crucial piece of information.

________________

So the random old man and the introduction that was irrelevant to the plot was a joke suggested by the beta of the first story. He asked for a Stan Lee cameo. I thought the "I don't think we've met before," would be hilarious because she's not a real Marvel character.