Resilience | ✔

Chapter Three

Steve stayed by Marley's side for a few minutes, but, like usual, she seemed to slip into her own world. Her first five or six punches were sloppy as all get-out, but he cut her some slack, just watching, and then she was gone, beating the bag mercilessly. Then he left, certain she wouldn't even notice, and went over to Beck, who was halfheartedly shadowboxing in the ring.

"I'll take her first," he said quietly.

Beck looked over at Marley, who was punching the bag so hard the beam it was attached to was trembling slightly. "She'll calm down in a few minutes."

"Not this time," Steve said. "She's hurt this time, not just pissed."

As always, Beck demanded, "How the hell do you know?"

He shrugged.

"Seriously," Beck said. "We've known her for the same amount of time. How is it that you're so much better at reading her than I am?"

Steve shrugged again. "I don't know, it's kind of obvious to me—"

"HOW?"

"I don't know," he repeated. "Just—seriously, let me take her first. I don't want you getting hurt."

"What makes you think I won't hurt her instead?" Beck challenged.

He nudged her leg with a foot, adjusting her stance. "She's pissed as hell and won't be pulling any punches, and you have a presentation tomorrow that you can't have a broken nose, two black eyes, and several dislocated joints for. I'll take the first hits so she gets some of the snap out."

"She's not gonna break my nose."

"FUCK!" Marley shouted, kicking the bag so hard she had to step back to avoid getting hit as it swung back toward her.

"No?" Steve said innocently.

"If she's that angry you just shouldn't let her spar," Beck said.

"This is her therapy," Steve said. "Trust me, it's better than the alternative."

"Which is?"

A dozen possible answers ran through his head, but he didn't say any of them. "Want to spar?"

"Which is?"

"Want to spar?"

Her brown eyes locked with his, sharp and clever. He reminded her of someone, though who he couldn't put his finger on. Tony? Bucky? Nat? Someone—someone he knew almost as well as himself. What he did know is that he'd won staring contests with her before, and now would be no exception.

At last she sighed and looked away. "Okay."

•

Marley was, as he predicted, destructive. She didn't pull any punches, didn't just tap like she normally did in sparring. Her fists slammed against his arms and chest and face so hard he was worried she'd wind up breaking her own bones, and her kicks knocked the breath out of him every time. She was brutal, and during a brief interlude for water, Beck mouthed a silent thank you across the room to him from her lazy slouch on the bench.

And then it was back into the ring, blocking Marley's hits as gently as he could, wheezing at the ones that got through his defense. It'd been about six minutes of continuous fighting when the front bell rang. Steve stopped automatically; Marley didn't. She kicked him in the stomach so hard he seriously thought his spine might have broken, punched him in the jaw (a beautiful right hook, even if he was on the receiving end), and flipped him over her shoulder, a move that was definitely not something he'd taught her. She dropped onto his chest, hand fisting in his shirt, other getting ready to punch him.

Someone whistled in the doorway.

Marley's head snapped up, her shoulders tensing. What she saw must have been pretty shocking, because she scrambled to her feet and—bowed, just a tiny tiny bit, and grabbed Steve's hand and yanked him to his feet. He turned.

"Hey," Tony Stark said. "We've got a situation." He squinted at Steve, then gestured at his eye. "You—uh, have a little—"

Steve gingerly prodded his eye. It was starting to bruise. "Thanks."

"Sorry," Marley mumbled.

"She—" Tony looked flabbergasted for a moment. "You—"

Steve clapped Marley on the shoulder, shooting her a smile before climbing out of the ring. "What kind of a situation?"

"The HYDRA kind," Tony said. "We've got your suit in the jet. C'mon." He turned, then paused. "Do you need to call some kind of—caretaker—or something? For them?" He gestured at the two girls.

Steve shook his head. "They're good. Hey—girls, I have to head off, so lock up if you leave. DO NOT SPAR. Okay?"

"Okay," they said together, Marley staring at Tony, Beck ignoring him and looking to Steve instead. He knew they wouldn't have anyway, as a third party had to be present at all times during the bouts, but Marley, flushed and soaked in sweat and, he noticed with worry, bleeding through her wraps on some knuckles, still had a wild, self-destructive glint in her eyes.

"Good luck," Beck offered.

"Don't die," Marley said, displaying her stunning knack for nihilism.

"Thanks." Tony flashed a smile, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "Let's scram, Capsicle."

"Behave," Steve warned, and allowed Tony to lead him out. When they were out of earshot of the girls, Tony leaned in and said, "So that's who you train all the time?"

"I'm not training them, I'm teaching them," Steve said. "There's a difference."

"If she can bruise you," Tony said, once again waving a finger around his eye, "I'm gonna call that training."

He strode ahead, leaving Steve paused in the doorway to process his words.