Chapter Twenty-Three: Between The Storm & The Rainbow
Weeks after the enlightening game night, life
continued with an eerie semblance of normalcy. The expected fallout—dramatic
confrontations, tearful confessions, or abrupt breakups—never materialised.
Instead, the four parties fell into a habitual routine, as if that night had
never happened.
Steve and Sharon pressed on with their wedding
plans, poring over seating charts and debating floral arrangements with Pepper,
their self-appointed wedding coordinator. Their conversations were filled with
talk of colour swatches and cake tastings, the routine of it all masking even the slightest
bit of strain. Steve played his part, nodding and smiling at appropriate
moments, though his eyes held a faraway look that often went unacknowledged.
Meanwhile, Bucky remained the picture of a
supportive boyfriend, cheering on Sarah’s secret career aspirations with
unwavering enthusiasm. He accompanied her to clandestine meetings and
recordings, and helped her whichever way he could. Neither of them broaching
the subjects of Steve or the story behind the peach shampoo revelation.
But beneath this calm exterior lurked suppressed
feelings. Feelings threatening to upset the delicate balance they all worked so
hard to maintain. The worst of all being a tiny, seemingly innocuous,
development…
************************
Tony’s stomach churned with guilt and regret as he
watched the scene unfold. The memory of their fateful game night, his
enthusiastic suggestion echoing in his mind, felt like a lead weight in his
chest.
While he could retreat to the sidelines with Pepper,
nursing his guilt privately, Steve was centre stage in this charade. The
engagement ring on Sharon’s finger glinted in the afternoon sun, a blinding
reminder of the tangled web they'd all woven.
As Steve’s eyes briefly met his, Tony saw a flicker
of desperation that made his heart clench. He longed to look away, to shield
himself from the consequences of their fallout, but he forced himself to hold
that gaze. It was the least he could do, given that Steve was bearing the brunt
of their public battle.
Tony’s hand hovered over the car door handle, his
instinct to flee warring with his need to support a brother in arms. He owed Steve
his support, shoulder some of this burden. But since he couldn’t, the least he
could do was simply… be there. With a deep breath, he stepped out of the car,
each step toward the couple feeling like a march toward self-judgement and
criticism.
As he approached, plastering on a smile that felt
more like a grimace, Tony felt as if he was watching Steve’s life unravel in
slow motion. And the worst part was knowing that he, Tony, had been the one to
pull the first thread.
He lingered by the bank of monitors, his eyes
scanning the array of thumbnails displayed on the screens. Each image captured Steve’s
discomfort in high definition. The slight tension in his jaw, the barely
perceptible tightness around his eyes. It was painful to witness the visual
evidence of his friend's internal struggle.
"That's a wrap on the groom," the
producer's voice rang out, cutting through the hushed atmosphere of the set.
"Captain Rogers, you’re free to go… Let's move to the next location for
the boudoir shots."
At those words, Tony glanced up just in time to see Steve’s
shoulders sag with visible relief. His fingers flew to his tie, tugging at the
fabric as if it had been choking him all morning. The crisp white shirt,
perfectly pressed for the camera, now looked rumpled and out of place on Steve’s
frame.
Steve’s eyes met Tony’s across the lawn. In that
brief moment, Tony saw a flicker of the old Steve – the one who existed before
the weight of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s secrets and obligations had settled onto his
shoulders. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a guarded
wariness that made Tony’s chest tighten with guilt.
Around them, the crew bustled about, packing up
equipment for the boudoir segment. Steve shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing
it over a nearby chair with uncharacteristic carelessness. His hand ran through
his carefully styled hair, mussing it in a way that felt like an act of
rebellion against the polished image he'd been projecting all day.
************************
Nat stood in the middle of the Observation Deck, her
eyes fixed on her phone screen as she navigated to Sarah’s Instagram profile.
The bustling sounds of the photoshoot faded into the background as she tapped
on the latest story.
The video filled her screen, showing Sarah seated at
a keyboard, surrounded by a group of friends. Their laughter rang out,
punctuated by the playful notes Sarah coaxed from the keys. Nat’s thumb hovered
over the screen, drinking in every detail of her friend's expression.
Sarah’s eyes sparkled with genuine joy, her head
thrown back in uninhibited laughter as one of her friends made an exaggerated
attempt at harmonising. Her fingers danced across the keys with the easy
confidence of someone truly in their element. The tension that had been a
constant in Sarah’s demeanour lately was nowhere to be seen in this moment of
unguarded happiness.
A small smile tugged at Nat’s lips as she watched
the video loop. The knot of worry that had taken up residence in her chest
since the game night began to loosen ever so slightly. Here was proof that Sarah
was finding moments of pure, uncomplicated joy amidst the chaos of their
tangled lives.
“Attagirl,” she whispered to herself.
As the story ended, Nat’s gaze lingered on Sarah’s
radiant smile frozen on the screen, and let out a soft sigh of relief. Perhaps,
she thought, there was hope for her to find her way to real happiness after
all.
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled Nat from
her reverie. She quickly locked her phone, slipping it into her pocket as she
straightened up, composing her features into a neutral expression.
“Want to take a drive down to Jersey with me?” Steve
asked, decked in the comfort of his uniform.
“Shouldn’t you be with your blushing bride
downstairs?”
“I stayed for a few obligatory shots…”
One side of Nat’s lips quirked up in a smirk. “Damn
it, I missed it? Was kinda looking forward to seeing you squirm under the
spotlight.”
“Now, now. No need to get sentimental.”
“Alright, so what are we going to Jersey for?”
“You know… routine check-up on old Hydra
facilities…”
Nat scoff-laughed in response. “Oh, just say it… You
wanna dodge all wedding festivities.”
Bucky flipped through the yellowed newspaper spread out on his desk, his eyes narrowing in on the contours of Catherine
Chandler’s tear-stained face.
“Murder Victim’s Daughter Claims ‘Beast’ Saved Her.”
The image, now burned into his memory, seemed to
mock him from the past. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he
leaned back in his chair.
The room around him faded away as his mind drifted
back to the sterile hospital room, to the hazy memory of a presence by his
bedside. The girl from the therapist's office—a stranger, really—had been there
while he lay unconscious.
His gaze flicked to his phone, the screen dark and
silent. He should be focused on Sarah, on being the supportive boyfriend.
Instead, his thoughts kept circling back to Cat, to the inexplicable connection
that seemed to exist between them.
Bucky’s fingers drummed on the desk as he struggled
to reconcile the image of the grief-stricken girl in the article with the woman
he’d seen at Raynor’s office. What had driven her to seek him out? What did she
want from him?
Suddenly, his phone buzzed to life, Sarah’s name
flashing across the screen. Bucky’s hand froze mid-air, caught between two
worlds. The present calling for his attention and the mysterious past holding
him captive.
With a deep breath, Bucky reached for the phone. As
he swiped to answer, he forced a lightness into his voice that he didn't feel.
"Hey, babe," he said, his free hand moving to fold up the newspaper
clipping.
But even as he tucked the article away in a drawer,
listening to Sarah’s excited chatter about her day, Bucky couldn't shake the
feeling that he was now straddling two realities. One ear was tuned to Sarah’s
voice, while his mind continued to wrestle with questions about Cat. A stranger
who now felt anything but.
“Where are you, anyway?” Sarah continued. “On your
way yet?”
Bucky’s eyes widened as Sarah’s words cut through
his distracted haze. "On my way? I... oh, God, Sarah. I'm so sorry. It
completely slipped my mind."
He braced himself for disappointment or frustration,
but Sarah’s voice remained gentle. "Hey, it's okay. Probably for the best…
Wouldn’t want to subject the man I love to brunch with the Carter family."
The tension in Bucky’s shoulders eased slightly at
her understanding tone. He rubbed his temple, where a dull ache had begun to
form. “You sure you’re okay to handle them without a buffer?”
“Yeah, we’ll probably talk shop for most of the day,
anyway.”
Bucky’s gaze drifted to the drawer where he'd
hastily stashed the newspaper clipping. Fragments of memories from his time as
the Winter Soldier flickered at the edges of his consciousness, nudging him
with the reasons he still battled one of life’s little annoyances. Unlike Steve,
who possessed an eidetic memory, Bucky occasionally struggled with
forgetfulness. While typically harmless, it was an irritation he abhorred, a
constant, nagging reminder of past days he preferred to leave behind.
“So they’re supporting your new… venture?” he
asked, fighting to stay on topic.
“Yeah, you know what, I think they are. Either that
or they’re so worked up about the wedding that they just don’t care… Kinda
works in my favour either way…”
As Sarah prattled on about the Carters’ excitement,
Bucky responded with a noncommittal “uh huh”, his mind veering back to Cat as
he slowly put a plan in place to solve the mystery: Who is Catherine Chandler?
"So, tell me again about the ice sculpture
you're having at the reception," she drawled, her eyes glinting with
amusement. "Swan or dolphin?"
"You know damn well there's no ice
sculpture."
"No? What a shame. I was so looking forward to
watching it melt, much like your enthusiasm for this whole affair."
Steve shot her a sideways glance. "You're
enjoying this way too much, you know that?"
Nat shrugged, unrepentant. "Someone's got to
find joy in this farce you call a wedding. Might as well be me."
"It's not a complete farce. Sharon’s a
great girl, and–"
"And she helped you in your darkest moment, yeah,
yeah, yeah," Nat finished for him, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
"You know, for a guy with a perfect memory, you sure do repeat yourself a
lot."
The car swerved slightly as Steve reached over to
swat at her arm. "Knock it off, will you? We've got a job to do."
Nat held up her hands in mock surrender, but her
smirk remained firmly in place. "Fine, fine… but humour me for a sec. No
need to go into the finer details of the dos and don’ts… How is the honeymoon
situation supposed to work, exactly? Is there a clause in your contract to
consummate the marriage?”
Steve turned to glare down at her. “That’s not
funny.”
“I mean, it’s a little funny. You’re going to be the
first guy in history to not get laid on his wedding night. There’s a
slapstick comedy reference in there somewhere…”
Steve’s jaw clenched momentarily before he forced a
chuckle. “That’s not something I’ve given serious thought. Considering the
circumstances, I wouldn’t say it’s worth my energy.”
“Alright, hear me out… One, you said it yourself.
She helped you in your darkest moment. Not to mention agreeing to an arranged
marriage. And two, Carter’s a looker. Let’s just be honest with each other. So
if she were to strip down to her bridal lingerie and seduce you on your wedding
night, what do you do? Wouldn’t you say you’re kinda obligated to give the girl
something?”
Steve bristled at Nat’s what-if scenario. “Sharon
knows our union is born out of convenience rather than love. She volunteered of
her own volition.”
Nat shifted in her seat, fishing her phone out of
her pocket. "Hold that thought..."
"What are you doing?" Steve asked, his
brow furrowing as he glanced between her and the road.
“Grounds for annulment…” she read aloud, scrolling
through an article. “There are only five recognised grounds for annulment in
New York… blah, blah, blah… spouse was a minor… mental incapacity... Ah, bingo!
At least one spouse is unable to have sexual intercourse.”
“Inapplicable.”
“Oh, I beg to differ. All work and no play makes
Carter a vengeful cliché…”
Steve’s exasperated sigh filled the car. “She is not
going to file for annulment. Least of all for that.”
“For what? Your floppy disk?”
“Really, Romanoff? Floppy disk? Even I know that
reference is out of date. You’re slipping.”
“Okay, look, jokes aside… I want you to be prepared,
having considered all scenarios before taking the plunge. You view this
as serving penance, great, I get it. But to what end? What happens when people
start asking questions about kids?”
“They won’t...”
“Of course they will! Do you have any idea how intrusive
and opinionated people can be? And what about fans? Good grief, fans are the worst!”
“I’ll cross the bridge when I get there. For now, I
just need to get through the wedding.”
“Right… And in the meantime, Barnes and Sarah
get hitched, get to work on the family you know she’s always wanted, and the
four of you all sit together at Cece’s annual High Tea like a bunch of poseurs for
the foreseeable future.”
Silence settled over the car. Nat knew her last
comment had hit its mark, the truth of it now hanging uncomfortably in the air.
She felt a twinge of guilt for causing Steve pain, but she pushed it aside,
reminding herself that sometimes the truth hurt. And this was a truth he needed
to face.
As she watched him from the corner of her eye, Nat’s
heart ached. His eyes, usually so focused and alert, seemed to look beyond the
road ahead, as if searching for an escape route that simply didn't exist. In
that moment, much like Tony earlier that day, Nat was struck by an overwhelming
desire to shoulder his burdens. To free him from the weight of grossly unfair responsibility
that had been thrust upon him.
She longed to tell him it was okay to walk away from
it, but she knew it wasn't that simple. Steve’s stubborn sense of duty and
loyalty simply ran too deep. Still, as the miles stretched out before them, Nat
couldn't shake the fervent wish to see Steve truly happy, truly free, even if
just for a moment. She'd give anything to grant him that release, to see the
genuine smile that had become increasingly rare as the wedding drew near. But
for now, all she could do was sit in companionable silence, a steady presence
as Steve grappled with the painful reality of his situation.
As the elevator ascended to the penthouse suite, Sarah’s
fingers tightened around the strap of her Louis Vuitton laptop bag. The
successful meeting with the managing team should have left her elated, but this
was hardly Sarah’s first rodeo. Years of navigating the treacherous waters of the
Carter family dynamics had taught her to temper her expectations.
The lift doors opened with a soft chime, revealing
the opulent foyer of the family's penthouse. Sarah stepped out, her heels
sinking into the plush carpet as she made her way towards the living area. Her
shoulders remained tense, braced for the potential storm that Lily’s
unpredictable moods could bring.
The penthouse was quiet, save for the faint sound of
Lily’s voice drifting from the direction of the study. Sarah paused, taking a
deep breath to steel herself before announcing her presence.
As she moved deeper into the suite, Sarah’s mind
raced through possible scenarios. Would Lily find fault with her presentation
and/or demo? Would she have a new crisis to manage? Or, in a rare turn of
events, would her efforts be met with approval? The uncertainty grated at her, a
familiar weight that Sarah had learned to carry with practiced grace since
childhood.
It wasn't until she crossed the threshold into the
study, meeting the expectant gaze of Lily, that Sarah would know which version
of her family she'd be dealing with today. Only then, in the privacy of their
inner sanctum, could she let her guard down and navigate the family
expectations and demands that defined her existence.
“There’s our artist in-the-making…” Lily sang, much
to Sarah’s surprise. “Honey, the team is profoundly proud of all you’ve
achieved amid the drama. It’s not the route we expected or… hoped for…
but I can tell this is good for you. Losing yourself in your music. Not for your
career or image, but for you.”
Sarah shifted her weight from one foot to the other,
uneasy by Lily’s abnormal praise. “Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t celebrate
prematurely. It depends on how it’s received by the fans.”
Lily’s eyes sparkled with rare approval, her voice
carrying a warmth that Sarah had learned to savour in its infrequency. “Sarah,
we’re not celebrating the success or birth of your music career, we’re
celebrating you.”
Sarah felt a wave of relief wash over her, the
tension in her shoulders finally beginning to ease. She watched as Lily turned
to her desk, pulling open the top drawer.
“Here… A gift from Cece and me…” Lily announced,
retrieving a small velvet-covered box from the drawer. She held it out to Sarah,
a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “It occurred to me how
hard you’ve been working for the past six years and how much you’ve contributed
to the family assets, so we wanted to express our gratitude.”
With slightly trembling hands, Sarah accepted the
box. She could feel Lily’s eyes on her as she carefully lifted the lid, her
breath catching in her throat as the contents were revealed.
Nestled against dark velvet lay a stunning diamond
tennis bracelet, its stones catching the light and scattering it in brilliant
rainbows across the desk. Sarah’s fingers hovered over the bracelet, almost
afraid to touch it, as if her first-ever gift from Lily might disappear like a
mirage.
“It’s beautiful, Lily. Thank you,” Sarah whispered,
her voice thick with emotion. The bracelet represented more than just a lavish
gift; it was a tangible symbol of her aunt’s approval, a rare and precious
thing in its own right.
“It’s not Harry Winston, but they are real
diamonds… Your birthstone.”
As Sarah lifted the bracelet from its velvet nest,
she felt the weight of it. Not just the physical heft of diamonds and platinum,
but the weight of finally meeting and maybe even exceeding Lily’s expectations.
It was a reminder of the world they inhabited, where success was often measured
in carats and accolades, and family affection often came adorned in precious
stones. Could she really blame Lily and Cece when this was the world they've been accustomed to?
Bucky swallowed thickly, second-guessing his bizarre
actions. One, this was an off-the-books stakeout. Two, he was misappropriating
Avengers equipment. And three, he was sure this was in violation of his
conditional pardon. But be that as it may, he couldn’t bring himself to turn
back when he’s made it this far.
“Five more minutes,” he thought aloud. “Five minutes
and I’m out of here.”
The silence beneath the bridge was broken only by Bucky’s
shallow breathing as he sat rigid in his car, eyes fixed on the road leading to
the abandoned chemical plant. Every passing minute felt like an eternity, each
second ticking by with excruciating slowness.
Fifteen minutes crawled past, ten more than he'd
promised himself he'd wait. Just as he was about to push the button for the
ignition, he noticed a car take the corner toward the site.
It was her. Catherine Chandler.
Bucky’s heart hammered against his ribs as he
watched her park near the rusted gates of the plant. Even from this distance,
he could make out her silhouette as she stepped out of the car, her movements
fluid and purposeful.
Instinctively, he sank lower in his seat, pressing
himself against the leather as if he could meld into it. Logic told him it was
impossible for her to spot him here, shrouded in shadows and tucked away under
the bridge. Yet fear, irrational and overwhelming, kept him frozen in place.
“Hey, I’m at the old chemical plant,” he heard her
say over the phone. “He’s here, I’m sure of it.”
Bucky frowned, alarm bells blaring. Who was there?
Who would occupy an abandoned chemical plant? What secrets lay hidden behind
those decaying walls? The mere thought made the hair on the back of his neck
stand up.
As Catherine made her way towards the plant, Bucky’s
mind raced. He watched, barely daring to blink, as her figure disappeared into
the darkness of the plant. Only then did he allow himself to exhale, the breath
leaving him in a shaky rush.
Bucky’s heart pounded in his ears as he eased open
the car door, wincing at the muted click it made. He paused, listening intently
for any sign that the sound had carried, before slipping out into broad
daylight.
He leapt off the platform with ease, his feet
landing softly on the gravel below. Years of training kicked in as he moved
towards Catherine’s car, his steps silent and measured. Every few paces, he'd scan
his surroundings for any hint of movement or unexpected shadows.
As he approached the vehicle, Bucky’s hand slipped
into his pocket, fingers closing around the small, sleek tracking device. He
crouched beside the rear wheel, his back to the chemical plant, hyper-aware of
his exposed position.
Before making his move, Bucky took a moment to watch
his six, his eyes sweeping across the area behind him in a practiced arc.
Satisfied that he remained undetected, he turned his attention back to the task
at hand and, with swift, sure movements, reached into the wheel well.
His fingers found the edge of the liner, and he
carefully tucked the tracking device inside, ensuring it was securely hidden
from view. As he withdrew his hand, a bead of sweat trickled down his temple.
Mission accomplished, Bucky retreated as silently as
he had approached, every sense on high alert. Only when he was safely back in
his car, hidden once more in the shadows beneath the bridge, did he allow
himself to breathe normally. Now, all he had to do was wait and see where Catherine
Chandler’s secrets would lead him.
Watch Episode 23 Here:
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