Steve sat on the couch, in the dark, in the silence of the apartment. He had sent Marcus home. The redheaded man had looked at him with sympathy, but left without saying a word. He already knew, then. It wasn't surprising, when he thought about it. In the hours since it had happened, Steve was sure that word had gotten down the various people, until those concerned with the issue were well informed.

Brooklyn had broken the first rule both he and Marino had given her.
When he had gone in that room... when he had seen what she had done, he had to swallow back bile. The girl under the tarp, small and dead, had been enough to make his own rage rise. He had clenched both fists as well as his jaw, seeing the blood and the pale dead skin. But what Brooklyn had done to the man responsible...

She had always told him she never wanted him to see what she was really capable of. But now he did.

Clint had taken a few good hits from her, as well. The archer, though dazed, felt it was important to point out that at any point when she had him pinned, she could have easily killed him. Instead, she had simply knocked him out, before making her escape. Stark was raging. Somehow she had managed to slip past the brilliant billionaire, who had tried to follow her. She had been fast, and incredibly chaotic, according to Stark. JARVIS had not been able to predict her next move, and Stark had lost her after about six blocks.

When Steve had gotten to the room, Nat had already been there, attending to Barton. She had been the one to bring Steve's attention to the broken box, the information on it, as well as the dead little girl. She had given him one look, a look that told him that he had to have known who was responsible.

And he had. Oh, god, he had known.

He knew that the whole goal of her personal missions was to both save the girls the Russians were moving into the area, and to take a huge chunk out of their profits, by doing so. She had stated, several times that she didn't care about them moving weapons, or anything like that. So, when Steve had been called back to the Tower, hearing that there was a cache of SHIELD property about to be sold, the only concerning warning that had gone off for him was the fact that Russians were involved. He had been concerned, yes, that the Avengers might step on the toes of Brooklyn and Marino's men. But other than that, he had been happy to know that they would be doing a quick mission. No more than a few hours, max.

Instead, he was left with a girlfriend who had yet to return home, after she brutally killed about ten men, torturing and disfiguring one to the point he barely looked human, and attacked and knocked out one of Steve's teammate. His Babydoll had been breaking rules all over the place.

Which put Steve in a position he wasn't sure he had ever thought he might be in.

How was he going to deal with this? It wasn't like a simple spanking was going to be enough. She had broken a big rule, crossed a huge line for him. It wasn't like she didn't know what she was doing, when she was doing it. Brooklyn had chosen to go after those men. This wasn't as simple as her other missions. She had gone into that room, with the express purpose of killing them.

He had always hoped that given enough time and energy, enough work with Sam, that her more... darker urges would be lessened. And for a while, it had seemed that they would. He would be the first to admit, that sometimes she made comments, said things, that could be taken the wrong way. But for the most part, those comments and things said had been happening less and less, as of late.

Although, in her defense, Steve couldn't really be all that upset at her. She had seen something that even made him want to kill. The innocence of a child was sacred, and to disregard it, in that manner, was a sin even Steve couldn't forgive. Given her past, it was easy to see how that could have been the trigger that pushed her over, making her ignore all the hard work she had been making towards leveling out all her more... violent urges. But she didn't just kill the man, she had tortured him, and from what Banner had said, once he got a look at the body, she had taken her time with him. It would have been drawn out, the doctor had said. Castration, blinding, tongue being cut out, the skin being peeled from his face, layer by layer, if the pile of skin next to the body was any indication. This had not just been justice for a raped little girl, this had been rage on a level Banner had been concerned. Whoever had done this, he had stated, had taken joy in it.

The box smashed, it's contents missing, one of three HYDRA boxes in the room, had been marked. One nine four nine zero one two one QUEEN. Whatever had been in that box, Steve was sure it had once been something that Brooklyn had been used to using. She had taken it with her, whatever it had been.

When he had gone into the room containing the other bodies, he finally knew what Marino had meant, when he had told Steve that Brooklyn was an artist. The blood spatter, the damage to the bodies, all were reminiscent of a Jackson Pollock. When Stark had raised an eyebrow at Steve using the reference, he had felt compelled to remind Stark that Pollock had started to gain fame in the forties, for his spatter paintings. And the red blood, drying on the walls, floor, and ceilings, were very reminiscent of the American painter's work. The bodies lying on the floor helped, he had thought. Each had been killed quickly, with the exception of one, who was missing the lower part of his leg, the trail of blood indicating where he had tried to drag himself. Laying on his back, his eye blown open by a wound that was more of a stab then a slash, the blood and leaking brain matter pooling under his head, it was a good indicator that he had been killed with deliberation.

The locked room across the hall, which reeked of contained humans left in their own waste, had been empty, snow drifting down through an open skylight. Steve knew that meant that Brooklyn had gotten some of the girls out, at least. There was that to be thankful for.

In the end, the Avengers couldn't do anything. They had the boxes of SHIELD and HYDRA property loaded up, and sent off to the Tower to be sorted and cataloged, before the proper authorities would come to collect it, to either dispose or repurpose it. The bodies were handed over to the coroner who would preform the autopsies, and contact the families. And they went back to the Tower. Barton, still a little off kilter due to the hits in the head, had sat himself down on a couch, and proceeded to tell everyone about the very strong woman who had handed him his ass. He kept repeating that she could have killed him, once she had immobilized him. Instead, she had knocked him out. Barton even went on to say, that once he had found the girl, he knew why the man had to die, and even admitted to maybe wanting to do the same, in the same situation. It was silently echoed by the rest of the team. Violence against children was something that none of them could stand.

Either way, Steve wasn't sure how he was going to handle what Brooklyn had done.

In the end, he had left the team to ponder who had attacked Barton, going down to change out of his battle suit, sighing every few minutes, wondering what the hell he was going to do. Nat had followed, giving him privacy long enough to change, but cornering him when he was at least decent.

"You know, don't you?" She asked.

"Yeah." He nodded, sighing again, rubbing his face. "I know."
Nat nodded as well, folding her arms. "What's the game plan?"

"I don't know." He admitted. "It's not like... well, I don't know what to do here."

"Steve, it's not like she killed an innocent man. The man... he... I hate to say it, like this, but I'm pretty sure he deserved it." Nat looked at him solemnly.

Steve looked at her, feeling torn. On one hand, the redheaded assassin was correct, but on the other... "That doesn't give her the right to play judge, jury, and executioner, Nat. All of that... it could cause her to backslide. All of the work she's done to get away from that, something like this could just put her back on square one."

"Are you going to leave her?" Nat raised her head, looking at him coolly.

"No!" Steve stared at her shocked. "Never. I can't... Not now. Not ever. She's... She's it for me, Nat. She's everything. I can't walk away from her."

Nodding, almost relieved, Nat then advised, "Then you had better come to terms with what she did. Either figure out how you are going to help her stop, or get out of the way. Because killing Morozov's son? That's going to bring down a hell storm. This isn't just about stopping human trafficking, anymore. She may have just started a war, between the two organizations."

"Then maybe Morozov's son shouldn't go around raping little girls." he snarled, unsettled about the idea of a mafia war. "Maybe Morozov should have put his son up in a damn cell."

"Be that as it may, there are going to be consequences, Steve." Nat shook her head. "And someone is going to have to take the fall. She just might be the one offered up, to make peace."

"Over my dead and rotting corpse." Steve spat, sitting down to pull on and tie his shoes. "No one is going to touch my girl. Either of them. I'll burn all of the organizations to the ground, if they try."

"I'll be right beside you." Nat promised, before sighing. "I have to tell Fury."
"What?" He paused, looking at her. "Why?"

"Because this might have gone beyond just you, Steve. She's making waves that we can't hide anymore. Fury is your best bet to keep her and Jules safe. At least with him helping, it'll be easier. Any sort of backup is a good thing. Even you should know that." She came over, sitting next to him. "You know I'm right."

He nodded, standing up. "I need to get back. I don't want Juliana to wake up without one of us there. And I want to make sure Brooklyn gets home, safe."
"Just go easy on her, Steve." Nat advised, softly. "We don't know why she went off as bad as she did."
Steve nodded, "I'll call you. Let you know how things go. I'm just gonna go grab the paperwork. I can do it at the apartment while I wait. And who knows? Maybe she's already home, waiting for me."

"Good luck." Nat had called as he left the room.

Now, still sitting on the couch, where he had been waiting for a few hours now, he was struck by the thought that maybe, just maybe, despite her promises, Brooklyn wasn't coming back. He couldn't imagine what had to be keeping her, this long. The only thing keeping him from flying into a panic over it, was the fact that just down the hall, Juliana was tucked up in bed, sleeping soundly, unaware of the storm that was raging around her.

He checked the clock on his phone, noting that it was after two in the morning. He considered calling Brooklyn's phone, or texting her, but at the same time, he didn't want to start the coming conversation anyway but face to face. He needed to see her reactions, to make sure she wasn't going to try to side step anything. Plus, it would keep him from saying things in the heat of the moment, if he had to look her in the face. That was something he had noticed about the time they were currently finding themselves living in. People found it easier to say things they didn't mean over the phone, so they didn't have to witness the damage they caused with their words. He never wanted to do that with Brooklyn. He wanted to always have serious conversations face to face, especially after what had happened in August. The fact that all he had to go by was the tone of her voice, to gauge how his words were affecting her. Or rather, how they had not.

He still remembered how that made him feel, the lack of emotion in her voice when she had tried to end things between them, before they had ever really gotten started. How she had listened to him, and then summarily ended their association. It had been one of the most heartbreaking things he had ever had happen to him. Loosing a future he had just started to believe might be his.

Well, if she thought something like this was going to make him let her go, she had another thing coming. He was hers, just as much as she was his. There was nothing, really, that they couldn't overcome, together. They just had to somehow meet in the middle, seeing eye to eye. That was the current hurdle. He was going to have to impress on her that the rule about not killing, wasn't so much that he cared that people were dead, but that she might get caught, and then there might be nothing he could do to protect her. It might sound cold, that he didn't care if people died. And on one hand he did. People didn't need to die, unless they courted that death. He had seen too much of it, really, during the war, and after. But when it came to the people Brooklyn was dealing with, the reality was that they had a high chance of dying, anyway. It was more about how he was concerned it would affect her.

She had been trying so hard to be good, to walk away from the life she had lived under HYDRA. And while he would be the first to admit that she still had a long way to go, she was getting there. He didn't want her to backslide. He needed her to keep taking one step forward, one right after the other.

It was dealing with such a small insular world, like the mafia, that was concerning. If it got out that the mafia was killing themselves off, it would draw attention, attention she didn't need. Attention that might draw the notice of people that neither one of them wanted knowing where she was.

He knew, also, how her guilt over her actions, before meeting him, had filled her. She was eaten up with guilt over the deaths of innocents, people with families who would mourn them. Even if the fucker who she had tortured tonight had been as evil as what she had judged him for, he had a family.

And it was possible that family might already be coming for her.

He sighed, rubbing his face. "How the hell am I supposed to protect her from the Russian mafia, Bucky?"

Steve was tempted to call Sam, tell him everything, and ask for advice. But again, until he talked to Brooklyn, he didn't want to have the words of anyone else in his ears. It would be better that way. He needed to just... talk to her. Hold her. Feel her under his hands and smell her hair, if only just to know she was there with him, and not halfway across the world, running from what she had done.

He sighed, standing up, rubbing the back of his neck, as he walked into the kitchen. Pulling out a glass, he ran the water in the sink for a moment, before filling his glass, and draining it. He drank two more glasses, before turning the water off and setting the glass aside. Turning to brace his hands on the counter, he looked at the Christmas tree that seemed to be mocking him with it's bright colors and oddly placed ornaments. Juliana, while trying to be helpful while also getting into the holiday spirit, had not exactly managed to put the ornaments on the tree in an orderly fashion. There were gaps where the tree was bare of any decoration. Despite that, it was a pretty tree. One that was clearly a tree of a family with a small child. It was a far cry from the ones he had grown up with, that was for sure. The little girl had giggled so hard with joy, when he had lifted her up so she could place the star on the top.

Thinking about it, he went over, kneeling down to check the water level in the stand. He and Brooklyn had gotten into the habit, ever since they had brought the tree home from the lot, of checking the water before they went to bed. Since it was way past the time they usually turned in for the night, he realized that no one had checked it that night. Deciding that the tree could use a bit more water, he stood up, going back into the kitchen, reaching under the sink for the small plastic watering pot Brooklyn had picked up somewhere, for the express purpose of pouring water into the stand without spilling any. He filled the pink plastic pot, then went back over to the tree, kneeling down and pulling the edge of the bright red velveteen skirt, printed with silver stars, reaching under the tree to pour water into the stand. Satisfied that the tree would survive another day, he stood up and returned the pot to it's place under the sink, after emptying the excess water.

While he was in the kitchen, he decided to set the coffee pot for the morning. Once that was done, he returned to staring at the tree. It also reminded him that he had yet to pick up Brooklyn's Christmas present. He had gotten the call that it was ready, and he had meant to pick it up before he had gone to pick up Brooklyn from school, yesterday. But between his own distractions, and traffic, he had run out of time. While he had been pulling into the parking lot of Brooklyn's school, he had called the jeweler, requesting the ability to pick it up the next day, today, if that had been possible. The jeweler had laughed and said he could pick it up Christmas eve, if that made him happy.

What would make him happy would be to see Brooklyn's face when she opened her main gift, on Christmas morning. He had gotten her other things, yes, but this one gift, he had put so much thought and attention into, and he was nervous as hell over how she was going to take it. He needed something, anything, to help tell the world that she was his.

Actually, he was willing to admit, he was kidding himself. What he really wanted, right in this goddamned moment, was for his girl to walk through that door, so that he could figure out how he was going to deal with this mess. If he was being even more brutally honest with himself, it wasn't that she had killed those men that upset him. It was the fact that the men she killed were going to be the catalyst to bring a shit storm down on herself.
Natasha had been very clear about that, when they had been on their way to the Brewery. Morozlav's son was supposed to be among the men helping move the SHIELD weapons, according to the lead they had been given. The problem with that was, they were going to have to be very, very careful in taking down Kirill Morozlav. She was quick to remind them, if they were not already aware, that the Russian mafia had a history of striking out at people who hindered their business and movements. Taking down the son of the New York Russian mafia, would be a big hindrance.
But instead of taking Kirill Morozlav and his men into custody, they had found them all dead. At the hand of Steve's girlfriend. Who only a hand full of people knew about.

And now said girlfriend was not yet home, possibly missing, and about to get a big target on her back. One he wasn't sure he would be able to remove, or stop someone from taking a shot at. That's what Steve was most pissed about. That Brooklyn, through the act of breaking the number one fucking rule he had given her, before agreeing to allow her to try to take down the human trafficking, had managed to put herself in even more danger, than if she would have gone up to the Tower, walked into his private lab, and bitch slapped Tony Stark in the face with a cattle prod.

And that wasn't even going to cover the fact that by engaging and incapacitating Barton, she had also peaked the interest of the remaining Avengers. Barton wasn't probably going to let it go. Stark might get obsessive over the fact that she had managed to dodge him and get away. Thor... well, Steve wasn't sure what the Asgardian thought about the whole thing. Steve also really didn't care.

Brooklyn's interest in Thor, even in a militaristic academic way, was enough of a reason to keep the two of them far, far apart. He wasn't ashamed to admit that there might be a bit of jealousy on his part coming into play, but there it was. If he could help it, the two would never meet, not even in passing. Not until, at least, he had her pinned down and legally bound to him. Maybe not even until after they'd had their third child. Possibly not until well after their twentieth wedding anniversary.

He went over to rearrange the stockings they had put up a few nights ago, with Steve telling Juliana all about how Santa was going to come on Christmas Eve, while she was a sleep, and bring her presents and fill the stocking with sweets and treats. The little girl had listened to him with a very serious look, nodding and agreeing, before patting him on the arm and telling him that Santa was a very good man. He had raised his eyebrows at Brooklyn, who simply had given him a smile and shrugged. He was aware of her opinion about telling Juliana about Santa. She had felt that it was a lie, and they didn't need to start Jules out in life with a lie. He felt that it was a harmless white lie, that taught the power of belief. They had, admittedly gone a few verbal rounds over it, before Brooklyn had shrugged, and told him he could do what he wanted. If it all fell apart, in the end it would all be on his head.

So he had gotten to take Juliana to go see the Santa at one of the local chain stores, standing in line for what seemed like hours, while the little girl chatted about everything and anything. When they had gotten up to the big man in red, he had helped hoist Juliana onto the man's knee, keeping close to make sure she was okay, and tried not to listen as the little girl was asked what she wanted for Christmas. She had looked at the bearded smiling man, and sighed. And told him that she wanted things like a bike, and toys, and such. But then she had leaned forward, with a very intense look, and asked if he could help her sister with her plan for world domination. Horrified, the Santa had looked at Steve, who had shook his head, and told Juliana to smile for the camera that was going to take the picture that he ended up paying nearly thirty dollars for. The picture now sat in a nice frame on Brooklyn's knick knack shelf.

After meeting Santa, while holding his hand and skipping beside him as they went about the store making holiday purchases, she had smiled at him while he lectured her about the importance of NOT asking people to help in her sister's sometimes need to take over the world. Eventually, she had heaved a heavy and dramatic sigh, putting her hands on her hips, shaking her head at him. And then she had told him that she had been playing with the Santa. That she understood that the man who's lap she had been sitting on had NOT been the real Santa. She just wanted to see the look on his face.

He had stood stock still in the aisle, looking at her in shock. Bucky's youngest daughter had been fucking with a mall Santa. For shits and giggles. He wasn't sure if that was her natural inclination, Brooklyn's influence, or even his own. And for the first time he was a bit worried for the man that Juliana was going to decide was hers, the way her sister had done with him. He hoped he was around, so he could maybe prepare the poor fella.

Although, he wasn't going to allow any sort of that activity until she was nearly thirty. Maybe older. He still wasn't sure about it. Maybe he could convince Stark to build another tower, where he could keep Juliana well away from all the boys who would want to disrespect her. After the events tonight, Steve was sure it wouldn't take a whole lot of convincing.

He was well aware of the hypocrisy of his thoughts, when he wanted nothing more than to disrespect Brooklyn, over and over. But Brooklyn had come into his life as a full grown woman, even if she had been innocent in many ways. Juliana was a child, and if Steve had his way, she would remain a child, ignorant of as much of the world's harshness as he could physically possibly make it.

He went over to the table, looking down at the school work she had left. The problem he had pointed out that was wrong was still glaringly obvious. And even has his fingers twitched to reach out and pick up the pencil to fix it, he resisted. He knew he was right, in that if he did the work for her, she would never learn. Instead, when he reached out, he shuffled the papers and work books together, putting things in folders like he had watched her do many times before now, stacking them neatly, before reaching over her chair to pick up her book bag. Neatly and carefully, he put everything away in the book bag, zipping it up, and hanging it on the back of her chair. As he straightened up, he noticed a bit of dried food, or sauce, or something, at Juliana's place at the table.

Sighing and rubbing the back of his head, he went into the kitchen, pulling out the cleaning spray and grabbing the sponge from the sink. Putting his own files and papers away, he cleaned the table off of everything else, setting it on the counter. Spraying the table with the cleaning spray, he began to scrub at the top.

He knew he was nitpicking at things. Trying to keep himself occupied with small tasks. Anything to keep himself busy and his mind from drifting from the growing fear in him that Brooklyn was not coming back. Hours had passed, since he had walked into that room to see that dead man. And his girl had yet to come home.

If Nat was correct, then Morozov was going to want Brooklyn dead. And while Steve was sure that Marino would do everything in his power to keep that from happening, he wasn't so sure about Stelluto. The Don had made it plain, before Steve had stormed into warehouse when her panic button had been set off, that he had no problem trying to make Brooklyn disappear. In fact, if it was to keep the peace, Steve was sure the older man would hand her over personally.

His fist tightened, squeezing the cleaning solution out of the sponge to pool under his hand in a puddle of foam and dirty water. Steve would kill the man, before he would allow that to happen.

Blinking the dark thought away, he stared down at the mess he had made, sighing before sopping it up with the sponge. Satisfied that the table was now clean, he went and rinsed the sponge out, returning to wipe the chemicals off. He returned the sponge to the sink, after rinsing it again and setting it on the hanging sponge holder, putting the cleaning spray under the sink. As he left the kitchen, he glanced down at the garbage and the recycling. Both needed to be emptied, but he also needed to go through the recycling, to make sure it was correct before it went down to the alley. Pulling a chair from the table over to the bins, he began picking through the recycling. Brooklyn had picked it up pretty quickly, but Juliana was still having issues understanding what and what not could be recycled. She tended to put everything that wasn't obviously garbage into the blue container. He had been pleased to see that the world had grown concerned about itself, and was trying to take care to try to undue the damage caused by generations past. Granted, he had missed the worst of it, apparently, but he still remembered tramping through the streets as a youngster while his mother was at work, and seeing the rolling and choking smoke coming from the stacks at the factories down in Red Hook. The smog in London, during the war, thick and yellow, caused by the burning coal that still happened in the residential areas, would have made his lungs seize if he had still been affected by asthma. Cleaner water, cleaner air, cleaner everything. Steve was a big fan of all of that. And if he could do his part to keep that going, by separating the glass and plastic and tin from the garbage once a week, then he would.

He finished his task, washing his hands afterwards, going into the bathroom to use the facilities. Coming out, he frowned as his socks seemed to feel grit beneath them. The floor was swept almost daily, but with the weather being what it is, grit and grime from the snowy, slushy streets clung to clothing and shoes. Brooklyn was strict about everyone taking their shoes off their feet at the front door, but the odd occurrence of people wearing their shoes in the house occurred occasionally. Rubbing his face, he stared down at the floor, before giving himself a nod, going over to the space between the fridge and the wall, grabbing the broom and dust pan. He started at the back of the hall, in front of Juliana's room, sweeping every inch of the floor as he moved slowly back to the living room. Bending down to use the pan to pick up the dirt, he dumped it into the garbage, before repeating the action several times, sweeping the dining area, the living room and the kitchen, easily moving the furniture to sweep under it.

Deciding that sweeping wasn't enough to get the floor clean, he pulled out the padded mop with the spray on it, putting a clean pad on the head, before moving around the house, changing the pad several times as it came up dirty. Finally satisfied the floor was clean, he put everything away, again washing his hands.
He didn't want to watch the clock. He didn't want to know how much time had actually passed, between the last kiss she had given him, until now. He didn't even want to consider the fact that it might have been the last kiss she would ever give him.

Going into the bedroom, he changed out of his clothes, into the comfortable ones she had bought for him, putting the ones he had been wearing into the laundry basket. She had left a few items on the bed, when she had changed to leave. He put those in the basket as well. Going into the bathroom, he brushed his teeth, avoiding looking at his own face in the mirror.

Just as he spit out the foam, reaching under the running water to bring up a handful to rinse, he heard a insistent knock at the door.

Dropping everything, he dashed to the door, taking a deep breath, as dread made the bottom of his stomach drop. Opening it, he was greeted with the strained face of Marcus.

"Marcus?" He asked, gripping the doorknob.

"Kitty wants you up at the house. Now." The redheaded former HYDRA handler told him, stepping forward, clearly expecting Steve to move so he could come into the apartment. "I'll stay with Jules, until someone gets back."

Steve moved back, letting him in. "What's happened? Where is she?"

"Just... go. Now." Marcus shook his head.

Swallowing hard, Steve nodded. "Give me five minutes to change."

He quickly threw the clothes he had put in the basket back on, grabbing his wallet as he left the bedroom. Grabbing his phone off the kitchen counter, his keys off the hook, he pulled his jacket on, before shoving his feet into his shoes. He bent down and picked up his shield, still in the leather carrying case, because the sight of it disturbed Brooklyn. Not as much as it used to, but he still tried to keep her feelings in mind, when he was home with her. Looking at Marcus, he nodded as he went to the door.

"There's milk in the fridge, cereal on top. As well as eggs and bread. If we aren't back by the time she gets up, there's enough to feed Juliana breakfast." Steve informed him.

"Don't worry, Rogers." Marcus told him. "I've got it. Just go."

Steve nodded again, and ran out of the apartment, and down the stairs.

He was pulling up to the Marino's gate, before he even realized it. He knew he had to have been speeding the entire time, pressing his foot down so hard he was sure he was going to press right through the floor. No sooner had he pulled up to the gate, then it began to open. He waited, impatiently, until he was able to drive through, slamming on the breaks and throwing the car into park, barely able to contain himself as he turned it off and grabbed the keys. He ran up to the door, it already opening it as he hit the steps. Kitty was standing there, her face drawn, free of makeup, and looking every day her age.
"Steven." She reached for him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, "She's alright. Well, alright is a stretch. But she's okay. You'll make sure of that."
He let out a shuddering breath, one he didn't even realize he had been holding. "Where is she?"

"She's in the office, with Francis." She let him go, backing up so he could follow her. "That's why I told Marcus to have you come. They are... they are talking crazy... They need someone to go in there and put some sense into that conversation."

"That being me." Steve shook his head. "Kitty, what she did tonight... I don't know what to do about it."

"You don't 'do' anything." Kitty raised her eyebrows at him. "She is not some child for you to curb, just because you don't like her behavior. She gets enough of that, from enough people. Myself, included. If you are going to be her lover, be her lover. She doesn't need another father. Did you know, that poor girl she found, had been raped, not only by the man Brooklyn took apart, but by at least one other? Most likely every man in that room. As a woman, I can tell you, I would rather have her on the streets of New York, looking out for us, than a hundred Avengers. At least, tonight I would."

He sighed, before groaning and rubbing his face. "Kitty, she can't be allowed to get off with a slap of the wrist. I asked her to do three things. Three. The first one she blew out of the water tonight. The second... I was absolutely terrified she wasn't going to do the second. I need her to understand that... Goddammit, Kitty... what the hell am I supposed to do in this situation?"

"Support her. Love her. Help her keep her head on, and from going over the edge." Kitty put her hands on his arms. "That is your job. That is the job you have taken on, when you decided to submit to her. Not to punish her, or keep her contained. You help her, in anyway you can think you can. Even if it means you see her do things that you never thought you would be able to stand. After tonight, after what you saw, do you hate her? Revile her? Do you want to walk away, and put her behind you?"
"No." He snarled, his jaw tensing. "She's mine, as much as I am hers. There is no way I am letting her go. Ever."

"Then do your job." Kitty stepped back. "Go help her, and make sure she knows you are still hers."

Steve took a deep breath, swallowing. "I am always going to be hers."

He patted Kitty on the shoulder, then brushed past her, straightening his back as he did so, striding through the living room, turning down the darker hall that led to Marino's office. He couldn't hear the voices, the sound proofing of the room stopping him, but he stood outside the door, straining to hear anyway. Giving up on that, he knocked sharply on the door.

It opened immediately, as if the persons inside had been waiting for him. Junior met his eyes, the dark haired man looking strained. The circles under his eyes were pronounced.

"Cap." Junior jerked his head, "We've been waiting."

Steve, nodding at the man, strode in, hearing the door shut behind him. Marino was sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair, a glass of something amber in his hand. Brooklyn was sitting in a chair in front of him, her back to the door, which was a huge alarm for Steve. She never sat with her back to a door, if she could help it. She was wearing clothes she had not left the apartment in, her hair damp and dripping down her back. When he entered the room, she had stiffened, but not turned to look at him. Going over to her, he went to place his hand on her shoulder, but she flinched. Dread swirled in his stomach.

"Brooklyn?" He asked. He tried to ask as gently as he could, but his voice still came out rougher than he liked.

"You know." She replied, her voice a whisper. "You saw."

"Yeah." He sighed, kneeling down at her side. She turned her head from him, and he felt a crack in his chest. "I saw. And I know why."
"It had to be answered. What he did." There was steel in her soft voice. And while he was angry she had exposed herself, so spectacularly, he realized he also felt a touch of pride in her. Pride that she had stood by her convictions, even if he still didn't care for the manner in which she had done so. "I couldn't let him walk away from that."

"The issue we now face, is that Morozov will be demanding that we hand over the person who killed his son, or he will threaten war. And while my friend has been smart about things in the past, Stelluto is somewhat inclined to give him what he demands." Marino sighed, lifting his glass. "And this one is agreeing with him."

"What?" Steve stared at the older man, shocked, before snapping his attention back to Brooklyn. "What the hell is he talking about, Brooklyn?"
Junior sighed. "Pops is saying that the Boss is gonna give Queenie to the Russians. And that she isn't fighting it."

Steve reached out, hooking Brooklyn's turned jaw with his fingers, trying to be gentle, and pulled her head to face him. Then he sucked in a breath. "What the fuck?"

She had a split that crossed both lips, blood crusted in her nose. There was a corresponding bruise at the corner of her mouth, and the beginnings of a black eye. A bruise on her opposite cheek, high and extending to her temple was also marring her face. "Barton did all this?"

"Of course not." Marino set down his glass, standing up. "I was not informed of her meeting with Stelluto, until after he had expressed his displeasure with her."
Junior spoke from his place near the door, embarrassment in his voice. "I didn't know he was gonna do that, Pops. I've explained that. How was I to know that the Boss was gonna hit her? She's a woman, for Chrissake!"

"You should have known he was going to do something, after the last stunt he pulled with her." Marino barked at his son. "Why you went to him, instead of me.... That's something you are gonna have to answer for, later."

"Let me get this right." Steve ground out. Although she had allowed him to pull her face towards his, she was still not meeting his eyes, avoiding them by staring down. "After you left the brewery, you went to Stelluto. Not back here. Or bringing her home, to me."

"One of the men who've joined us, was off of his crew. When everything went south, we figured the safe house for the girls might be compromised. He suggested we reach out to the Boss. He ordered the girls taken to another safe house of his, and told us he would meet us there. He asked to speak to Queenie in private, and when they came out, she was like this... He simply told her that what was done was done, and she would have to pay for it. Then I brought her home."

"Its better this way." Brooklyn murmured. "It's better for everyone involved."

"Not for me." Steve snarled, trying to get her to look at him. "Never for me. What happens to me, if you are handed over, huh? What about Juliana? Do you really want me to have to explain to your father that I failed him and you, by not protecting you?"

Marino sighed. "She's already thought about that, apparently. She has asked me to have custody papers drawn up, giving you full custody of Juliana. And she's made me agree that the apartment is yours, so you can keep Juliana in the school she's chosen for her."

"It's the only way, Steve." She kept her eyes down, her voice so soft and quiet. "It's the only way to free you from me and all the shit I bring down on you."

He shook his head. "Who says I want to be free? I didn't even knew I needed you, until I found you. All my life, I was searching for something, for someone. And it was you. It's always been you. If you think I can go back to that, to living a life now that I know what it has been like, being yours, you are wrong. I won't be able to do it. I told you, this was it for me. You and me, remember? And Juliana? How can you even consider leaving her? She worships you. You are all she has, to keep her going. That little girl needs you, so much. What about your father? Do you really think he'll be okay with it, when he comes back, to find that his daughter gave up like this? Leaving him behind?"

"I'd never leave him behind." She whispered, blinking her eyes rapidly, her voice growing thick. "But he already left me behind, a long time ago. Why should I hold to a promise I made to him, when he's already broken his? And Juliana will still have you. You can be the connection. You can be the grounding nature she's gonna need. You can be the good influence, to make sure she turns out right. I'm only going to ruin her. I'm only going to pull her into the darkness with me. Because it's all I know. I have tried, I really have, but in the end... I don't think I can turn my back on it, completely."

"And you don't have to. I'm not saying you have to give into it, or let it consume you. But it's okay to have it still be a part of you." Steve reached out, stroking her head, the pain that she still wouldn't look at him driving him. "I have it, too. We all do. The difference is, what we do with it. We are all constantly fighting it, to push it back, to keep it from taking over. You just never learned how to. And that's why you are struggling with it. What those men did? I can honestly say I'm not sure I would have let them leave that building alive, either. No one with a soul could. And I'm not upset about that. I understand it. Okay? I could never be upset with you, for doing what you felt was right."

"But you still saw it. What I did." She protested, her eyes darting to his for a flash. Steve took a deep breath. It was a start. She wasn't fully looking at him, but it was a start.

"I did. And it made me take a moment. But it's still apart of you. All of that, is apart of you. But I need you to stay, and fight. I need you to fight, because I will not accept anything else. Because I will not live a life where you are not in it." He cupped the back of her head. "But I need you to look at me, Babydoll. I need you to look at me, so I can see how bad it is."

"If I'm gone, then you can be free. You can find someone else who can better reflect who you are." She shook her head. "If I'm gone-"

"If you are gone, then I have no reason to keep myself on the straight and narrow. I have no reason to keep fighting. I have no reason to do what the world keeps asking me to do." He snarled, before resting his forehead on her temple, taking a deep breath. Her scent was slightly off, smelling of a different brand of shampoo and soap than she usually did. The first order of business, once he got her home, would be to encourage her to take another one, so her scent was as it should be. "If you leave me... I have no reason to keep breathing anymore. I have nothing, anything to keep me moving forward. I'll stay, still, in one spot, until my heart stops. That is what you being gone will do. Do you understand? There is no me, without you, anymore."

She closed her eyes, a few tears starting to wash down her face.

"But first, Babydoll, I need you to look at me. I need to make sure we are on the same page with this. Because if not, we aren't going any further, until you are." He breathed, the pain inside him sharp. "I need to make sure you are still mine, as much as I am yours."

She hiccuped a sob, but shook her head. "I can't. I can't look at you, and see your disgust."

Kissing her temple, he chuckled. "I don't think I could ever be disgusted with you. It's not in me, to feel like that towards you. How many times to I have to tell you, that you amaze me, before you start to believe it? How many ways can I show you, that you entrance me so much, that I sometimes wonder what I did in my life to be so lucky to have you in it?"

He stroked the back of his fingers down her cheek, before turning them to wipe away the tears. "There are days when I wake up, and I think, it's all a dream. I've been dreaming it, because it's just too good. I don't deserve to have her in my life, and so I've been dreaming of her, this entire time. But then I look down, and I see you all snuggled up against me, drooling, and I just about burst with joy and happiness."

"I don't drool." She denied, sniffling. "That's a lie."

"Oh, you don't drool? I beg to differ, Babydoll. I've seen it. I've felt it. You are a drooler." He kissed her temple again. She was starting to respond. That fire was still inside her, just tamped down. "We all do stupid things sometimes. Did anyone ever tell you, I basically walked right into the Red Skull's headquarters? Letting them capture me?"
She snorted. "Why doesn't that surprise me? You're an absolute idiot. Who the hell just walks into the headquarters of a megalomaniac?"

"I do." He grinned, nuzzling his nose into her hair. "I walked right in, and let them capture me. But it worked in the end, so it was a good plan."
She turned, looking him in the eyes, with a disappointed gleam. "And this is why you are an idiot. I swear, how the hell am I supposed to keep you alive, if you keep doing stupid shit like that?"

Stroking her cheek again, Steve grinned wider. "By staying here, and keeping an eye on me. By reminding me, everyday, what an absolute fucking idiot I am. Making sure that I don't forget it. Because I need you to keep doing that. I need you here, with me. So, don't leave me. Ever."

Brooklyn went to shake her head, and he stopped her. "No. Not ever. You stay here. You keep fighting. You keep saving those girls. And if Morozov wants to start a war, you end it. You end him. I'm giving you full permission to end it. Because, right or wrong, as long as you come home to me, in the end, I don't care how. You figure out how to take care of it all, so that we can keep living our life, together. You need to keep fighting, so that Juliana doesn't lose her family. You need to keep fighting, so that your father doesn't lose another child. You keep fighting, so I don't lose you."

"Steve, if I do this, it won't end with just Morozov." she whispered, but she was looking at him, she was responding to him. That was all that mattered to him. "If I do this, there will be more."

"And I will handle it. If it means that innocent people are saved, if it means that you find a way to end it, then I'll handle it. As long as you keep coming back to me. That is what I ask of you. Just keep coming home to me. Like I keep coming home to you." He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers, avoiding the split, worried he would make it start bleeding again. "That's the promise I want from you, now. Okay?"
"Steven is correct." Marino added, finally cutting into the almost private bubble between the two of them. "You need to keep fighting. Or are you going to let those men win?"

"I can't." She sighed. "I can't let them win. Not now."

"No. Not now. Not ever." Marino agreed. "You know where we have to start."

"Stelluto." Brooklyn reached out and cupped Steve's cheek. He leaned into it, giving her an encouraging smile. "We have to remove him, as well."
"I'm okay with that." Steve assured. And he was. If Stelluto was willing to hand over a woman in the name of peace, just so he could keep his power, then he needed to be removed. "He put his hands on you, after I told him not to. I don't think that should be allowed to go unanswered. And you can do it. Or I will. But it has to be handled."

"Is Captain America giving me permission to remove two men from this earth, possibly more?" She raised an eyebrow, her gaze going sharp.

"No." He shook his head. "Captain America isn't. Steve Rogers is telling his girlfriend to do whatever it takes to make sure she is safe. That's what's happening here. Understand?"

A small, sly grin tugged at her lips. "Understood."

"Alright." He pressed another kiss to her lips, before standing up. "So, what's the plan?"

He pushed down the worry that he might have just unlocked Pandora's box. What ever happened, he would help with the fall out. The important thing was that he didn't lose Brooklyn. That she kept coming home. And if letting her take down a few old men who were threatening her ensured that, then so be it.

Because it didn't matter. The darkness in her didn't matter. He was hers. And if the only way to keep that status was to stand back and allow her to burn a few mafia organizations to the ground, he would stand back. Of course, he wondered how long before he began helping her to pour the gas and light the fire.

It wouldn't matter. He was hers, and she was his. And together, nothing would stop them.

He would make sure of it.

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long! I rewrote it like, five times. But i think this version is the best! I am also most likely going to back off the obsessive posting I have been doing, at least for a while. I start a new job tomorrow, and it's not going to keep me confined to just the weekend, like the shows. That being said, Happy New Year, everyone! vote and comment!