Brooklyn sighed, as she rocked back onto her feet from her knees, before putting her hands on her hips, staring down at the safe set into the floorboards of her closet. There was no more getting around it. There was no more room. The last payment from the Mr. Marino had come in, and try as she might, she simply couldn't put any more into the safe. There was still a fair amount left to go in, as well. Somewhere around thirty thousand if she was completely honest. That much wouldn't even fit in the little safe she kept under the bed. That one had been getting low, since she liked to use that one for her shopping and her personal expenses, especially since Christmas. That had been an expensive holiday for the household, but well worth it considering how well the gifts had gone over. Steve was definitely happy with the watches. He had taken to wearing the wrist watch more and more, taking it off before they went to bed, setting it on the beside table next to the side of the bed he had claimed.

Biting her lip, she considered her options. She could always ask Mr. Marino to have another safe installed. But she had a distinct feeling that when Steve learned of that, he might get a bit stroppy. He was still trying to find a safe way for them to get the money into a bank. The options were limited, he admitted, since she was still refusing to use her own name in connection with the accounts. He had suggested that he open the account in his name, and just hand everything over to her, with her as a co-signer, so she had full access, but to the world it would be his account. The only problem with this, he said, was that if anything happened to him, the government might freeze the account in an attempt to take it. Seeing as he had no legal dependents. And even if he left everything in the account to her in a will, the probate might take a long time. At which point, someone unsavory in the government might find a reason to object to America's heroic blueprint to leaving hundreds of thousands of dollars to some strange woman with little to no past.

Brooklyn wondered if she should talk to Marcus, to find out just how well the fake background he had set up for her would stand up to scrutiny. She knew that for the most part, the school had accepted it. It would stand up if she was pulled over for speeding. It might hold up if she was even arrested for a minor offense. But taxes? Bank accounts? How well would that work?

Either way, the fact of the matter was, Brooklyn needed a better solution to what she had now. Steve was right. She couldn't keep hundreds of thousands of dollars in a safe in her apartment. Maybe she would be safe with a few tens of thousands. But not hundreds.

Which meant that she was going to have to inform Steve that they needed a solution, and fast. The thirty thousand or so dollars sitting on a shelf was questionable, if strangers ever searched her apartment for some strange reason. It needed to be handled.

Groaning and rubbing her face, she picked up the remaining cash and walked over to the dresser. After her temper tantrum, or rather, her brat phase (as Steve liked to call it) she had gone back through her clothing and returned many items to the closet and dresser. But there was still room, if she did it right. Opening the bottom drawer, she pulled out a few of the pairs of jeans, and began lining up the cash bricks along the bottom of the drawer. Then she placed the jeans back on top, pressing them down gently, to make sure it was all settled. At least at first glance, no one would know they were there. Keeping one brick out of the drawer, she shut it, before going over to the bed and pulling out the small lock box she kept there. Setting it on the bed, she got the key out of her nightstand, sitting down next to the box, and unlocking it. Flipping it open, she sighed when she saw how little there was, compared to before Christmas. It was times like this when she regretted letting Steve convince her to stop working in the club. It wasn't that she missed dodging hands, or exposing herself to sweaty men for grimy green money. But at the same time, she missed the money she made. It was at least partially steady.

Wilson had been poking at the subject of her slight obsession with money and her willingness to spend it during some of their talks. She had tried to explain that money made the world go round. It didn't matter where you came from, or who you were, as long as you had money. Money made your issues go away, for the most part. For all of his insistence that she wouldn't be able to just walk into a Realtor's office, and place down a bag of cash to buy a house, she was pretty certain that she would be able to. She could walk into any car dealership, and negotiate them down on the price, if she had cash. Almost every business in New York dealt in, or would be willing to deal in, cash in hand. It was tangible, physical. She could count it, and know exactly how much she had, at any given time. She was able to calculate how much it would affect her stockpile, when she wanted to make a purchase.

It was also untraceable. That was the biggest bonus about living her life with cash. It left no real paper trail. It wasn't coming out of some invisible bank account or credit line that people could use to find her. Because all of that left a footprint behind. A footprint that could be used to find her, and her sister, and even eventually her father. It made keeping herself as much as a ghost as possible, more realistic. If it had not been for the need to send her sister to school, there would be even less of a footprint.

Granted, she had to acknowledge that her footprint was becoming more and more traceable. Going to school herself was a pretty big one. And soon, even as Brooklyn Bianchi, she would reach a point where there would be no denying that she was no longer able to remain a ghost. Brooklyn Barnes would, oh yes. Nothing on paper, at least, would allow Brooklyn Barnes to be traced.

Brooklyn Bianchi would be able to get her GED, graduate college, go on to get a job. File and pay her taxes, register to vote, sit on a jury. Ms. Bianchi would be able to all the things that Brooklyn Barnes, as a woman born in nineteen forty seven, and still looking somewhere in the range of twenty two years old, would never be able to really do. Ms. Bianchi would be able to live in the outside world, without any real complications.

And one day, Ms. Bianchi would cease to exist, either because someone had gotten too close, or because she had served her purpose. And then someone else would take her place.

It was a depressing thought, really, when she said it in her head. She would never really be able to assume her real name, or her real identity. She would never be able to do all the things she currently was able to, as Brooklyn Barnes. Her father's name might one day die with her, because she would never be able to acknowledge it. God knew, none of his sons had ever survived HYDRA.

Irony of ironies, really, when you sat down and thought about that. The world still held a great store on the male issue of a man's loins. But James Barnes had only surviving daughters. His son's had proven too weak to survive. That, and of the five of his children that survived to birth, he had only been able to produce two males. The odds where now in the favor of female issue. And considering what she was learning of her family on her father's side from Steve, it appeared that it was no wonder. He had been the only son in a family of four children. Brooklyn wondered if HYDRA had considered that when they had chosen to use him as a breeder.

Sighing, she took off the band around the brick, placing the bills into the lock box, before taking two out. Those she would put into her wallet. Having walking cash was always a good idea. It also gave her a small thrill when it annoyed Steve, when she paid with a larger bill. Something about her flaunting her wealth irritated him, sometimes.

She didn't understand his financials. Granted, she hadn't really asked. She had assumed that he was well off, if not semi-rich himself. He lived a pretty cheap existence. His official residence at the Tower afforded him the ability to live on Stark's dime. While she was aware that he didn't care for it, and was looking to get out of there on a more permanent basis, she figured at the very least, it allowed him the ability to add to his stockpile of funds. She was aware that the PSA's he had done a few months back had been lucrative. He was also sometimes paid for public appearances. There was public speaking, award ceremonies, gigs that payed him very well. And for the most part, he was bringing in more than he was spending. Although, he did have a tendency to spend his money on expensive gifts.

She reached up to touch the necklace he had given her at Christmas. He had finally admitted that the gems were not mined. He had in fact given her a shit eating grin when he told her he had found it rather fitting that the gems were 'lab created'. But all that aside, she figured having a custom piece of jewellery made was not cheap, even if the gems were 'lab created'. He had felt uncomfortable, he had admitted, after giving himself a crash course on conflict diamonds and other gems. Finding out that there was a safer alternative and that the jeweller had been excited to work with him had sealed the deal, as far as he was concerned. Then he had made some offhand comment about having to go back to that jeweller in the future for other projects.

For a man who was supposedly trying to save up to buy his own place in the Brooklyn borough, he was quick to spend it. Fancy dinners, expensive gifts... it all was a problem, if you considered his ultimate goal was his own home.

She had wanted to inform him that, if he really wanted his own place, Mr. Marino would have considered it an honor to sell him something at a rock bottom price. But the last time they had even talked about the subject of his own house or apartment, he had all but admitted he would not ever consider that place a home unless she was there.

Which put her in an odd place, emotionally. She had accepted the knowledge that she had stupidly allowed herself to fall in love with Steve, but at the same time, she didn't know what to do with it. She didn't want to spend anymore time away from him than they already did. But the day may be fast approaching when she would have to choose between her heart and her duty. She might actually have to choose between Steve and her father. She didn't know what to do, if that situation ever came up. She felt like it would kill her to turn away from Steve. As if she would actually be ripping out her heart, and leaving a bloody cavity behind. But on the other hand, she had a responsibility and a duty to her father, if only to make up for the sins she had committed against him. If only to make sure that all her work had been undone.

If only to really set the two of them free from each other.

Steve was slightly concerned, still, about how she had reacted to the last package and letter from her father. He hadn't said it in as many words, but she liked to think she had gotten to know him well enough to be able to tell. Yes, she had been bratty, afterwards. The thought that even despite everything he told her, that he would one day leave her as well, like her father had, seemed inevitable. In her mind, it had seemed smarter to drive him off now, rather than wait for that time when he would finally have enough of her broken mind, and her desperate claims of ownership. Granted, this was before she had realized she had foolishly fallen in love with him. The idea that it was better now, to drive him off, to spare herself the larger pain, had seemed prudent. Now, knowing how she felt about him, it seemed like no matter what she did, his leaving would shatter her on a level her father's abandonment had only attempted to reach. Steve had the potential to destroy her in a way that HYDRA had never been able to attempt.

Despite her fears in regards to the subject, she now understood how women would think that getting pregnant would keep a man. At least, in Steve's case, it would be a sure fire method to make sure he would never leave. She could never imagine Steve walking away from his own child, not even to protect it from himself. He was so hungry for a family of his own, that he would even accept a toxic woman as the mother. God knew, he had accepted her as a possibility, for now.

But would she be happy if that was how she had to stoop to keep him, if he wanted to go? If she needed to scheme and plot and manipulate to keep him, was it really love? Or was it just some twisted version that she was able to believe was love, because she was so damaged?

Was it even possible to earn his love? Would there even be the possibility of owning his heart, the way she owned his body? Or had her past actions burned that possibility to the ground?

Shaking her head, she locked the lock box, and slid it back under the bed. Leaving the bedroom, she smiled at her sister, who was drawing at the table, kissing her on the top of the head as she made her way over to the coat rack, reaching into her messenger bag for her wallet, slipping the crisp hundred dollar bills into the billfold part, before putting it back.

"Hey, I was thinking... since Steve is going to be gone until dinner, do you want to go out and do something? Just the two of us? It's been a while since we've done that. We can pick up dinner, on our way back, so Steve doesn't have to cook when he gets home." Brooklyn suggested, tugging down the bottom of her sweater, so that it covered her hips.
Juliana looked over at her. "Like what?"

"Well, we could go see a movie. Or do some shopping. Have a small girl's day." Brooklyn suggested, coming over to sit at the table. "We can even go uptown, if you want. That movie about the talking toys is still in the theater, if you want to go see it."

"But then Steve can't go with us." Juliana pointed out.

Brooklyn frowned. "We don't need Steve with us, every minute of every day. We can do things without him. We did before he came into our lives."

Juliana shook her head. "But it's all better, since he's been with us. He's ours now. 'Sides, he might get his feelings hurt, if we go see the movie without him."

"Then we don't go see a movie. We can go shopping, or just go out. By ourselves." Brooklyn sighed, leaning her head on her hand, on the table.

"What if he comes home, and we aren't here? He might get scared." Juliana shook her head, going back to coloring her picture.

"I'm sure Steve would be okay. We can leave a note." Brooklyn pointed out. "C'mon. Just the two of us. We can do anything. Go anywhere."

"Fine." Juliana heaved a heavy sigh, setting down her crayon, as if she was doing her older sister a huge favor. "But you have to make sure you leave Steve a note. I don't want him to get worried."

"You know, he's a big boy. He can take care of himself." Brooklyn groaned, standing up. "I'm sure he'll be fine, all on his own for a few hours."

Juliana looked at Brooklyn like she was crazy. "He gets worried, if we leave without telling him!"

"Yeah, but he's been known to take care of himself, before he came into our lives." Brooklyn looked over her sister as she went into the kitchen, looking for the pad they kept for the grocery list. "For a lot longer than either one of us has been alive, in fact."

"He's not that old!" Juliana protested.

"Jules, he's less than a year younger than our Papa." Brooklyn, finding the pad and pen, quickly scratched out a note to Steve, explaining that they had gone out, and would be bringing dinner home.

"But he sleeps in the bed with you!" Juliana cried, almost scandalized.

"Yes, but he and I are okay with that." Brooklyn set the pad up against the basket with the shopping bags in it. "Why don't you go change into something warmer. Then we can head out, okay?"

They ended up not going to the movies. Juliana had held firm to the belief that Steve would be hurt if they went without him. So, instead, they went to the salon and got hair cuts, pedicures and their nails done. After they were done, they ended up going to one of the larger toy stores, just wandering the floors, laughing at all the interesting things they found. Despite having the money, Brooklyn felt confident that being so soon after Christmas, there was little they would purchase. And for the most part, she was correct. There were only a few things that the two of them found that even she couldn't explain the need to not buy. It was a fun few hours, but soon the sky started going dark, and they flagged a cab down to go back to Carroll Gardens. Along the way, they stopped at the diner that had become a favorite, and ordered dinner to go. After the months of going there, she was certain she would be able to pick out a meal for Steve without too much worry.

He was seated at the table, going over files, when they entered the apartment. The news was playing on the TV in the background. Looking up, with a smile, he froze for a moment, looking them over, before getting up to help them with the bags.

"There's my girls!" He grinned, taking the plastic take out bags from Brooklyn, giving her a quick kiss. "I was starting to get worried. It was getting late."

"There was a line at the diner." Brooklyn explained, lining her shoes up along the wall, hanging up the messenger bag, before taking off her coat and hat, hanging them on top of it. She watched as he took the bags and set them on the kitchen counter, then returned to where they stood. "Then the cabs were not picking people up."

"Lyn had to jump in front of one, to make it stop! Everyone screamed at her." Juliana informed him, hanging up her coat as well. "But it was funny! The taxi driver called her names! So she called him names back, and shoved me in the back of the car!"

"And then he tried to charge me double, because he went across the bridge." Brooklyn complained. "I told him to shove it, and gave him the amount on the meter."
"Sounds like the two of you had a big day." Steve remarked, giving Brooklyn a look. She sighed, knowing there might be a lecture later. "But you are home, safe and sound, so that's all that matters. Did you have a good day, at least?"

"Yup!" Juliana jumped at him, and he caught her with one arm, hoisting her up onto his hip, avoiding being hit by the bag from the toy store that Juliana held. "We went and got our nails and toes done, and our hair cut. Then we went to this big toy store! There were floors and floors of toys! But we only got a few."
"More toys, huh?" Steve bent his head and kissed Juliana on the forehead. "Well, I guess you are going to have to show me, while your sister gets dinner ready."

"Sounds like a plan to me." Brooklyn agreed. "Why don't you guys go do that, while I get everything plated up."

She watched as Steve took Juliana over to the couch, turning the TV to mute. Setting the little girl down, he watched as she began to pull things out of the bag from the toy store, showing him the few items they had purchased. The only real thing Brooklyn had wanted to purchase was this soap they had found. It came in the shape of crayons, and it could be used to draw on tile. And, when you were done, it washed off without any issue. It looked fun, and it was something that would help clean the tub at the same time.

She went into the kitchen, opening the takeout bag, pulling out the styrofoam containers, lifting the lids. Turning around to reach into the cupboard where they kept the plates, she pulled three down, before grabbing forks from the drawer.
"I got you the chicken fried steak with the mashed potatoes. Is that alright?" She called, lifting up the container to start placing the food on the plate.

"Yeah." Steve called back. "Did you get extra gravy and steamed veggies?"

She grinned. "Of course."

The problem was, she was thinking, as she dished up the meals, was that she wasn't quite sure how to act around Steve anymore. Fucking him was one thing. Owning him was, as well. But being in love with Steve was a difficult fact for her to wrap her head around. On one hand, she wanted to tell him, scream it at the top of her lungs, so that the whole world would hear. But on the other, she didn't know whether that feeling would be reciprocated, or used against her. Steve had given no indication that he was looking for a way to control her, not really. She knew there was the small stuff that he asked her to do, outside of the bedroom as well as inside, that might be considered controlling. But for the most part, Steve had shown no inclination to want to fully dominate her and bring her to heel, to control every minute of her day.

But telling him about her fuck up would change things. It would be putting a huge amount of trust in him, that she just didn't know she had in anyone, not even her father. Not even in herself. To be honest, she wasn't even sure if it was love. More than likely she had been caught up in the New Years events, and had let the limerence of the night creep up into her head.

Even as she tried to deny it though, she knew she was lying. She had fallen in love with Steve. It was there. Almost as plain as day, if she wanted to be truthful. She had made herself weak, and fallen in love with the epitome of what she had been raised and trained to hate.

How the mighty had fallen.

She wanted to push him away, again. To put the distance between them, so that she would never be tempted to tell him about it. To ensure it would never slip out, while they were having one of those beautiful moments when he made her feel like she was the centre of his world. Even as she tried to get the urge to do so, it failed. She couldn't drive him away, even if she wanted to. She had become his, now. In a way that she never thought possible.

"Food's gonna get cold." Steve commented, leaning against the counter beside her, folding his arms and leaning over slightly.

She startled, dropping the fork on the counter, as she jumped back. "Oh, God. Don't do that! If I had a knife in my hand, I might have stabbed you!"

He frowned. "I didn't mean to startle you. I didn't even think that was possible."
Brooklyn blinked, thinking it over. "Neither did I. I don't think that's normal."

Chuckling, he shook his head. "You just got caught up in your head there, for a moment. What had you thinking so hard?"

I love you, she thought.

"The safe is full." She responded, instead. "I put about thirty thousand in the drawer, under my jeans. Where's Jules?"

"I told her to go wash up for dinner." Steve uncrossed his arms, looking at her. "In the dresser drawer? Really?"

She shrugged. "I didn't know what else to do with it. Seemed the smartest place, at the time."

He rubbed his face with a hand. "Jesus Christ."

"Hey, you told me, months ago, that you were going to figure this out. So, have you figured it out, yet?" She snapped, a little irritated at his attitude.

"It's not as easy as I thought it would be. Apparently there are a whole lot of different laws than from when I last opened a bank account." He sighed, folding his arms again.

"Oh, fuck this." She snapped. Pushing the plates away, she turned to pass him, only for him to grab her arm.

"where are you going?" he asked, shock on his face.

"If you aren't going to figure this out, I'm going to find someone who can, and you can sit down with him, and hash all this bullshit out. Because I am tired of trying to figure this out. If it was just up to me, I would ask Mr. Marino to put in another safe. But since apparently I can't keep money in my apartment, I have to find some sort of solution to this fucking mess. Feed my sister, Rogers. I'll be right back." She yanked her arm out of his grasp, stomping across to the door, flinging it open.

Walking across the hall, she pounded on the door, waiting a moment, before pounding again.

It was shortly after the third round of pounding, that the door finally opened. A bleary eyed Marcus looked at her, worry on his face.

"Queenie? What's wrong?" He asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Come with me." She snapped, grabbing him by his arm and hauling him with her back to her apartment.

"Hey! What the hell?" The redhead cried, as he stumbled behind her.

"Shut up." She ordered, dragging him into the apartment. Steve was standing by the table, Juliana seated, plates in his hands, shock seeming to take a permanent residence on his face.

"Babydoll, what.....?" he asked, blinking

"You want me to have a bank account. I don't want to leave a trail to be found." She shrugged. "Marcus can make a new identity, and we can both have what we want."

Marcus looked at her, then at Steve. Blushing, he rubbed his eyes again. "Look, I don't know what I've just been -"
"Steve doesn't want the money in the apartment any more. He thought he would be able to figure out how to get it out without making a big thing about it. But he can't. I don't want either Bianchi or Barnes to leave a trail. But the safe is full." She folded her arms. "Maybe if there was a third, more disposable identity, I would be able to open an account, and still remain anonymous."
"I'm pretty sure that's illegal." Steve pointed out, setting the plate in one hand in front of Juliana, rubbing her head as she picked up her fork and began to eat. "And I'm not sure how I feel about that."

"What I can do," Marcus sighed, looking a bit ashamed, "Is set up a dummy corporation, and have Brooklyn be on the payroll, under another name. I can backtrack the IRS paperwork, so it looks like it was already there. The bank wouldn't even think about it. Because according to their records, the account has been open for years. I mean, it probably won't hold up to a huge amount of scrutiny, but it would fix the issue."

"Okay, but how do we get the money from my safe, into the account?" Brooklyn asked, folding her arms.

Marcus shrugged. "We can intercept the IRS flagging. That's easy. Once I have access to the bank mainframe, I can tag the account, so the notices to the IRS get dumped into a dead email. The IRS never finds out, and you can take all the money in at once."

Brooklyn turned, looking at Steve, expectantly. And he didn't disappoint.

"That all sounds like its...." He looked down at the plate in his hand, before setting it down on the table. "Is this the kind of thing you do for your uncle?"

"On a larger scale. I mostly just funnel funds through various shell companies, so when it gets back to him, no one knows where it came from. That's actually really easy. What I'm proposing for Queenie will allow her to basically have access to the money, any where in the world, while also giving her the ability to remain off the radar of anyone really looking for her." Marcus looked at Brooklyn. "This might also allow you to gain access to the accounts I set up after we left HYDRA."

She shook her head. "I don't want to use that money, unless I have to. It's better off where ever you put it, for now."

Steve sighed, rubbing his face. "Can we discuss this, and get back to you?"

"Yeah, no problem." Marcus waved a hand. "Just let me know. It'll take me maybe a day to set everything up, really. If that's the way you go, you can go to the bank first thing the next morning. Anyhow, you two got some talking to do, and it looks like you are in the middle of dinner... so... I'm going to go back to bed. Wake me up if the building is on fire."

"Only if I don't start it first." Brooklyn murmured towards Marcus, as the redhead left the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

Steve looked at her. And she looked right back at him. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I know I'm being overbearing-"

"Overbearing, controlling. Those words are a bit interchangeable, right now." Brooklyn snarked, placing her hands on her hips.

Steve came over, putting his hands on her waist. "Look, let's sit down, eat dinner, and then we can discuss this. Give me a few moments to process everything. Okay?"

She pursed her lips, considering his proposal. That did seem fair. "Fine. But only because I don't like cold food."

It was when he was washing the dishes, while she sat on the counter, Juliana playing in the living room while a movie played, that Steve sighed, and asked, "Is this how you want to do it?"

"No." she answered, sipping at the glass of wine he had poured her, when he had begun to clear the table. "I would prefer to just have another safe. Maybe even in another building. But you seem to think that a bank account is the better idea."

He shook his head, slowly rubbing a plate with the soapy sponge. She tilted her head, watching his forearms flex, running the edge of the wine glass along her bottom lip. He was rather well put together, if you wanted to look at it objectively. But even considering she knew how it felt to hold those forearms during sex, while he pinned her body under his, thrusting between her opened thighs, she had to admit that they were very nice forearms.

"It's just that.... if something happens, the money is safe. People break into apartments, all the time. And people get shot and killed, protecting money. I don't want you to.... anything to happen to you." he concluded, setting the plate aside to be rinsed off. "Yes, banks have been known to fail. But for the most part, they are safer than a safe in your home. And extremely safer than money shoved in a dresser drawer."

She pursed her lips, turning her head to stare at the stove. Tapping the wine glass against her lip, she sighed. "I agreed to get the money out of the apartment, Steve. We are simply going over how, at this point. Marcus has the best solution, since you can't figure out how to do it. And that's not me saying you wouldn't be able to, given enough time. But the fact that the safe is now full.... my time is running out. It's either Marcus's idea, or I get another safe. That's where I am at right now."

He stared out the window, his back tense, before sighing again and relaxing. Nodding, he finally agreed. "Okay. I guess we'll go with Marcus's idea. It's the best solution, right now. Maybe in the future we can readdress it. But... for now, we'll go with the fake identity and the...whatever it was he was explaining."

She decided to not explain that Marcus was basically going to hack into the bank, and commit god knew how many felonies. Better that he be kept in the dark about that. For now. Someday he might be a bit more relaxed about breaking the law, but for now, she would let him remain as innocent as she could. There was no need to plunge him any deeper into the dark than he already was.

"I was also thinking.... maybe sometime in the spring? We could start looking at places, together." She hedged, biting her lip. "You keep saying that it wont be your home, unless I'm there. And we might need a bigger apartment, before too long, if we find my father. So... if you are willing to let me help out, financially, I'm willing to maybe move. Within reason, of course. We need to keep Juliana within distance of the school, otherwise one of us is going to be driving her, everyday."

He nodded, turning to face her, grinning. "I can agree to that."

"And my name goes on the title, lease, mortgage, whatever." She took a deep sip of her wine glass. "And I want a bay window. With a seat in it, so I can read in the sun. Or a porch."

"I'll see what I can find." He took a few steps towards her. "Anything else?"

She pursed her lips, looking down into the wine glass. "A rose garden."

He closed the distance between them, stepping between her legs, placing his hands on the counter by her hips, leaning down to kiss her. "I can do that. I can give you a rose garden."

"I might kill them." She warned, raising an eyebrow.

Steve shrugged. "So we hire a gardener. Or replace them every year."

******************

She went over and knocked on Marcus and Merlot's door, politely this time, after Juliana went to bed that night. Steve was still working on his paperwork, which was apparently going over possible sites where Loki's Scepter had been smuggled. She didn't have anything to contribute. She had not been apart of that project, and other than offering up Baron Strucker's name earlier, she didn't know anything about it.

Merlot opened the door, her face half done in makeup, her glued down eyebrows raised. "Queenie, honey, how can I help you?"

"I was hoping to talk to Marcus." She offered, a smile on her face.

"Come on in." Merlot opened the door further, allowing her to slide into the apartment. "He's in the closet, working on his computer."

Brooklyn nodded, turning to go down the hall towards the bedrooms. The 'closet' was actually the second, smaller bedroom, the layout of the apartment almost identical to hers. Merlot had converted the smaller bedroom into a closet space for his drag clothes, wigs and shoes. Putting in a vanity and several standing jewellery armoires, he had finalized the decor with bright lights. But in one corner, looking much plainer compared to the explosion of colorful clothing, was a simple desk, where Marcus was allowed to have his computers and monitors. In the months since she had first moved in, she had often heard the common argument between the two about Merlot's make up powders getting on the computers, keyboards and monitors.

Stepping into the second bedroom, she sighed, putting her hands on her hips. Marcus turned to look at her, eyebrows raised, sipping on a cup of coffee.

"He come around to the idea?" Marcus asked, grinning.

"Yeah." Brooklyn sighed. "We just shouldn't mention how many felonies we are committing. Or he might get a sudden surge of righteousness."

"Wasn't gonna tell him." Marcus turned to the monitors. "Give me until about six in the morning, and you should be set up to go take the cash in. Why didn't you tell me you were getting that much stock piled? I would have helped you out, earlier."

"You aren't my handler anymore, Marcus." Brooklyn came over, sliding down along the wall, until she was comfortably seated on the floor, her legs tucked up under her arms. "I should be able to handle these sorts of things on my own."

"Yeah." Marcus shrugged. "But at the same time, honey, there is only so much you can do, by yourself. You are still a ghost. On paper, at least. There are certain things that are not going to be easy, without a little help. I guess Stevie boy wasn't able to fix that problem, though."

"He apparently didn't realize how much banking laws changed, since the forties." Brooklyn sighed, resting her head on her knees. "Marcus, I did something stupid."
"Are you pregnant?" Marcus turned a bit, so he could look at her over his shoulder.

"No!" Brooklyn raised her head, shock running through her. "Why was that the first thing that came to your mind?"

"Kitty wants you married. By June. I figured, if she was pushing, maybe she knew something before you did. That woman is scarily intuitive." Marcus shrugged, turning back to face her. "So if you aren't baking a bun in the oven, what's the stupid thing you did?"

Taking a deep breath, she finally let the words leave her, even if it was to the wrong man. "I fell in love with Steve. Or, at least, I think I have."

Marcus drained his coffee mug, setting it on the corner of the desk, before leaning back in his computer chair, crossing his leg. "You know, normally when you learn to deep throat a man's cock, it's to make him fall in love with you. Not to fall in love with him. You did it backwards."

She gave a short, unamused laugh. "It's the most idiotic thing I've ever done."

"Now, I know that can't be true. There has to be something else." Marcus cocked his head. "I mean, nothing comes to mind in the time I've known you, but I'm sure there's something."

"I killed a sitting United States President." Brooklyn offered. "But I was like, sixteen when I did that, so I'm not sure that is a good comparison."

Marcus was silent for a moment, then he grinned. "Hey, that's one way to get your father to make himself known. We could broadcast it all over the world. 'Steve Rogers is banging Bucky Barnes' oldest daughter.' He would pop his head out for that."

"Pop it out, and then pop a bullet in Steve's head from two thousand yards." Brooklyn snorted. "The point is to get both of them out of this whole shit storm, alive. If I can just get to him, I can just talk to him. Convince him to hear Steve out."

"That's if he doesn't just grab you and your sister and run." Marcus scratched the back of his head, frowning. "Which is honestly, something I could see him doing. And then Steve and his buddy would be looking for all three of you. And I have a feeling you wouldn't help make it easy."
"Depends on what state of mind my father is in, when he did it." Brooklyn acknowledged. "If he was stable, maybe I would help them find us. If he was still... what he is now? Probably not."
Marcus looked her over, as she hugged her knees to her chest. Gently, he asked, "You still having nightmares?"

She shook her head. "Steve seems to keep them away. When he's not here, yeah, sometimes. But lately I've been dreaming about the good things. The good times. The sweet things, that seemed to make it all worth it, in the end. No matter what we had to do to keep it that way."

Nodding, Marcus smiled. "Then why do you consider it stupid to fall in love? Its a normal, human thing. I mean, you've been sleeping with him since August. That's almost six months. I'd be a little worried if you weren't feeling at least a little loving towards him, by this point. I mean, there is nothing wrong with emotionless sex. But considering how he's wormed his way into your life, I would hope that maybe you weren't just tolerating him."

"I don't think I can keep him. I mean, I don't think he's really mine to keep. I mean, he's mine. I own him. But if he wanted to leave... I think I'd let him go, rather than make him unhappy, keeping him. Just to be selfish. Because I think I would hurt more, if he began to look at me with regret, or hatred." Brooklyn tried to explain. "I want to keep him. I want to keep him as mine. But at the same time... I'm worried he's never going to be. I'm the daughter of his childhood best friend. I don't see how it can work out, in the long run. It just doesn't seem sustainable, the hunger I feel for him. Because there are times when I feel like I'm about to explode out of my skin, when I'm around him. Like, its all too much inside me."

"Have you told him?" Marcus asked, softly.

She shook her head violently. "No. Because he'd probably think I was crazy. I'm so goddamn damaged. How can I even be sure I'm in love with him? What if I'm not? What if I'm just really attached to him? It would kill me to tell him, and then have to take it back. Especially if he doesn't feel the same way. The worst part is, I've just gotten so goddamned used to having him around, I think it would kill me, if he went away. Not to mention, I don't know what it would do to me, if something actually happened to him when he is out with his little Avenger buddies. I swear to god, if they fail him and let him get seriously hurt, I may just take them out, one by one, ripping them apart in the worst ways I know how." She vowed, clenching her fists.

"Hey, hey." Marcus soothed, leaning down to place a hand on her knee. "Don't think about that. I mean, he's pretty well protected. And he's a super high profile hero. I'm pretty sure there isn't anything the government wont do, to keep him breathing. What I want you to consider, is what if he's in love with you, too? Have you considered that? I mean, the guy is pretty hung up on you. He has been since the day he met you."

She sniffed, rubbing at her nose. "I just don't know if the risk is worth the possible payout."

Marcus laughed softly. "it's not a mission, Queenie. It's love. There is always risk. But if he doesn't love you, then you at least know, and you can consider if keeping him around is worth it. If it is, than you lock it all away, and forget it exists. If it isn't.... well, you learn to live without him."

"But I don't want to." She whispered, looking at him, her eyes wide. "I don't want to learn to live without him. I've gotten so used to him being around, so quickly. I don't think I could do it again. Let someone in like that, ever again."

"Then don't." Marcus shook his head. "But you have to talk to him about it. You can't make a choice like this, all on your own. Not when it could affect him, too. That's not fair. That would be selfish."

Sighing, Marcus shook his head again. Then clearing his throat, he broached another subject. "Have you figured out what to do about Stelluto and Morozov?"

Leaning her head against the wall, she sighed. "Is it bizarre I keep thinking the best idea is to do something about them at the Stark Gala?"
"The Gala in two weeks? The Gala you are attending with my uncle?" Marcus asked, his eyebrows raising. "How is that gonna work?"

"It's neutral ground." she explained. "Mr. Marino can convince Stelluto to invite Morozov to go, so they can discuss the terms of handing me over. I'll be there, and I can... I don't know, poison them, or something. Something slow acting. They could be dead in about forty eight hours. I think I still have something like that, left over from when we left HYDRA. I mean, it's a secure place, thanks to Stark and all the Avengers being there. There would be no reason to think that anything could happen. And if they start to get sick twenty four hours after attending, well, it must have happened after the Gala."

"Smart." Marcus nodded. "Better figure out the particulars, before you actually get there. That is no place to wing it."

"you're telling me." She snorted. "I mean, I'm basically doing it, with Steve in the room. And it's killing me, cause I feel guilty about it. He's telling me, do what I need to, to make sure I keep coming home to him. But I don't think he quite realizes what that means. I don't think he knows, just how.... Yeah, I don't think he knows."

"Queenie, he fought in a world war. He helped liberate both HYDRA and Nazi prisoner camps. Like.. Holocaust camps. The death camps... I think he is well aware of what the human race can do. I doubt there is anything you can do, that will really shock him, at this point in his life. So, stop worrying about him, and make sure you do the job correctly."
She blinked, but remained silent. Marcus followed.

They sat in silence, looking at each other, before Merlot came breezing in, the silk robe flowing behind him, open at the chest. "Sorry, ladies. I have to get ready for work."

"It's okay, Merlot." Brooklyn took a deep breath, rocking up on to her feet. "I think I'm done for the night."
"You sure, Honey?" Merlot looked at her. "Cause y'all can keep chatting. Just pretend I'm not here."

Marcus snorted. "Yeah, I don't think that is even possible."
Merlot blew a kiss towards him. "Love you, too, Honey-buns. Queenie, if you are free tomorrow, I want to take your measurements. I've been wanting to make more clothes. And you have the perfect shape for what I want to create."

She laughed, lightly. "What do you want to create, Merlot."

"I'm thinking.... updated version of the Moulin Rouge! Corsets, and fringe, and feathers, and silk... mmmm.... fishnets, and dangling swaths of fabric flowing behind...." Merlot sat down at his vanity, reaching for a product, opening it and preparing to put it on his face. "Think... can-can girls meet high fashion in Milan."

"I don't understand half of what just came out of your mouth, and I'm gay." Marcus complained.

Giving a full laugh, Brooklyn agreed. "I'm with him."

"Uncultured. Both of you." Merlot grumbled, as he used a brush to apply foundation. "Anyway, can you come by after noon-ish?"

"I'll see what I can do." Brooklyn promised. "I go back to school the day after. I need to make sure I have everything ready."

"How close are you to being finished?" Marcus asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Another six weeks." Brooklyn answered. "Just in time to maybe slide in for Spring Quarter."

He nodded. "Okay. Well, swing by about seven. I should have all the papers ready for you. Then all you got to do is look the part, and be familiar with your information. Which, shouldn't be too hard for you."

"Nope." She grinned. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay." Marcus nodded again, turning to his computers, typing away.

"See you, Queenie." Merlot called, as Brooklyn left the room, leaving the apartment.

Steve was still at the table, frowning over the papers in his hand. Giving him a small smile when he looked up at her, she went into the kitchen to pour some more wine. Picking up the glass, she went over to the table, sitting down, pulling a knee up to her chest.

"Marcus willing to help?" Steve asked, setting the papers down, folding his arms over them.

"He's already working on it. Everything should be ready tomorrow morning." She answered, sipping her wine. "Find anything interesting?"

Steve looked down at the papers on the table, frowning. "I feel like there's something missing. Something obvious."

She shrugged. "Could be. I wouldn't know."

"I know." He sighed, rubbing his face. "It's times like this, I wish they had trusted you a little more, with information. If only so you could help get this done quicker. Then, maybe I could take a step back, and focus on the logistics of the mission, rather than go wading into the fight."

She laughed softly. "Steve, do you honestly think you could give up the fight? Just walk away?"

He stared at her, before pursing his lips. "If I had the right motivation, maybe I could."

"Until the next major incident happened. Or the world was being threatened, again." She sighed, putting her leg down, reaching across the corner of the table to put her hand on his forearm. "Steve, you don't have it in you, to walk away from who you are. Any more than I do, I guess. We are, who we are. We just have to learn to make peace with that."

"You've been trying to change." He pointed out.

"And look how well that's been going." She smiled sadly. "For all my bluster to the otherwise, the truth is, the minute the chance comes up, I go with the fatal option. It's what I know. It's what I'm good at. And what's worse, I do enjoy it, on some level. Because I know I'm good at it. I don't know if I will ever be able to walk away."
"I just..." he sighed. Then shaking his head, he tried again. "I feel like there may be more for us, if we really tried at it. If we really put in the effort, we could just... stop."

"I sometimes think that you are too good for this world, Steve." She whispered, pain building in her chest. "You are too good for me, as well. If you are half the man that I was raised believing in, there is no way you will ever be able to put the shield aside. Not without a damn good reason. You will keep fighting the good fight, until it either kills you, or you have fought it all."

"and what about you?" He asked, his frown deepening at her words. "What is going to happen to you?"

She pushed back the urge to cry. The truth was right there, but she refused to admit it. "I'm going to be leaving behind a pretty corpse. You and I both know it. As soon as I have no reason to keep myself alive, I'll sink so deep into all the darkness and never come back up. I think it's pretty inevitable, really. I'm not good enough, for this world. The fact that my first confirmed kill... well, once you kill a president, I don't think there's any real coming back from that. I'll have to pay the price, some day. Either with my death, or spending the rest of my natural life in prison. I only hope that I can save my father from that fate. At least then there might be some redemption for me."

"I need you. I need you to stay alive. If not for your sister, than do it for me." He picked up her hand, pressing the back of it to his lips. She could feel his words, as well as his breath. "I need you to be here, so we can have a future together. So we can stand before your father, and explain that.... that we belong to each other. Or do you expect me to live a life, after knowing what it is to be owned by you? Does that mean so little to you, that you would abandon me, after giving me that?" He closed his eyes, squeezing them tight, before reopening them. They were slightly red, moist. "How do you expect me to breathe, when you aren't as well? How can you even think, I want to exist, when you don't? I know.... I know you sometimes feel like... like you don't belong in this world. Outside of HYDRA. I know. I get it. I do. But I need you to stop, and think about what it will do to all the people who care about you, if you gave in. Because you do belong in this world. You belong in my world. Because I want to... I want to build a life around you. I want to build a future around you. I mean, less than three hours ago, you agreed to find a place together. Our own home. You, me, Juliana, and one day your father. All four of us, living a happy life. Remember? So I need you to fight, with everything inside you, to not give in. Please."

Those words of love choked at her, again. The feeling in her chest seemed too much. It felt like the only way to make the pressure stop was to tell him. To open her mouth, and let the words fly out. Admitting it to Marcus helped, she knew. But at the same time, it felt like it was only going to grow bigger and bigger, squeezing out even the air in her lungs, until she let them free.

Instead, she smiled at him, squeezed his hand, and nodded. "Okay. I'm going to try to fight."

He closed his eyes again, this time in relief. "Thank you, Babydoll. Thank you, so much."

She let him have his moment, before she sighed. "It's been... a long day. I'm going to get ready for bed. Don't worry about coming right now, if you still have work to do. I'll probably just lay in bed and read, for a bit, okay?"
Steve shook his head. "it's nothing that can't keep until morning." He assured her. "I'll put everything away, and be along, shortly."

Smiling, she nodded. "Okay."

Later that night, when he moved slowly inside her, holding her close, he kept whispering, "Stay with me." over and over. And as the feeling of orgasm rose in her, it joined the love breaking her chest from the inside out, until all she could say was, "I will."

***************

At ten thirty, the next morning, the security guard at the TD Bank, located on Wall Street, opened the door for a smartly dressed blonde woman, carrying a small metal suitcase. She barely acknowledged his, 'Good morning, ma'am', she breezed by him, and into the bank. Her sunglasses were pushed up onto her head, revealing her deep blue eyes. Casting her bored gaze over the lobby, she paused for a moment before going up to the first available counter.

"Good morning, how may I help you today." the bubbly dark skinned woman asked, a white smile gracing her subtly made up face.

"I would like to speak to the bank manager, please. I need to make a rather large deposit into my account." The blonde woman drawled, her accent French.
"I can help you with that, if you would prefer." The woman who's name plate at her station declared her to be 'Amber'.

"Amber? Is it?" the woman raised a delicately sculpted eyebrow. "I doubt you will be able to help me."

"How much were you looking to deposit? And do you have an account with us?" Amber continued on, hoping to avoid bothering the manager, who she did not have a good working relationship with.

The blonde sighed, as if annoyed. "Yes, I do have an account with you, and I want to deposit five hundred thousand."

Amber froze. "Ma'am?"

"I wish to deposit five hundred thousand, into my account. Now, can you honestly help me, or do you not agree it would be better to get the manager?" the blonde woman cocked her head, narrowing her eyes. "Chop, chop. Off you go. I have many things to do today, other than stand here while I watch you try to catch flies with your mouth."

Eyes wide, Amber nodded, barely remembering to grab the keys to her drawer as she scurried away.

Bored, the blonde woman, set the suitcase down, while adjusting her hand stitched leather purse, reaching in to pull out her wallet and her passport. Looking around the lobby of the bank, she sneered at a few of the patrons who were eyeing her.

"Madam," the manager appeared, with a still wide eyed Amber beside him. "I'm sorry, but I seem to be misunderstanding. You wish to deposit how much, today?"

"Do all American's have hearing problems, or is it just you two? I wish to deposit five hundred thousand, in my account, today. This will not be a problem, yes?" The blonde shook her head.

The manager flushed, but shook his head. "No, Madam. But, I must tell you, if you deposit that much-"

"Yes, yes, your pesky federal people will be notified, I am aware. But I do not care." She snorted, waving a hand.

"Then may I see the check, Madam?" the manager swallowed, holding out his hand.

"Check?" The blonde woman frowned. "I said nothing about a check. I said wish to deposit cash."

The manager's eyes darted to the suitcase. "Cash. Five hundred thousand, in cash?"

"Again, do all American's have problems with their ears, or is it just you?" The blonde sighed, irritably. "Yes, cash. There will be no problem with this?"

"No, Madam. Not at all. If you would be so kind, as to follow me?" the manager stepped back, gesturing for her to follow him. "I would ask your name, so we can get that started, and make sure your account is all ready?"

"Reine DuBlanc." the blonde replied, picking up the suitcase, and following the manager.

An hour and a half later, the blonde woman left the bank, the manager personally escorting her out. In her purse was a new bank book, a new bank card, and a statement of her account, which now totaled seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars, the five hundred thousand joining the two hundred and fifty thousand that had sat in the account for the past five years. She nodded her head to him in thanks, and walked out onto the street, turning left at the corner, before crossing. Walking another block, she looked behind her, briefly before turning another corner. There, a black SUV was waiting. Going around to the passenger side, she climbed in, shutting the door firmly behind herself.

"Well?" the driver asked, raising one blonde eyebrow, his forearm resting on the steering wheel.

Reaching up, the blonde tugged at her hair, removing the wig that Merlot had carefully styled and placed on her head that morning, when he had helped her dress and put her make-up on. Pulling the wig cap off, wincing at the pull of the hair pins, she grinned. "It went smoothly. I went in there with a snotty French attitude, and they lapped it up."

Steve leaned over, pressing a kiss to her lips. "Good job, Babydoll."
Brooklyn continued to grin, as she began to untie her hair, letting it fall loose, rubbing at her scalp. "I want a milkshake. Can we go get one?"

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful GF for editing. Vote and comment! let's see how soon i can get the next one out?