nightcathedral | Hydrogen in our veins, it cannot hold itself, our blood is boiling...

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Hydrogen in our veins, it cannot hold itself, our blood is boiling...

It's a long drive from New York to Boston, and by all rights, she should be tired when she gets in. She's not. She can't stop running over every argument for why they shouldn't even begin to trust the other side, and trying to come up with one she hasn't already presented to Broyles. She can't stop glancing at the boxes of files on her passenger seat, wondering just how familiar the cases in there are going to be.

She takes the turn for the lab without even thinking, and when she realizes it, she sighs faintly, giving up on any idea of not working tonight. After a moment of thought, she reaches over to hit the button to call Steve when she hits the next stoplight.

"I hope I didn't wake you up," she says when he picks up, though she knows by now he sleeps less than she does. "Do you have any plans tonight?"

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"Uh... actually, I thought I might just drop by your place. If... you don't mind, that is. I'd rather not go to the lab and bother Walter this later unless I have to..."

And she's already halfway there, closer to his house than her apartment. But she's not going to say that and make him feel like he has to agree to her invading his place.

"Sure." It's slightly surprised, but not unwelcoming. He pins the phone between his ear and shoulder, quickly emptying the contents of his tea ball into the little container on the counter he uses for compost.

He drops it in cup to clean later, looking around to make sure the place is tidy -

Which it is. He's military, after all, and has never been prone to collecting belongings.

That leaves him to rearrange the books on a side table in the living room to have something to do with his hands. "Are you far from the city?"

Edited 2012-09-13 06:41 (UTC)

"I'm driving through Brighton now. I can be there in fifteen, twenty minutes at most if I detour to grab some food." Which she's doing right now, as a matter of fact...

Olivia pauses, and then adds softly, "Thank you, Steve. For... helping." And for giving her something to think about that's not just how much she hates this accord, and how quickly it's going to go bad. "I owe you one."

It's not hard to read between the lines with her. She's a creature of habit, and this case, it means she was thinking about work and got half way to the lab before remembering herself or the time.

He makes his way back to the kitchen, leaning his back against one of the counters.

The part that makes him happiest - beyond the fact that he knows her well enough to tell - is that she knows him well enough to call and ask for company. That she'd want it in the first place.

"Chinese? Can you ask them to double mine?"

Steve still feels sheepish asking, even if his physical requirements make it a reasonable request.

Edited 2012-09-13 20:52 (UTC)

Olivia smiles again, the expression audible in her tone. She's had enough late nights and food runs with Steve that she would have done it without being asked, but he always does anyway. "Of course. I'll see you soon."

She waits for Steve's goodbye before she hangs up, still smiling faintly to herself.

When she pulls up in front of the house, she stacks the bag of takeout on top of one of the boxes of files and carries it up to the door. It means she has to hit the doorbell awkwardly with her shoulder, but she's not especially concerned with her dignity right now.

Steve opens the door almost at once. He wasn't waiting next to it, exactly - just sitting on the front stairs reading.

He takes the files before anything can end up on the porch, balancing them against his hip and gesturing for her to come in with his free hand.

"I take it things were as tense as ever."

"Thank you." She steps inside, snagging the bag of Chinese food off the top of the box and heading to the table with it. The question gets a wry smile and a weary shrug as she unpacks the cartons, leaving room to set the files down where they can both reach them.

"Well, no one pulled a gun, so that's some improvement. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure the other Agent Dunham came over here specifically to piss me off, so..."

And yes, it worked. It always does.

He touches her elbow lightly, a comforting gesture and more than he'd do for most people, at least in terms of physical contact.

His tone stays light. "She just wants to upset her better half - better whole."

He sets the files down and ducks back into the kitchen for plates and silverware. It's a tic that's gotten made fun of more than once, but he hates using disposable dishware.

He even has reusable chopsticks at this point.

Steve pauses at the table before laying the dishes out, ducking his head to watch Olivia unpack the Chinese, their actions complimenting each other without overlapping. They've done this enough that it's a sort of ritual. "When's this batch from? Recent?"

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself through that little contact, and manages to let some of the tension bleed away as she breathes out. "You're right. I shouldn't let her get under my skin like this..."

She nods as she finishes setting out the food, balling up the bag and walking to the kitchen to toss it in the trash. "Those should be mostly from since you arrived here, so if there's anything you'll recognize, chances are it's in there."

Mostly since he arrived. He exhales, helping himself to both a pile of noodles and a stack of files. These are never pleasant reading. Not that he's unused to unpleasant reading. Once upon a time he told Fury he doubted anything would surprise him any more - he's learned in more ways than he'd like that isn't true.

The first few are comparatively tame fare. Someone merged with a dog, someone else whose consciousness got transferred to a pond who was drowning people in an attempt to reclaim a body. It isn't until he hits fourth plate of food and his eighth file that he stops.

His chopsticks slide out of his fingers and bounce off the edge of his plate to the floor.

Olivia's quickly absorbed in her reading, frowning slightly to herself as she scans the files and makes notes to herself, only occasionally remembering there's food and taking a few bites before she's distracted again.

Her head snaps up at the sound of Steve's chopsticks hitting the floor. She sets her own file down, glancing from Steve's face to the file and back.

"...Steve? Is something wrong?"

"Screamers." The word sticks like chalk to his tongue.

Steve sets the file down, pushing it across the table toward Olivia, trying to touch it as little as possible. They're an old nightmare. One of his. And of all the horrible things he's seen and read about from the other side, he never, never actually expected anything familiar.

"Arnim Zola's psychics." Breathe. Remember to breathe, remember you're not in an underground lab with your friends at the mercy of a lunatic. "During th- During the Second World War, one of Hydra's scientists experimented with... well, with a lot of things. He conditioned peoples' emotions away, gave them mechanical limbs, tried to make them more like machines. It was his way of improving the human design."

What Steve thinks of that is clear in his tone. He fists his hands on the table. "One of his... projects..." Steve nods at the folder. "It's them. It's those. I fought them."

Olivia reaches over to take the file gently, skimming it between repeated concerned glances at Steve. It's easy to forget sometimes that his world was - is? - on occasion as bizarrely horrific as her own, and the haunted look on his face drives the realization home so hard it almost hurts.

She swallows hard and sets the file down, on her far side from Steve, where she'll be sure to remember it later. "We always thought you and I couldn't be the only things crossing between your universe and ours..."

"No. But if it had to be something, I don't-" He grimaces. "I don't see why it had to be them."

The smile he flashes her way is half reassuring and half tired. "Not what I'd pick, but I'm not as creative or as sadistic as fate seems to be."

Next file. Except now he can't focus. He keeps looking back at the one at Olivia's side, worrying over who or what else might have fallen through the cracks between the multiverse.

"If I knew the answer to that, I think I'd lose a lot less sleep at night," she sighs, grimacing as she scribbles a note to herself to look into this, see if the other side has any more information on these things, ask Walter if he has any theories...

Except a part of her is sure she already knows what Walter's likely to say. These things only started showing up on the other side after she went to Steve's universe, the file's clear on that. Which means chances are good she did this, punching a hole between the universes the same way Walter did with his son all those years ago.

Olivia tries to focus on the file she was reading before, but it keeps blurring in front of her eyes as thoughts of Steve's universe worry at her. She keeps glancing over at Steve, a little guiltily - until she looks over and spots Steve looking at the file beside her, and she smiles a little sheepishly at the realization that they've both been doing more or less the same thing just now.

"You think maybe we should take a break?"

He catches her glance when he looks over and grins, his expression matching her own. "Maybe, yeah."

It's strange to have someone around who catches him... well, being Himself at things. He flips his current file shut and stretches. "I have ice cream, provided you've actually eaten."

Olivia sets her own file on top of the box before getting to her feet, taking her plate and chopsticks with her.

"Ice cream sounds great. So..." They need to talk about something that's not a case or either of the other universes. Something normal. It should probably worry her that it's so hard to think of anything that qualifies. "What have you been up to all day? Whatever it is, it had to be better than driving all day to meet up with your evil twin."

...she is so bad at this.

Steve has to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. It takes him a few seconds to get himself under control enough to answer.

"Olivia, don't. We - just don't. I don't think we could sustain what most people call an average conversation for more than five seconds at most."

He gets up to stack the rest of the dishes, trusting her to find her way both to bowls and the ice cream. Not as though she's never been here before.

Steve dumps the dishes in the sink and starts to turn - but there is an Olivia at the cupboards, and he has to catch himself to stop from running into her. Too busy thinking about that file to pay attention to his surroundings. Sloppy.

Except he's not stepping back, despite the fact that she's inches from him, and the last time he was voluntarily this close to a woman -

The last time he was this close to a woman, he was kissing Peggy Carter goodbye.

He looks down, resting a hand on her waist, waiting to see if she pulls away. He won't do more than that, he won't so much as suggest it, but. But. Steve holds his breath. Probably he's being incredibly stupid. Probably he's going to owe and apology in about five seconds.

Olivia starts a little as she turns and finds Steve so close to her, but it's just a momentary surprise - she recovers quickly, and once she does...

She doesn't back away or move to step around him, duck her head and apologize and sidestep like she would normally. Not with the way he's looking at her, something in his expression that makes her go still and hold her breath like she's afraid she might scare him away if she does the wrong thing.

She swallows hard and bites her lip for a second, her eyes never leaving his face. There's a reason she hasn't let herself even consider this, that Steve's only been a friend and a partner no matter what else she might want. But here, with his hand on her waist, it's becoming harder and harder to remember that by the second.

"Steve..."

She's not moving. He's scared. He can't help it. The only woman he's ever loved before, he lost, in the most permanent way he knows. There isn't a universe he's been to that's taken him back in time.

He looks down at his hand, trying to swallow. His tongue feels dry, his hands feel huge, his everything feels awkward and wrong.

Come on, man. It sounds like Bucky.

He slides his other hand around her hip and pulls her against him gently. "I'll stop. Just. Tell me you want me to stop."

Olivia stares up at him for another long moment, heart pounding hard in her throat, breath caught in her chest. They can stop. They can stop so easily now, and never be anything but friends, and when they find a way to get him home... when she loses him...

She lets out the breath she's been holding and swallows again. She's standing here with the bowls from the cupboard still in her hands, which kind of limits what she can do right now, but she shifts forward to press against him, almost cautiously, and shakes her head, a hesitant smile flickering over her face.

"I don't."

When he kisses her, it's with his fingertips against her cheek, his lips barely brushing hers before he leans in. Not a heated moment forced on him between rows of files. Not desperation and sweat and love shared on the brink of one world's ending.

It's shy. Chaste. Gentle exploration that intensifies as he finds he way he fits against her. Steve fumbles the bowls away from her, the rattle of them hitting the counter a brief distraction. A moment to breathe. But one arm is wrapped tight around the small of Olivia's back and they're pinned, body to body, and he can't bear to make himself let go, because he has no idea what comes next.

With her hands free, she winds one arm around his neck, the other hand resting lightly against his chest, fingers just barely twisted into the fabric to pull him closer. Maybe this is a risk and a bad idea, and maybe she's only setting herself up to be hurt in the end, but right now, with Steve's body solid and warm against her, his big hand at the small of her back holding her up, none of that matters. This... This is perfect.

At least, right up until the front door gets kicked in.

Steve knows the sounds of an ambush. His reaction is instinct, superhumanly fast, while in the back of his mind he thinks Olivia will kill him for putting himself between her and danger.

Not that it matters much when the blast from the first gun hits. It's like taking a grenade blast behind the shield - except he's absorbing the impact, and it smashes him past Olivia and through, not into, the sink.

"Steve!"

No time to check if he's alright, if he's even still breathing, she'll just have to trust that he's durable enough and heals fast enough that he can shake off an impact like that quickly.

Her gun's still on the table - too far away, but she lunges for it anyway. She manages to dodge one shot from the attacker moving into the living room, putting a wall between the two of them before he can fire again, but his partner's already heading her off before she makes the dining room.

The concussion slams her back across the kitchen, knocks her into the wall hard enough to make her see stars, and she can't focus, can't breathe, can't get to her feet...

The two men move in cautiously, guns still at the ready.

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