The sound of the fire alarm overhead at the compound was shrill and painful, piercing through what had been a lovely afternoon on your own without interruption. Of course, no time in peace was guaranteed, and all it took today was one forgotten lasagna in the oven to ruin it. "Dammit," you groaned, waving the smoke away with your oven mitt as you opened the door, "I'm shocked that I can keep anyone alive around here."
"Don't sell yourself short, (Y/N)," Clint smiled from his seat at the table behind you, "you made that turkey a few years ago and no one died."
"Because Grant saved it before we could."
"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. Why are you making so much food anyway?" He stood up and made his way over to you, picking up various dishes and containers to see what you had put in them with a skeptical eye. "Mass murder?"
"Shut up," you hissed, pushing him back with your elbow, "I'm making enough for Steve, Dad, and the kids to get by while we're gone. So...maybe mass murder...now that you mention it..." You furrowed your brow and began to wonder if there was really any point to getting so prepared, and that they could probably survive on take-out just as well, if not better. Most of the rest of the team was set to leave within the next few hours and would be gone at least a week on a mission that would find you on the other side of the planet from home. Steve had done nothing but try to convince you to pass and stay home with him to work on what was happening with your family, shocking you with his determination now when he had just returned from running away in the first place. You needed this mission, you explained, and it would help clear your head to work on things when you got back; you craved the work and to be out of this environment for just a little while. You fully believed that this mission would save what little sanity you had left.
"Ugh," Clint coughed, quickly closing the lid on one of your dishes and spitting out what he had tried to sample into a nearby garbage. "No, you can't feed anyone that, (Y/N). I don't think even Cap could survive that one. Oh! Wait, we should bring this with us! Slingshot this into the Hydra base and we could cut this trip down to a day, max!"
~~~
"Okay, who wants to go first?"
The three kids sat together on one of the lounge couches with Steve on another, all of them looking at each other with anticipation of who would be the first to take the leap and ask him the uncomfortable questions that he wasn't ready to answer. Tony was invited to this as well, but he wasn't exactly feeling up to doing it just yet, so his turn was still to come and Steve already felt that he would have to prepare him before the first question was offered. The feeling of his own children carrying such resentment and anger towards him was a new thing, and he could barely stand it; he could barely look back at their judging eyes, but he forced himself to if for nothing more than to show his attention.
"Why did you come back?" Grant began plainly, his arms folded tight over his chest. He was easily the most energized and ready to take his dad on with everything that he had, and Steve expected no less. He'd likely be proud of his son's tenacity if it hadn't been aimed at him directly.
"Grant!"
"What? It's a valid question. Did you want to start him off soft, B? How about, were you really, really sad?" the boy mocked with a pout. "Is that why you abandoned Mom at the worst time of her life when she's the one who carried Maggie for eight months?"
"You need to calm down," Anthony warned, turning to his brother sharply, "and remember who you're talking to."
"I'm talking to Steve."
"You're talking to Dad," Brooklyn gasped, her eyes darting from him and back to Grant, filled with fear at the retaliation that Steve could bring. "Grant, come on."
"Whatever," he mumbled, turning back to his father, inching forward with each question, "tell us then, Dad, why did you come back now, after two months? Hmm? Is it because Mom had to get you and Grandpa out of jail? Would you have even thought about this place if you didn't need to be rescued? Did you think of anything or anyone other than yourself that whole time? Did you forget that you weren't the only one suffering? Or did you finally realize that maybe the world doesn't revolve around Steve Rogers?"
Now both Anthony and Brooklyn were paralyzed into wide-eyed silence, their mouths agape and their minds stunned, leaving them without the ability to say anything to stop him, or to defend their dad. Anthony pushed himself back into the cushions just slightly, as if preparing himself for the blind rage that was sure to be directed at his brother, beginning to worry that they were sitting too close to each other but he had nowhere to escape to. Brooklyn wanted to look away, but she couldn't; she wanted to call out for you, but her voice was mute.
"Grant," Steve began shakily, his deep breath rattling in his chest, "all of that...you're right to ask those questions."
"Awesome. Here's a bonus round. Why did you destroy our house? Quite a temper tantrum at your age, don't ya think?" he continued to push, watching Steve with a fierce determination and refusal to back down now.
"Woah, Dad, what?" Brooklyn finally joined in. "What did you do to the house?"
"When I got there that first day, I spent a lot of time just going from room to room, looking for something to help me get my head right, to center me," he began cautiously. "But each time I turned a corner, something would set me off, and everything...it all just hurt...and I didn't handle it well, I admit that. I didn't handle this at all, guys. I'm really sorry."
"We're not the ones that you need to apologize to, Dad," Anthony added, making a surprise jump into the conversation with a renewed energy. "All she does now is take care of everyone else. She's constantly moving and keeping herself busy. She hardly ever sleeps. Wanda's been able to get her to take a few hours to rest, but she almost has to sneak up on her to do it."
"Yeah, and now they're leaving soon," Brooklyn agreed, "and you know that she won't get any sleep on a mission, and we're scared that she won't be safe. Dad," she sighed, "I'm sorry to say this, I really am, but if anything happens to any of them, especially Mom...I can't forgive you."
~~~
After deciding that your family could very likely survive better on take-out, you cleaned up the kitchen and hurried to your room to gather your supplies for the mission. Bucky had checked in with you no less than ten times in the last hour to be sure that you were ready, making it very clear to you that he was feeling nervous about his first time being in command of the team without Steve there to back him up. You found it strange that he would be so apprehensive, when he had been on countless missions and knew how the team worked just as well as Steve did; he had given orders before to everyone who would be there with you, some of them even given to you, so you really didn't know where his hesitation was coming from. With a firm pull of the zipper on your pack, you slung it over your shoulder and grabbed your uniform, turning for the door as your phone buzzed yet again in your pocket.
"Buck, I swear, if you don't stop nagging me, we'll never get out of here."
"It's not Bucky," Wanda answered softly. "Can I talk to you before you go?"
"I'm already running late, but if you meet me in the hangar we can get a minute or two." The line closed before you could end the conversation formally, so with a shrug you pushed the phone back into your pocket and hurried towards the lift. Each floor passed at an agonizing pace, but your heart was just the opposite, pounding quickly in anticipation of the work that was ahead of you and the excitement you felt in getting back to it. Even despite your eagerness, there was a dark craving that you held as well, ready to turn off the wife and mother side of yourself in exchange for the leader and assassin that you had trained your whole life to become. The elation that came after a clean kill was a sensation that you hadn't relished before now, and it was calling out to you like an addict in need of a hit. You wanted revenge in some form, and now you were being handed this golden opportunity.
The uniform in your hands was sleek and fit you like a second-skin, the soft texture of the material deceivingly strong even after wear in battle. So much had gone on over the past several years that all you wanted now was a touch of routine and the ability to focus on the job; you felt the urge to suit up so acutely that you almost did it right there in the elevator, but you were stopped when the doors opened to find Wanda there to greet you.
"Hey, I thought we said at the hangar?"
"(Y/N), tell me that you're alright."
"Always," you answered cheerily, "why do you ask?"
"Your thoughts are clear going into this?"
Your energetic mood was quickly dashed at her suggestion that you would be anything other than ready for this job; choosing your answer carefully was important so that she would just back off and let you go. "Wanda, I'm good, I promise. I've been feeling a lot better since Bucky and I have started training and now that we have this mission. It was getting to be too much with Steve gone and Dad being a mess, and everything was kind of pushing me down, but I haven't had thoughts like that for a while now. I don't have any intent, and I don't have a plan. I'm fine."
"Okay," she sighed in relief, "but please don't get angry with me when I tell you this."
"Maximoff, what did you do?"
Wanda took the smallest step back, though it's not that she was actually afraid of anything, it was simply a reflex to the change in your tone. "I did nothing..."
"Wanda."
"I merely asked Bucky to stay close. That's all."
"Did you say why?"
Her eyes darted around the room uncomfortably to avoid yours, but when her gaze came back to focus in your direction, it landed on the uniform in your hands; she tilted her head as she thought about what she was seeing, her jaw setting firmly when she realized what it was that you were going to use for this mission. "(Y/N), that's the uniform that T'Challa gave you, is it not?"
"Yeah," you shrugged, "what does that matter?"
"Did you forget what happened the last time you wore it? Or were you so far out of control then that you've blocked it out?"
You could feel your anger beginning to build at the insinuation that she was making that you would lose yourself again, and at the idea that you couldn't make decisions for yourself. You had kept yourself together for weeks while your family fell apart around you, and it was insulting that she would think that a mission that you were looking forward to would be what could finally make you crack. The last time that you had donned this suit, your emotions were a complete mess right after you were told that Hydra had killed your mother; this was just a routine mission and nothing even close to that. "Move, Wanda. I'm leaving."
She held her ground, her hands up to keep you in place, "okay, I'll move. Just tell me that you're truly ready for this, (Y/N)."
"Wanda, I've never been more ready for anything."
~~~
A few days later, as the battle raged on and at a time when Bucky wasn't at your side, you had a moment flash though your mind when you wondered if maybe your friend was right. Up until that point, the two of you worked together expertly, fighting as a team better than you and Steve ever had. Each day that the team pushed closer and closer to their goal of taking over another Hydra base, your skills felt like they were getting sharper and that your body was finally coming back to its peak after so much time away. It was such a high point for you that you didn't even see this coming.
"Hey," Bucky ran up to you, panting slightly from his own fight, stopping short to look at the scene around him, "(Y/N)? You still with me?"
"Yeah...I am..." you mumbled, shaking your head to bring yourself back into the moment. "I, uh...we're all clear here."
Bucky sighed and caught his breath, carefully pushing his gun into the holster on his thigh, keeping his eyes sharp on the area around him so that the two of you wouldn't be taken off-guard while he tried to figure this out. He had heard about what Tony had seen you do the last time that you lost control, and how you had taken down a full base of enemies on your own, but he didn't fully believe it until right now. A part of him was upset that he hadn't been here to see it with his own eyes, because from the looks of it and from the sheer number of bodies strewn around you, it was pretty damn impressive.
"(Y/N), come on," he said softly, his hand extended, "come with me, okay? Let's go home."
"But we're not done."
"No, we're done," Bucky answered quickly, "we're definitely done. I need to get you out of this."
"Don't tell me what to do, Buck. Please, not you too."
"Honey, I'm not. But look around you and tell me that you're okay."
At your feet laid a man who couldn't have been much older than you, his lifeless stare aimed up at you; even though there was no light behind them anymore, you felt as if he were judging you and the actions that you had just taken to stop him and his fellow agents who were also splayed out in every direction. Each face held its own terror at what you had done to them in their last moments of life, and now, no matter which way you looked, it was as if they had somehow turned to look back and the onslaught of your own grief left you breathless.
"No, Buck," you whimpered, holding your gun out for him to take rather than holstering it, "I'm not okay."