NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
2015

BLOOD salted June's mouth as she was thrust face-down onto the sparring mat. Breathing hard, she swept a sweaty piece of hair out of her eyes and flipped around on her back to glare at Natasha, who stood over her with a bored jut to her posture.

"That took nothing," Nat said, raising her eyebrows. "What's wrong with you?"

June wiped her lip. "I'm distracted."

Natasha offered a hand. "By?"

"Take a wild guess, Natasha," June snapped, pulling herself halfway to her feet. With a frown, Nat released June's hand and she fell back down, landing on her rear.

"Don't be upset with me," Natasha warned. "If you're going to bitch, bitch to those who deserve it."

June stared up at her. She was irritated, but she knew Natasha was right. "Okay," she mumbled, "okay. I'm sorry. It's not you."

And it truly wasn't. An hour after June had met the rest of the Avengers, Natasha had stolen her away to spar and take her mind off the taxing day. That proved easier said than done, of course, when thoughts of Bucky and Steve and Bruce's theory that Hydra wasn't done with her yet were crowding her headspace. So Natasha beat her once, twice, three times, and June's frustration only grew.

Slapping the mat with her hand, she shot to her feet. "I'm ready."

Nat shrugged, smirked, and lunged at her. Natasha was quick, but her first move was always predictable—she threw a kick at June's chest, but June blocked it swiftly and grabbed Natasha's ankle, attempting to swing her off balance. Nat twisted with it, however, and used the momentum to spin back around and nail June in the stomach. June gave herself half a second to recover, then closed the gap between them. She drove her knee into Nat's abdomen, one, two, three times before aiming a blow at her jaw. Natasha dodged the strike and swung her foot into June's hip, bone hitting bone with sickening pain.

"Damn it," June hissed, wincing. Natasha was too concentrated to remark.

June evaded another kick, and fierce as a wildcat slammed her fist into the side of Natasha's knee. With a sharp cry, Nat recoiled, and June used the momentary vulnerability to sweep her other foot out from under her. Natasha fell flat on her back with a groan. Breathing hard, June stood over her, winded, but feeling slightly better. "Did you let me win?"

Rubbing at her leg, Natasha gave a dry chuckle. "No, I didn't. But if you tell Clint I lost a fight—"

"I'll just tell him about the three times you kicked my ass." June grinned and helped Natasha to her feet.

"Thanks." Natasha brushed a lock of crimson hair, darkened with perspiration, behind her ear. "See, now don't you feel better?"

June shrugged, reaching for a water bottle. "I guess so. It would be great if I could punch away all of this other crap."

"You're gonna have to talk to Steve."

"Not today I'm not," June shrugged, expression blank.

Natasha sucked in her cheek. "Fine. Go shower and meet me in the lounge outside the lab. We'll go get dinner."

"Okay," June sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I'll see you."

She made the long trip to her room, a hike that was almost mechanical at that point, passing the dozens of rooms and floors that even Tony could not find a purpose for. June locked her door behind her and stripped down to her underwear, glad to be free of the sweat-soaked shorts and t-shirt. She slid into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and undressed fully. June stepped into the massive walk-in shower and relaxed enough to enjoy the cool water rolling down her shoulders. She scrubbed herself clean and worked her fingers through her mess of hazel hair, lathering every tress with a pomegranate-scented shampoo that Tony had bought because he liked the smell, but not on him, and Pepper didn't like pomegranates, so he thought June should use it. To avoid further nonsense, she'd taken it.

She emerged from the shower refreshed and relieved to be clean. June grabbed a soft white towel off of a hook and buried her nose in it, an (admittedly unhealthy) habit she had picked up once she had realized Steve and Tony used the same laundry detergent. It reminded her of Bucky as well. Once dry, June washed her face, combed through her hair, and blowdried the locks enough for their natural waves to resume. She pulled on a pair of jeans, a clean shirt, and the first pair of old tennis shoes she could find. Satisfied, June stole one last look in the mirror and remembered a time—just after Hydra expelled her—when she was too dead inside to even drag herself out of bed. Bathing had been a chore and wearing anything other than pajamas was impossible. June smiled softly at her reflection. She was far from perfect, but she was equally far from where she used to be.

The lab was a few floors below her room, but only a quick elevator ride separated them. June stepped out into the lounge, searching for Natasha. Upon realizing she hadn't yet arrived, June turned towards the ring of couches that laid in the western wing of the massive room and came face-to-face with a pair of ghostly blue eyes that she had been hard-pressed to forget.

"Steve?" she whispered, her voice hardly audible over the blood pounding in her ears. The shock was overwhelming, her brain not quite understanding who was before her; it was someone long separated from her soul.

Steve held her stare for longer than she could stand. He examined her, calculating like a hawk, his brow knit in apprehension. "June," he murmured. "Hi."

"Sorry," June said, stirring uncomfortably. "Nat told me to meet her here—we're gonna grab dinner."

Steve frowned, tilting his head. "She told me to meet her here." A flicker of realization crossed his face, and he sighed. "Jarvis," he called, "where's Nat?"

"I believe she and Mr. Barton are in her room watching The Real Housewives of New York City," J.A.R.V.I.S. replied calmly.

June was immediately furious at Natasha. She couldn't believe it--Nat had actually tricked her into the same room as Steve. It was smart, June had to give her credit, but that did not mean her plan had to work.

"I'm sorry," June muttered, still very stunned. "I didn't know she did this. I need to go."

She turned on her heel and practically ran for the elevator. She only made it halfway, however, before Steve croaked, "Wait. Please."

Almost mechanically, June stopped, her back still to him. A pit of fear settled in her stomach, and her hands clenched nervously. "Steve, I don't think—"

She broke off when she felt his fingers brush her arm. For all her advanced hearing, June had not heard him approach. She whipped around, heart hammering so quickly she thought her chest might burst. Steve gazed back at her with regret set deep in his eyes. "Just . . . hear me out."

His words spiked rage in June. She narrowed her eyes. "Hear you out?" she said softly. "You want me to hear you out? After I tried and tried to explain to you what happened nine months ago and you blew me off every time? That's pretty fucking bold of you, Steve. You kicked me out of the apartment and you haven't spoken to me for nearly a year. Why should I listen to anything you have to say?"

"Because I want to fix things," Steve said at once. "I can't stand . . . I can't stand us not talking."

"You seemed to be able to," June seethed, "as soon as Bucky came back."

"I—June—you can understand why Bucky coming back might take up most of my attention, can't you?" Steve asked, hands on his hips. "Anyway, it didn't exactly last."

June scowled and folded her arms over her chest. "What do you mean?"

Steve didn't meet her eye. "Well . . . you would know. He came to stay here. I'm just surprised I haven't seen him yet."

June shook her head slowly. "He came here once and then left. I thought he was with you . . . ." Reality dawned on her. Bucky was on the run again. He hadn't gone back to Steve's apartment like he promised--he was on his own once again.

Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We'll worry about that in a minute. What I wanted to say was . . . I mean, you don't have to listen but, I really am . . . sorry." He inched slightly toward June, eyebrows raised hopefully. "I should have listened. I guess I was just . . . angry that Buck wouldn't . . . wouldn't want to see me after all that time. It never occurred to me that he'd be scared. I was selfish. Am selfish."

June shifted her weight, eyes glued to the floor. She had anticipated Steve apologizing would bring her immense satisfaction, but it only provided perspective for how pointless the whole feud had been; they were both responsible for each other's hurt, to an extent, and in their sulking had somehow managed to miss the fact that Bucky had been on the lam for the past nine months. June resorted to a nervous habit of wringing her hands, dreading what she was about to say. "I suppose you weren't expecting to, uh . . . find us . . . the way you did."

A crease returned to Steve's forehead, and for a moment he wore the same look of quiet misery he had back in the hallway outside his apartment. "I can't say that I was," he murmured, voice bleak. "June, there's something I—"

"Steve," she smiled softly and held up a hand, "it's okay. I think I . . . I think I know."

His cheeks went pink and his mouth twisted sheepishly; he laughed dryly. "Well, with a smile like that, who could blame me?"

Now it was June's turn to blush. To cover it, she shook her head and pulled him into an embrace. Steve's arms wrapped around her and made her feel very small. His crisp scent—the real thing, now—filled her nose and reminded her of the first real home she'd ever known. June was so happy to have him back, she thought she might burst into tears. She was very puzzled when Steve began to pull away, but relaxed when he released her just enough to see her face. Somehow June knew what was coming next. Her chin inclined and his head dipped and their lips touched for all of three seconds. When they broke apart, June mustered a smile, but guilt raged on inside her like a monsoon. Steve's face remained solemn. "Do you still have feelings for him?" he asked quietly.

June blinked. The answer was already on her lips. "Yes."

She expected anger. She expected hurt, or protest, or even tears. But Steve only pulled her back into a hug. "It's okay," he whispered, "really. I'm just glad to have you back."

June sighed. "Me too."

For the first time in a very long while, June felt some semblance of peace.

note.
i have two things to say: number one—if any of you comment rude things about June for kissing Steve, your comments will be deleted. I won't tolerate shaming of any kind. she's not married to bucky, they're not even officially couple. and steve and her have finally resolved their issues somewhat. so chill. number two—don't @ me for writing a character whom both bucky and steve are attracted to. it's my damn fantasy and you're gonna let me live it out thank you goodnight