Music is "You're Safe" by Rachel Platten.

Picture is of Notre Dame Cathedral.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hey everyone! I just wanted to give quick update on my grandfather. He made it through the night, and my mom said he was awake, eating, and joking around. We don't know why that means for the future, but for now, he's doing better.

I can't thank you all enough for your prayers! Keep 'em coming! They're working! :) I'll continue to keep posting updates on these chapters.

Love you all and thank you from the bottom of my heart!

Your friendly neighborhood author,
- Royale Wolf, aka SaveTheBrooklynBoys

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CHAPTER TWO: Safe

The next day, a holiday for Grant's school, we take the opportunity to explore Paris a little more. Grant has always loved exploring the historic parts of the city. Ever since he was a small child, he's had a fascination for monuments and museums.

Today we take a walk from our apartment down to the Notre Dame Cathedral. This has always been one of our favorite places in the city. We got to it multiple times a year. I remember the first time. I was when Grant was around ten, right after we moved from southern France to Paris. His eyes were so wide with wonder. I just had to laugh as he ran all around the building, taking pictures with his small digital camera that I had gotten him for his birthday.

Today is nearly the same, though this time Grant has brought his professional camera he saved for over a year for. When we enter the building, he turns to me and says, "Do you mind if I run ahead and take some pictures from the front of the church? The ones I took last time were blurry."

I nod, waving the fifteen year old off. "Go have fun. I'm going to the north rose window."

Grant smiles and nods. "I'll catch up in a few!"

As he runs off, camera in hand, I turn towards the director of the north rose window. It's brilliant colors streaming colored light through the panes of glass. At it's center, Mary and Jesus are circled by the saints and apostles.

A memory comes to mind as I allow the light to shine down on me. I see Bucky, down on one knee, a ring in his shaky hand. "Emma Jane Holmes," he said so many years ago, "this isn't how I wanted this to go. At all. I wanted to take you to Paris and propose to you in front of the rose window in the Notre Dame Cathedral, just like you always wanted."

A smile forms on my face, a sad and nostalgic one. That night was the night of the Expo, the night we went dancing, the night before he left for England. 

"I never wanted to leave, and I hope you know that, but I will come back. I have somethin' that no German can take. I have you, and Rose, and Steve. We have somethin' here worth coming back to. Now I know you'll wait for me. Now I can ask."

I remember his nerves. I remember his shaky hands, his wide blue eyes, his smile that wouldn't go away as I awaited his next words. "Emma, what I'm tryin' to get the guts to ask is... will you marry me?"

I can't explain how many times a day I think about him, about that moment, the moment everything started to head towards its inevitable end. It haunts my dreams, my waking moments, every part of my life. I have never stopped loving him.

A voice pulls me from my trance. "Hey, Mom, are you okay?" Grant looks at me with a nervous expression.

I look from him to the north rose window, explaining, "I've told you that Bucky wanted to propose to me here, yes?"

Grant nods, instantly understanding. "He knew you wanted it."

I chuckle softly. "All I wanted was him." I turn to him, snapping out of my daydream. "Did you get enough pictures?"

Grant's dark eyes look into my grey, looking for a sign that I'm truly all right. "Yep, I took pictures from the front of the church. It's pretty awesome."

I swing an arm around his shoulders, and we walk through the church, stopping at the beautiful statues, windows, and inscriptions. "I remember you've been in love with Notre Dame since you first watched the Disney movie."

Grant nods, placing his camera back into his bag. He tightens the bandana around his head, tucking a strand of dark hair behind it. "We didn't even live in Paris at the time. We still lived in Marseille."

As we continue walking, enjoying the scenic spot, I spot a man behind us in a dark coat and hat. He has dark skin, and sunglasses over his eyes. He seems very out of place in a French historic spot. My grip on Grant's shoulders tightens ever so slightly. My training from my Army and S.H.I.E.L.D. days kicks in: Avoid, evade, escape. If this man is tailing us, I know exactly how to lose him.

I turn to Grant and ask, "Are you getting hungry, darling? I'm about to faint."

Grant's smile widens, and he nods fervently. "I'm dying!"

We turn to exit the church, and I shake my head. "Teenage boys. I'd almost forgotten how much they ate before you grew into one." I laugh aloud as a memory flash across my mind. "I remember Steve used to eat quite a lot when he was your age."

"Scrawny Steve ate as much as me?" Grant scoffs as we walk side by side down the darkening streets of Paris towards our favorite restaurant.

Paris is a beautiful city during any part of the day, but I must say that she is especially radiant during the dusk. The sun is setting over the horizon, causing the buildings to appear darker. The street lamps light the way around, the City of Lights earning her name. Smells of food being prepared fill the air, sounds of music playing at every cafe and street corner. Nightlife in New York isn't like nightlife in Paris. In Paris, everything is safe and everyone is filled with joy.

As I turn to link my arm with Grant's, I catch glimpse of the dark-skinned man in the dark coat leaving the Cathedral after he. He, however, turns to walk to his right, the opposite direction from us. I heave a heavy sigh of relief, able to focus on Grant once again.

"Oh, yeah!" I exclaim. "Steve used to eat way more than his mother could prepare. I remember one time, when I came over, Sarah Rogers made his favorite lamb stew. It was a recipe she had taken from Ireland when she immigrated. He nearly at the entire pot."

Grant and I laugh together, walking into a busy square. We enter a small building off to the side. It's filled with sounds of people, smells of native French food, and the music playing from the live band. We take a seat by the window, able to see the busy people rush by outside. Spirits are high tonight.

I order myself a white wine, and Grant orders a hot chocolate. We're given menus, but we know exactly what we're ordering before they even give them to us. "I'll have the seafood platter," I tell the waiter.

"And I'll have the steak," Grant orders. "With chips."

The waiter walks away with our order, and I laugh at his choice. "With chips."

He nods, looking smugly pleased with his choice of food. "Chips are very important." Our drinks arrive, and we thank the waiter. As I take a sip from my wine glass, Grant stirs his hot chocolate. "So, who was that man back at the Cathedral?"

I set my glass down on the table. "I don't know what you mean."

He gives me a raised eyebrow. "You adopted me when I was four years old, Mom. I know your tricks. I know your tactics. You thought he was following us, didn't you?"

I sigh, knowing I can't trick him. "For a moment, I did. He looked as if he was undercover, and he followed us into Notre Dame. But he left in the opposite direction. He could circle back around, but that doesn't guarantee we'd be where he thought. I think we're in the clear."

Grant takes a gulp from his cup. "You're good."

"Too good."

"When are you going to stop looking over our shoulders, though?" he asks. "We haven't been in America in months, not even illegally. Rose and Peggy haven't talked. We've been careful. We've been ordinary. No one is looking for us, Mom."

I nod, turning to look out the window. "I should know that by now, but something just feels...off. I can't explain it logically, but I've learned over the years to trust my instincts. They're usually right."

"But not always."

I turn back towards Grant as it starts to rain outside. "Not always, yes, but..." I trail off, shrugging my shoulders. "I have to be careful. I have you now. I have to protect my darling boy."

Grant blushes in embarrassment. "Mom, I'm fifteen now. You don't have to protect me anymore."

The food arrives, and the waiter places each dish in front of us. I tuck the napkin in my lap. "Yes, I do."

We say a quick blessing over the food, and Grant starts to shovel the food into his mouth. "Whoa, whoa, you bloody shark," I chastise. "Slow down. No one is going to take the food from you, I promise."

Grant slows down, muttering a small, "Aye aye, Captain," to get a response from me. I glare at him lightly, but it turns into a grin after a moment. "You can't stay mad at me." Grant makes an attempt at an angelic face.

I roll my eyes. "Remember that time you threw your finger paints at Lydia Fiorello in preschool? I remember staying quite cross with you for a long time after that."

Grant scoffs, "I was barely four! And I had just lost my parents and been through a very traumatic event."

"You got them all over her face and in her hair," I laugh, remembering what terrible sight that little girl was when I picked Grant up from the principle's office. "At the time, I was so mad, but now I think of Lydia and just laugh."

"She still does to my school," Grant groans.

"Has she forgiven you yet?"

"Not a chance."

"You were quite a moody little boy when I first adopted you, I must say," I chuckle. "And you didn't speak very much."

"You wouldn't either if your parents had a building dropped on them," he mutters. 

I sigh, placing my fork and knife down. "I didn't mean that, Grant."

He nods, giving a small smile. "I know. It was a long time ago. I'm okay, really. I got the best mom in the world out of it."

I give a loving smile and turn back to my meal. "So, what's on the schedule for this week? Do I need to help you with any projects?"

Grant digs in again and nods. "I have a history paper due in a few weeks. I was hoping you could help me with that."

I smile. "Of course! What on?"

"My topic choices were either Communist Russia or Nazi Germany. Guess which one I chose?"

I laugh heartily as he gives a boyish grin. "Well, my darling, I believe I can help you with the later. I did, after all, live it."

"That's what I was hoping!"

"I could probably tell you a few things even the history books don't know."

"And," he adds, placing his fork down, "I asked my teacher if I could quote you as a source since you're a teacher. He said I could."

I laugh and shake my head in surprise. "I have manuscripts I've written of my time in Russia, Germany, and elsewhere gathering dust in my desk. Feel free to look through any of those as well."

"I thought you were going to publish those," Grant asks, taking a sip from his cocoa. "I mean, you have a journalism degree from the University of California. Sure, it's from the 70s, but it's still good. Why didn't you go through with it?"

I shrug. "Can't publish when the world thinks you're either dead, a myth, or someone else. I can't publish my writings because they're from Lady Liberty's perspective. I'm not her anymore. I haven't been her--"

My sentence is cut short as I catch a glimpse of a figure in a dark coat circling the square outside. He's the same man from Notre Dame. Grant looks out the window, following my wide eyes. "What is it?"

"That man there is the same one from before." I quickly get up from my seat, walking towards the door. "Stay here," I tell Grant. "I'll be back."

I march outside in the rain, eyes scanning the square for others. The square is pretty much empty now, the rain having forced the people to move their celebrations indoors. The man stands on the street corner, a phone against his ear and an umbrella over his head.

I march towards him. He closes his phone and begins to walk away, slowly. "Hey!" I shout. "Hey, you! Stop!" The figure doesn't stop, and he turns into an alley a few meters ahead. "Hey!" I break into a run after him, walking into the same alley moments later.

The alley is completely empty and it ends just a few feet from where I stand. The man is no where in sight.

I run back to the restaurant. I pay for the meal, and hail a taxi from the side of the street. Grant looks at me with worry all over his face. "Mom, what's wrong? Who was that man?"

"I don't know," I reply, pushing my wet, blonde hair from my forehead. "Get in. We're going home."

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When Grant and I get home, the first thing I do is lock all the doors and windows. I use my leftover spy equipment to scan the house for bugs and mics, making sure no one is spying on us. To Grant, I'm sure I must look like a maniac, running around the apartment muttering about radio frequencies and spy satellites.

"Mom," he says after ten minutes of seeing me freak out. He grasps me gently by the arm, forcing me to face him. "No one is looking for us."

I shake my head in disbelief. "Men don't just disappear into dead-end allies, Grant. Something feels wrong."

He sighs, whispering softly, "Go take a bath, Mom. Relax. Call Aunt Rose. I'll bring you a cup of hot chamomile tea after you get out, okay?"

I sigh, dropping my equipment on the counter. "Yeah, you're right," I admit, running a nervous hand through my hair. "I checked everything and everywhere. Nothing is here that I can tell."

"And you're a master spy, so there's nothing to worry about." He hugs me tightly. "You're just stressed out. Go take some time to yourself."

I sigh, patting him on the shoulder as I walk towards my room. "What did I do to deserve you?"

He flashes a smile. "You came to New York in it's worst hour. Thanks to that, I got the best mom ever."

I shake my head softly as I close the bathroom door behind me.

END CHAPTER TWO: Safe.