Steve Rogers always managed to find solace at the Veterans Café situated off 54th street down a worryingly dark alleyway. It wasn't a particularly pleasant joint. Most of the waitresses looked like they would rather shoot themselves than spend another minute serving the awful pie and bland coffee and the walls were littered with newspaper cuttings from the war years, most of which recounted dismal tales of soldiers losing everything. But Steve still came every Wednesday at noon to buy a slice of cream cake with white coffee and sit by the counter, occasionally making small talk with the elderly former soldiers that were the only other customers.
Today was no different.
Steve slipped into the café, shooting a sympathetic look to the table of men who groaned as the wintry air rushed in and chilled their old bones, and sat down at his usual seat. Lorraine, one of the only waitresses who didn't seem to want to blow her own brains out placed a slice of cake in front of him and began to poured his coffee, smiling.
He settled down and reached for a newspaper, probably left by a previous customer judging by the coffee stains, scanning it without picking up any substantial information. He fell into a daydream, his eyes, glazed over with thought, still sliding over the pages. He sipped coffee and chewed the desiccated cream cake but he paid no heed to his surroundings. Steve was a daydreamer. An intense daydreamer. He could be lost in one thought for hours or his mind could be working a mile a minute sorting through mounds of information. It was one of the things that made his life peaceful.
Cold wind whipped throughout the café, pulling at Steve's jacket, which jolted him out of his trance. He shivered and pulled his arms around himself, taking a drink to warm him up. The clack as the door, which had allowed entry to the wind, was forced shut was followed but strong footsteps, that crept up behind Steve and a man pulled out a chair and sat down two seats away from him.
The man had brown hair that had been messed up by the wind so that it stuck up all over his head. His eyes were steely blue and his stubble was perhaps a few days old. Steve's eyes lingered on his face for a moment too long and the man looked at him, meeting his eyes and showing a half smile before he turned and called a waitress over to get some coffee.
Steve slowly settled back into his own mind set and opened up the newspaper on a fashion page which he pretended to be engrossed in.
After five minutes of peace, he heard a chuckle. "Winter's hottest heels."
Steve jumped out of his own skin and turned swiftly around. The same man was standing, peering over his shoulder with a mug in his hand and a full smile on his lips. Steve looked back down at the paper, which did indeed show an array of women's high heels for this season.
"Well, you know," the man carried on. "Each to their own."
"Nice of you to be so accepting," Steve joked back, trying to keep his embarrassment at bay.
The man sat down in the seat next to Steve and looked him right in the eyes. "I'm Bucky."
"Your name's Bucky?" Steve immediately berated himself for sounding so rude but the man, Bucky, just laughed aloud.
"I'm actually James but that never really worked for me. And you are?"
"I'm Steve," he replied, and not missing a beat added, "I'm actually Steven but I guess that never really worked for me."
"Hi Steven," Bucky smiled.
"Hey James," Steve replied.
The ice was certainly broken and Steve was surprised with how immediately comfortable he felt with Bucky. He talked and acted like an old friend.
"What are you doing in this place?" Bucky asked and lowering his voice added, "I mean you don't exactly look like any of the other customers."
"What could that mean?" Steve laughed, feigning ignorance.
"Well you're a lot cuter for one," Bucky smirked. He must have noticed the deep shade of scarlet that Steve's cheeks turned because he lightly tapped his shoulder with a fist and said, "Kidding. But seriously, what are you doing here?"
Clearing his throat, Steve replied, "I just really like history. Especially wars. Wars are fascinating. And I love war stories." Laughing, he added, "The customers here may not be as cute as me but they all have some great stories to tell."
"Seems like I've uncovered your secret hobby," Bucky said, raising one eyebrow (something Steve had never managed to master).
"Oh, it's no secret. I work at the war museum. Front desk. Astonishingly boring but I get free entry to exhibits on weekends so it's worth it. There's this one great new exhibit they have and it's- why are you looking at me like that?"
Bucky's head was on one side and his eyes were focused on Steve's mouth. "I just love hearing people talk about what they're fascinated about. Ah man, now you've uncovered my secret hobby."
"What do you do?" Steve asked, suddenly worried that he was being boring.
"Unemployed," Bucky replied quietly, taking a long drink of coffee. "No job has worked for me yet. I've dabbled in everything from plumbing to catering to bank robbery but nothing's ever worked out. I am looking though, I'm not entirely useless."
"Bank robbery?"
"Joking, Steve," Bucky laughed.
The next two hours passed in a blur of coffee and conversation. Most of the men had deserted the café once lunch was finished and the place was near abandoned when Bucky stretched his arms up behind his head and began to put on his jacket.
"You leaving?" Steve tried his best to sound nonchalant, despite the pang that hit him at the thought of going back to his apartment alone after such a good talk.
Pursing his lips, Bucky nodded. "I have a job interview actually."
"Wow, how did that not come up?" Steve asked, putting a hand on his new friend's shoulder.
"I've kind of been trying to block it out of my mind," Bucky's brows were furrowed and it was the first time Steve had seen him look anything other than cheery throughout the whole encounter. "I'm so worried, Steve. I really need a job. And soon."
"So what's the job?" Steve inquired, suddenly extremely curious.
"Do you mind if we just don't talk about it right now?" Bucky muttered bluntly, looking down.
"Oh…sorry," Steve shifted in his seat. If there was one thing he hated, it was upsetting good people.
"No, I'm sorry," a sheen of sweat was covering Bucky's forehead but he tried for a smile. "This is just so important. Look, I'm just getting myself all worked up about this for no reason, it's all good. I really do have to head off though." Buttoning up his coat and tightening his scarf around his neck, he stood up and wiped down his face, breathing out heavily. "I've got this."
"You've got this," Steve agreed, offering a compassionate smile.
"You are a good guy Steve. You are a really good guy," Bucky extended his hand and Steve shook it wholeheartedly, beaming. "You gonna be back here? I'd love to see you, well, talk to you again."
"I'm here every Wednesday, noon. I don't work Wednesday afternoons, remember."
"Keep your eyes peeled for me next Wednesday, Steven," he started to walk towards the door.
"Will do James." Bucky didn't turn but he lifted his hand to say goodbye and Steve watched his shoulders shake with laughter.
Steve sat back down, unsure of what he was going to do next. His eyes flicked to the counter, where Bucky had left enough money to pay for all their drinks and food. With a warm feeling in his chest, Steve threw down an extra $5 (the waitresses could do with something to cheer them up) and waved to Lorraine before opening the door and stepping out into the winter.