In the Still of the Night

Chapter One: Serenade in Blue

Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America or any other character/name you recognize in this chapter or the chapters to come, it's all owned by Marvel.

A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first Captain America story, In the Still of the Night. This will be a multi-chapter story, I'm not sure exactly how many chapters but I have a pretty solid outline already pre-written that is 9 pages single spaced, so anticipate many chapters to come! Fair warning: I'm not always a quick updater so please be patient.

Just a few housekeeping notes to be aware before you start reading the story, if you please:

- I'm basing this mostly on the movie-verse so things like dates and character's backstories are based on the ones from the movies, although maybe one or two things come from either the comics or my own invention. I've tried to stay as close to canon as possible, but I'm not an expert on all things Marvel so if things aren't canon then just bear with me.

- This story takes place after the events of The Winter Soldier, about two months since the end of the movie.

- Rated T for future chapters: moderate violence, swearing, and mild sexual content.

And, as always, reviews, favs, and follows are much appreciated! :)

-PenPaperParadise

Chapter One: Serenade in Blue

He wasn't exactly sure why he wanted to go back there, although he knew he couldn't ignore the constant nagging in the back of his mind that kept telling him to go back. Maybe there was something there that would help him, but he doubted that; going back to the Captain America exhibit in the Smithsonian usually reopened old wounds and every time he left the museum, he felt even lonelier than he had before. The faces and names and photographs he recognized haunted him, and at night he sometimes saw them swirling around in a hazy mist when he drifted in and out of sleep and being awake. But Steve couldn't ignore that still, small voice that called to him; and when his heart tells him something, he almost always listens to it, because it's almost always right.

So Steve somehow found himself wandering inside the red, white, and blue-adorned exhibit with pictures of his face everywhere. Steve knew by now that he had to go there incognito, wearing a hat and keeping his head low. He also visited during the busiest times - usually a Saturday afternoon - because that way he can blend into the crowd easier. Once in a while, though, a perceptive little kid (usually wearing a shirt or hat with the symbol of his shield on it) would stare at him knowingly, and Steve would just smile a little and subtly give the kid the "shush" sign. The kids always obeyed, and Steve wondered about that. Maybe kids are just smarter than adults give them credit for.

He used to visit the museum fairly often before the...well...he hadn't really thought of a name for it; "The Incident" sounded a little too mysterious and dime store novel-ish, but he also didn't want to call it "That time when I almost died because my best friend who I thought was dead nearly killed me and I spent two weeks in recovery." Well, I don't necessarily have to name it, he realized.

Steve wandered between the roped-off mannequins wearing old uniforms and the murals of fallen Howling Commandos painted on the walls. Eventually he found himself stopped in front of the large black-and-white photograph of Bucky. He always did this. He always stood in front of the pseudo-memorial for his best friend, staring wistfully into Bucky's eyes, wishing (and maybe even praying) for the moment when Bucky would go back to being the old Bucky, no longer the Winter Soldier. The Winter Soldier who brings death and destruction and fear with him wherever he goes. Steve held on desperately to the hope - even the ghost of a hope - that if Bucky became his old self again, there would be another person on this planet who would know what it felt like to be displaced in time. To be culture-shocked by his own culture. To yearn for someone to understand his point of view, his values - the values he held onto long ago and still have not been altered by this new time period.

Living with Sam as he was now, Steve mainly used his time to do two things: help rebuild SHIELD or look for Bucky. The former was, surprisingly, easier than the latter because any information on the Winter Soldier was very hard to come by. Maybe that's why the back of his mind kept telling him to come back to the museum, maybe there was something here on Bucky that he completely missed -

"That's Bucky Barnes."

Steve's depressing inner musings were interrupted by a feminine voice. He turned to his left and saw a young woman standing next to him, hugging a clipboard to her chest, smiling.

"James Buchanan Barnes, he was in the hundred and seventh. Fought right alongside Captain America himself." She paused for a second, looking at Steve. Her smile faltered a little when Steve only blankly stared at her. "I...only clarified because you were looking at his picture...with kind of a weird face...so..."

"Oh, um..." Steve was a still in his reverie a little so speech suddenly became more difficult than it should be, but he found himself a little amused by this woman. "Right. Sorry, I was just reading about..." He indicated the block of white text next to Bucky's picture.

"Right! Right. Of course," she said, clutching her clipboard closer to her, clearly somewhat embarrassed. "I just...you looked so...never mind." She started to walk away, flustered, saying, "Sorry, I didn't mean to ruin your day -"

"No, it's fine," Steve interjected, and she stopped, turning back around to look at him. "You didn't ruin my day. You made it a little more informative, actually," he added, grinning slightly.

She smiled shyly back. "Well...I'm glad. Museum curators are notorious for beating everyone over the heads with historical facts and dates and such. Looks like I'm living up to that stereotype."

"You're a curator?"

"Yep, I work here at the ol' Smithsonian," she answered, lowering her clipboard to show Steve her little I.D. badge attached to the lapel of her blue blazer. Steve noticed that her outfit was smart - a tailored business suit with a navy pencil skirt and blazer, a white dress shirt, and black heels. She gave off the air of importance, but certainly not intimidation. Her pearly white smile and lively green eyes made her look friendly and approachable. As he looked her over, Steve made the observation that she was also quite...pretty. Her hair was light brown with natural highlights that looked almost gold in the light, and was tousled with curls and rested a little past her shoulders. She was a fair height, too: not too short and not too tall. And she even had a little dimple in her right cheek when she smiled.

"I helped a lot with this exhibit," she continued, causing Steve to look back up into her eyes. "I guess that's why I'm a little eager to talk about it. I specialize in World War II history."

"Really?" Someone who speaks my language, then, Steve thought jokingly in the back of his mind. "How interesting. So you learned all about Captain America and his past, I'm guessing?"

"Yes, and he's one of my favorite people in history to learn about," she said, practically beaming. "He has such an interesting involvement in the war. Although, we don't know a lot about his past before the war -" Thank God, Steve thought, "- but we've been finding little tidbits here and there. In fact, last week we found a piece of a document that dates back to..." She stopped suddenly, looking at Steve and then started to laugh. "I'm talking way too much...aren't I?"

"Yes," said Steve honestly, "but I like hearing what you've got to say."

She looked at the floor, blushing faintly. She looked back up at him and then gave him a strange look. "You know...you look kind of familiar," she observed.

And, there it is. "Yeah, I actually get that a lot," Steve chuckled. "People say I look like him all the time."

"Captain America?"

"Captain America."

"Well..." her eyes followed him up and down. "There is a resemblance...But, then again, when you spend weeks and weeks at a time poring over one person's life then I guess everybody starts to look like that person."

"I guess so," he said, smiling. She looked into his eyes. Her green eyes really were pretty. Heck, one might even go so far as to say that they're beautiful...

After a few moments of them just staring at each other, the woman caught herself and looked down, embarrassed yet again. "I...I should be going. I have exhibits to look at, you know how it is. Well, I mean, you don't know how it is, you're not a curator, but, um..."

"Steve." He grinned when she looked at him curiously. "My name is Steve."

"Oh!" she exclaimed softly. "I'm Vera."

"Vera," Steve repeated as they shook hands. Pretty name, he thought. "I'm sure I'll meet you again soon."

"Are you?" she asked, jokingly but also a little seriously. "Because curators don't leave the museum much..."

"Then I'll just have to come back again to the museum, won't I?"

Vera smiled again - softly, genuinely. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Another eventful day for Captain Rogers?"

Steve smirked as he threw his keys onto the side table by the door. Sam was never going to stop being a pain in his ass. "You might say that."

"Yeah?" Sam, who was standing at the stove and frying eggs – pretty much the only thing he knew how to not burn - looked over at Steve. "Usually when you get back from the museum you don't say a word to me."

"Yeah, well..." Steve rubbed the back of his neck. Sam was staring at him with a sly little grin, knowing something's up, and suddenly Steve didn't really feel like getting made fun of by Sam. So he had to hide his smile when he thought of Vera. "It was...just a good day, I guess."

Sam turned back to the stove, though Steve had the feeling the shit-eating grin hadn't left his face.

"Mmm-hm."

"I'm serious, Sam."

"Mmm-hm."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Sam. Nothing happened, okay? I went to the museum...and...then I left..."

Sam was clearly trying hard to stifle his grin. "And you didn't...meet anyone there or anything?"

"Why -" Steve paused. "Why would you say that?"

"Oh, I don't know. You just seem...different, is all."

"Different how?"

Sam looked over at him.

"...Happy."