Hi, everyone, I know it's been a while, but here's chapter 3 at last. But first. THREE reviews on the last chapter? Compared to the 13 I've received on the first so far, this is just not good enough. You can do way better than just 3. :) Anyway, I must say a huge thank you to all of you who did review. You rock! And once again, I have to thank my wonderful beta, Scarlett Kingston for helping me with the story. I hope you will all like it. Enjoy!
Steve asked the taxi driver to drop him off a few blocks from his apartment. He wasn't afraid of people knowing his address nor was he embarrassed about it. He only felt like taking a short walk, just to stretch his legs a bit after the long ride. He would often stroll around the neighborhood whenever he had the time. Not only was it relaxing, but on many occasions it provided Steve with inspiration required to draw. What ended up on the paper didn't have to be anything out of the ordinary. He was able to grab the essence of the most everyday scenes on the streets, be it a man reading a newspaper on a bench, or the rustling leaves around a naked tree.
Steve glanced at his watch. It was nearing eleven o'clock. He looked out the side window to the empty streets. Most of the neighborhood had retired into the comfortable warmth of their homes, and with good reason. The temperature wasn't as friendly as it would have been on a summer night. One of the reasons why he had decided to live in the suburban part of D.C. rather than other places was because of the atmosphere of the community. He wasn't thrust into the limelight. People didn't care whether or not Captain America lived on their block. Actually, he was certain most people, at least before the S.H.I.E.L.D. fiasco, had no idea where he lived.
The street lights that flashed by the window as they drove slowed their progression and he felt the vehicle's speed decrease. They pulled over at a small park. When Steve paid for the ride he tipped the elderly driver generously, who nodded his head toward the soldier in appreciation. As he watched the yellow cab fade away in the distance he wondered if Matt, Steve had learned his name on the way, had recognized him as Captain America. His shield must have given him away, but the man hadn't said a word about it. Steve appreciated the respect. He was grateful for having an utterly average ride without having to talk about his past or the Avengers. Unlike Tony Stark, Steve Rogers wasn't very keen on being in the spotlight.
He threw his bag over his shoulder and grabbing his shield, he headed toward his apartment block. It was about a ten minute walk, not too long, but long enough for his mind to wander. He crossed the street and began to stroll down the sidewalk, thinking as he went about nothing in particular. It smelled fresh outside. It had rained earlier in the day and now the clouds no longer covered the sky. The morning would be stingingly chilled. Further down the road, he began to shiver. It was quite a bit colder than in summer. His coat zipped up, a tinny, metallic noise bursting out. The noise of the zipper and the crinkle of his windbreaker were loud as they rang into the nighttime air which was odd. Steve glanced around. There really was no one out tonight, there weren't even any cars driving down the street. They were all huddled next to the curb, their lights dark and cold.
He walked past the metal fence that surrounded the park. The swings squealed on their hinges as the wind blew them back and forth and the remaining yellow leaves on the trees crackled and clapped. Steve shivered again and lowered his head, watching his footfall. Even the quiet noise of his steps were audible on the wet pavement. A chill ran down his spine, the back of his neck felt icy, almost a burning, freezing sensation. His pace quickened.
Only when he reached his apartment block did Steve realize that he had walked almost twice as fast as he normally would. He ascended the stairs, pulling out his key from his pocket. Before placing it in the lock he looked behind him, scanning the silent street. He couldn't help but feel as if a veil had been thrown over it. Shaking his head, he thrust the key into the keyhole, but before he could firmly grip the handle he felt the barrel of a gun pressed firmly against his back. Steve exhaled deeply and stilled. His jaw clenched. It wasn't the first time he had been snuck up on. But whoever it was, he had chosen the wrong person to mess with.
Steve began to shift his weight to the left, turning his head in attempt to glance behind.
"Don't even think about it."
The muscles of his back and shoulders stiffened. His blood froze and his arm dropped beside his body as he put the realization into words, "Bucky."
"One move and I'll pull the trigger." His voice was haggard but stern and cold. Although Steve could identify the voice as Bucky's, it still had that unfamiliar edge to it.
"I know you wouldn't," Steve calmly said. He was hoping he could convince his friend, make him somehow snap out of the trance he had been put into.
Bucky didn't answer. Good or bad, Steve couldn't tell, but maybe his words were reaching his friend. He didn't want the chance slip away, so he quickly added, "This isn't who you are, Bucky. You need to remember. It's all in there, you just have to dig it up."
Steve felt the pressure of the gun lighten for a second before it was pushed against him twice as hard as previously. A twinge of pain ran across his skin. If there had been a spark of doubt in Bucky for the briefest of moments, it was gone already.
"Don't come looking for me ever again, or I swear to god, I will kill you. You and your friend both." So they had been on the right track, Steve realized. Otherwise how would Bucky know about Sam? They had been so close, all along.
"Please, let me help you," Steve pleaded. Bucky was right there behind him. With him. There mightn't be another opportunity. He had to make the most of it.
"I don't need anybody's help. I'm telling you one last time. Stay away."
Before Steve had the chance to utter any reply, the gun was pulled away from him and he knew that it was over. He turned around, only to see the empty street again. He drove his gaze from block to block, hoping to catch a glance of his former friend. It was too late. Bucky had already vanished, once again.
Natasha's eyes shot open the very moment the first rays of the morning sun fluttered over her skin. She blinked a few times, letting her vision adjust, but then pushed the covers aside and sat up. She ran a hand through her tousled hair and reached for her phone on the bedside table. Her finger swiped hastily across its surface. Still nothing. It had almost been another eight hours. Natasha bit her lip. If Clint had had the opportunity, he would have already called her. Even a simple 'I'm OK' message would have done it, but her screen shone blank. Lowering her phone, her eyes glazing over, many thoughts began to overwhelm her. She needed to find him, so why did it feel like she was procrastinating? Was she . . . fearful of what truth may be? Clint needed help though, if it wasn't already too late. But what if it was? What would she do if he - . . . She quickly shook her head to get rid of the latter thought. She set her phone down on the bed.
Giving a soft sigh and standing up, Natasha pulled out clothing from her wardrobe, a simple, red, long sleeve top and navy blue jeans. She unplugged her laptop from the wall and made her way out towards the dining table. She took a deep breath to collect her thoughts. She replayed every conversation with Clint from the past week, hoping to find a lead she could begin with. Last time when Clint had called, he said he was in Zürich. He had told her he rented a suite in Hotel Seehof. She would start there, then slowly make her way around the city, looking for anything that seemed out of place. She typed in the name of the hotel in her browser. The building itself was average, it didn't call much attention to itself, maybe apart from its light red color. It was close to the city center, a good place to stay if you wanted to lay low. Smart, Natasha thought with a lopsided smirk.
She scribbled down the address on a piece of paper and shut her laptop. There was still much more to know and the pangs of uncertainty made her heart thump loudly against her chest, but she wouldn't be able to uncover anything else until she arrived in Zürich. There was only one thing left. Calling Steve. She knew it would've been foolish to attempt a rescue mission on her own. Especially this one. Clint was well trained, but if whatever he had gotten himself into was too much for him to handle alone, there was no way she could. She needed backup. Though Steve was likely to still be in a mourning state and might not wished to be bothered by her problems, there was no one else to which she knew to turn. He was her partner and, more importantly, her friend. Natasha's finger hovered over the dial button. No. She wouldn't call him. She would go over to his apartment and ask him in person. The chances of his accepting when she was with him were higher than just a voice over a phone, though he'd be likely to help no matter what. At least this way, she could show him how much this case truly weighed on her mind.
She spent the next fifteen minutes hurriedly getting ready for the day and packing a worn dufflebag, only throwing the necessary items into it. While brushing her teeth, she glanced at the traffic report for the morning. Not bad, but not great either. The car ride to Washington D.C. was around four hours long, but she could make it in three as long as the city police weren't too active . . . or having a bad day. There was a black Corvette Stingray in front of her apartment for that. Deciding she would grab something to eat at a drive thru on the way, Natasha zipped her bag and hurried out of her apartment.
When Steve went on his usual run in the morning, he took a longer route. Bucky's visit last night weighed heavily on his mind, so much so that it formed creases in his brow. He was angry at himself for not seizing the opportunity differently when it came. That anger lead him as he ran as fast as he could, testing his limits. His heart was pounding against his chest, louder than gunshots. He had made a promise to save him. Was he going to fail at this one, too? He clenched his teeth and increased the tempo.
Although he had traveled a significantly longer distance, the time taken to return home took little over ten minutes. After arriving upstairs, he shut the door to his apartment, his head thumping softly on the wood as he leaned back against it. He cast a quick glance at the clock on the wall; he was already late. Pushing himself off the door, he stripped off his shirt, tossing it by the washer on the way to the shower. He quickly washed off the sweat and dust, scrubbing his scalp and body, and then got dressed in his usual outfit. Khaki pants, white t-shirt, blue jacket. Both Natasha and Sam had tried to talk him into updating his wardrobe, and he even did to some extent. He had bought a pair of Vans. But there were these modern skin tight jeans and different kinds of distasteful shirts that Steve found rather repelling. He wanted to stick with more ordinary and mature clothing.
Sam had already been waiting for Steve when his motorcycle rolled in front of the café. After the Project Insight accident, Sam and he had become quite good friends. They were both soldiers sharing similar experience. This gave Steve some comfort, knowing that he could talk freely about his past and have it understood without the need to explain every little detail. They would both start the morning with a run, usually separate, and then breakfast afterwards at the same café. Sometimes they would share different moments of their lives, other times they merely sat in each others' company in a mutual understanding. After they had been on the road for the past months looking for Bucky, it was nice to get back to that routine.
"Hey, man," Sam greeted with a wide grin when Steve stepped inside. He stood from his chair to shake hands with his friend.
"Hi, Sam," Steve replied and the two of them took their seats across the table.
"What took so long? You're supposed to run a mile in fifteen seconds and I been sitting here for like ten minutes, already. Usually it's me to arrive later, what happened?" Sam's tone was light, not suspecting anything behind the situation. Before Steve could answer a waitress arrived at their table.
"Morning, boys. What can I get you today?" Her nametag read Kate. She was always the one to serve Steve and Sam whenever they visited the café.
"Just the usual," Steve answered. He raised his eyebrows toward Sam who nodded in affirmation.
"Alright. I'll have that for you shortly," Kate smiled and left to get their orders. Steve watched her until he was sure she was out of earshot before turning back to Sam.
"Last night Bucky surprised me at my apartment."
The smile immediately disappeared from Sam's face and was replaced by a deep concern. He leaned in, his voice now serious as he asked, "What do you mean he surprised you at your apartment? He knocked on your door or what? Don't tell me he shot through your wall again 'cause that be a real shame, man."
"He pointed a gun at my back before I could even step inside the building." Steve explained, his eyes fixed on the glass of ice water in front of him, small frigid droplets condensing on the outside.
"After all that time we been tryin' to find him, he just shows up at your door saying what exactly?" Regarding Sam's earlier involvement with the Winter Soldier, he was as concerned about Bucky as Steve was.
"He told me to stop going after him."
"Wait, so you mean to tell me that he had known we were following him all along?" As soon as Sam put the picture together, his features drew into an annoyed frown.
"It seems so." Steve nodded. "And now it looks like he's had enough."
Sam opened his mouth to speak, but then he saw Kate approaching their table. She was carrying a tray that held two plates in her right hand, one with pancakes on it, the other with french toast. In the left she was holding a pitcher of orange juice. It was normal to only serve single glasses of a drink in a café, but having come so frequently to this particular one, they just gave them a pitcher. They always finished it anyways.
"Here you go," she said smiling. As she placed the food in front of them, Kate asked if they needed anything else. Both men said no thank you and that this was perfect. She nodded and left to serve other tables.
"So, he told you that we quit following him," Sam switched back to their previous topic.
"Yeah," Steve sighed and leaned back in his chair. Sam could hear the painful acceptance in his tone.
"So we don't." Sam simply stated. He picked up the fork and knife and began to cut into his food. "He needs help. Our help."
"He said he'd kill us both. If it was only me, I wouldn't care; it would be worth trying. But I can't risk your life, Sam. This isn't your fight, it never was." Steve grabbed the napkin and unfolded it, placing it on his lap as he began to eat.
Sam swallowed the bite of pancake that filled his mouth. "Like hell it isn't." He raised his voice, still chewing somewhat. "That son of a bitch tore my wings. He nearly killed me." He took a swig of the orange juice and returned back to his food.
Steve shot a furious glance toward Sam. "That 'son of a bitch' is still my friend."
"No, right now, he isn't," Sam continued, pointing his fork at Steve. "He threatened to kill you, and that ain't something friends do." He didn't want to argue with his friend, but wasn't going to back down. There was a brief moment of silence as the two men ate.
"The Bucky I knew is still in there," Steve thought out loud. He looked to Sam. "He wouldn't kill me. He'd had the chance before, but didn't do it." He had already made up his mind, he just wanted Sam to understand.
"Yeah, but he couldn't recall he used to play catch with you in your backyard, either." Sam stuck another bite of pancake into his mouth, waiting for Steve to respond.
"We already tried to make him remember, but he refused to let us. Whatever's going on in his head right now, he's going to have to deal with it alone." Steve was adamant. Sam needed to realize there was not an outcome of this conversation where he could persuade him.
"If that's what you think you need to do, I'm with you, man." Sam spoke calmly. It was ultimately up to Steve to make a choice. And it seemed like he had.
"It is." Steve confirmed. He took another bite of his french toast. He understood why Sam wasn't keen on the idea of leaving Bucky out in the open, alone, but he believed it was the best - and likely only - thing they could do at the moment.
Sam's gaze lingered on Steve, scanning his look. The decision was final. "Alright, then. I seriously hope he doesn't prove you wrong though." He took another drink of the orange juice.
Strained silence choked whatever pleasent conversation they could've had as they finished their breakfast. There was nothing left to say, both of them had made their point clear. They could only hope that Bucky was somehow going to find his way back home, eventually.
"I've been wanting to ask you something," Sam said after a good deal of silence. He pushed his empty plate forward, leaning back in his seat.
"What is it?" Steve asked. The tension of the earlier conversation had finally settled, having returned to the usual friendly manner.
"It's about the Avengers," Sam offered a hint and a grin, as Steve took another mouthful.
"What about 'em?" Steve raised his eyebrows as he chewed, clueless.
"Well, I was thinking that we been working together for quite some time now and," Sam paused for a second to find the right words. "Well, maybe there's a chance I could join the team?"
Steve didn't look as surprised as he actually was. He hadn't really been thinking about the Avengers lately, so Sam's suggestion hadn't crossed his mind yet. Steve placed his fork and knife on his now empty plate, grabbing the napkin and wiping the corners of his mouth. "I don't know Sam, it's not up to me. Besides, you don't have your wings anymore, remember?" He crumpled the paper-thin cloth and set it on the table surface.
"Oh, come on, man. Stark could probably make another one of those. Maybe even improve it. Put a little design to it. I'm sure you could say a word or two for me."
Steve thought about what Sam said, as he finished off the pitcher of orange juice. "Yeah, I suppose I could." The idea itself was quite reasonable. The Avengers could definitely use another man in the air. It would provide with much more creativity during fights in the future.
"Now, we're talkin'!" Sam's grin widened, his eyes flickering with excitement, as he reached across the table giving Steve a hard clap on the arm. The man let out a small chuckle. Ever since he had retired, Sam had missed being in the middle of the action and now he had an opportunity to get back in, and on the side of Captain America.
"Hi, Cap. What's up?" Tony's voice was light and negligent, like usual. He had a rough start with Steve, but had managed to bury the hatchet as they learned how to work as a team.
"Hey, Stark," Steve said as he walked up the stairs to his apartment. He dialed Tony's number as soon as he had gotten home from the café. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"You're not. Go ahead."
"I would like to ask you a favor. Two, really." Steve sounded hesitant, afraid of what the reaction might be. He turned the key in the door and swung it open.
"Why do I have the feeling that I'm not going to like what follows?" Whenever Tony was asked a favor, it was either about his money or his influence. Still, Steve was his teammate, he couldn't turn him down right away.
"You remember Sam Wilson?" Steve asked as he closed the door.
"The eagle guy?"
"Falcon," he corrected. He wasn't surprised at Tony's behavior. He was getting used to his nonchalance.
"Yeah. Falcon. Right. You two did a pretty good job demolishing the Triskelion. Along with the three helicarriers equipped with my high-tech devices." The sarcasm was clear to Steve, but he didn't give much thought to it.
"If we hadn't done that, you'd be dead right now."
"Oh right . . . I keep forgetting. Anyway, what can I do for you?" Tony cut to the chase. He was obviously getting tired of their little conversation. Whether it was because of him or something else, Steve couldn't tell.
"Sam's wings were destroyed during the fight. I was thinking that maybe you could make him a pair of new ones?"
"And I'd do it because…?" Tony trailed off, waiting for Steve to serve with a plausible explanation.
Steve shook his head, smiling slightly as he looked out the window. "I don't know, because we might need him next time when Loki decides to send an alien army against Earth, or worse."
There was a short pause on the other end of the line while Tony was considering the request. "Alright, listen, I'll think about it and I'll call your buddy, just text me his number. But right now, I gotta go. I was summoned by the N.S.A. regarding a matter involving Iron Man. They had tried to pull this stunt a while back, but it didn't work." Tony gave a slight snort. "I guess they're giving it another shot. Anyway, the meeting's been on for about . . . half an hour now. It's probably time I headed over, don't wanna be too late. Anyway, I'll catch you later, Cap." With that, Tony hung up.
Steve had no idea what kind of an affair Tony could have with national security, though it would likely end up on the news later. At least he hadn't given an outright "no" to his request, Steve thought as he summed up the call. He tossed his coat onto the back of his couch when he heard three hard knocks on his door. When he opened it he was met with the familiar scarlet locks standing on the doorstep.
"Nat." He said, surprised to see the spy. He didn't remember hearing or seeing her car pull up in front of the building.
"Hi, Steve. How do you feel about a trip to Zürich?"
Please drop down a review, it really means A LOT to me. :) To be continued soon hopefully, and don't worry, from now on, it's gonna be all about Steve x Natasha. Buckle up. ;)