Bucky ran a hand down the front of his shirt, smoothing his tie for the fiftieth time. Hundredth maybe? Was he nervous? Could he even remember a time when he had been nervous about a date? The sidewalk was damp, street lights glinting off its surface. Was this a date? Would she care that he felt like he was dressed like a modern day grim reaper in the sleek black suit coat, dress shirt, and tie.
Let's keep her focus on those baby blues and that killer jawline. Besides, black is slimming.
Sam had found him in his room, hours earlier, tearing his closet apart.
"Whoa." Sam had said, side stepping a leaning heap of discarded clothing. "Were you finally selected for a Hollywood makeover show?"
Bucky had frozen and slowly turned to face him. "What?"
"What's going on here?"
"I, uh," Bucky's hands rung the shirt in his grasp, the material shredding under the stress of his metal fingers.
"Wait a second." Sam had lifted a silencing finger. "Is this what I think it is?"
Bucky had swallowed. He hadn't intended to let anyone know about their plans to meet for dinner.
"Do you have a hot date?" Sam had asked, a broad grin breaking out across his face. "No way!"
Bucky had blushed. "Stop. It's not a big deal."
"Yes it is!" Sam threw himself back on Bucky's bed. "I bet this is your first date since 1945."
Bucky had leveled him with a glare.
"It is! Who is it?"
Bucky had turned away from him, reaching back into his closet, intent to ignore his goding.
"Okay, fine. Don't tell me. At least tell me where you are taking her. We gonna make you look fly as hell."
"It's foolish." Bucky hesitated, leaning his forearm against the threshold of his closet. "That's what it is."
"How?"
"We are elbow deep in investigating some kind of demon creatures like nothing we've ever seen before. 13 people died in that club. Two women have been murdered by satanic worshippers. We have no answers. We are no closer. And I am going to dinner. With a woman. Me. A cyber-enhanced assassin. Who was I kidding. It's just idiotic."
"Buck." Sam sat up slowly. "Man. We take every day for what it is. There is always going to be some kind of catastrophic event. Someone is always dying. The apocalypse is always closing in. You have to take the enjoyment where it is offered. Go to dinner with this girl. Have some drinks. Romance her. Kiss her. Go back to her place for a nightcap...You deserve it. After everything you've gone through... You deserve it."
Bucky took in a shaky breath and stepped off the curb and toward the restaurant across the street. Tall, perfectly clear glass windows lined its front, showing off the expensive decor and clean mid-century modern stylings. He was early, and yet, as he approached the front doors, he could see Miranda waiting for him.
She stood on the sidewalk like a goddess among men. Posture tall, shoulders square, one leg crossed in front of the other as she scrolled through something on her phone. The dress she wore was black as night. A slit in the draped skirt cut up high on her hip revealing an impressive length of sculpted thigh. The neckline dropped low into her ribcage, the swell of her breasts emphasized in the harsh light of the street lamps. Her lips were a dark burgundy, set off by the dark, dramatic makeup smudged around her silver eyes. What hair had not been shorn short was teased and curled in perfect Miranda fashion.
It was a stunning display, and she apologized for none of it.
"Miranda."
A single word.
One he had spoken dozens of times before. But this time it was different. It carried with it the weight of endless possibilities. It marked the moment that would forever set them down another path. The beginning of a new version of themselves. The product of a decision made by another equally singular word.
Yes.
He took in a steadying breath as she studied him quietly. A small smile lifted the corner of her painted lips. "James. I see we both share the same exquisite color palette."
He smiled, sliding his hands into his pockets as he rocked back on his heels and looked down at himself. "It looks far better on you."
"Hmm." Her light eyes traveled down him and he forced himself to stillness. "I would have to disagree."
He could feel his heart flutter in his chest and he was a little breathless as he offered her his arm.
"I suppose we have plenty to talk about," Bucky said as he slid into his seat opposite Miranda. "I feel as though I don't know much about you."
She laughed lightly . "I typically make an effort to keep my personal life personal. My family is little to brag about."
"A large family? Small?"
She sighed, picking up the menu from the table and leading through it. "It's...I'm not sure it's really something you want to hear about on a first date. My family is...complicated."
Bucky nodded. Tension had overtaken her body, and her hands were keeping themselves anywhere but still.
"I had a sister." Bucky picked up his own menu. "Have a sister? I've come so close so many times to looking for her. It wouldn't be hard. Not with the technology surrounding us now...but. I can't bring myself to do it."
"Why?"
He was quiet for a moment. "I guess...I guess I'm afraid of what I might find. Did she live a good life? Did she find nothing but tragedy? I will see on paper everything that I missed witnessing for myself in her life. College. Marriage. Kids…"
"You talk about her like she's passed."
"I imagine at the age she would be, she either is or is close."
Miranda leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "You don't want to know?"
"What would be the point? She won't know me. Steve was the same person then as he was after going down in that ship, as he was when he went back in time to be with Peggy. He is a never budging constant of a human being. I'm like the anti-Steve."
Miranda laughed. "I think someone has thought about this far too much."
"I mean, seriously though. What would she think of what I've become? Would it terrify her? Disgust her? Would she feel sorry for me? That, I think, would be worst of all."
"She would be proud of what you have overcome." Miranda reached across the table to settle a hand on his figiting fingers. "That time with...HYDRA. That's not who you are anymore. You are much more than that. You are a man who's built himself into a hero, but still sees himself as the villain."
Sometimes it was a bit unnerving how fully Miranda saw him, almost as though she recognized in him the same flaws she saw on finding refuge in the like. "When you have seen yourself as the villain for so long, does that ever truly go away?"
"I don't know." Her face became strangely melancholy, her hand squeezing his. "All we can do is try."
Their eyes locked and held.
"I'm sorry." He laughed, breaking her hold. "This is not superficial first date talk is it?"
She shrugged a shoulder, a soft smile on her face. "I like someone who can be real."
Bucky took in a breath, and he watched Miranda do the same, though she looked like she was preparing herself to step in front of a firing squad.
"I have three sisters," she said.
"Hi!" A waiter materialized beside them. "I am Zeke. I will be your waiter tonight. Do we want to start with drinks or are you ready to order? As we are a topaz restaurant I do recommend that you order at least three or four dishes."
Bucky stared up at him for a moment, having almost entirely forgotten where they were. "Uh."
Miranda had seemed to retreat back into herself, and Bucky could help but curse this waiter. "We will have one of everything."
"Ah, yes. A popular choice. You will not be disappointed, sir. And to drink?"
"Wine. Whatever you recommend." Bucky said, trying to rid them or the waiter.
"Ah!" The young man beamed down at him. "My favorite answer! I will be back with a bottle shortly."
Miranda watched the waiter leave, turning her salad fork over and over.
"Three sisters?" Bucky asked, hoping to lead them back into the comfortable atmosphere they had settled into before.
She smiled, as though she had hoped he might forget she had spoken at all but knew she never would. "Yes."
"That must have been a bit crazy. Just with two women in the house growing up, it could get a bit cut throat at times."
"Competitive. It was very competitive. "
"Really?"
"Yes. My sisters and I were a bit...intense.
"Do you see them often?"
She laughed, the fork turning over and over. "Yeah. We, Um, don't really talk anymore."
"And your mother?"
She made a face, reaching up to smooth a hand over the back of her hair. "My mom wasn't really around."
"Ah." Bucky said quietly.
"Our father wasn't exactly…" She stared down at her hands as though they held the word she was searching for. "Paternal?"
"Did he…" Bucky hesitated for a moment, unsure how thin of ice they stood on. "Did he hit you?"
Her smile sharpened and Bucky felt his fists contract of their own accord. "Father, though, sunk most of his effort into psychological warfare. My sisters hated me."
Her voice had become very small and his question was almost breathless in response. "Why?"
"Because I was his favorite."
They sat in silence a moment, Bucky unsure how to tread in these uncertain waters. Her eyes were distant, reliving a past life.
"He always told me he gave too much of himself to me. That it was my duty to stand by his side."
Intense, Bucky thought. "Family business?"
She smiled at him, but her expression remained as sharp as it had been moments earlier. "You could say that."
"So he treated you with some amount of favoritism?"
"To be father's favorite did not mean kinder treatment. It just meant that he focused every fiber of his being into sculpting me into his perfect creation."
"But you got out from underneath his thumb?"
"One day I decided I was tired of being clay." Silver eyes flicked to him. "I joined the marines. Clawed my way through boot camp and got deployed. I haven't been back since." She sat back and shrugged a shoulder. "I made some pretty impossible shots and it put me on SHIELD's radar. The rest is history."
"That is something we have in common," Bucky said as the waiter returned and poured their wine then disappeared again. "A career as snipers."
She nodded slowly, reaching out to grasp her napkin and spread it over her lap. "You know I was there that day. In Bucharest."
He was quiet. Not entirely sure what to say. A million thoughts warred in his mind.
Humor softened the knife sharp edges of her features. "I got a three week suspension for disobeying orders."
When he looked over at her, that trademark smirk he had come to know so well played on her lips.
"What did you do?"
"Well. I didn't shoot you."
A long pause stretched out between them.
"Why?"
"I saw your face when you jumped out that window. All you wanted was to be left alone. I've been there. I felt you deserved every opportunity to have that. To not have it taken from you like everything else. I had read your file. I knew what you had been through."
The seriousness of her tone surprised him. He had only seen glimpses of this girl, though she had been more present tonight than ever before. The one that stood behind the false bravado and razor sharp wit. Something dark and heavy pressed in on this Miranda making her all hard lines and sharp edges. He felt that if he came too close to what lay there in the dark, he risked drawing blood.
"And I mean shit, who am I to question Captain America's judge of character?"
And just like that, the darkness lifted and her usual mask slipped into place, a smile worn like armor. Every word a weapon In her arsenal.
"I've known Steve to make plenty of bad calls."
She huffed a laugh. "Would have been nice to know before I staked my career on it."
"Yeah, but every bad decision he makes, he makes for the right reason."
I hope you guys are enjoying reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it. :)