The humble bowling alley downtown, aptly named "Strikers," was now home to five members of the most controversial group in America. At the restaurant, you had failed to notice the shared conservative outerwear the rest had decided to go with. Common items included sunglasses, baseball caps, jackets, and other clothes in that ballpark. You, on the other hand, were slightly less experienced with your new social standing, and opted for simple daywear that didn't offer much coverage. To put it bluntly, you felt pretty exposed and stupid when a young man with bright eyes and a smaller frame stumbled up to your unsuspecting figure at the check-in counter.
He was polite enough, albeit stuttering and clearly nervous. "Hi," Was all he said, and you were caught off-guard by his lack of explanation. In hindsight, it was probably difficult enough for him to even approach you, let alone say something intelligable. "Hey?" You turned to face him completely, asking, "Do I know you?" It was hard to keep yourself from looking at anyone else for conformation or assistance, but you managed. He shook his head and became a little too interested in his hands, quickly breaking your hesitant eye contact. "No ma'am, I, uh, I was um, I was wondering if..." He trailed off, finishing his request at a volume you couldn't hear over the obnoxious music.
"I'm sorry? I couldn't quite catch that." James put his hand on your shoulder, forcing you to look up at him, and even though he believed he was helping your confusion, he was only making it worse by distracting you. "A picture." The young man, probably somewhere in his early to mid teens, spat out quickly while you weren't looking at him. You snapped your attention back to his slightly shaking frame and had to take a few moments to process. It was extremely awkward, but you finally made the realization that he probably had heard about you in the news, especially after the long weeks in Siberia making multiple headlines. You made a small 'o' with your mouth and relaxed your brows, nodding quickly.
"Yeah, of course!" He lit up like a Christmas tree, pulling out his phone with trembling hands and opening up his camera as quickly as humanly possible. You leaned in and rested your hand on his shoulder, attempting to get your best angle before he took a few snaps. "Thank you so much!" With that, he was off to a group of similar-looking boys, who all gathered around the phone with wide grins and began talking among themselves. As James pulled out his wallet, he shook his head and sighed, "I keep forgetting you're so new to all of this. If you don't try to be discreet, you'll be getting a lot of that." You brought your lips in and shrugged, pulling yours out as well. "I don't mind it that much. At least not at the moment."
He perked his eyebrows up for a brief moment before letting them settle down beneath his sunglasses again. "Sometimes it won't be as pleasant." You pulled out a twenty and gave him a side glance, briefly considering his media coverage was guaranteed to have backlash, no matter how well he's improved since then. There would always be those that viewed him as a military weapon, instead of the complex and charming person you knew him to be. "Their loss, I suppose," You nudged him slightly with your elbow, and began to pass your share to the cashier behind the counter. James, however, obstructed your actions and took your cash, handing the older man a forty and giving you back your share. Your face contorted into a slightly offended, slightly surprised expression. "Excuse me?"
You glanced to your left, where Steve was already lacing up his bowling shoes, and gave him a pleading look. It was evident that he would be of no service this time, given his closeness in age to James. "You're excused, babe." He handed you your size and you stared, open-mouthed, "You know I can pay for my own stuff, right?" He placed them at your feet and began lacing up his own, straining, "I let you pay for your food earlier, didn't I?" You felt your face get a little hot at the statement, and stood up a little straighter, "Let me?" Steve snickered at your nature, but you let it slide. Sitting down, you took a breath and decided to pay him back one way or another. "I'll go find our lane, Buck." Natasha announced, patting his shoulder as she and Sam began walking to the direction of your designated spot.
Once you finished tying your bulky shoes, you caught Steve whispering something to James out of the corner of your eye before going after the other two. James waited for you to stand back up and walked by your side, pulling you closer to him by squeezing your opposite arm, an affectionate gesture you had come to associate him with. On the way over to your lane, you passed by the small group of young men and, while trying not to make eye contact with any of them, felt James' hand tense, holding you a little tighter as you walked by. It wasn't uncharacteristic of him to get slightly 'territorial,' as Steve would put it, but it was surprising that he would even think the small gaggle of possibly underage boys could do any harm.
You placed a hand on the small of his back, barely gripping his coat, and gave him a reassuring pat before parting to choose a ball size. With a glance at Natasha's choice, you decided on a weight similar to it, and made a short trek to the dispenser to place it down. As you observed everyone else's bowling ball preferences, your ears caught wind of a hushed conversation between Sam and Steve, and you couldn't help but lock in. Just to look busy, you settled on organizing the balls by the order of which they appeared on the overhead monitor, one with all of your teammates' names.
You smiled as it read, in order from top to bottom, "NatNat," "birb," "starsandsalts," "Metalhead," "Crip," and "raccoon." Natasha entered those names before you had arrived, and she was arguably the most intoxicated out of the entirety of the group, only competitive with Steve, who you had previously assumed to be above the indulgence of alcohol. You supposed you were wrong, of course, especially upon the appearance of your name in his conversation with 'birb.'
"Do you think he can, you know, like, activate it?"
"How am I supposed to know? Ask him."
"We don't talk Steve, you know that. But I just want to know if it's possible."
Steve leaned back and looked across the room at James. "Buck- That man, he is- was-," He made a guttural sound, stumbling over his words, "We're 100 plus, there's no tellin' if he'd even want to anymore." Sam, who was sitting sideways in the direction of Steve, put his hand to his mouth and said something you couldn't catch at your distance. You let it go, allowing Natasha to start to game by squeezing past you, and sat between Sam and Steve to perhaps diffuse some of the suspicions they may have had about your eavesdropping.
Steve sweetly turned to you and greeted you with a simple, "Hi." He grinned wider than he normally allowed, so you returned with at least twice as much of enthusiasm as you would have any other time. "Hi, there." There was something about a tipsy Rogers that made him all the more approachable, and definitely brought out a less guarded side of him. You sensed Sam sighing from behind you at his nature, and you could only relate. He was the designated driver, therefore having not consumed any alcohol that night, and while you did, it wasn't nearly enough to disrupt your system like Steve or Natasha. The eye contact you made with him didn't last long, because he broke it to look behind you at Sam. You hesitantly followed, but as you turned your head, he stopped, and you could only recognize what look like his hand vibrating back and forth.
Whatever he was imitating certainly tickled Steve, since he started guffawing over what looked like some simple hand motion. Sam grinned at your clearly confused expression, putting you under the impression that you definitely had something to do with their little inside joke. This only made you more motivated to find out what it was. "Ask him!" Upon Steve's request, Sam shook his head and his grin faded into an amused smile. He stood up, and you didn't register why until he stopped in front of the bowling ball dispenser. Steve made a small pouting expression, something that you didn't even know he was capable of until now, but Sam didn't seem persuaded.
As Sam made his attempts at knocking over the pins, James was sitting across the aisle next to Natasha, both watching something on his phone, much to her delight. When you expected Sam to return to his seat beside you, he surprised you by cozying up to James on the opposite booth. It made you a little anxious, given their history, but all was settled when he was seen smirking with Sam, and copying a movement with his mechanical arm. Their mouths seemed to be saying, "Can you do this?" "That? Yeah." "Show me." And phrases of that nature. It all seemed to climax when James' forefinger and middle finger simultaneously, as you could only describe it, started spazzing out. Natasha, Sam, and Steve all made a look of surprise and you felt eyes return to you before an eruption of childish laughter fell on the group.
It finally clicked in your head when you witnessed James giving you a discreet, familiar look, and suddently it seemed like you were the only one that wasn't laughing. Sam made the decision to stay beside James for the rest of the night, leaving you to handle a 100 year-old child. You studied said-child's bright blue eyes as they followed James, who was getting up to complete his first turn. Even though Steve's face held a vacant expression, he managed to grasp onto his bordering-on-homosexual-attraction to James when he carefully watched the way he picked up the bowling ball. He redeemed himself, however, with a quick, "He's a lucky guy," directing his gaze towards you. You smiled politely and patted his upper back, watching James make the first strike of the night.
He turned around and made a small victory flex in your line of sight, doing a small jog towards you, slipping out of his coat and tossing it into your lap. His hand found your wrist and removed one of your hair ties you promise to keep safe for him earlier that night, and he started tying his hair up into a messy bun while the pins reset. There was no denying you seized the moment to check him out every chance you got, but when you glanced at Steve to your right, you found he had the same idea. James didn't notice, instead engaging in a small conversation, "Did you see me destroy those pins?" You smirked and studied the way his shirt was lifted ever so slightly, just for a small sliver of skin to peek through over his jeans, "Better get another one." You nodded in the direction of his newly set pins. He let his hands down and made his way back to pick up his ball and ready himself.
"Quite the Super Soldier, huh?" You casually slipped to Steve. He didn't respond, either because of his intense focus on his friend, or the loud music playing overhead. James swung well, but didn't make a strike this time. At the one pin left standing, he threw his arms up in playful defeat and returned to his seat. The coat he placed on your lap earlier was thick, and seemed pretty worn from wear over time, but you were glad to be holding it. "Smells like him." Steve mumbled, looking down at it briefly. He wasn't wrong; you had taken part in enjoying James' scent many of times, whether he was present or not. The guy smelled nice, even when he was sweaty and disgusting.
"Here, you can hold it while I go." You put it in his hands, getting up to complete your turn. The ball you picked was fairly light, naturally, and you had no problem swinging it down the lane. Most of the pins fell, but as you celebrated your mediocre accomplishment, you felt a chalky substance in your hand. A familiar pit resided in your stomach, and you heard 'Oooo's,' from the members of your group when you looked down to find that you had taken a portion of the ball with you. Your fingers still rested in their respective holes, and as your ball came back up, you found a hole perfectly matching the chunk in your hand. James came up to meet you through the horrendous laughter of your colleagues, and you saw him biting back a smile through the clear disappointment on your face. "Hey, you're fine." You sighed and removed your hand from the portion taken from the ball. "I just thought I was getting better." He took the chunk from your hand and fit it into the rest of the ball, "You are, you just got excited is all. It happens to the best of us."
He strained to pick up your choice and return it to the rack on the other side of the booths. You suddenly didn't feel up to bowling anymore, and felt a wave of tiredness sweep over your head. He returned and quickly embraced you from the side, placing his lips on the top of your head, "I'll go for you, babe." You slipped out of his grasp and took your seat once more, lazily watching him make the remainder of your pins disappear from sight. Steve was still tickled over your accident, and you couldn't help but smile at a man that normally still wouldn't be as amused at something like that. In all honesty, he would probably have something to say about the strength training he's been giving you, or give you a comment about control, but here he was, giggling over it.
You decided not to request the coat back when you saw how he crossed his arms, clothing squeezed between his torso and forearms as he leaned back into his seat. "He's so happy now." This he said distantly, watching James celebrate another strike goofily. There was no telling if he said it out of jealousy, pride, or something in between, but you wanted to poke the bear a little more to get some context. "Why do you think that is?" You leaned back with him, and scooted a little closer. Your position mimicked his. "I know that it's because of you. We all know that. He's so happy." He closed his eyes and let out a breath you weren't aware he was holding in, "Thank you, (Y/n)." His eyes met yours for a fleeting second, rendering you speechless.
"I thought he was gonna die all sad and broody and grumpy, but you really did help him out." He was intoxicated, sure, very much so, but his words were genuine and his face truly said it all. "He used to never talk to anyone but me, unless he was directly confronted. But after you two started, you know," His speech gradually got messier by the second, "He just kinda like started talking to people, you know, and he's doing strikes and-" You cut him off there. "I know, I understand. It's no problem, Steve." His goofy, toothy grin didn't fail to make you chuckle.
For the remainder of the night, James did most of the bowling and virtually won against himself through your name. Nat fell asleep soon after the second round started, as did Steve, and you didn't want to harm another innocent bowling ball. It was a fierce, unfair competition between Sam and James, since Sam got mostly gutters, so James' arms were suffering greatly when it was finally time to go home. It was a struggle getting Steve and Natasha out of the building and into the car, even with your abilities. Just because you could pick something four times as heavy as Steve up, doesn't mean it won't be easy picking something up as awkwardly shaped as Steve. "Jesus Christ, Cap," You muttered to yourself as you slung his torso over your shoulder in a fireman's carry. You may have accidentally hit his head on the top of the car door, but his only complaint was a small mumble. Natasha was safely tucked in the backseat next to him with ease by James, and he squeezed in next to them, allowing you to sit in the passengers' seat.
Even though the entirety of the group went to their respective rooms upon the arrival of home, you stayed up a little past 'bedtime' texting and sharing funny posts with James, who surprisingly got the hang of his device fairly quickly. He still texted painfully slow with his forefinger, but that was the next milestone that you would push at another time. The longer you stayed up, however, the drier your mouth became, and you quickly realized that you hadn't consumed any water that day. In response to your body's call for water, you made a quiet trek to the kitchen downstairs without letting James know about, what you would assume to be, a fairly short moment away from your phone. A voice quickly brought you out of your sleepy trance and into a state of alarm, and you found yourself in a defensive stance almost immediately. Your muscles relaxed, though, upon the sound of James' soothing voice drowning out your anxieties. "Oh my god, you scared the Hell out of me," You sighed in exasperation, reaching up for a glass in the cupboard. "How'd you know I was here?"
You couldn't see him very well, but you could hear the small smile in his voice, "Didn't. I needed some water." You pulled another glass down and handed it to his vaguely visible silhouette, briefly grazing his fingertips when he reached up for it. You started pouring yourself a glass, when you felt his incredibly warm arms sneak around your waist and pull you in, something you only knew him to do when he was really sleepy. Your glass made a clink sound as you set it down and leaned back into him, resting your arms on his and embracing his comfortable temperature, in contrast to the cold kitchen. He allowed you to turn around and drape your arms around his neck, where you could feel the neckline of one of his older tank tops that he often wore to bed. Your fingers grazed the divots of his muscular shoulders and upper back, one of your hands dropping to his waist, and the other reaching its way up through his free, currently messy hair. His gaze was intense, but caring, and the subtle lights from the kitchen's small windows caught him perfectly.
There was no telling what it was; either the small buzz of alcohol in your system, or the simple gravitational pull of his scent, eyes, and entire being, but sooner than later, you felt his lips against your own. His flesh hand held you by the small of your back against him, and his metallic one against the back of your head. "Damn," He mumbled, almost incoherently, against your mouth. It was a little sloppy, but it was passionate and full, even through his childish giggling. You chalked that up to excitement, but you weren't bothered by it. In fact, it was flattering that he was still so stoked to be with you, even after a couple weeks. He grinned, pressing his forehead to yours and pausing to take a break, "Sorry, it's just been a while-" You cut him off by pressing your lips to his once more, and tugging the hemline of his shirt with your bottom hand softly. This time, he held you a little tighter, and leaned a little deeper into it, permitting you to press your fingers onto the bare skin beneath his shirt.
His metallic hand found yours and held it to his side, guiding you upwards. You could have kept going, if it hadn't been for a bright flash of light against the near pitch black of the kitchen. You quickly departed from James and tried to recover from the attack on your eyes, "What the hell?" You looked around to find the source and could barely make out a faint figure across the kitchen island, however, the phone light shining upon his face gave him away. Unfortunately, only one of you were acquianted with him. Your body went into fight or flight mode for the second time that night and you furrowed your brows, "Who the hell are you?" James placed a heavy hand on your shoulder and spoke for you, "What are you doing here, Peter?"
This only confused you more. "It's an honor, ma'am," an almost adolescent voice spoke, "And Mr. Stark had me stay here for a couple nights to, uh, to help with one of his projects." He spoke so fast that it made you feel old. James rubbed his thumb in reassuring motions on your shoulder, and addressed you, "(Y/n), this is Peter, Mr. Stark's...student?" Peter shrugged and nodded. James continued. "Peter, this is (Y/n)." Peter visibly rejoiced and leaned over the counter to shake your hand, and you took it out of common courtesy. "Wow, that is a..." He shook his hand a little after you let go, and had a slight crack in his voice, "A very strong grip, Ms. (Y/l/n)." It was unclear if that was supposed to be a compliment, but you took it with a grain of salt, anyway, given his small frame.
"I had no idea that you two, were, like," There he goes, "A thing, though. Like, I read about you all the time, and Mr. Stark talks about you individually, but wow," You personally didn't want to know what Stark had to say about you, or your relationship, "Oh my gosh, it's so cool. How long have you two been together, if you don't mind me asking? Oh wait, or is this lowkey? I can keep it a secret if you want!" It was 3 a.m. and there was a 14 year old running his mouth in your kitchen, so it was to be expected that you wouldn't be keeping up with everything he said. You were extrremely grateful to have James do the talking for you. "Two weeks, and it's not a secret." He strained speaking to somebody of Peter's nature, you noticed. He tended to keep his sentences short and to the point, and you briefly wondered if that was through previous interactions with this boy, or something that was unique to his person.
"Oh! Okay, cool." There was a very uncomfortable moment of silence, and you knew that even Peter felt it when he let himself exit with a, "Well, um, bye. See you tomorrow- or later today." You both waited until his footsteps couldn't be heard anymore before any words were spoken. His body heat came first, then a rush of words, "Where were we-?" You placed your hands on his chest and leaned back until he got the hint, replying with, "You're going to have to take me to dinner, first." His grip on your waist loosened and he seemed reasonably disappointed, but he didn't push it any farther.
"No problem, what time?" Your arms snuck around his neck, and as you embraced him, you felt him reciprocate. "We can talk about it in the morning," You said with a long, drawn-out yawn. "Yes ma'am."