Back to S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve and Natasha were making their way out of Fury's office to give their verbal report. As they stepped out, they found Bucky walking up to them.
"Seriously, guys? You are sent to search a vehicle and you come back with the money and the criminals? So cocky," he said.
"Why? You intended to impress Fury yourself?" Natasha retorted with a smirk on.
Bucky casted a glance on her and dodged the remark with an apathetic look.
"How did you know where to find them?" he asked, looking at Steve.
He shrugged. "We just followed a hunch," he answered.
His friend nodded, paused then probed them both; his expression changed noticeably.
"And how did it go for you two?" he interrogated with a feigned casual expression, slightly emphasizing the last word.
Steve tried to hold back a sigh. Not subtle, not subtle.
"Smooth, as always," Natasha replied with even more nonchalance, an attitude she mastered without a wrong note. Her voice subtly modulated one octave down. "Actually, we thought about celebrating the success of our mission with a doughnut but we realized it would be indecent to do it with the other agents around."
Bucky remained neutral, or so he attempted, but his pupils quivered slightly, betraying his consternation and curiosity.
As for Natasha, she acted perfectly stoic about her innocent comment. She turned to Steve, letting a smirk dwell on her lips long enough for Bucky to notice it but brief enough to appear genuine and spontaneous.
It seemed she sashayed her way down the corridor and turned at the corner, throwing one amused glimpse in Steve's direction.
"What is she talking about?" Bucky fired away the instant she walked out of their line of sight.
Steve turned to his friend and smiled a little. "Like she said, we almost had a doughnut."
He couldn't lie –he was enjoying this greatly. He walked away casually too, to let Bucky alone with his wild imagination.
When Steve walked into his office, he found a large, light brown envelope lying on the desk. He picked it up and his heartbeat quickened when he read the name written on it. The photographer's name. He hastily went and closed the door of his office like someone guilty of sinister acts and sat in his chair. His first instinct was to tear the envelope open but his fingers unglued the band with delicacy as the prospect that a photograph (or more) of Natalie could be inside. He pulled the pictures out carefully and his heart glowed when he noticed how thick the stack was, therefore increasing the chances to find something.
The first picture at the top of the pile showed him standing on stage in his old costume, surrounded by his dancers, the Star-Spangled singers as they were called. He recognized Lizzie, Susan, Dorothy and Jemma. He hadn't expected it but looking at this photograph raised a wave of nostalgia within him like a low tide ascending, unnoticeably but inevitably.
He realized how long it had been since the last time he had thought about his time in the USO shows. In retrospect, it hit him he had actually grown a soft spot for that part of his life.
He looked at the background and saw the large glittery banner reading Ultimate show before tour and he felt like his heart wanted to jump out of his chest. This wasn't just any show; it was the show where he had met her for the first time.
Nostalgia faded, overcome by frantic eagerness. He put the photograph down on the desk and proceeded to look at the rest of the stack. He flipped through the pictures, first slowly, dissecting every face closely then more quickly as impatience and the growing fear of not finding her at all progressively took hold of him.
There had been plenty of women that night, more than he had realized back then. Eventually, when he put one photograph down on top of the rest of the analysed pictures, he realized it was the last one. His heart seemed to tighten. He looked at the stack of photographs he had just gone through and suddenly, it appeared slimmer than he had thought. Frustration started to cloud over his mind and he clenched his hand into a fist before releasing the pressure.
He had to have done it wrong. He hastily collected the heap of photos and leafed through them one more time –more rapidly than the first time round but still at a moderate speed. There was no corner his eyes hadn't delved into, no cropped silhouette he hadn't surveyed. It almost infuriated him to find the same women appear a couple more times in other shots when the one he desperately sought was not even in one. His pace sped up, and soon, he flipped through the photographs mechanically, frantically, in desperate need to prove the thought forming into his head wrong with nothing but the sound of the coated paper grazing together echoing in the office.
When he came across the same picture for the fourth time and the realization that this lead was yet another dead end finally sank in, he dumped the whole pile on his desk.
He was angry and everyone was to blame. He blamed the photographer for failing to snap one relevant picture; he frowned on the audience for being too crowded to leave the photographer a chance to do so; he felt jealous of those people who had had the luxury of appearing in more than one photo; for a brief second he bore a grudge against Natalie for depriving him of a single picture of her he could have cherished like she had deliberately been avoiding the camera's flash all evening. But most importantly, he blamed himself for hoping this was even a possibility. Ever since he had woken up, his journey regarding Natalie had been a succession of disappointments and obstacles and he had been a fool to believe he could break the series now.
Truth be told, he was the one to blame altogether. Not the photographer, not the people present that night, not her. Him, for being naïve and hopeful. The Natalie situation was an impasse –the most intricate web he couldn't untangle his way through no matter how hard he tried— and he should have known better than to delude himself into believing he could solve it He should have realized sooner all the wishes he had and might have had in the future had dissolved at the same time his drawing had into the water.
He rose to his feet and clenched his fists, suppressing the grunt threatening to slip out, and hit the desk instead, leaving a slight crack into the wood.
When he took control of his frustration again, he slumped back into his chair, exhausted. He hid his face into his hand and peered at the crack between his fingers.
This would serve as a reminder never to make such a mistake again.
It had been nearly a week since the successful mission with Natasha and the fiasco with Natalie and Steve had made sure not to mention either to Bucky as it would only raise questions from his best friend.
"I don't know what's going on around here" Bucky murmured, sounding slightly alarmed. "I can't explain it but it feels like I've been more engrossed in this story of you and Romanoff hanging out than I thought. Like an obsession."
Steve frowned. "What do you mean?"
Bucky winced. "I mean I see it everywhere."
"It?"
"Doughnuts," he answered with the straightest voice.
His friend seemed genuinely concerned for his own sanity. Steve snorted. "Who's being dramatic now?"
Bucky shook his head, pressing a hand on his friend's shoulder and leaning closer.
"No, no. I'm not kidding. It's like the whole universe is playing with me. First last Tuesday, when I came out of the building to grab some lunch, there was this guy handing out advertising leaflets for the new doughnut shop that opened and he gave me one."
Steve shrugged. "And?" Steve asked.
"And the shop is over 10 blocks down," Bucky muttered. "Do you know many businesses that sent their employees to advertize this far?"
Steve didn't really put too much thought into the question as there wasn't any material for it.
"Maybe he just strayed farther than he realized."
"Yeah, that's what I thought too. But then, it went on. Two days ago at the canteen, after I chose from the buffet, Jason asked me if I wanted to have doughnut with my meal. He never asks me this usually, why do it now? And then this morning, there was a box of doughnuts outside my office, and when I thought it was a prank from you, Grumlow came running saying it was his delivery but that it must have been dropped off to me by accident." Bucky pointed a firm forefinger down. "Don't tell me these are just coincidences. It's like I'm being constantly reminded of this stupid doughnut story."
Steve furrowed his brows and turned to face his best friend. Now it was starting to make an awful lot of coincidences. Bucky crossed his arms then looked right and left.
"Did you tell anyone else about this?" he asked sternly but with a hopeful expression. The hope of putting some sense into this irrational situation.
Steve kept his best neutral face. "No," he answered matter-of-factly.
Bucky probed him for a couple of seconds then pouted, fairly disappointed with the answer.
"Fine, but I know there is something fishy going on around here," he grumbled then walked off.
Later this morning, Steve stopped by an office and knocked on the open door. He slightly leaned in inside the room, pressing his hand on the door frame.
Natasha, who was typing, looked up over her computer screen in his direction.
"You might want to take it easy with Bucky. I fear he might develop an acute case of paranoia."
A playful smile slowly rose to her lips. "So it's working?"
"It's working too well," he rectified then paused, watching her. "How do you do it?"
She seemed flattered he asked the question. "All it takes is a creative mind and a bit of bribing. And subtlety. The secret is to make the person doubt their own mind."
"You're too dangerous to play pranks on people, Romanoff."
Natasha smiled. "Everybody has to have a flaw." Seeing the reluctant look he gave her from where he was standing, she added: "Relax—I'll stop before it reaches suicidal ideation."
"How considerate of you," he commented sarcastically but with a faint smile showing.