I Know What You Did In the Dark Ch 8

Sam

The knock on the door was a quick rap of my knuckles. I knew Steve would be pissed to all hell for me showing up as soon as things got potentially dicey for his safety. But I knew, in my heart, that his judgment was clouded by his unwavering friendship to Bucky. That made Steve's notions suspect of just how Barnes was going to meet up with him.

The door opened and he was scowling at me, eyes clouded with displeasure, "Sam."

"Steve." I replied, evenly "May I come in?"

"Excuse me." Steve stepped aside and I walked into his apartment. It was modest and I recall him arguing with S.H.I.E.L.D. and several realtors that this was all he needed, not some penthouse like Tony. He was vehement that he was a simple man and needed simple housing even in a crazy rent-controlled city like New York.

Steve closed the door and turned, eyes on the floor then me, "You didn't have to rush back up here."

"I wasn't rushing." I replied, folding my arms across my chest.

"Oh, sorry. You flew up here." His tone was edgy and his frown still present.

"Control to Cap, but I don't have my wings any more." I bit back, trying to stay civil, "And right now, you need me."

"Why? Where is the boogey man?" Steve opened his arms wide and looked around his place in fake incredulousness.

Wiping a hand down my face, while closing my eyes, I felt the two days of stubble on my cheeks. I was watching for the ghost and not sleeping or taking care of myself. This was getting nowhere fast. "Look." I opened with a pleading expression, "You read that file. You read it and now you know. I can see you're hurting- "

"Don't go off with this therapist stuff. I'm fine." Steve shot back, eyes flinty, his tone hard, hands on his hips.

"I'm not being your therapist. I'm being your friend." I said loyally.

Steve looked past me out the darkened window behind me and inhaled then exhaled as if he was trying to rid himself of excess energy in the form of air. Looking back to me, he dropped his arms and suddenly looked the ninety plus years old he was, "Yes. I read it. It was horrible. It's some of the most horrible things I've ever seen." He paused to breathe and collect himself, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, "And it is so hard to think that I let him down."

"It wasn't your fault." I supported.

"You aren't the first person to tell me that." He replied quietly glancing at a picture of Peggy Carter on his side table, "But I don't believe it."

"Believe what you want, but the facts are war is hell. And we all knew that our lives were on the line. So, the question now is, Steve," He looked up at me when I said his name, "What are we going to do now that Bucky is in New York and may be trying to fulfill his mission."

"But we don't know that." Steve countered taking up that defensive posture from earlier.

I couldn't fight it, I guess, I went with it, "Ok. Ok. So let's suppose he just wants to reconnect. How do you think you'd react." The thought of Bucky "reconnecting" with anyone was almost absurd to me but I kept my voice steady as if talking Cap down from a suicide jump.

Steve opened his mouth with a sharp comment, hand raised in a pointing gesture, but then shut it as if he had not expected me to ask him that particular question. He paused and instead rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "I had not… thought of that."

"Well, you sure should start thinking about it. You two didn't exactly hit it off real well last time." I reminded him.

"I'd like to think he'd be more… friendly." Steve replied in a hopeful tone, the light back in his eyes.

"Think back to when you woke up from the freeze. How did you feel in Times Square when Nick introduced himself?" I prompted, "Not sure you liked what you woke up to?"

"It was a bit of a surprise." Steve admitted.

"That is putting it mildly. Now walk in Bucky's shoes. He's out of his hell, alone, in a time he doesn't recognize and maybe he's comprehended he tried to kill his best friend." I paused as the horror grew in Steve's eyes, "Imagine how he'd react to you."

"But… he's Bucky. He's my best friend." A hiccup of a sob caught in Steve's throat, "I talked him out of killing me. He knew his name."

I sighed. This was going to be a long friendly therapy session, "Steve. I'm hungry. Let's eat and then get some beers."

Steve blinked errant tears away and straightened up, "Sure. Good idea. I know a great pastrami place that me and … Bucky used to eat at."

"You mean that place is still around?" I joked.

"Good food never goes out of style. And you are buying the beers." Steve responded getting his wallet and bomber jacket.

"Fine. Not like I'm some sort of national hero or something. You probably get your beers for free." I grumbled.

"Yeah. Most nights. Less for you to spend." Steve replied as we walked out his door and he locked it behind him.