Steve burst off the couch and stomped across the hotel room to the television sitting on the faux wood dresser. He pressed the power button like it had personally insulted him and winced when he felt the plastic break beneath his finger. They'd have to pay for that. At least he had shut up the talking heads.

There hadn't been any huge disasters or alien invasions, but that didn't mean there weren't things of substance happening in the world. Instead of the reports on world affairs he expected to find on cable news, he had just watched half of a two-hour panel where four people debated whether or not the world was better off without Captain America.

World-threatening disaster or no, Steve knew there were still people who needed aid and behind-the-scenes missions he could be doing to keep the world safe. They had cut the head off of Hydra, but it would be a mistake to assume there weren't more to hack away. Hydra was hardly the only concern, but going rogue meant losing access to his daily security briefings. If something happened, he'd have to wait to hear about it on TV.

His eyes trailed to the flip phone sitting on the nightstand. Tony had the number. Steve had to trust that if he was needed, if there was something big enough or important enough, Tony would call, but he honestly didn't know if the phone's silence was because he wasn't needed or because he wasn't wanted. Either way, listening to the drone of 24-hour news wasn't going to keep him informed in advance. Natasha always got her intelligence from internet sources. Perhaps it was time he followed her example.

But he'd have to wait to ask Natasha about that, because she and Sam were out, taking advantage of the nice weather and trying out some new disguises. Maybe he needed some sunshine too.

It took half an hour to get the false mustache to adhere properly to the skin between his nose and lip. It looked ridiculous. He had missed the seventies, but from what he'd seen Steve was pretty sure he'd fit right in with the caterpillar replica stuck to his face.

Next, he put in the contact lenses that changed his irises from deep sea blue to forest green and ran a comb through his growing hair. He had never worn it this long, and he was still getting used to the darker shade Nat had dyed it. At first, he couldn't pass a mirror without taking a second glance at his strange reflection. Now, it was starting to grow on him. Taking in his transformed image, he was pleased to find he didn't look like his self. But he still hated the mustache.

Putting on a pair of aviator sunglasses, Steve walked out of the hotel room in baggy clothes and a baseball cap. It wasn't until he was at the corner stoplight that he realized he didn't know where he wanted to go. A walk would be nice, but there weren't any parks nearby and he didn't want to wander aimlessly.

Helpfully, his stomach grumbled and reminded him of the measly food choices he had picked from that morning. The three of them couldn't live on protein bars and dry cereal forever. Decision made, Steve made his way over the crosswalk and down the three blocks to the nearest grocery store.

His eyes scanned the strip mall automatically, checking for any threats or suspicious activity. When he noticed a thin man glancing around with a guilty look on his face and standing stiffly beside a car parked far from any of the store entrances, Steve found himself feeling relieved. Finally, something to do besides run and hide.

Seeing how nervous the man was, Steve assumed he would run like a deer in headlights if he saw him coming, so he stepped quietly over the pavement until he was only a few feet away and then angled into a blind spot the man wouldn't see unless he turned completely around. Sure enough, the man had a metal rod jammed down the driver side window. There was sweat on his brow and his hands kept slipping.

Steve was ready to surprise the thief when a new thought occurred to him. What exactly was his plan? Haul the guy into the nearest police station? That wasn't an option. He couldn't call the authorities or even try to hand him off to a security guard without having to give a statement. That was too risky.

Steve was still trying to decide what the best course of action was when he heard the lock click open. The man sighed, sounding relieved. He pulled the rod out of the window and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. When he went to open the door, Steve knew he couldn't delay anymore.

"You don't want to do that," Steve said. He didn't remember what country they were in at the moment and hoped English would suffice.

The man spun, eyes wide and shocked. Steve's baggy clothes hid the cut of his muscles but not the bulk of his size. He had at least half a foot on the man and almost twice his width. The man gulped, his neck bulging from the pressure of swallowing. He looked Steve up and down twice, then dropped the rod and ran for it.

Steve let out a huff. He was tempted to follow the man and find out his story. Maybe he was an addict or maybe he was trying to feed his family. Whatever it was, he needed help. Steve's stomach soured. He couldn't help that man, but at least he had stopped whoever owned the car from having a bad day. But maybe they were having a bad day anyway.

The rod had rolled under the car a few inches when the man dropped it. Steve bent over and grabbed it, then snapped it in half. He carried it with him to the store entrance, dropping it in a trash can before walking inside.

He strolled along the shelves looking for things that would satisfy Nat's sweet tooth and Sam's love of all things spicy. He stopped a couple of times to help other customers.

There was a little girl who let go of her balloon string. She was jumping frantically after it, but the helium kept carrying it toward the ceiling. Steve grabbed the ribbon and knelt down to tie it around her tiny wrist, gaining a smile from the little girl but a frown from her mother. He nodded, hoping he looked respectable, before continuing down the aisle.

He helped a frail, wrinkled man reach a bottle of oil on the highest shelf. When the oil was securely in his cart, the elderly citizen said, "Thank you, young man." Steve smiled and said he was happy to help, trying not to think about the fact that he was technically the older of the two.

In the produce department, Steve picked out some fruits and vegetables that were easy to eat raw and could either stay out or fit into a mini-fridge. His cart already held a bunch of bananas and a few apples when he passed the plums.

Bucky loved plums, always had. Before he had turned on the news, Steve had woken up happy because today was Bucky day. The thought of talking to Bucky brought a smile to his face so wide his cheeks ached. He had already picked out more than would be convenient to carry back to the hotel, but Steve filled a bag with plums anyway. He'd have to ask Bucky if there were plums in Wakanda.

When he got back to the hotel, Nat and Sam were already there. They spent the next couple of hours talking and watched a sitcom Sam liked.

"I don't know about you two, but I'm starving," Sam said when the show ended.

Steve gestured to the bags sitting next to the television with an exasperated expression.

"Yeah, but that's all snack food. I need a hot meal."

Nat make an agreeable noise. "Not fast food. I'm sick of fast food. Anything sound good to you?" she said, raising a newly blonde eyebrow at Steve.

Steve shook his head "A hot meal does sound good, but Bucky's supposed to call soon. Bring me something back?"

"You got it, man," Sam said.

Twenty minutes later, they were gone and Steve was sitting on his bed with his laptop open, waiting for a green dot to appear beside Bucky's username. He assumed Shuri set it up for him because he couldn't imagine Bucky calling himself WhiteWolf1917.

As soon as the circle of green appeared, Steve pressed the button to call. Bucky appeared before him, streams of evening sunlight brightening his face. His hair was pulled back in a bun like it almost always was now. Steve worried he was being insensitive when he had asked how Bucky managed to style it like that but was delighted when Bucky smiled and told Steve about the children who found him every morning to fix his hair and teach him bits of isiXhosa.

Bucky hadn't seen Steve yet. He was looking over his right shoulder. Suddenly, his body lurched away from the computer as he dove to grab at something.

"Hey! Bucky? Is everything ok?" Steve asked as the picture jostled around on his screen.

"Stop being such a brat," Bucky said.

"Huh?" Steve asked, but then Bucky was turning around with something fuzzy clutched in his arm. It was a goat.

"Hey!" Bucky said, eyes finally on Steve. "Sorry. Sam's been chasing Spidey around all day. I'm gonna have to tether him if he won't calm down."

Steve heard the whiny bleating of goats nearby, but the brown one currently occupying Bucky's lap was silent. Out of nowhere, its tongue darted out and left a wet streak across Bucky's chin.

"Give me all the kisses you want," Bucky said. "I'm still not letting you down."

The goat made a noise at that, bumping its horns against Bucky's chest but not putting up much of a fight otherwise. There were black circles around its eyes, almost like goggles. Steve laughed. "Bucky, did you actually name that goat after Sam?"

"Of course I did! Fits him perfectly. Even got the silly mask around his eyes," Bucky said. His hand was on Sam's head, petting the dark fur in little circles.

"And, uh, Spidey?" Steve asked.

"Well, yeah. That one's barely through being a kid. He's always getting into everything, curious as can be. He's lucky he's so fast or Sam would have caught him by now."

Steve laughed again. "Got any goats named after me?"

Bucky shook his head. "Haven't met a goat as stubborn as you yet."

Steve chuckled. "Always got a joke, don't you, jerk?"

"You make it too easy, Stevie. Speaking of which, what's on your face? Looks like you grew a third eyebrow."

Steve touched his cheek and forehead before he realized what Bucky was talking about. He stroked the fake hair above his lips with two fingers. "What's wrong, Buck? Can't appreciate a fine-lookin' mustache when you see one?"

"Oh, come on. Don't be a punk. You know that thing is hideous."

"I think it suits me," Steve said, wiggling his eyebrows for affect, but when his eyes went down to the window with his own image, he couldn't hold back a laugh. "Oh, man. I look like a walrus with this thing on, don't I?"

Bucky had a smirk on his face watching Steve laugh at himself. "That is an unfair insult to walruses. But, yes. Please tell me that thing is fake."

Steve wiped a humorous tear from the corner of his eye and nodded. "Yeah. It's fake. I'd rip it off if it wouldn't hurt so much."

"You gotta find a better way to camouflage. You look like a creep with that thing on," Bucky said.

"You got any better ideas, jerk?"

"So glad you asked because as a matter of fact, I do. As usual."

"Ok, Buck. What's your brilliant plan?"

"Grow your own facial hair. You can dye it to cover the blonde. Captain America's never had a beard, right?"

"No," Steve said. "I've always shaved."

"It's not the forties anymore. No one is gonna look at you twice if you've got a beard. Don't you like mine?"

Steve licked his lips and gulped. "Yeah, Buck. It looks good. You think I'd look all right with one?"

"Yeah, Stevie," Bucky said, his eyes relaxed and focused on Steve's lips. "You'll look real nice."