Chapter One: Movie Night
"No, I am your father!" Steve Rogers's mouth drops open like a character from a cartoon. He had not been expecting that. He straightens his face and makes it look like he was just yawning when he notices Natasha's bemused expression. He knows she can see through his act like crystal-clear mountain spring water, but Steve would like to keep at least a pretense of dignity. He's the symbol of democratic patriotism (or something), and a probably extremely well known plot twist in a decades old picture shouldn't surprise him so- holy shit Vader just cut off Luke's hand.
Natasha tosses a popcorn kernel at him, which bounces neatly off of Steve's head and onto the carpet. " Hey grandpa," she teases, "The wonders of modern cinematography getting to you? Would you rather I put some Charlie Chaplin on?"
"Don't make fun of Chaplin, Tasha, he was hilarious," Steve counters, chucking a kernel back at her with equal precision. It lands right in her waiting mouth. Steve pauses the movie, eliciting a groan of complaint from his viewing companion. "I'll be back in a minute," he promises.
Steve's DC apartment fits him like a star-spangled glove. When he first moved in he kept the place in military like order. A few days later, Tony had arrived on a whim and inspected the place carefully before informing the captain that he was boring as hell. By the time Iron Man left the capitol, Steve had gained a cheap lava lamp and an extremely un-cheap recliner. Tony had insisted on buying him the ugliest American Flag print chair in existence. Not one to turn down gifts, Steve had accepted only to find it the most comfortable chair in the history of ever. At that point it could have been pink and orange unicorn print for all he cared. A week or two after Tony's visit, Dr. Banner appeared at his door with a request to crash for the night. Steve had taken to sleeping in the recliner, so it wasn't much trouble to let Bruce have the bedroom. The next morning the captain found a little collection of wooden toys and a note of thanks next to the bed. Now a "magic lock" puzzle, a Japanese Dharma doll, and a few lucky charms Bruce had picked up on his travels adorned Steve's previously barren mantle. After that, all of the Avengers made a point of giving him something special to decorate his new home. Clint gave him an old record player and a few 45's to jazz up the place. It was literal jazz for the most part, actually. Natasha gave him a book of Russian fairy tales, which he was slowly learning to read. Thor had wanted to gift him with a large, rune-ridden waraxe. Steve politely declined and accepted a photograph of the god of thunder and Jane instead. He's lived in this city for only a few months, and somehow it's already become a second home (the first always being Brooklyn).
Steve finishes up his bathroom break and splashes some cold water on his face. It won't do for him to fall asleep during movie night, now will it? Steve looks at his reflection in the mirror. Is it just the light, or are those dark rings under his eyes? Upon closer examination the captain determines that yes those are and no he does not look to hot. He wonders why Natasha didn't mention it (although he's glad she didn't). He blinks at his image. Something about this picture reminds him of a skinny little punk who wanted to fight for his country so many years ago…
Along with his best friend of course.
Steve clenches his teeth. He can almost see his reflection distort into the image of two boys from Brooklyn, side by side. A pair of orphans who only had each other to lean on. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes…
"Hey, Cap woah!" Natasha's alarmed voice shatters his thoughts. First he looks at her, then at his right hand, then the broken mirror. When had he done that? The captain steps back from the sink, almost slipping on the blood dripping from his hand. Natasha leads a shocked Steve back into the living room. She pulls a first aid kit out from under the sofa. Sitting Steve down in his recliner, she cleans the blood off his knuckles. He remains silent as she tends to his self-inflicted wound. When his hand is wrapped in gauze and taped up, the Black Widow looks up at him with concern.
"You mind telling me why you punched out your reflection?" she asked quietly. Steve swallows. He's not sure what happened himself.
"I don't know. One second I was just thinking and then…" he trails off. Natasha sits on the arm of his chair.
"What were you thinking about?" The captain avoids her gaze. Natasha gives him a moment, but when he doesn't answer she asks another question, "It was him, wasn't it?" Steve's continued silence tells more than any words he could have mustered. Natasha sighs. She starts to say something else, but he interrupts her,
"I can't believe I lost him again, Tasha. How could I let this happen?"
"He's not dead-"
"Then I should be out looking for him!" Steve almost shouts. He drops his head into his hands, trying to hide his tears. Natasha puts a hand on his back.
"We're doing the best we can. I've got feelers everywhere. We'll find him," she comforts. Steve looks up at her again, wiping his eyes with the back of his uninjured hand.
"But what if they find him first?" he chokes. Natasha gives him a grim smile.
"We've beat Hydra before, and we'll do it again. Until every last trace of them is stamped from the Earth."
Somehow her conviction is comforting.