Ch. 17
After she left the museum, Steve didn't see Alma for the rest of the day. He walked aimlessly around the modern art museum, taking no joy in what he was seeing anymore. His only consolation was that their tail had decided to stay with him instead of following Alma out. The last thing he wanted was for her to be put in any more danger.
He kept going over the day over and over again in his mind. At first, he berated himself for breaking the spell they had both been under, the teasing jokes, the bantering conversation. Ever since he had woken up in the future, he had a hard time connecting with anyone. He had enjoyed working with Natasha and he admired the way that she had risked everything to take down Hydra. She was loyal and trustworthy and there were few people in the world he could count on like he could on her. Sam's friendship had been unexpected and he was sure he wouldn't have ever made it it this far in his search for Bucky without him.
But, his feelings for Alma went beyond friendship. He knew it was a horrible time to start a relationship of any kind, that he should just focus all his efforts on reversing what happened to Bucky, but he couldn't help the way he felt about her. He kept thinking about the last twenty-four hours. The way she touched him. The soft curve of her half-smile. The way she'd wink at him after telling him a joke. Her reaction in the museum seemed to indicate that she felt the same way about him. However, she kept clinging to her anger over his takedown of S.H.I.E.L.D. He was certain that her unwillingness to look past what he did was holding her back from admitting what she felt.
Steve left the museum about twenty minutes after Alma. He grabbed an early dinner at a fast food restaurant, not even tasting the food. He considered visiting Sam, but when he checked his phone, he saw that it was past visiting hours. He shrugged and decided to see him the next day.
He was still keyed up and full of anxious energy. He headed back to his hotel room to change into some workout clothes. He was pleasantly surprised to see that both adjoining doors had been fixed and had been left slightly ajar, although he winced when he thought about the price for the repairs. He changed and then took the stairs, two at a time, down to the ground floor.
Once on the streets, he was mindful to keep his running to a slow jog. The last thing he needed was for his tail to figure out who he was by the fact that he could outrun city traffic. He couldn't see anyone resembling one of Pavlov's men anywhere, but Alma had made him paranoid enough that he didn't want to take his chances. Even at his slow pace, he was able to relax and clear his thoughts.
He focused on feeling of his feet hitting the pavement, of breathing in and out. He tried to let go of everything and just breathe. As he looked around the city that Alma seemed to love so much, a small smile began to play on his lips. He could see why she was so enamoured with it, why she was reluctant to leave. He could have run for hours, could have explored half the city without feeling tired but he cut his run short to avoid raising suspicion.
He walked slowly up the stairs to his hotel room, briefly remembering that such an act would have left him panting and breathless before he had the serum. He wondered what would have happened if he had never gone through the procedure. Would he have just sat out the war, spending his time collecting scrap metal and buying war bonds? Or, would Hydra just have overrun everything, obliterating all that stood in their path?
As soon as he shut the hotel door behind him, he stripped off his workout clothes and started the shower. He stood under the spray, keeping the water as hot as he could stand it, letting the heat relax him. He wanted to stay in there for hours, but too soon, the water turned cool and then cold and he stepped out of the stall. He towelled himself off and put on a fresh undershirt and sweats, deciding to watch T.V. until he could fall asleep.
000000
Steve finally clicked off the T.V. and decided to go to bed around eleven that night. He knew the next night was going to a be a long one and the last thing he needed was to be sleep-deprived. Just as he was starting to drift off to sleep, he heard Alma cry out in her dreams. He debated going to her once again, not wanting to push in where he wasn't wanted, but her cries were so wretched and pitiful that he couldn't help himself. He padded over to the open adjoining doors, glad that for once he wouldn't need to batter them down.
"No, please. No! Please, don't!" she cried out.
Once again, the moonlight streamed into her hotel room, illuminating Alma and giving her an almost ethereal glow. She was thrashing wildly in her bed, desperate and panicking. She had thrown the blankets off of her and her long black negligee was bunched up around her knees. He walked over to her, taking her in his arms as he sat on the edge of the bed. "It's okay, Alma. It's just a nightmare. You're safe."
Her eyes flew open and she clung to him. "Oh, Steve," she began and he could feel her tears spill across his chest. Steve held her for an eternity, time standing still, whispering soft words of comfort, hoping to quiet her trembling.
"You're safe. You don't have to be frightened. I'll always be here for you. I'll always protect you," he kept repeating, trying to soothe away the terror that seemed to consume her.
Finally, she looked up at him, her hands slowly sliding up his arms to his neck and then, to his chin, holding on tightly, almost painfully. "We could . . . . we could make it work, couldn't we?" she whispered urgently. "There's got to be a way we could be together, right? There's just got to be a way."
Steve nodded, not trusting himself to speak, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.
She pulled him in close, tentatively kissing him and then, becoming almost frantic as he responded in kind. He felt the satiny texture of her nightgown under his fingertips as he caressed her back, not wanting the kiss to ever end. After a moment, she pulled away slightly, leaning her forehead against his, looking down, her breath ragged.
"Steve, I . . . I think I love y-."
00000
Steve awoke with a start. He was in his own bed, his own breath labored, his own pulse racing from the vivid images. A dream, he thought bitterly. Of course. He groaned when he saw that the alarm clock read that it was nearly two in the morning. He rose and walked over to the adjoining doors. He cracked them open and saw that she was peacefully asleep, wearing the same pajamas as the night before.
No black negligee.
No passionate kisses.
No declaration of love.
He shook his head and sighed as he settled back into bed.
Well, at least I figured out one thing, Steve thought as he scratched his head. I know exactly how I feel about her.
He punched his pillow out of frustration. Unfortunately, he punched it a bit too hard, sending stuffing all over his bed. He moaned slightly as he laid his head down on the misshapen pillow.
It ended up being a long night for Steve.
00000
When Steve finally woke up the next morning, it was nearly nine. He stretched and was chagrinned to see the bed covered in thick, white stuffing, his pillow now just an empty case. He rolled out of bed and walked over to the adjoining doors. Even though they were slightly open, he knocked on them gently. After a moment or two of silence, he peeked in and saw that Alma's bed was made and her purse seemed to be gone.
He sighed and debated calling or texting her. Then, he decided against it. He would give her the time that she'd asked for and just plan on seeing her at four that afternoon.
He hated having the hotel maid clean up after him, so he made his bed and stuffed the stuffing back into the pillow through the hole he had made. He found a tiny sewing kit tucked into one of the hotel drawers in the bathroom and he sewed the hole in the pillow case. After his mother passed away, he had to darn his own socks and repair the rips and tears in his own clothing.
Once he'd finished, he quickly dressed and left the hotel room, once again taking the stairs to reach the ground floor. As he walked into a nearby cafe for breakfast, he looked around. He didn't notice anyone familiar, but he knew that didn't mean anything. The idea that his every movement might be monitored put him on edge.
He ordered a dozen medialunas and a cup of coffee, fully intending on saving some to bring for Sam, but he was ravenous and before he knew it, the plate that had once been piled high with pastries was empty save for a few stray crumbs. He shook his head and ordered a dozen more, leaving the cafe with a paper bag brimming with goodies.
00000
How are you doing?" Steve asked Sam as he entered into his hospital. He handed the bag of pastries to Sam and Sam split up the pastries between him and his bodyguard.
"Great. I'm amazed at how much better I feel. They're going to discharge me tomorrow. They've got me on some killer pain pills, so no driving for a while. Flying, either," he chuckled.
"Good. That's wonderful. What time should I come by to pick you up?"
"Maybe around noon?" Sam said tentatively. "You know how hospitals are. You think you'll be out at nine and then the doctor doesn't come by till twelve."
"Sounds good," Steve said. He turned to the bodyguard. "Would you mind waiting outside?"
The bodyguard shrugged and grabbed a half dozen of the medialunas before he left.
"Not very talkative, is he?" Steve observed.
"He's alright. I guess none of them will play poker with me anymore, since I keep winning. So the big meet's tonight?" Sam sat up in bed and stretched, clicking off the morning news that had been softly playing on the T.V. mounted overhead.
"Yeah," Steve said unenthusiastically.
"So, what's up? You seem a little off," Sam observed.
"It's one of those good news, bad news things."
"So, what's the good news?"
"I definitely know that I like Alma. More than like actually," Steve confessed as he sat down next to Sam's bed.
"Well, that's great, man. So, what's the bad news?"
"I tried to tell her and she just took off. I haven't talked to her since yesterday."
"Well, she did seem pretty pissed at you when we met. About what you did with all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s info. Putting it on-line like that," Sam said gently.
"I know. Sam, it was the only way. The only way to truly get rid of Hydra . . . ."
"Was to get rid of S.H.I.E.L.D. I know. It made sense. But even the best option has consequences."
Steve winced. "I know."
"Did you have any idea what would happen afterwards? To all the loyal S.H.I.E.L.D. agents? To all of the on-going missions? All of the informants that got compromised?" Sam asked.
"Yes. No. I don't know. I just knew that it was the only real choice at the time."
"From her file, she seemed like a pretty dedicated agent. Now, with all her information on-line like at, she can never really work undercover again."
"So, you're saying that's it? She'll never get past it?" Steve stood and began to walk around the small room.
"Maybe she will, maybe she won't. You know her better than I do."
"At this point, I don't know. I really don't know," Steve admitted.
00000
"Where have you been?" Steve asked when he finally saw Alma that afternoon. He had spent nearly the whole day with Sam, playing cards and laughing at the bad soap operas that constituted daytime television. When he returned to his hotel room at half past three, he tried to review his cover dossier with his alter ego's supposed crimes and was frustrated that he had lost a page. He couldn't focus, however, and he ended up spending the rest of the time pacing his room until he heard Alma opening the door of her hotel room a few minutes before four.
He could see her tense, but she motioned for him to enter her room. "Out. I needed to round up some supplies for tonight."
She leaned down to get something out of her backpack and he saw an angry red mark on her face as she turned. "What happened to your chin?"
"Some of the things that I needed to pick up were back at my old apartment. I ran into a couple of Moreno's pals. We had a . . . . disagreement."
Steve's eyes widened. She had put herself in danger for him, for his mission and he hadn't been there to protect her. "Why did you do that? I would have gone with you."
"I know. I just needed some time." She walked over to the bathroom and picked up a large white bottle on the counter. She opened it, dropping a handful of pills onto her palm and then swallowed them dry.
"What was that?" he asked sharply.
"Ibuprofen. There are times that I practically live on the stuff," she explained and sat down on her bed with a small sigh, rubbing her eyes. Steve noticed how weary she seemed, how the weight of the world seemed to be on her shoulders.
"We need to talk," Steve insisted.
She looked up and gave him a wan smile. "You always seem to be saying that to me."
Steve chuckled for a moment, the tension between them melting a bit as he remembered when they met. "Yeah. That first day was a little . . . tense."
"To say the least. Look, can we just focus on getting through tonight? I don't want to walk in on a dangerous mission with my mind clouded with . . . all of this."
"And if things go sour?" He hated leaving things unsaid between them.
She shrugged. "Then it'll all be a moot point."