a/n: helloooooooooo. i've been watching wayyy too many rom-coms.
i re-wrote this chapter like four times because i couldn't fully decide on how i wanted the First Meeting to go. initially, i'd wanted it to be a sort of meet-cute, but then i thought "nah, this road to a relationship is about to be roughhhhh. let me give them a rough start."
this chapter is brought to you in part by SZA, 80 degree weather, and the Japanese cherry blossom three-wick candle from bath & body works.
"Stars fading but I linger on, dear."
- Dream A Little Dream Of Me, Ella Fitzgerald ft. Louis Armstrong
Analysis: the Untold Story of Captain America, Our Country's Best Kept Secret
by: Jamie E. Archer
There was a ritual Michael Archer would perform before every one of his controversial pieces hit the stands. Jamie would hear him pace in their house up in his expansive home office he'd converted the master bedroom into after her Mom had left.
He'd just go back and forth, muttering the same quote beneath his breath as he mentally prepared himself for the next morning and the news that came with the latest print. "I am the master of my fate and I am the captain of my boat. I am the master of my fate and I am the captain of my boat. I am the master of my fate and I am the captain of my boat..." Jamie would hear him whisper to himself for a few hours before finally going to bed.
The first time Jamie had ever tried this little ritual, she'd been in undergrad. Freshmen year, her first semester writing for the Washington Square News, NYU's student-run newspaper. It was the first hard-hitting piece she'd written that she was worried would catch a bad rift or upset too many higher-ups for her controversial take on the on-campus crime rate going up at an alarming rate despite the fact that the University continued to increase their police budget by tenfold every fiscal year.
This time, Margot had gotten the grandeur experience of listening to her roommate pace back and forth in their small dormitory as she whispered beneath her breath over and over again, "I am the master of my fate and I am the captain of my boat. I am the master of my fate and I am the captain of my boat. I am the master of my fate and I am the captain of my boat..."
It took some getting used to, but eventually Margot had become accustomed to these small rituals, even adding to it by subtly distracting her best friend the only way she knew how: bar crawls.
"Go, can I just skip it this one time?" Jamie pleaded, her head tilted at an odd angle as her friend worked tirelessly on her hair. "I mean... the piece has already come out. JJ expects me tomorrow at the office to brainstorm possible- ow- leads for the SHIELD piece I've been trying to get him to greenlight for months- ow! Do you have to make it so tight?"
Jamie could hear Margot smack her lips in dismay. "With the type of drunk you are? Absolutely they need to be tight," she tsked, pulling on a strand of hair to tightly secure her braid to the side of her friend's head.
"Ow!" Jamie whimpered.
"Such a baby..."
The redhead rolled her eyes. A moment of silence passed between them before Jamie frowned a bit. "Hey, what do you mean 'the type of drunk I am?'"
Margot only chuckled, "Oh, honey..."
"What? Tell me- ow! Come on, Go!"
"What I mean is that you are an... unleashed type of drunk."
"Unleashed? Am I... Am I that bad?" Jamie's heart dropped. There had been so many times that Margot or Parker would drag her to parties and bars and ragers where she'd get so drunk all she'd have to remember the night before were pictures other people had of her or the stories she'd hear about herself. No one had ever told her she'd been such a wild, outlandish drunk person until now.
"Not bad," Margot reassured her, typing up the end of one of the last braids. "Just... you're always so uptight and stressed that when you finally let loose with a little liquid courage, you tend to just throw yourself around."
Jamie guffawed. She spun around in her chair, a full 180 degree turn to look into her friend's eyes. "Please don't tell me I get slutty when I'm drunk."
"No!" Margot laughed, placing her hands firmly on Jamie's shoulders and spinning her back around to continue her work. "I mean, like... dancing and talking people into stupid activities- you just throw yourself in, face first, not caring about the consequences like you normally do when you're sober. But while you're on these little adventures of yours, your hair always somehow manages to end up a sloppy mess on top of your head and I've had-"
"Oooooooooow!"
"-just about enough," she finished, slapping a small rubber band at the end of the final small braid. "There. All done." The young woman turned Jamie's head towards the mirror in front of her to examine her work. She'd spent three hours of her day preparing Jamie for the night; a full-face of make-up, sharp eyeliner, dark red lipstick, sparkly jewelry, half of her red locks done into thick, bouncy curls while the other half was tied up in several tight braids. Margot stood back and admired her work.
Jamie, of course, winced as she ran her hand delicately down the expanse of the side of her head covered in the tight, and slightly red, braids attached to her skull. Oh, she could already feel how bad it was going to hurt taking them out later.
"Don't tell me you hate them now."
Margot pursed her lips as she tried to gauge what the disappointed look on her friend's face meant. The redhead only shook her head.
"It's not that," she insisted. "I'm just... I don't know if I'm up for this."
'Not this again-" Margot threw her head back in exasperation. "Jay, you need to let loose sometimes. When was the last time you have had a night on the town? You; the girl who got banned from three separate bars one St. Patrick's Day weekend? You love to party and you can't even deny it."
"Okay, yes-"
"Then it's settled!" Margot effectively cut her friend off by spraying two puffs of perfume directly around her upper body, letting the mist waft up and into her nostrils. Margot watched the redhead's face scrunch up upon getting a big whiff of Chanel No. 5's latest scent. She looked as though she might've gotten her facial expressions under control until she abruptly let out an abrupt sneeze.
"Oh God," Jamie winced, rubbing a finger under her nose. "No more. Please. Tell me that's the end of this... makeover."
Margot took a step back to examine her work. Not bad, she mused. Not bad at all... God, I wished her hair would just naturally curl like this-
"Go?" Jamie prompted worriedly when her best friend didn't immediately comment on her appearance.
"Well, first of all- this isn't a full Margot Makeover," the brunette gestured to her friend's new look. "If it were, I would've trimmed more off the ends of your hair."
On instinct, Jamie's hands came up to grasp at the end of a strand of her bouncy red curls. "You cut my hair?"
Margot could've laughed at how scandalized she sounded in her accusation. "I always cut your hair when I help you get ready. It's the only time you ever take care of those dead ends of yours. I had to take matters into my own hands when I know you don't."
Jamie looked like she wanted to say something, but Margot wasn't going to let her think too hard about something as mundane as having been her own personal salon stylist for the past eight years, give or take.
"Anyway," Margot clapped, cutting the conversation off. "You're all done. Now go get dressed so we can hurry up and beat the Easter crowds." The young woman brushed the lose foundation powder from off her hands onto her faded blue jeans. She knew good and well never to wear nice clothes on bar crawls, it never ended well for anyone.
Unsure if she heard her friend correctly, the redhead spun in her chair, following the direction Margot was walking. "What 'Easter rush'?"
Having already left the room, Margot didn't respond. Her twin, having just finished his dinner of frozen pizza rolls, waltzed in with greasy hands and an assist, "Y'know, all the people who don't talk to their family who go to bars to find other people who don't have families to drown their sorrows with. Hey- do you have a towel?" Parker swung his head into the large bathroom in his sister's room.
Jamie shook her head as she spun back around in her chair, tuning out whatever conversations- or arguments, it seemed- were going on behind her as she examined herself in the lit up mirror. This was the nicest she'd gotten done up in a while. Granted, Jamie never really learned how to do make-up until fairly recently when she became roommates with a fashion major, so she wasn't exactly a make-up expert by any means. She could've had "cakey" foundation or her fake lashes could've looked "overly faux," but she wouldn't have been able to tell.
What she could tell was how good of a job Margot had done to be able to erase any evidence of her recent restless nights and hours of frustration-induced sobbing. Effortlessly, too.
Anyone who'd be seeing her tonight wouldn't be able to tell just how insanely stressful the last few weeks had been. Jamie had spent hours pouring herself into examining, re-examining, editing, going over with a magnifying glass, and breaking down every sentence of her article before she'd sent it to JJ at the Bugle. It was difficult also trying to navigate the question of whether or not she should've published it at all.
It was odd, trying to navigate the grey area of human subjects. It wasn't as if she were doing a feature or a profile on Steven Grant Rogers, American War Hero. She had done a piece on SHIELD's founding that had originated from the same organization that created the WWII comic book hero: Captain America. Regardless, the young reporter still had a hard time digesting the things that Agent Pirate and Agent Rushman had told her about the unfiltered- or so they'd claimed- information they'd given her.
A man from the 1940's, who supposedly died decades ago, was recently reanimated and revived from a deep, hypothermia-induced coma and was now being kept in the custody of said organization. She wanted so badly to allow this man out of time his peace and privacy in what she imagined was a difficult time. But on the other hand...
This was her big break. This was finally her cold-hard truth, proven by superiors at the organization of SHIELD itself, that they played vital roles in parts of history from behind the scenes. Jamie had found so much evidence in the past few years, but all of it could've been labeled as conspiracy theories had she released what she'd seen so far, so prematurely; SHIELD's involvement with whatever happened with Stane and the Ten Rings, their involvement at the Stark Expo with Justin Hammer, their involvement in tracking down Bruce Banner's former girlfriend at a university, Jamie couldn't even get a shred of evidence on them at the scene of Harlem where the Hulk nearly pummeled half the neighborhood.
But this- Captain America- was the key component to the story that would blow open the door on all of SHIELD's dirty secrets. Secrets Jamie knew they'd been keeping ever since their agents had her believe they were working with her Dad as an insurance company, spying, keeping them in their watchful eye for years.
While she was still stumped on what it was that the organization wanted from her that they monitored her so closely, Jamie was still persistent in her pursuit of the truth.
"You're still just sitting there?" Margot cried out as she returned from out of her restroom, fully clothed and already putting on her large, gold hoop earrings.
"Sorry! I'm sorry!"
The redhead apologized as her friend started throwing shoes at her on the way out. As much as worrying over SHIELD and her recently published article with the Daily Bugle, Jamie was now on Margot's time. And Margot's time was far more precious- and dangerous to waste- than picking her nails anxiously waiting for the results and analytics to come in.
Steve Rogers frowned. His fingers pinched the bottom of his chin as he propped his elbow on a table at his usual coffee spot.
It was a quaint hole-in-the-wall café, a little down the way from the new apartment SHIELD had set up for him upon his release a couple months ago. It was difficult to stay there... in that fortress Director Fury called a "Base of Operations." It was suffocating. And for the first few days of staying shuttered inside of SHIELD's library and archives room, Steve was thankful to not have to face the outside world until he'd gotten to the point where it became less and less overwhelming, and more and more captivating.
SHIELD was kind enough to provide him a cabin escape of sorts for the first few weeks of his "rehabilitation" to the new time- or at least that's what the organization called it. The soldier was still trying to wrap his head around having fallen into a coma for a little over seven decades. Seven decades of missed time. Seven decades of missed life. It was hard to mourn something he didn't even realize he was at risk of losing until it passed him by in what physically felt like the blink of an eye.
Peggy. Dum Dum. Dernier. Gabe. Morita. Falsworth. Howard. Phillips.
Some of the people he'd left behind. Only to wake up to find most of his closest friends and the people he'd come to care for had passed, lived a lifetime and died over the years from old age and tragic accidents.
Steve tried not to think about it too much. Any distraction provided by the budding new age he'd found himself in was welcome.
It was often off-putting, sitting in at what normal people deemed so mundane and casual and mourning what was once there. The first stop he'd taken on his first SHIELD-sanctioned visit had been to his old home in Brooklyn. It ended with him having to take several hours to himself in his assigned barracks room. He'd sobbed. Body-wracking, heaving sobs. After that night, it was all pretty downhill. He recognized that the position he was in now was one of a kind and a little less than ideal, but he'd survived sacrificing himself to save the world. He was still a soldier. There was still a mission for him at the end of the day.
Steve knew he'd just have to keep going, figure out where to go from here. If there was anywhere to go...
"Need a refill?"
Steve glanced up upon being addressed by the waitress. She was frail, older. He could tell she'd been a blond in her youth from the remnants of yellow and beige in her greying hair fitted beneath a cap with the café emblem on the front. While he recognized the age in this woman- the wrinkles on her face, the hanging of the skin on her forearms, and the cracks around her kind eyes- he was still trying hard not to recognize the reality that she was probably around the same age as he was.
"I'm okay, actually. I think I might head out," the soldier explained, reaching into his back pocket to produce his leather wallet, one of the first he'd owned in years. One of the nicest, too.
He reached in and plucked out two tens. He was still having to get used to modern prices and how much inflation had changed everyday living, but even his elderly waitress seemed caught off guard by the amount of money he'd left folded neatly beneath his empty coffee mug.
"I've taken up your section enough for the day," Steve mused.
His waitress, Joan- as her nametag read- flushed at the generous tip. "Oh! Well, it is getting pretty late, huh?" she chuckled good-heartedly. She probably didn't want to seem overly eager to be rid of the brooding young man who had taken up her back patio table for the better part of the late morning into the early evening just before sunset. "Have a good evening, son!" Joan called after him as he made his way from off the patio onto the sidewalk.
Steve merely nodded back.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and kept his eyes peeled on his surroundings as he made his way back to his apartment. Frankly, he'd indulged himself a bit too long at the café. He'd been putting off reading whatever files Fury had sent over about the Howling Commandos, the SSR... Howard, Peggy, Bucky's family. His longer and longer excursions out on the city Steve had been taking had become more of an escape, an excuse to procrastinate cracking open that nostalgic door to even more pain and grief.
One thing at a time, the Captain inwardly reminded himself.
It had become his mantra since waking up. One thing at a time. Processing what he'd missed, one thing at a time. It would take time, but it wasn't as if he could waste anymore than he already had buried beneath a glacier.
For now, however, Steve could do with just a timeless piece of pizza.
He'd discovered an old-fashioned pizzeria not too far from SHIELD's building that had a few modern antiquities, but- for the most part- still felt somewhat familiar. The sun was already setting by the time Steve had walked his way over. One thing that hadn't changed was the traffic and terrible sidewalk pedestrians in Manhattan, that was for sure.
As the soldier kept his pace all the way to the restaurant, a stray hot dog stand with a series of newspaper clippings along the side of it caught his. It wasn't in color, like many of the newer magazines he'd seen at the grocery store lines and store fronts. It was grey scale with big, bold, black letters on the headline. But it wasn't the headline that had immediately caught the Captain's attention, it was the symbol on the front page image: his shield. Or, rather, his old shield. The USO shield he'd originally been given as a tool to help him memorize his campaign lines back when he was still just a propaganda tool for Senator Brandt and before he actually had a use for a shield that deflected HYDRA weapons.
Tentatively, Steve reached out for the paper as he read the headline.
Analysis: The Untold Story of Captain America, Our Country's Best Kept Secret
He tilted his head, perplexed. Somewhat convenient timing, he couldn't help but note. From what Fury had told him, no one other than those within SHIELD knew about his... resurrection.
"Hey," the older fellow running the stand snapped at him. "You eitha' gonna buy the paper or buy a 'dog? Which's it gonna be, pal?" he spoke in a thick Brooklyn accent.
Smothering a fond chuckle at the sound of a small piece of home, Steve reached into his back pocket for his wallet once more for the evening. "I'll take the paper."
"Which one?"
"Daily Bugle."
"Which one?"
"Uh," Jamie bit her lip. "Shit."
She never knew which liquor to choose anymore. There were way too many variables to consider now in her adult life. She was experienced, she knew which alcoholic beverages made her feel a certain way. She knew which alcohols gave her worse hangovers. She knew what her limit was whether it was whiskey, tequila, vermouth, bourbon- those addictive little fruity drinks with the umbrellas they put on top.
"We'll take six Tito's," Parker came to the rescue. He nudged Jamie's arm as he shoved his way through the crowd posted up at the bar in the loud speak easy he'd managed to sneak the rest of his friends into. "Make those double shots, actually."
"Do not-" Jamie practically choked. "Do not make those double. Regular shots are enough."
"Oh, come on!" her roommate moaned. Jamie stifled her laughter at the way he overdramatically threw himself over the edge of the bar counter, his hand fanning his face as if he were pretending to faint. "You know it takes us all ten years to actually get drunk. We didn't even pre-game before coming here. We have to speed it up if we're going to be shit-faced by 8pm!"
The redhead furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, "Why are we getting shit-faced by 8pm?"
"To be plastered by 10!"
Jamie coughed out a laugh. He's nuts. "Logan and I have work tomorrow. We cannot be hungover for work. JJ would blackball me from every other newspaper on the Eastern Seaboard!" she cried out over the loud thumping bass and pulsating EDM music.
"So dramatic," Parker whined. The bartender who'd taken their order from earlier returned a few moments later with a large tray of their shots. "Oh, yes!" Parker shouted upon seeing what he'd been served.
"Oh, no," Jamie moaned simultaneously. "Not the double shots."
"Are you kidding me? It's fate!" Parker gushed.
"That'll be $36," the bartender spoke blandly from the other side of the bar.
"Thirty-six dollars?" Parker gaped. Jamie shook her head. Here we go... "Wow! Jesus, Jay. We are expensive drinkers." Nonetheless, the Police Academy student pulled out his card and slid it across the bar towards their bartender. "Can I put it on my tab? I'm friends with the owner!"
While Parker continued to shout back and forth with the bartender about tabs and payment methods, Jamie took the opportunity to grab the tray of shots and quickly make a get away from the situation back to the table Logan had managed to snag for them on the mezzanine, just above the dancefloor.
Tonight was some kind of themed night, 90's club electro-pop that made Jamie's ears scratch. Maybe Parker might be right about getting plastered, she pondered to herself. The redhead held up the tray of double shots to her eye level as she examined the clear liquid in each. She hadn't had alcohol in a while, let alone done shots. Maybe she deserved a night on the town...
But the inkling reminder of responsibility hummed in the back of her mind like a homing mechanism. Work ethic had been built into her brain like a mental motherboard, angling to make her as stubborn for success as humanly possible. So, as much as she would've loved to call in sick the next day...
"Jamieeeeeeee," a very bubbly, very drunk young woman gushed upon the redhead's return to her friends' table.
Before Jamie could even turn to see who was running over to greet her, she was just barely able to set down the tray of double shots. One second she was standing upright and the next she was in a grappling bear hug, her face surrounded by long hair that smelt of straight iron hair char and overly fruity Victoria's Secret perfume. She didn't even really need to pull back to know who was hugging her.
"Hi," Jamie laughed uneasily.
"How are you?!" Chess Roberts pulled back to hold Jamie at arms length. "I haven't seen you since the Derby a few months ago!"
"Yeah!" Jamie faked a gushing smile. Truthfully, she wished she could get swallowed whole by the rest of the loud crowd around her. Chess, much like Nick, frequented the political scene. Nick, being related to politicians. Chess, being related to lobbyists with money who were particularly close to said politicians.
However, Chess Roberts was also one of Jamie's few friends who stuck beside her after she got kicked out of her freshman year sorority back in NYU. Mostly because Chess had also left to pursue broadcasting journalism more instead of preppy charity events and frat day ragers. So, as much as Jamie sometimes wanted to hate Chess, she didn't have it in her to actually dislike her.
"You went to a Derby?" Logan spoke up from his seat at the table. He had wasted no time in grabbing one of the double shots on the tray for himself.
"Yeah, I was a plus-one," Jamie muttered, trying not to divulge this topic of conversation for too long before the awkward part got worst.
"Oh, that's right!" Chess snapped her fingers, her acrylic nails still glowing under the bar black light. "You were with Nicholas Park! The Senator's son. Is he here?" she waggled her eyebrows.
"No, uh..." Jamie turned towards Margot on the other side of their mutual friend. Help, she silently begged.
Margot was quick to pick up on the panicked look on her face. "Parker!" she shouted abruptly.
The group at the table spun around to find the other Sharpe twin finally returning, receipt from the bar in-hand. "This is the last time I ever buy shots for the table," he muttered beneath his breath. "Thirty-six dollars!"
"Thirty-six?!" Chess gasped, continuing on with whatever new topic Parker had brought on to distract from the invisible elephant in the room regarding Jamie's current relationship status... Complicated.
With her former classmate distracted, Jamie took that as her cue to huddle up back with her photographer who had already downed half the shot. The young reporter examined the double shots and tried to do the mental math about how many it would take for her to get as drunk as possible before her cut off time, so she'd be able to drink enough not to remember what was sure to be the beginning of the end of her long-term relationship, but not drink enough to the point where she'd be hungover at 8am the next day.
Eventually, she made the executive decision to just start taking whatever was placed in her hands. "Bottoms up," she whispered beneath her breath.
"Huh?" Logan vaguely tuned in, still not finished with his singular shot. By the time he'd turned to see what Jamie was talking about, she'd already downed her first double shot and was already grabbing at her second. "Woah... aren't you worried about work tomorrow?"
Jamie shrugged, holding up shot number two. "I'll just stop drinking by 8pm."
Logan turned away from his reporter to share a loaded glance with her best friend, who'd also tuned in after seeing how easily Jamie had thrown back her first double shot. Neither of them looked very believing, but neither looked too worried either. They knew this was what Jamie needed. A day free of responsibility, whether she realized it or not.
"Whoo! Bottoms up!"
Parker drunkenly rambled. He'd plucked up a shot of his own, clinking the edge with Jamie's. The pair slammed the bottoms on the table then threw it back with a little too much ease.
The stinging sensation that came with the strong alcoholic liquid sliding down her throat, lit Jamie's body up like a live fuse. She could physically track the bad choices slithering into her system as it sunk to the bottom of her stomach, settling in and bringing a head rush with it.
Buzzed already? Jamie glanced sidelong at Parker who had already slammed his empty glass down, placing the rim on the table. The redhead couldn't help the small smile that his reaction elicited. Oh, he had every intention of getting me drunk with these double shots.
"Another one?" Her best friend's twin prompted, his eyes wide with exuberance.
"No- no, no, no." Jamie answered very quickly, still with the motor control to know her periodical limit. Two doubles back-to-back would be enough- for now.
She could already feel her skin flushing and her equilibrium being thrown off by the vibrating base in her bones. The flashing lights from the nearby dance floor beneath them kept swinging up into her eyes, the flashes of orange and red mimicking explosives as loud, heavy clouds of smoke and fog shot up with the drop of the beat. The screams of the crowd below were of delight and excitement, but all Jamie could hear were the blood-curdling screams of people being blown to kingdom come.
The panic set in very quickly, catching the young woman off guard so completely she had to grip the edge of the table to steady herself.
"Jay? Jay?" Margot had pulled herself out of her conversation with Chess, placing her hand on her friend's shoulder to get her attention. "What's going on?"
"'m fine."
The bit out response sounded more forceful than Jamie had intended. Luckily, the bubbliness from the shots had yet to fade despite the anxious whirlwind of emotions Jamie found herself succumbing to, falling down a quick decline the louder the sounds around her became.
Brushing her friends' worried expressions off, Jamie slapped her hand free hand onto the table as she felt around in the dimly lit area for her dark blue clutch she'd brought. "I-" she declared, holding up her purse to make a point. "-need to pee."
When no one responded to the odd declaration, the young journalist skipped away.
Wow, they weren't kidding about the Easter Rush- Jamie couldn't help but note as she maneuvered her way through the onslaught of patrons downstairs. The bar line looked to be getting more loaded by the second. And if the bar line was horrible-
Jamie halted in her tracks upon spotting the line to the women's restroom. Girls dressed in tube tops, faux-leather pants, red bottom heels, and abnormal amounts of body glitter lined up all along the dingy East Wing wall of the upscale club Parker had seemingly brought them to. The line barely looked as though it were moving, and if Jamie followed it longer down the hall, she'd find it went all the way until it nearly collided with the long line at the bar.
Dammit, Jamie cursed.
Another wave of vertigo swept over the young woman's body like a new waft of strong perfume and cologne that hit her nose with every other step she took through the swaying crowd.
With no other real option, real escape- Jamie ducked through the cheering, partially-dressed crowd of girls skipping towards the other side of the club with bottles and sparklers in their hands. Bottle service be damned, Jamie needed to get out of there.
Upon catching a brief glimpse over the heads of a few very tall men, Jamie was able to find her way towards the bright, red EXIT sign that took her to a door that led out to a dingy, wet alleyway. The pulsating of the music still reverberated off the door as she shut it closed behind her. She didn't hear a click or any sign that she'd locked herself out, so she took a cautionary step away from the door to try to distance herself more from the momentary lapse in reality she'd just experienced.
Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together.
The warmth of her chest felt nice against the cool touch of her palm, and vice-versa, as she attempted to steady her breathing. She pinched her eyes closed as the dulcet sounds of a Britney Spears dubstep remix began to echo out from the club speakers. The voices of a few lingering patrons walking down the end of the alley towards the actual entrance of the building provided a good distraction for Jamie to focus on as she tried to flush out any imaginary explosions or cries of anguish.
These panic attacks had become a semi-regular occurrence since her Dad's death. Jamie figured that with the weight of her loss combined with the strenuous exhibitions that followed her red yarn of active- dangerous- reporting, she'd somehow managed to form some kind of trauma response in the form of panicking over any mildly overwhelming or slightly familiar circumstance.
She'd thought she'd been able to get these incidents under control. For a few months, maybe she'd been able to distract herself with her yearlong romance, newfound career with the Daily Bugle, and the escapades her and Logan got up to in their day-to-day jobs. But without Nick, with the latest onslaught of news coverage her latest story was receiving, and the lingering threat of SHIELD over head- the pressure was beginning to suffocate her once more, and the difficulty of being able to reign it in was becoming harder and harder to control with every hiccup... like the one she was having now.
With a shaky inhale, Jamie wiped her face clear of any evidence of panic or distress with the sides of her hands, trying her best not to smear Margot's hours of hard work she'd put into her full face of make-up.
This is getting out of hand. Jamie let her head hit the brick wall behind her with a soft thud. Her fingers pinched the fabric of the front of her polyester, navy blue blouse as she fanned it out, giving herself a bit of some cool air in the humid New York atmosphere.
"Can't handle the heat?"
Her hand faltered in its movements.
Jamie lazily let her head fall to the side as she peered over to see who'd snuck up on her from the shadows of the alley.
A figure in black stepped forward wearing a heavy, leather jacket over a combination of a black turtleneck- stiff with the outline of the Kevlar beneath- black cargo pants, and combat boots. The only exposed part of the mystery figure's body being his bald head and single eye, uncovered from the matching black eye patch that covered the barely perceptible lines of scarring peaking out from beneath.
It may have been the liquid courage now setting into her system, but Jamie didn't really have it in herself to give much of a damn about the head of a black-ops government organization stalking her at the moment. I'll panic about this in the morning. One thing at a time.
"Archer."
Jamie wanted to groan.
With her left palm pressed against her bent knee, she used her free hand to point an accusatory finger in the general direction of the blurry, dark figure. The inebriated young woman opened her mouth to spit it back in his face that- yeah, I can say your name, too- only to realize... well, she actually didn't know his name.
"... You."
The Man in Black's already permanent frown pressed into an even thinner line. Clearly he was impressed with her witty repertoire.
"So," he began, his boot making a small splash in a puddle as he took a step closer. "You actually did it..."
Ah, so he'd seen the headlines. She wondered if he'd had to travel all the way out from his super secret base to come confront her outside a bar in... where was this place?
Frankly, Jamie hadn't actually expected the Bugle to publish her piece. She imagined someone from SHIELD would've quietly murdered her in her sleep before it ever saw the light of day, yet... here she was. Still alive and now having to deal with the repercussions in the form of dark alley visits from one of SHIELD's higher-ups.
Honestly... it was a lot more funny to think that maybe they had tried, but just failed to eliminate her.
"What's so funny?"
Having not realized she'd started smiling, Jamie could really only lean into it. She all but giggled when she explained, "Sorry- I just figured you'd have sleeper agents in the Bugle that would've shut me up by now." She shrugged. They already had an agent in Dad's insurance agency. "I thought you and your other Men in Black would've made good on those subtle little threats you all like to make so much."
The man in reference crossed his arms. "If we had, would have listened?"
Well, I didn't the first time.
She remembered being more driven than ever the second her life became in jeopardy with Stane. Granted, she was at her lowest and really had nothing to lose- which, if she was being honest with herself, she kind of was at that point again. But still, desperation was what fueled her in that moment. Passion and drive was one thing. Desperation was another.
And if they were being honest... "No," Jamie answered.
"Then that's why."
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Like he knows me so well...
"Honestly, you did surprise me today." The SHIELD top shot must've picked up on her skepticism.
"Why? Because I didn't do what you wanted me to do?"
He shook his head firmly. "Oh, no. I left the decision fully up to you, if I remember correctly. SHIELD's intervention started and ended with our meeting. What you did with the information after was your choice, your decision. Don't pin that on anyone else just because you can't handle the weight of those decisions."
Jamie wanted to scoff. Please, the only weight I'm currently feeling is the irritating weight of this drawn out conversation... I'm too drunk for this. She wondered if there was a skip button programmed into SHIELD agents that got her to the part of this interaction where he just outright threatened her so they could be over with it already.
"But that information came with a warning, if I remember correctly," she spat his words back at him. The young woman could tell from the slight slur in her words that the alcohol she'd taken earlier was now acting as the conductor between her sober thoughts that were currently fueling her drunk words. "Surely, you wanted me to fit into SHIELD's little agenda. You thought that I would fall for the tricks and intimidations and the manipulations, like probably dozens of others have before me. You never even thought of that, did you?" She was fully standing now. Having pushed herself off the wall in her drunken rant, she'd nearly toppled over before having to use the brick wall beside her as a brief anchor to quickly regain her balance. "You never thought someday someone would come along that SHIELD just couldn't control."
"Are you that individual?" the Man in Black prompted, staring her down. Even with the one eye, his glare is intimidating. Jamie uncomfortably shifted beneath his gaze momentarily.
"No... I'm sure I'm one of many," she stated in as stern of a voice as she could conjure. "The only thing keeping your organization in control is fear. Fear of the unknown. No one's afraid of people out of the shadows."
"Is that your goal? To make us a target?"
She jut her chin out defiantly. "There's a difference between a target and a spotlight."
"Not in our world, there isn't."
Our World. He spoke as if they weren't currently standing on the same planet. As if she wasn't already uncovering these secrets that supposedly separated the "SHIELD World" from the "Civilian World."
The thumping from inside the club took on a new beat as the songs changed. People inside cheered and whooped in reaction which reminded Jamie that she did still have friends waiting on her inside. She wondered what Eyepatch wanted to hear from her before he'd cut her loose from the conversation.
"So, is this part where you shank me and leave my body for some crackhead to find?" the redhead prompted, her stomach churning at the very real possibility that that actually could've been his plan.
The Man in Black looked at her with mild incredulity. He probably wondered where she got her nerve. If it wasn't from the alcohol in her system, surely it was from being so desensitized by all the threats by now. "You know, you have a real bad habit of overestimating your importance at times, Miss Archer. What exactly would I gain from killing you?"
Jamie shrugged. She could think of a few good things someone like him would gain from killing her. For one- "Peace and quiet?"
Expecting the trademark look of disappointment from the man before her, the young reporter was shocked to find him looking almost a bit amused by that quip. He wasn't smiling, obviously, but his mouth wasn't turned down and his eyebrows weren't furrowed in deep thought and judgement. She probably wouldn't have been able to tell for sure that what she was seeing on his mostly unreadable expression was actually amusement had it not been for the soft huff that he let out from his nose.
"You should get back to your friends," he said in a low voice, his hands crossed behind his back as he sauntered past her carefully. "Wouldn't want them to think you left them for a different kind of spotlight."
Target. Jamie inwardly translated.
There was a soft beeping vibration that caught the pair's attention. The redhead peered up through her bangs to find the Man in Black pulling out a phone. Whatever message he must've received didn't seem to please him. The light from the phone briefly lit up his worried, troubled expression. "Well, as nice as this meeting has been, there are bigger issues than the likes of you I've gotta deal with right now."
And with that, Jamie watched as his black coat swayed in the breeze as he spun on his heel. She had to tilt her head a little to watch him depart, eventually her eyes were unable to strain far enough to see how far he made it into the shadows before his form disappeared.
The lingering anxiety that came from just being in SHIELD's presence eventually faded once Jamie had accepted he'd really left her alone. She still had a million frenzied questions bouncing off the walls of her skull currently- how he found her, how he tracked her, why he tracked her, and if he seriously came all this way just to make even more vague threats about consequences to her actions.
But for now, the questions would have to wait.
For now, Jamie was without responsibility. Or at least that's how she viewed it. She couldn't possibly be held accountable for her actions if she was drunk, now could she?
And with that, the redhead pushed herself back in the direction of the pulsating club.
The Daily Bugle article laid splayed out on a nearby dining table, abandoned but not forgotten. Across the apartment, the soldier who had read and reread the article close to a dozen times now sat with his back against the wall on the hardwood floor.
There were a million thoughts swirling in his head as he tried to piece together a coherent emotion that wasn't just tainted in loss and pain. It was... difficult to make it through the piece. It was difficult reading about his life as though it had ended when he crashed the Valkyrie into the Northern Pacific.
Steve knew his fate was sealed when he crashed that plane. However, after reading about the legacy he left behind in his disappearance, he was having a difficult time cutting through the red string that tangled his past life still tethered to the one he had now. Living in the modern day was one way to put, although Steve wouldn't call spending his day-to-day in the modern age searching for a new purpose "living," per se.
It was really exactly that- searching.
For something, anything really. Any kind of sign or direction. For now, all the soldier really had was himself and seven decades worth of time to catch up on. He was essentially time's very own POW; displaced by a war he wasn't alive to see won.
All the Daily Bugle article did was remind him of just that.
It was becoming suffocating in the eerily quiet cramped Manhattan apartment. Being alone with his thoughts with only the occasional sounds of stomping and muffled conversation from his neighbors to distract him wasn't improving his condition. If he stayed any longer in the apartment, he'd drive himself insane.
So, Steve did what he would any other time the weight of his loss became too much- went for a walk.
The soldier was still navigating his way through lower Manhattan. He'd mapped his way across a handful of blocks on several of his other nighttime outings; he came across raunchy nightclubs, bustling bars, and- of course- the many tourist attractions always swarming with crowds at all hours of the night that allowed Steve to make himself as small as possible. No one gave him any trouble and he never drew attention to himself. With his anonymity, he found it easy to be able to stand back and observe just how much several decades really changed human dynamics and social patterns. People watching became his new favorite pastime.
Smells... trashy.
Steve made a face as he passed by a courtyard behind what sounded like a bar. The bass from the music being played within the large brick building thrummed so loudly it shook the windows. A handful of partygoers lingered along the walls beneath the dangling lights stretching across the courtyard. Some better off than others with drinks and smiles on their faces as they still drunkenly swayed along to the music. Others were a little less able to hold their liquor it looked like. Several of them slumped against the walls, puddles of pee or throw up beside or beneath their splayed out bodies.
The party scene had definitely changed, Steve noted.
He'd remembered the night before Bucky had shipped out for basic training; the last time he'd been drunk. Bucky had snagged one of his Dad's fancier bottles of whiskey from their house pantry and brought it over for one last night of fun. While the two young Brooklyn boys knew Steve was prone to throwing up with or without the added effects of drinking heavily, it should've come as no surprise when he got completely hammered to the point of remembering very little of the night and woke up sixteen hours later with the hangover of a lifetime. He was out of commission for a weekend and missed a good chunk of art school classes, but it had been worth it.
In the present, Steve couldn't help the painful tug on his heart strings that came with the nostalgic reminiscing. Had he known that night would've been the last he'd be able to get drunk before he'd be injected with the Super Soldier Serum, Steve was sure he would've cherished it a little more.
POP! POP!
Steve flinched at the sounds of rockets, spinning around to face the direction the bright orange light from the rocket was coming from. But upon closer inspection he realized he had overreacted. When the shot of light whizzed into the sky it didn't explode in a ball of flames. Instead, it spun around in a red and orange fountain of sparks that illuminated the Courtyard. Fireworks.
The crowd below let out a series of 'ooh's and 'ah's as the different colors and styles continued to pop off into the air. Typically, Steve would've found himself flinching from the high levels of volume that came with fireworks, but a different loud bang coming from the opposite direction was what caught his attention in the chaos of the night. It had sounded like a heavy metal door slamming shut closer to the side of the building, but he couldn't quite pinpoint it. Following his instinct and curiosity, Steve found himself following the sound.
There were several expected things found in the alley on the side of a bustling nightclub: scampering rats, puddles of dirty sewage water, large trash containers, piles of broken glass, and a few crushed aluminum cans. So it was a little unnerving to find a very distinctly out of place young woman in a dark blue blouse stumbling beneath the bar's glowing neon sign. But what made this woman stick out like a sore thumb wasn't her attire- or even that she was struggling just to stay upright in her broken stride- it was her hair.
Her red curls fell to the right side of her head and bounced with every lurched step she took. Steve had to adjust his eyes, overanalyzing the way it glowed and wondering if it was from the effects of the neon lights mixed with the flashes from the fireworks, or if it was just a natural phenomenon she somehow managed to create. Was there now dye that made hair glow? He would make sure to research later.
He hadn't initially intended to follow the redheaded woman. After all, he'd only followed the sound of the door she'd come out from. But he noticed something when she had finally made it out of the alley. He noticed the way the air shifted as a pit in his stomach began to form. Something... felt off.
Despite the cheerful nature of the atmosphere, something within the soldier was lulling him closer to the edge of the shadows. He kept his eyes on the stumbling woman. However, he wasn't the only one.
Steve quickly became aware of two grown men that peeled out of the crowd of lingering patrons to follow the clearly intoxicated young woman. In this instance, the eye-capturing allure of her hair turned her into an easy target for types of men Steve had seen before. The types of men who saw a woman in need as a vulnerable opportunity. Different time, same type of scum... The Captain could tell trouble was afoot now and couldn't help but stray from his beaten path in Manhattan to keep an eye on it.
It looked as though the two laughing men trailing behind the drunk woman must've drawn her attention. Her stumbling grew into a broken fast-paced stride. The men didn't bother changing their pace, in fact, they looked almost too amused to find their prey had begun to run down into the nearest Subway entrance. This was a game to them. Steve's skin crawled as he maintained his guard, checking his surroundings for any other passing by patrons or witnesses in case things went South. Typically, he found these situations usually did.
He had barely made it to the entrance of the subway escalators when Steve picked up on the sounds of screaming and a scuffle followed by a series of grunts. Dammit!
The soldier picked up his pace and nearly launched himself to the bottom of the staircase. Within a few quick strides he'd made it over to the first corner of the platform. It looked as though the young woman had managed to make it through the gates before her two assailants managed to nab her just before the edge of the tracks. However, what Steve found after jumping over the rotating gates of the platform was... surprising, to say the least.
"Let! Go! Of! Me!" The redheaded woman's words were enunciated with swift kicks to the second man's head as he attempted to lift her ankles from off the ground, while the first man held her back by her upper arms. She managed to get a good hit on the second man's left eye, causing him to stumble back.
Steve took the opportunity to intervene.
Before barely regaining his footing, the assailant that had flown backwards landed straight into the open arms of the awaiting Super Soldier. Steve roughly yanked the man backwards to face him, landing a solid punch to his face. He reeled his fist back, preparing to land another, when a yelp from the other end of the platform caught his attention.
Steve's head snapped up to find the first assailant had set the captive woman back down onto the floor, his right hand holding a fistful of her red curls tightly keeping her in place at his knees.
"Let him go!" The man, bearded and tall, brandished a switchblade in his left hand. He waved it in the Captain's direction. "This ain't none of your business, dude. Drop 'im and keep walking." His words were slurred and the way the blade swung lazily in his general direction told Steve that he was intoxicated. If not drunk, then high. Clearly, more functional than the young woman still struggling in his hold. She whimpered as the man's grip tightened against her scalp.
Steve's hold on the other man slackened immediately. He took a step forward. "Put her down."
Under the piercing gaze of the large, domineering man who seemingly knocked out his partner with a single blow to the face, the assailant holding the woman took an instinctive step backwards. He took the woman with him, the distance allowing her the leeway to be pulled up to her feet.
"Alright, pal, cool it," the armed man stammered, his blade now pressed against the redhead's sternum while his hair-wielding hand yanked her backwards to grant him more access to the area. "Don't make me ruin Princess Ariel's cute little blouse."
Her hands, initially grasping and clawing at the hand in her curls, halted. Her eyes widened as her breath simultaneously hitched at the sharp press of the switchblade into the vulnerable, open space just beneath her ribs. The soldier's heightened senses picked up the way her skin grew cold, goosebumps breaking out across her arms and up her neck as the dread of her situation set in.
Steve immediately stopped moving.
"That's it."
Steve's skin crawled seeing the way he spoke his words directly into the redhead's hair, his breath hitting her face and making her flinch away in disgust. And all he could do was sit back and watch as her assaulter continued to pull her backwards, the blade slowly dragging up her sternum, between her breasts, up her collarbone, and setting directly against the side of her neck. The blonde soldier's eyes narrowed as the blade slowly pulled across her pulse point, pinching the skin to the point of drawing a soft trail of blood.
The moment the soldier made the split decision to lurch forward, the redhead woman simultaneously opened her mouth to sink her teeth into her captor's wrist. The man yelped in man, promptly dropping the blade and yanking his arm back.
In the process, the young woman was spun around to face the man, who- using his uninjured arm- swung around to land a quick backhand across her cheek.
"Ah-!" The woman gaped in horror at the rush in pain, but she didn't have to wait long for the satisfaction of vengeance to follow. By the time she'd wiped away the tears in her eyes, she came to find her assaulter had already been yanked by his arm to be held in a vice-like grip by the bulking stranger.
"Ack! Alright! Alright-!" the man yelped as Steve twisted his wrist behind his lower back. "Alright!"
Regaining her balance, the woman managed to push herself up to her feet. The redhead wobbled as her shocked, bleary-eyed gaze morphed into a teary glare. "It's not alright!" she annunciated her words by drawing her hand back and landing a solid punch directly to her assaulter's crotch.
The man's legs buckled as he bellowed out in pain.
Steve's eyes widened.
"What, you think you can just manhandle me in an F station?" her voice raised an octave as she gaped in disbelief, landing a kick to the man's shin this time. Steve maintained his grip. He made sure to yank the bastard back up to his feet despite his whimpers and blubbering pleas. "I'd tolerate a little roughhousing on the A Train. But the F Line? You-" she drew her arm back. "-Asshole!" thrusting her fist forward, she got a solid strike to the man's nose. Steve could just barely make out the soft crunch of the bone directly above his nasal cartilage.
The man, now with a broken nose, slackened in Steve's grip until his body weight fully sunk to the floor.
The woman slapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh my God," the horrified gasp muffled beneath her palms. "Is he- Did I just TKO him?"
Steve glanced at her quizzically. "Well, you, uh-" he cleared his throat as he straightened his posture above the pair of unconscious attackers. "You broke his nose... if that's what you're asking."
A shocked little giggle escaped as she retracted her hands, placing one against her forehead as she stared- wide-eyed and in awe- over at the man she'd managed to knock out cold. From her reaction, it had been a fight she hadn't expected to win. Steve sighed heavily. He knew the feeling all too well.
That was when he caught sight of it; a glint of red under the flickering yellow-tinged light, left behind on her cheek from the rough backhand her assaulter had managed to get in just before Steve got his hold on him. "You're bleeding," he took an instinctive step towards her, but paused when she took one back in response. "I just want to help..." the soldier offered lamely as he held his hands out in mock-surrender. I'm not a threat... at least not to you.
The redhead traced the cut she'd found on her face. She winced slightly, pulling her hand back to examine the traces of blood that remained on her fingers. "Huh."
Steve bit back a smirk. Still drunk, he silently mused. Possibly concussed.
Carefully reaching into his pant pocket, the soldier produced his wallet. Inside, he plucked out the folded handkerchief to hold out for her.
She faltered. Her eyes uneasily darted between the offering and the stranger. The soldier could practically tell she was inwardly weighing her options on how much she had to lose taking the risk of trusting him. He guessed she'd ended up deciding to because she wordlessly snatched it without another thought. There was a flash of guilt in her eyes before she eventually placed it against her cheek to cover the cut.
"You should get that cleaned soon." The redhead nodded in agreement. Steve kept a watchful eye on the wobbly woman as she nearly tripped over air... again. He moved in to steady her, but she rebounded with a sharp jerk.
Her arms shot out to deflect any assistance. "I've got it."
Steve nodded. He drew back, lingering in case she made any more sudden movements. "I don't mean to pry, but... do you happen to live nearby?" Silently, he prayed she wouldn't pass out. It'd be easy to carry her, sure, but it'd be unpredictable to carry someone who was drunk.
"No. I've-" Yet again, she nearly stumbled. This time when Steve swiftly moved to catch her, she spun around to protest. Halting abruptly, Steve had to lean back so not to nearly land on the woman he stood a good foot above in height. The redhead splayed her hand firmly against his chest as she thrust his handkerchief back into his hands. "I've got it. And I can walk myself. Home. I can walk myself home."
Carefully, she turned back towards the platform sign nearby.
Steve was sure to keep a close distance. He watched as she let her eyes dart across the train map. He could hear her mumbling to herself beneath her breath- something about "fucking Brooklyn" and "bar crawl." She was able to find her destination and route within a few brief glances at the map.
Apparently, the clumsy woman had forgotten she'd still had a trail close by and when she'd turned back around had nearly toppled right back over in shock at his abrupt presence.
"Jesus- woah!" she cursed, gasping in the same breath when two firm hands yanked her back up to her feet. "Mm." The cut on her cheek stung as it pressed against the cotton fabric of a shirt belonging to someone smelling of detergent, coffee, and teakwood. When the person pulled her back to arms' length once more, she was able to get a better look at her captor- rather savior.
"Why don't you let me come along? Just in case," the blonde stranger with the big shoulders- and strong grip- offered almost sheepishly.
At such a close proximity to this woman, he could make out just what shade of brown her eyes were beneath the vividness of her copper curls. They widened a fraction before narrowing in acute examination, yet again weighing what she had to lose in taking the risk to trust him.
"No."
Steve was taken aback by her answer, but he schooled his expression. It was understandable that she'd be hesitant and outright distrustful of a strange man. Regardless of whether he helped her or not, he was sure she was just being overly cautious. So when she began to pull away, he let her go.
"I'm fine," she continued to insistent. She sounded more slurred with every repetition. "Everything's just... I just need to make it back home."
"Okay. Just- just take it easy. You may have a concussion." The soldier made sure not to let her stray too far from him, afraid she'd accidentally trip and fall onto the tracks. Luckily, she didn't seem to trust herself to stay upright either as she hauled herself up onto the small bench nearby. "We should really get you to a hospital."
A strained bubbly laugh escaped the young woman's mouth. He heard her whispered reply, "'Can barely afford Band-Aid's."
Steve wracked his brains for ways to try and convince her to at least check into a clinic nearby. He reached into his back pocket, "At least let me catch a cab for you." He'd barely had time to produce his wallet before she'd abruptly shoved herself from off the bench. "Wait-"
"I don't want your mon- eeeeek!"
As soon as the redhead had taken a step her ankle had buckled beneath her, sending her toppling back. Steve, having seen it coming, had already placed himself behind her. The soldier only had to hold his arms open to allow the young woman's frame to fall back into his chest. When he peered over her shoulder, he'd found her eyes had gone blank. Definitely concussed.
"Alright," the super soldier huffed.
Shoving his wallet back into his pocket, he carefully shifted her weight in his arms, turning her until she was facing him. Trying his best not to jostle her, he shed his jacket and let it fall from his shoulders before gently placing it over hers. Her still quivering hands immediately came up to grip the edges of the cloth, pulling the warm leather tighter around herself. She looked almost... confused at the action. Her eyes darted between the jacket she now wore, his hands gently holding her up by her upper arms, and back up at his face. He could hear the way her breath caught in her throat and the way she held it as if she were waiting for the catch, the gotcha moment.
"You don't want my money. How about my help?"
She had every right to spit 'no' back in his face... again. But to his surprise, she didn't.
Her head jerked up and down. "M'kay."
"Just stay awake, okay?" Steve made sure to remind her as he maneuvered her short frame to one side. The top of her head cradled against the side of his neck beneath his jaw like a puzzle piece falling into place. As one of his arms stay gripped tightly around her shoulders, the other swept gently beneath her knees, lifting her off the ground with ease. He silently prayed the young woman wouldn't wake up mid-trip and vomit all over his front. "Just stay awake."
She squirmed slightly in his arms. "Mmmmm. Ow," her words were muffled by his neck. Steve tried not to pay too much attention to the way her lips felt against his skin as she spoke.
He apologized for whatever might've caused her discomfort in his movements as he tried to readjust his grip on the young woman. "Come on. Stay awake. Keep your eyes on me."
"'s bright." Her eyes scrunched shut as she shook her head defiantly. Steve was starting to sense that defiance was a running theme with this woman in his arms.
"Just for a little while. The train's almost here," he tried to reassure her. When she didn't answer, he had to crane his neck to find her eyes had remained closed and her head had gone slack against his shoulder. "Hey- no, no, no, no. C'mon. Wake up. Wake up!" His tentative attempts at shaking her awake slowly progressed to frantic attempts.
The train horn and the echoing of the racing subway cars nearing their end of the tunnel were growing louder. Even through the noise, the redhead remained unconscious. Shit.
Acknowledging his current predicament with resolve, the super soldier re-adjusted his grip on the motionless frame in his hold. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now, but it looked like his plans for the night had gotten thrown a little off track.
Frigid and cold, Jamie curled further into herself. She took a deep breath, frustrated because who the fuck turned the thermostat down to 64? Her arms tightened around her waist as she attempted to shield herself away from the cold by pressing her face deeper into her pillow. Only, the moment her cheek hit the flat surface, a stinging sensation blooming across her face caused her to immediately flinch away.
"Ah-" her gasp caught in her throat when her fingers finally found the source of the pain... a small portion of her cheek, spanning an inch or two. But what was curious- other than the injury itself- was the bandage that had been placed over it, something she definitely didn't remember having to do for herself. Then again, she couldn't really place the hazy memory about how she got the injury to begin with, so maybe she had subconsciously done it for herself without consciously knowing it... God, I'm starting to sound like Parker. Jamie groaned as she dragged a hand down the uninjured side of her face.
Parker. He was there. Flashes of her roommate licking salt off of Chess Roberts's collarbone came back to her like forgotten dreams. Or, in this case, a nightmare she wished she could've left forgotten.
Attempting to rack her brain for more context around what had happened the night before, the redhead decided to wake up for the day. She wondered who'd tucked her in still in her jeans as she threw her blankets from off her body and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. It had to have been early in the morning because typically it wouldn't be this dark in her room. Even at night- with the shades closed- she could've sworn she would've still been able to see where her light switch was.
The balms of her feet screamed at her as she padded gently through the empty darkness. She'd definitely worn heels last night. Fucking Margot had insisted. Margot! Margot beaten a group of corporate lawyers at three games of darts sometime during their bar crawl. Jamie massaged her temples. C'mon, she tried to coax herself. Remember.
Her hands groped around the wall for the switch, flipping it on and wincing as soon as the room lit up. Wincing, she pressed her palms against her eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh, this has to be one of the worst hangovers of my life. The redhead quickly hit the switch again. She'd just have to navigate her way to the bathroom in the pitch black. She'd have to hurry. She could already feel the bile making it's way up her churning stomach.
It was nearly impossible to see in the moonlight barely lighting up the living room. It was odd... Jamie hadn't remember ever being on this side of the loft. Or whatever part of whoever's apartment this was. It actually hadn't dawned on her that she wasn't in her own home until she'd noted how... clean it felt. Well, more like empty.
Was I kidnapped?
Still groggy and nauseous, it took all her focus to navigate her way to a small open doorway that thankfully led to a small bathroom. The woman didn't even have time to kick the door shut before she'd fallen to her knees at the base of the toilet, her head hanging over the seat as she heaved and coughed into the toilet water. Suddenly, Jamie felt as though she were right back at NYU again. She groaned as a new wave of nauseous washed over her.
There was only a few seconds of time between when Jamie's ears first picked up on the sound of footsteps making their way down the hall before they were directly outside the door. Her reaction had immediately been to kick herself back until she hit the wall behind her, attempting to put as much space between her and whoever brought her here to this... eerily clean apartment.
The lights flickered on and Jamie immediately yelped in pain as her hands came up to shield her eyes. "Motherf-"
"Sorry! Sorry," the stranger's apologies came just as quickly as the lights went back out. "Here let me-"
As the tall stranger knelt down, the redhead's knee-jerk reaction set in as she flinched away. She'd expected him to back off and was a little caught off guard when her hands were suddenly caught in a vice like grip. "No-" she immediately began to trash against the hold. "Let go of- oh!" Her words died in her throat when she was abruptly lifted up to her knees by her fore arms. Before she had even realized she'd needed to gag, the stranger had already spun her back to face the inside of the toilet, his hands leaving her arms to hold back her hair as she proceeded to throw up.
A few more minutes went on of Jamie dry heaving, gagging and spitting up into the toilet while the faceless, nameless man kept her hair out of her face and comfortingly rubbed her back. Occasionally, she'd try to fight back the urge to heave and get irritated anytime the man beside her urged her not to hold back. She knew he was only trying to help, but the grumpy hungover troll inside of her reared its ugly head anytime she heard him utter the words 'let it all out,' or 'there ya go.'
But immediately following the frustration and anger came the guilt and weepiness. A new stage of her hangover that came with managing to throw up a substantial amount of the liquor and substances she'd consumed throughout the night was now setting in... and it wasn't pretty.
"I'm sorry," Jamie sniffled. "I'm so sorry. You don't have to stay. I can- I can-"
"Watch it," the man warned her as she turned her head. Before she'd even managed to get a glimpse of his profile, her chin was gently pushed back over the toilet as another fit of gags and coughing overtook her once more. "There ya go."
"Mm," she groaned into the bowl.
"You alright?"
"I kinda doubt there's anything left." Jamie silently prayed she hadn't jinxed herself as she reached up to flush. Attempting to regain what little dignity she had left, the redhead pushed herself up from her knees onto her feet. At her side, the man held her arm as he guided her onto the toilet, the seat cover down. "I can get to the sink by myself," she insisted.
"Just-" his hands firmly placed her hands at her sides to keep her in place. "-stay here." She could sense the extra presence in the bathroom had vanished.
It was still a bit hard to see in the dark. She could make out the soft glow coming from the kitchen area she'd passed earlier just past the doorway. Her eyes slowly began to adjust and once the stranger had returned, she was able to make him out much clearer illuminated in the dim hallway light. The first thing she noticed immediately was how tall he was. Broad-shouldered, he cast a pretty dark shadow over her as he ducked into the dark bathroom.
"Here." A hand guided a glass into her hands.
She eagerly took it, throwing back nearly the entire glass within a few seconds, trying so desperately to wash down the burning sensation clawing at the back of her throat. Fuck, she hated this feeling. Wincing, she dropped her head.
Her bathroom companion immediately lurched forward. "The trash can-"
"Stop!" Placing the glass on the sink, Jamie quickly used her free hand to swat the man's hands away along with the small bathroom trash bin he'd yanked from the corner. "I know you're trying to help. I appreciate it. But just... just stop."
God, you sound like such a bratty asshole. The guy's helping you when you're shit-faced and you're treating him like a nuisance.
Jamie grimaced as he slowly pulled away.
"You're sober?"
Her hair fell into her face as she hung her head in shame. The movement caused her brain to shift. Whatever was left in her stomach churned unsteadily as her equilibrium made her sway from side to side. Her head throbbed and it was still pretty difficult for her to make out what was real and what was a double she was seeing that wasn't actually there. "Not really," she answered truthfully.
"At least a little more coherent than earlier."
The sound of the sink turning on was followed by a wince when the man's hand came up to place the corner of a damp wash cloth to the corner of her mouth. Gradually, she regained function in her hand coordination to take the cloth and continue wiping away any excess throw up from her lips. "Was I... was I really that bad?"
"Not bad. Just not all that awake."
"Mm," she groaned. "'m sorry. 'm sure you have better things to do than deal with drunk girls on the subway."
"Well, I couldn't exactly leave you there."
She scoffed. "Sure ya could've. D'you see anyone else running to my defense on that platform?" Her body felt so heavy. Her head felt like it weighed ten pounds as she rolled her neck completely until she was staring up at the ceiling with bleary, wet eyes. "People ignore problems everyday. So... thank you, I guess. For not ignoring mine... whoever you are."
As he finally came into view, she could make out his features a little bit better. A sharp nose, furrowed thick eyebrows. He had dark blonde hair that hung over his striking blue eyes, but wasn't lengthy enough to hide the stranger's long eyelashes. As he leaned over the sink to refill her glass, Jamie couldn't help but wonder if her perception of him from back on the platform had been spot on- he really is Prince Charming.
"Drink," he offered her the water she quickly took without dispute. "Fluids should help with the hangover. Tried my best to clean the cuts." Right. Jamie ran her fingertips over the edges of the bandage on her cheek. The painful memory of being slapped down to the ground replaying in her mind as she recalled how she'd gotten the injury. She'd remembered that part of being attacked. "I still think you should get your neck checked out somewhere."
Fuck. She'd nearly forgotten the part of her attack that included being held at knife-point. Though now that it had been pointed out, the twinge in her neck was starting to become more notable. When her fingers trailed down, they found the edge of the other bandage. God, she was going to hate having to cover up all of these cuts and bruises before work tomorrow- Shit! "Shit!
"What is it?"
"Time. What's the time?"
"It's almost two in the morning-"
"Shit!" Jumping to her feet probably wasn't the brightest idea. By the time she'd made it a few steps out of the bathroom, the nausea had caught up with her and she was having to clutch at the wall to keep her upright.
Her savior thankfully wasn't too far behind her. In a swift action, he'd lifted one of her arms over his shoulder and heaved her weight against his side as he kept an arm wound around her waist. "Okay. C'mon." Before she had time to protest, he'd already began leading her back towards the room she'd initially woken up in.
"No, no, no. I need to... I need t'get to work," she whimpered breathlessly. "My boss. I need to call my boss. My phone-"
"It's right here with your shirt." In the pitch black of the bedroom, her body was gently lowered onto the mattress. "Look, I know it's not my place, but I don't really think you should be going anywhere in the state you're in right now."
Padding around the bedside table, Jamie's hands found the switch on the lamp. The dim light allowed Jamie to locate both her phone and her shirt, exactly where the stranger had said they'd be. Although it didn't exactly help that her phone screen was cracked in half and her blouse was now covered in dried blood. Curious, she glanced down at the shirt she was currently wearing, one she hadn't even realized wasn't her own until just now. Grey. Cotton. Over-sized.
"How long have I been..." she gestured vaguely to the bed.
"A few hours. Thankfully, it doesn't seem like you have a concussion after all. If you need to call anyone else- friends-" All out either drunk or passed out. "family-" Absolutely not. "Uh, fella?" Fella? Who says 'fella' anymore? "Miss?" Oh, right. Answer now, dummy.
"Uh, no. No. No friends or family or, uh... boyfriend." Which, technically was true. Even though it was actually really complicated at the moment. But it wasn't as though she needed to spill all of her life secrets to the guy who rescued her from getting mugged on the F train. "Phone's cracked anyway," she muttered dejectedly as she curled up into herself on the bed. "You're... Mm."
"What?"
Don't let your mouth wander away from you. Jamie scrunched her face against the pillows. Maybe if she didn't look at him while she asked, he'd be less likely to be offended? Or at least that was what she secretly hoped. "'re not gonna, like, murder me in my sleep, are you? 're not some creep who takes those... those- what are they called?"
"Creeps?" she heard the stranger prompt through the muffled haze that occupied most of her conscious mind as exhaustion slowly took hold of her body.
"No. The pictures. The lil printed ones. The... The Polaroid!" It was almost pathetic that when Jamie tried to snap, her fingers barely made a sound. She probably just looked like an idiot twiddling her fingers in the air. But, still- she'd totally remembered the word. "Serial killers keep pictures of their victims. Promise 're not gonna strangle me in m'sleep? Take pictures of me?"
There was a strangled laugh. Then silence. "I promise. I won't take... printed-"
"Polaroid," she corrected softly.
"Polaroid," he laughed a little at that. Jamie could tell she was smiling against the pillow cushions, still so proud of figuring it out on her own. "-pictures of you. You're safe here. In the morning, I can try to figure out a way to help get you back home."
As she tried to curl deeper into the cushion while keeping her arms wrapped around her for warmth, in her drunken state, it was getting imperatively more frustrating to try and get comfortable enough to sleep. Sure, she could pass out anywhere, but she would rather not wake up with a horrible crick in her neck... not again.
"You know, you never did say whether you lived nearby or not," the man's voice lulled her back to the present.
When she felt a hand brush her calf she flinched instinctively. The immediate panic dissipated when she realized it was just him. Still not completely trusting of any man- especially not one she'd met off the street- Jamie made sure to keep an eye on him as he pulled the blankets from the end of the bed up to her shoulders. He remained well-behaved as he continued to tuck her in and a part of her felt crushed that this was her immediate reaction to being shown even a sliver of human compassion from someone she'd just met. If she'd even consider this 'meeting.'
Perhaps she'd misjudged the bulging forearms, the huge pecs, and the enormous height and body mass that made Jamie subconsciously perceive this savior as a threat. But even in the minimal light, Jamie felt oddly comforted by how this fraternity meathead look-a-like was turning out to be quite the opposite.
"'don't even-" her words were cutoff by a heavy yawn. "-know your name. 'm not gonna give you my address." Her eyes began to flutter open and closed as she fought against the looming restlessness.
"Fair enough," the stranger chuckled.
"Mmmno," the half-asleep redhead moaned. "You were s'pposed to tell me your name."
"Well, um, my name is..." there was beat of silence, almost as if he had maybe forgotten his name. Or maybe he was debating whether or not to trust the random drunk girl with his personal information.
But, hey, Jamie understood Prince Charming couldn't get attached to every damsel in distress he probably saved.
"James."
Oh, shit. Jamie shook her head. Zone back in. "Hm? What?"
"My name," Charming cleared his throat. "James."
Oh. "Oh."
She couldn't tell, but her companion was frowning in amused confusion at the disappointment in her tone. Almost as if she'd been let down by the reveal.
When Jamie's words finally did catch up with her brain, the word vomit began. "I mean- not 'oh' like, bad... but 'oh' like, 'oh, how nice...'"
She knew she was probably off the hook when she heard the imperceptible amusement in his voice. "Nice save..." he prolonged his words, as if waiting for her to fill in the blank. It finally dawned on Jamie that this James was now asking for her name.
Panicked, she proceeded to do what any reasonable woman in this situation would do.
"E-Elizabeth," she lied.
"Elizabeth." Jamie tried not to let it bother her how nice her middle name sounded falling off his lips. "Oh."
Another yawn overtook the young woman, despite her being mid-laugh. Her consciousness was slipping by the minute, no matter how much her fear of the unknown variables that came with passing out at a random man's house kept her anxiously alert. It was difficult to relax to finally get sleep, but she did eventually find it.
It was all so clouded, but even through the fog she could've sworn she felt someone tuck the spare red tendrils of hair behind her ear and out of her face.
... but maybe she'd just hallucinated it.
He'd had this dream before.
That was the first thing Steve recognized as his weighted body felt heavy and groggy with each slow motion in this subconscious space. That space was starting to look more and more like the SSR Bunker back in London he'd spent hours wandering the halls of in between missions. There were plenty of memories attached to nearly every room where he spent some of the most gruesome months of his life, while simultaneously some of the best alongside his closest friends and allies.
If walls could talk, the soldier mused as he found himself wandering aimlessly.
Suddenly, the halls began to fill with familiar bodies. It was as if the dream sequence in his mind had begun playing overlapping memories. He could hear Dernier cursing up a storm in French while Gabe and Falsworth tried to stifle a laugh following a bad hand during a game of poker. Smoke blew out from beneath the double doors that led down the hall to Howard's constantly bustling lab. When he'd turned a new corner, Steve's chest constricted at the sight of Peggy walking alongside Colonel Phillips as they discussed something Steve hadn't quite picked up on at the time. He'd been too preoccupied by the darker shade of red lipstick Peggy had worn that day.
The memory faded and a new voice caught Steve's attention on the opposite side of the war room.
"C'mon, punk," the all-too familiar sound of his childhood best friend's voice drawing Steve closer towards the table where he spotted him. Alive and well. Sitting on top of a table top with his feet perched on a nearby chair and his elbows propped up on his knees, Bucky Barnes sported a shit-eating grin. "Don't tell me you're too chickenshit to do something about your thing with Carter. Not after last week. What? You think I didn't hear about your stunt with that HYDRA tanker? Dum Dum ratted you out over a pint the other day."
"Why, I oughtta..." Steve subconsciously whispered beneath his breath as if he were actually there, reliving the moment. He so badly wished that he were still there. But he'd take what he could get of his lost friend, even in his dreams.
"Okay, but seriously," Bucky returned to the subject once his laughter dissipated. "You're really not gonna make a move?"
Remembering it like it were yesterday, Steve turned to the entrance of the drawing room at the exact time Agent Carter had walked in alongside Howard. They were exchanging heated words while trading papers with one another, a grim reminder of the constant work efforts being put into this fight against HYDRA. A reminder that there was no time for romance. Not during a War.
Steve still remembered what he'd said to Bucky. "It's not the right time."
His eyes lingered on Peggy as her and Howard continued down the hall to meet Colonel Phillips at the door. Before the trio exited together, the lone brunette woman lingered for a moment, her eyes traveling the expanse of the room before finding Steve's already staring back at her. She smiled for a split second just before vanishing from the memory like a ghost.
"That's the thing, Stevie," he heard Bucky reply from his spot behind him. "There's never a right time. You've just gotta work up the nerve and make ti- AGH!"
Hearing his friend's blood-curdling scream had Steve spinning around so fast it practically shifted his vision. One moment he was in the SSR Bunker and the next he was standing on the edge of the train cart where a HYDRA thug had just blown a hole through the side. It was a scene that had repeated a hundred times in his nightmares. Steve knew it all too well.
"Bucky!" he lunged towards where he saw Bucky's arms still struggling to keep hold on the railing of the detached chunk of wall. "Hang on!" Grabbing purchase on the open side of the same wall, Steve tried to push himself as far over as he could. Once he'd reached the point where there was no more open railing to push himself out onto, the soldier reached for his friend. "Grab my hand!"
Still struggling to keep his grip on the pole, Bucky tried to use his right hand to grab on. Only when he tried, the pole barely hanging onto the wall shifted, jerking the side piece completely off the hinge.
Steve could feel his stomach drop. It was as if he knew what was coming before it happened. He attempted to stop it. But even his quick reflexes and enhanced strength couldn't save Bucky Barnes.
No, no, no, no. This wasn't supposed to be happening. The Serum. The Shield. He'd been made into the "perfect soldier," but he still couldn't save one of the closest things he had left to family, his brother.
"No!" Steve's scream died in his throat as he watched his best friend's body fall from off the side of the train, plunging down to his death into a white abyss below. "Bucky!"
"Bucky!"
Steve jolted awake. His muscles strained in protest at the abrupt movements. The soldier groaned as he readjusted himself from his spot on the couch. There was a crick in his neck from having slept wrong, but that was the cost of giving up his bed for his overnight guest.
Speaking of...
Using the drunk girl he'd taken in as a good distraction from his nightmares, Steve pushed himself to his feet and padded his way across the living room until he'd started down the hall to his room. As he grew closer, he realized that the door was slightly ajar. He'd remembered closing it that night after Elizabeth had gone to sleep. He peered through the open crack to find the bed was empty and made.
Frowning, Steve rushed further down the hall towards the bathroom, expecting the redhead to be stuck with her head hanging over the edge of the toilet seat again. Only the bathroom was also empty. She left?
After giving the apartment a once over and finding the front door had been left unlocked, Steve had deduced Elizabeth had left sometime earlier in the morning. How long he himself had been out, he wasn't sure. He didn't really remember falling asleep. Must've been the nightmares, he figured. He'd been having vivid dreams for the past few weeks and they didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. Sometimes they started heartwarming and nostalgic, yet somehow they always ended the same... with him being unable to save the people from his past.
And waking up in the present alone definitely didn't do wonders for his mentality either.
As the soldier began cleaning up what might've been left behind in his bedroom, he'd tried to brush aside his dreams. He tried not to overanalyze how everything still felt so real. How the memories felt as though they were still happening in real time...
Steve's eyes trailed across the room where he'd tucked away the Daily Bugle article it had taken him a couple hours to get through the first read. He'd be lying if he'd said that reading it hadn't brought up a lot of memories. And giving Elizabeth Bucky's first name instead of his own was probably another added factor. James? What had he been thinking?
Shaking it off, Steve bent down to collect what looked like a shiny piece of metal on the ground. For a split second, it looked like maybe it might've been a bullet. Upon closer inspection the soldier found that it was a piece of jewelry, a ring. An engagement ring, actually, threaded at the end of a thick black thread to create an unclasped necklace.
She must've dropped it. "Damn."
"A string that pulled me
Out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar
Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire
Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons
One single thread of gold tied me to you."
- invisible string, Taylor Swift
"There are bigger issues than the likes of you I've gotta deal with right now."
That's what Director Fury had told the Archer girl in his departure from their brief alley chat. He'd meant what he'd said. The visit in Manhattan hadn't been pre-planned, but after the SHIELD Director had seen the front page of the paper that morning, he figured the reporter was due a visit.
"How'd it go?"
Fury glanced across the chopper cabin at his Deputy Director. Maria Hill stared up at him intently, waiting for a response. Frowning, the Director turned back to glance out the window. It was pitch black as they flew rapidly through the open airspace above the Mojave Desert. "Remind me to talk to Coulson about his gossiping habit when we land," was all Fury said when he finally answered.
"You really think Coulson has time to gossip right now?" Hill nearly scoffed.
Fury's eyes narrowed as he turned back. "May?"
"Romanoff."
Should've known, the Director inwardly cursed.
"So, I take it Archer isn't giving up on this project any time soon then." Maria Hill didn't exactly have a disdain for the young reporter, but she still wasn't quite sure why they weren't trying hard enough to shut down her attempts at uncovering SHIELD secrets. "What are you going to tell Coulson?"
"It's on a need-to-know basis. Coulson's got his hands full at PEGASUS and doesn't need the distraction," Fury immediately shot her down. Although, he was assuming Romanoff hadn't already passed along the message to her old handler. Despite being on opposite sides of the country, those two still always managed to scheme, whisper, and gossip over the wire. And Barton wasn't any better either.
The cabin was silent save for the sounds of the propellers and whipping wind on the other side of the bulletproof glass. Fury could tell that Hill's silence was a sign of her disagreement on this stance. He could feel her eyes on him.
"Say what you wanna say."
He heard his Deputy Director let out a heavy exhale. "He feels responsible for her. I just think that, at the least, he should be told-"
"Told what? That the Archer girl's back to digging up snakes? In other breaking news- water; wet." Hill clenched her jaw and shook her head, ticked. "Her job is nothing but truth-seeking and dangerous adrenaline highs. Coulson's well aware of the type of life Jamie Archer lives. He's not her keeper."
"Neither are you."
Fury's eye levelled with Hill's as he fixed her with a dangerous look, silently warning her to watch herself. He may not have felt some compelling reason to keep an eye on the Archer girl the way Coulson or Barton may have, but he still had a duty to ensure she wasn't kicking up land mines that could've left large masses of their organization exposed. She was a safety risk. A risk he couldn't ignore at times, this being one of them.
He leaned back in his seat as the pilot in the cockpit announced over their headsets that they were coming up on approach.
Suddenly, the gears shifted. While Jamie Archer was a situation he'd left to be dealt with when he'd make it back to New York, there was an emergency that needed their attention in Nevada.
As the helicopter flew above the crest of the nearby mountain and began its descent towards the helipad in the center of the Joint Dark Energy Mass Facility, the pair of SHIELD operatives looked on in alarm as they spotted the masses of military personnel and science agents rushing to safety down below. The scene was chaotic, but it was to be expected with this type of emergency. The unexpected variable came with the unknown territory revolving the Cube being experimented on inside.
However, what Agent Maria Hill and Director Nick Fury hadn't expected would be the fallout from this night that would set the world on a course no one ever could've prepared it for.
a/n: *cue dramatic Avengers theme*
AVENGERS PLOT- yayyyyyyyy! and yay- Steve/Jamie meet finally! or, technically, James/Elizabeth. i had a lot of trouble writing their first meeting. i'd initially planned for them not to meet until the Battle of New York, but then i thought about it and figured 'why not let them have a little drama?' so enjoy the drama and prepare for the action! we will be skipping through points of the Avengers plot because it'll mostly be told from the perspective of the poor citizens of New York who constantly suffer in the MCU.
