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Steve texts Regina after two weeks of radio silence. He had thought that the date had went quite well, actually, so he has no idea why she hasn’t called, or been in touch. She had said she would be, actually; had kissed his cheek and squeezed his hand and walked into her building with a smile thrown over her shoulder. But now, as Steve looks down at his phone, he frowns.
[ text: regina ] can’t sorry smth came up, out of town indefinitely
Steve frowns. Huh.
He bounds back. He goes on a date with a guy called Hugo who’s funny and charming and exactly Steve’s type (he thanks Natasha with a card and flowers, ‘cause she’s the one who told him about him), an ex-SHIELD agent who doesn’t treat him like some kind of celebrity. With a cheeky smile at the end of the date, Hugo gets a little close and promises that he’ll call. Steve gives him a grin, and tells him that he’s looking forward to it.
But Hugo doesn’t call. He doesn’t reply to Steve’s texts, either.
So again, Steve moves on.
He repeats this pattern for a good six months; he goes on a first date with a nice girl or guy, has an amazing time (usually), and then they never, ever call him back. They’re either on a long vacation or out of town or just not interested, on second though. Steve is kind of getting used to the fact that’s undateable.
He’s out walking one morning when he sees Hugo. Intrigued, he goes up to him; he sits opposite him at a table at a little street cafe, and cringes inwardly when he sees how surprised and somewhat scared Hugo looks.
“Look,” He begins, looking down at the table. “Tell me go if you want me to, but... I just wanted to ask you something.”
Hugo looks around himself momentarily, and then nods. “Alright.” He says. “What is it?”
“What’s so wrong with me?” Steve asks, voice hushed as he looks at him, leaning across the table. “Y’know what happened with you? It’s happened with everyone. I’ve been on about ten dates in the last six months, and not one of them has gone on a second date with me. Is it me?”
“Steve.” Hugo’s fingers twitch, as if to reach over and take his hand, but he doesn’t take it. He sighs. “It’s not you.”
“Then what is it?” Steve asks. “’Cause I really don’t know what else it could be.”
Hugo seems to debate whether or not he should tell him, looking across the table at him for a moment, before he looks away. He checks out his surroundings subtly, and apparently the coast is clear. Honestly? Steve is kind of worried now.
“Look,” Hugo sighs. “After our date, I went to send you a text, and I got a phone call. Some guy telling me to leave you alone. The number wasn’t one I recognised. I traced it afterwards and found out it was the payphone outside my house, but-- regardless, some phone call wouldn’t have stopped me. What did stop me is the guy I saw walking away from my building. Dressed all in black, long hair, metal arm. A freaking metal arm. I knew who that was, and I’m not messing with him.”
Steve looks at him, confused. “Who is he?”
Hugo leans in closer, their foreheads almost touching. “His name is the Winter Soldier. I don’t know if it was him who made the call or not, but regardless. I have to go.” He says, standing. “I’ve already been here longer than I should have been.”
“Hugo!” Steve calls, standing up from the table.
“Ask Romanov.” Is all Hugo says before he leaves, walking quickly off into the crowds. Steve sighs, throwing himself back down into his seat. After a moment of thinking, wondering who the hell this winter soldier could be, and why he would be out to ruin Steve’s love life, he pulls out his phone, and calls Natasha.
~*~
“He’s a legend. A myth.” She says, shaking her head over her mug of green tea. “Or at least, I thought he was. He gave me this,” She says, lifting her t-shirt to show him a scar on her hip. “Shot through me to get to his target.”
Steve winces. This guy is pretty dangerous. “Do you know anything else?”
“He’s ex-Soviet. An assassin. He’s lethal.” She says, eyebrows raising. “I don’t know what he wants with you, but whatever it is? I’d be worried.”
“Thanks.” He says, sardonic. “That makes me feel so much better.”
She grins in that feral little way she has, and shrugs. “This is the kind of life you lead now, Rogers. Get used to it.” A pause, and she adds, “So - what’s your plan?”
He knows what she means. How are you going to catch him? Steve sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve got an idea.” He says. “I just really don’t like it.”
Natasha gives him a smile. “Vos oportet facere quod vos oportet facere.” She says. When she registers Steve’s quizzical look, she says, “You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do. Good luck.”
She sounds sincere, but her smile says otherwise. With a sigh, Steve picks up the phone, and calls Hugo.
~*~
They go on another date. Just for drinks, not for anything fancy, sitting in a bar. Hugo is jumpy at first, but when Steve assures him that everything is fine, he loosens up a little. Of course Steve can’t drunk, so he’s left to watch out for Hugo; when he decides Hugo is too tipsy, too close to drunk, he calls a cab, and they go back to Hugo’s place. He leaves Hugo at the door, waving, and then he walks away.
He runs around the block, in fact. He jumps through back alleys, and to the fire escape of Hugo’s building, where he clambers up and into his bedroom. He asks Hugo if anything has happened yet, but he’s passed out, so Steve takes that as a no (after checking him for any trauma).
Carefully, he moves to the front room. He turns the TV on, but leaves the lights off - no one will be able to see his face, just his silhouette, the TV letting them (read: the winter soldier) know that someone’s home.
After half an hour of watching CNN, Steve assumes the Soldier isn’t coming. But then there’s an all too familiar voice, low and husky but real, and there, and no, no, that can’t be right--
“I told you to leave him alone.”
Steve is sure his heart is about to beat out of his chest. The Soldier, no, not the Soldier, his best friend, his first love, steps out of the shadows, and into the light cast by the TV. “I told you.”
Steve can’t help but stand, swaying on his feet. “Bucky?”
The menacing look falls off his face. “Steve?”
They look at each other for a moment, Bucky looking more and more panicked by second. He’s wearing a dark t-shirt, black jeans, and a black leather jacket. His hair is longer, almost brushing his shoulders, and he looks slightly older than Steve remembers him, maybe now on the other side of 30. Steve shakes his head, his face pale.
“It can’t-- It can’t be you, it can’t be-- you died.” His voice cracks, and he hates himself a little bit. He looks down, eyes catching that metal hand, which quickly clenches into a fist and is hidden in his jacket pocket. “You died. I let you die, I let you go, it-- it can’t be--”
Whatever panic was distorting Bucky’s features, it’s gone now. Something flipped when Steve had spoken, and now he’s stepping forward, flesh hand outstretched. It meets Steve’s shoulder, and meets his face for a second before it’s gone again. “Don’t.” He says. “It wasn’t your fault, don’t do that.”
“It was.” He argues. “It was my fault, it was--” No, wait. Another thought occurs to him. “How are you here?”
Bucky’s face looks gaunt as he looks away, expression grave. His hair moves as he shakes his head, looking away. “You don’t want to know.”
Steve figures that no. He doesn’t. He looks at Bucky, unable to look away. “Why didn’t you come and see me? How long-- how long have you been in New York? You could’ve come and seen me.”
“About two years.” he huffs, looking away. “Nearly three. I didn’t--” He shakes his head again, hair falling into his eyes as he looks down. “Didn’t want you to see what I had become.”
“Bucky,” He sighs, stepping forward, using both hands to frame Bucky’s face. He has a few scars, now. One on his cheek, another next to his chin. His skin looks a little mottled, a little dirty. Steve doesn’t care. “You’re no different to the man I used to know.”
“You don’t know that.” he says. “You don’t know what I’ve become.”
“So tell me.” Steve says.
And Bucky does.
He leaves bits out, Steve can tell. He begins a sentence and then pulls a face, and lets it drift off, unfinished, switching to talk about something else. He stammers over certain parts, begins words but doesn’t finish them. It’s a selective history of Bucky Barnes from the years 1945 to 2010, and it still makes Steve’s stomach churn. He can only assume that the deleted segments would make him want to vomit.
“And now here I am.” Bucky says. “And I don’t-- I don’t remember everything. But I’m... I’m a person now.”
Steve nods. He holds Bucky’s hand in his, fingertips tracing every line, every crack. He looks up at him once more, now stern. “You were threatening my dates.”
Bucky blushes, and looks away. “I-- I didn’t want you to be with anyone, because... because I want to be with you. But I didn’t think you’d want to be with me. And I didn’t - I don’t think I’m ready. To date.”
Steve has melted a little bit, giving a gentle smile. “I want to be with you too.” He says, voice soft, before he remembers the fact that he was scolding Bucky. “But that was really not cool. You terrified some of those people, Buck. If not all of them.”
“I know.” Bucky sighs. He does look pretty ashamed, Steve thinks.
“You can call ‘em all and apologise.” Steve says. Bucky looks up, slightly panicked but resigned to his fate. he must think Steve is really mad at him, doesn’t want anything to do with him. Little does he know... “But after we get back to my place.”
A small smile creeps onto his features, and Steve can’t help but grin. They’ll talk about whatever it is they are another day; for now, Steve focuses on getting Bucky home, and apologising to a good twelve or thirteen people who were unlucky enough to try and date Captain America. It feels like a good place to start.