Steve leaned against the wall, watched the proceedings inside the room. His gaze darted from Sam, to the veterans who shared. He stood, silent. He didn't want to intrude, didn't feel he had a right to. Steve knew he wasn't without his own baggage, but sharing wasn't a thing that had been overly encouraged in the 40's, and even now he often found himself adverse to it.
The only person he shared things with was Bucky. Steve swallowed.
Sam was a good man. He could see it in the kind way he addressed the veterans before him. Steve could see it in the way the man joked with him. Hell even the way Sam was just happy to help, this one Steve knew was a kind soul, deep down. War hadn't torn that from him, and Steve doubted it would.
When the meeting was over Steve slipped away, down the hall. These people didn't need to see him, to be reminded of what they weren't. The Super Soldier serum didn't make him remarkably well adjusted although he played at it, because the media seemed to think most days he was Super Human which, Steve knew, wasn't far off. These men and women who fought for their country would look at him, and see the pure, well adjusted soldier who didn't need help and that, Steve figured, wouldn't help them. They didn't need that reminder.
He waited until the hall fully cleared before he approached Sam. He tried to keep himself open, not slouched, with a congenial smile at his lips. Steve tried to appear happy. He knew he failed when, as he greeted Sam with a smile, Sam gave him this look. This eyebrows raised piercing look that said, I know what you're tryin' to do, pal, and it ain't workin'.
“You know I figured you'd stop by weeks ago,” Sam said, calmly folding up all the cards.
“I've been busy,” Steve shot him a wry grin.
“Sure you have,” Sam nodded. “That boss of yours keeping you on your toes I take it.”
Steve laughed, “Never a dull day.”
“Yeah,” Sam grinned. “Still working with that girl, the red head?”
Steve rubbed the back of his neck with a smile. “Natasha? Yeah.”
“Think you could hook me up?” Sam asked.
Steve looked shocked. Hook Natasha up? He could imagine the look she'd shoot him, imagine the horrifying things she'd subject him to (Clint's offbrand humor and Tony) and shook his head. “I'm pretty sure she's taken,” he said, instead of voicing the horrors that came to mind.
“You sure? Damn,” Sam sighed. “All the good looking ones.” He finished stacking up the cards and looked Steve over. “Hey, you wanna grab a bite to eat? I'm famished, and you look like you haven't had a decent meal all day.”
Steve shook his head, a grin on his face so large it almost hurt. “Is that how it is?” he asked, teasing back to their first conversation.
“That's how it is,” Sam shot back, a smile to his own face.
Steve laughed and decided why not. Sam wasn't going to try and kill him, and he could use a few minutes time just not thinking about Bucky, about the Soldier, about Natasha and the lies and HYDRA. He licked his lips, face only briefly indecisive before he said, “You know what, sounds good. Let's go.”
He watched, from a shadowed corner, ball cap down on on his head, hair in front of his face, a bandanna wrapped around the lower half of his face in a parody of his mask. He had on a hoody instead of his leather and kevlar, and jeans that were loose, looser than the BDU's he normally wore. His left arm was wrapped tight, fingers covered in gloves to hide the brilliant shine of the metal.
The Soldier had followed him from his morning walk, to his meeting with Наталья in a graveyard. He'd slipped from them then, searching for something, something, he hadn't been sure what until he found it. A single, white headstone, a single name. He licked his lips then tugged the bottom one between his teeth, turned, and walked away. The Soldier tried not to think of the second headstone, placed next to it, with another name that he recognized, understood. He headed back towards their meeting point, hands stuffed in his pockets.
He followed Steve to the building where there were men and women who had fought and come back broken.
The Soldier likened himself to being broken, too. A broken weapon because he kept ignoring orders, kept putting the mission off for this. Whatever this was. He craved, craved the silence and yet, somehow, he craved this chaos more and it hurt. He grit his teeth, hunched down, and slipped into an unused room. From here he watched, he waited. When Steve met the strange man who gave him smiles and laughter the Soldier had to look away. Had to clench one fist in his jeans and bite down on another.
The Soldier bowed, curled into a ball. His blood was on fire again, this strange encompassing feeling that made him want to step out of the room and wrap his metal fingers around and squeeze. He couldn't do that, though, it'd bring attention to his presence and he'd have trouble completing his mission and HYDRA wouldn't be pleased. When HYDRA got displeased the Soldier became useless and that, that he couldn't be.
Never again.
It took time, like the last time where he ground his gun to scrap, but the Soldier came back to himself, curbed the dangerous urge with reminders of what he was. A weapon. A tool. This, this emotional output was a malfunction. When his mission was over it'd be wiped from him, making him new again. He hissed a breath through his teeth and straightened.
He barely caught sound of the interloper getting Steve agreeing to grab a bite. His hands clenched into fists, his jaw snapped shut and his teeth ground together as his nostrils flared. The Soldier narrowed his eyes, slipped out of the room, and followed.
The hell was his punk going on a date with some, some, (lounge lizard spook who don't know when ta--) he didn't have a word for it, but he knew he didn't like it.
Natasha flopped back on her bed, phone pressed against her ear as she stared up at the ceiling.
“So, you remember when I told you about Winter?” she asked, looking over her fingers and pursing her lips. She could do with a manicure, actually.
“Yeah, why, what's he got to do with anythin' Nat?” Clint asked back. He was over in Srilanka looking down a sniper scope double checking the guard routes with the simple bluetooth device pressed into his ear. Natasha could see him with the displeased frown that half wanted to quirk up into a smile as he kept his fingers far away from the trigger of the gun he held distastefully in his arms.
“I told you he's back in town, right?” Natasha asked, instead of remarking upon what she knew Clint had to be doing. She had a small smile to her face.
“Well yeah that's why we're doin' all this clean house bullshit, right?”
Natasha hummed noncommittally and rolled over onto her stomach.
“What? Oh don't tell me he hit you on again,” Clint groaned. “Fuck don't tell me you're actually thinkin' of it!”
“No,” Natasha denied. “He's not interested. I doubt he even remembers.”
“Well good,” Clint grumbled, “because stealin' you away from him once was a pain in the ass.”
“Careful, Clint, your sounding a little possessive there,” Natasha teased, kicking her legs up behind her as she reached for the television remote.
“Oh stuff it. I have every right to be possessive and you know it.”
Natasha laughed. “That's not why I brought him up, bird boy.”
“Seriously? Fuckin' Tony,” Clint grumbled.
“It suits you,” Natasha said.
“Fuck you.”
“While the idea of phone sex is wonderfully arousing,” Natasha's voice grew a bit deeper at the thought, licking her lips at how she could make Clint come undone over the phone. Given his little hitched breath he knew exactly what she was thinking. “That's not why I called either.”
“Then get to the point!” Clint whined. “And don't tease a guy, Nat. It's cruel.”
Natasha laughed again, flicked on the tv with a press of a button. “Fine, fine. He's been stalking Steve.”
There is a pause, then a yell of, “Wait, WHAT?!” followed by cursing, the distinct sounds of a weapon being dismantled and running. “Please tell me there isn't a hit out on our All American Pie.”
“Would that make this better?” Natasha asked. She could here Clint pause to think even as he was running.
There is a rough, “No!” as Clint realized what Natasha was implying and Natasha laughed.
“You should see him speaking,” she said. “His tones gets all sappy and he turns the most horrifying of phrases into these adorable little moments.”
“What is with,” Clint pants, pauses for a breath and Natasha could hear him fire an arrow, “you Russian spies,” another arrow and an explosion, “and Captain Tight-Ass?”
“It's a fantasy, Clint,” Natasha laughed. “I doubt it would ever happen. Besides, you know I'll always come right back to you.” Clint doesn't respond but Natasha isn't worried, she can hear the combat all the way on her end and it makes her smile.
“Yeah,” Clint eventually said when it all goes quiet. “I know. Love you.”
“Ты нужен мне,” Natasha replied. She looked and sounded pained by the admission, and she knew logically she always was.
Fill: Голубка [My Dove] {4B}
Steve leaned against the wall, watched the proceedings inside the room. His gaze darted from Sam, to the veterans who shared. He stood, silent. He didn't want to intrude, didn't feel he had a right to. Steve knew he wasn't without his own baggage, but sharing wasn't a thing that had been overly encouraged in the 40's, and even now he often found himself adverse to it.
The only person he shared things with was Bucky. Steve swallowed.
Sam was a good man. He could see it in the kind way he addressed the veterans before him. Steve could see it in the way the man joked with him. Hell even the way Sam was just happy to help, this one Steve knew was a kind soul, deep down. War hadn't torn that from him, and Steve doubted it would.
When the meeting was over Steve slipped away, down the hall. These people didn't need to see him, to be reminded of what they weren't. The Super Soldier serum didn't make him remarkably well adjusted although he played at it, because the media seemed to think most days he was Super Human which, Steve knew, wasn't far off. These men and women who fought for their country would look at him, and see the pure, well adjusted soldier who didn't need help and that, Steve figured, wouldn't help them. They didn't need that reminder.
He waited until the hall fully cleared before he approached Sam. He tried to keep himself open, not slouched, with a congenial smile at his lips. Steve tried to appear happy. He knew he failed when, as he greeted Sam with a smile, Sam gave him this look. This eyebrows raised piercing look that said, I know what you're tryin' to do, pal, and it ain't workin'.
“You know I figured you'd stop by weeks ago,” Sam said, calmly folding up all the cards.
“I've been busy,” Steve shot him a wry grin.
“Sure you have,” Sam nodded. “That boss of yours keeping you on your toes I take it.”
Steve laughed, “Never a dull day.”
“Yeah,” Sam grinned. “Still working with that girl, the red head?”
Steve rubbed the back of his neck with a smile. “Natasha? Yeah.”
“Think you could hook me up?” Sam asked.
Steve looked shocked. Hook Natasha up? He could imagine the look she'd shoot him, imagine the horrifying things she'd subject him to (Clint's offbrand humor and Tony) and shook his head. “I'm pretty sure she's taken,” he said, instead of voicing the horrors that came to mind.
“You sure? Damn,” Sam sighed. “All the good looking ones.” He finished stacking up the cards and looked Steve over. “Hey, you wanna grab a bite to eat? I'm famished, and you look like you haven't had a decent meal all day.”
Steve shook his head, a grin on his face so large it almost hurt. “Is that how it is?” he asked, teasing back to their first conversation.
“That's how it is,” Sam shot back, a smile to his own face.
Steve laughed and decided why not. Sam wasn't going to try and kill him, and he could use a few minutes time just not thinking about Bucky, about the Soldier, about Natasha and the lies and HYDRA. He licked his lips, face only briefly indecisive before he said, “You know what, sounds good. Let's go.”
He watched, from a shadowed corner, ball cap down on on his head, hair in front of his face, a bandanna wrapped around the lower half of his face in a parody of his mask. He had on a hoody instead of his leather and kevlar, and jeans that were loose, looser than the BDU's he normally wore. His left arm was wrapped tight, fingers covered in gloves to hide the brilliant shine of the metal.
The Soldier had followed him from his morning walk, to his meeting with Наталья in a graveyard. He'd slipped from them then, searching for something, something, he hadn't been sure what until he found it. A single, white headstone, a single name. He licked his lips then tugged the bottom one between his teeth, turned, and walked away. The Soldier tried not to think of the second headstone, placed next to it, with another name that he recognized, understood. He headed back towards their meeting point, hands stuffed in his pockets.
He followed Steve to the building where there were men and women who had fought and come back broken.
The Soldier likened himself to being broken, too. A broken weapon because he kept ignoring orders, kept putting the mission off for this. Whatever this was. He craved, craved the silence and yet, somehow, he craved this chaos more and it hurt. He grit his teeth, hunched down, and slipped into an unused room. From here he watched, he waited. When Steve met the strange man who gave him smiles and laughter the Soldier had to look away. Had to clench one fist in his jeans and bite down on another.
The Soldier bowed, curled into a ball. His blood was on fire again, this strange encompassing feeling that made him want to step out of the room and wrap his metal fingers around and squeeze. He couldn't do that, though, it'd bring attention to his presence and he'd have trouble completing his mission and HYDRA wouldn't be pleased. When HYDRA got displeased the Soldier became useless and that, that he couldn't be.
Never again.
It took time, like the last time where he ground his gun to scrap, but the Soldier came back to himself, curbed the dangerous urge with reminders of what he was. A weapon. A tool. This, this emotional output was a malfunction. When his mission was over it'd be wiped from him, making him new again. He hissed a breath through his teeth and straightened.
He barely caught sound of the interloper getting Steve agreeing to grab a bite. His hands clenched into fists, his jaw snapped shut and his teeth ground together as his nostrils flared. The Soldier narrowed his eyes, slipped out of the room, and followed.
The hell was his punk going on a date with some, some, (lounge lizard spook who don't know when ta--) he didn't have a word for it, but he knew he didn't like it.
Natasha flopped back on her bed, phone pressed against her ear as she stared up at the ceiling.
“So, you remember when I told you about Winter?” she asked, looking over her fingers and pursing her lips. She could do with a manicure, actually.
“Yeah, why, what's he got to do with anythin' Nat?” Clint asked back. He was over in Srilanka looking down a sniper scope double checking the guard routes with the simple bluetooth device pressed into his ear. Natasha could see him with the displeased frown that half wanted to quirk up into a smile as he kept his fingers far away from the trigger of the gun he held distastefully in his arms.
“I told you he's back in town, right?” Natasha asked, instead of remarking upon what she knew Clint had to be doing. She had a small smile to her face.
“Well yeah that's why we're doin' all this clean house bullshit, right?”
Natasha hummed noncommittally and rolled over onto her stomach.
“What? Oh don't tell me he hit you on again,” Clint groaned. “Fuck don't tell me you're actually thinkin' of it!”
“No,” Natasha denied. “He's not interested. I doubt he even remembers.”
“Well good,” Clint grumbled, “because stealin' you away from him once was a pain in the ass.”
“Careful, Clint, your sounding a little possessive there,” Natasha teased, kicking her legs up behind her as she reached for the television remote.
“Oh stuff it. I have every right to be possessive and you know it.”
Natasha laughed. “That's not why I brought him up, bird boy.”
“Seriously? Fuckin' Tony,” Clint grumbled.
“It suits you,” Natasha said.
“Fuck you.”
“While the idea of phone sex is wonderfully arousing,” Natasha's voice grew a bit deeper at the thought, licking her lips at how she could make Clint come undone over the phone. Given his little hitched breath he knew exactly what she was thinking. “That's not why I called either.”
“Then get to the point!” Clint whined. “And don't tease a guy, Nat. It's cruel.”
Natasha laughed again, flicked on the tv with a press of a button. “Fine, fine. He's been stalking Steve.”
There is a pause, then a yell of, “Wait, WHAT?!” followed by cursing, the distinct sounds of a weapon being dismantled and running. “Please tell me there isn't a hit out on our All American Pie.”
“Would that make this better?” Natasha asked. She could here Clint pause to think even as he was running.
There is a rough, “No!” as Clint realized what Natasha was implying and Natasha laughed.
“You should see him speaking,” she said. “His tones gets all sappy and he turns the most horrifying of phrases into these adorable little moments.”
“What is with,” Clint pants, pauses for a breath and Natasha could hear him fire an arrow, “you Russian spies,” another arrow and an explosion, “and Captain Tight-Ass?”
“It's a fantasy, Clint,” Natasha laughed. “I doubt it would ever happen. Besides, you know I'll always come right back to you.” Clint doesn't respond but Natasha isn't worried, she can hear the combat all the way on her end and it makes her smile.
“Yeah,” Clint eventually said when it all goes quiet. “I know. Love you.”
“Ты нужен мне,” Natasha replied. She looked and sounded pained by the admission, and she knew logically she always was.
Clint murmured, “I know.”
They hung up at the same time.