capkink | Prompt Post 1

Prompt Post 1

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At least one of the characters in your prompt must have been in Captain America: The First Avenger or Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

As of May 3, 2014, the spoiler policy is no longer in effect.

Update, April 22, 2014:
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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.

This is a great story, I am really enjoying it, and especially your characterisations of Bucky and Natasha, and the Steve/Natasha dynamic. It's perfectly plotty and shippy and lovely. Good job with the fill! :D

You've discovered my weakness. Spoiler alert: It's a possessive Bucky. I love it. Also I really enjoyed the bit with Clint and Natasha. They're kind of adorable and I hope to see more of them.:) Can't wait for the next part!

That's my weakness too. Welcome to the club?

Sam took them to a little Mexican joint he knew with a laughed, “Hope you don't mind Mexican?”

Steve shook his head with a smile, and a laughed, “No complaints from me.”

The place wasn't crawling with people, which helped Steve relax. He didn't like walking out in public much anymore with how easy he got recognized. When he did walk the streets of DC he was usually hunched down with a ball cap tugged as low as he could get it, staring at new and old buildings, categorizing all the changes in the world to what he knew. They stacked up, often left him breathless as to how much the world was different. Even the back alleys were changed.

Sam walked up to the hosts stand and talked to a hostess in low words. Steve turned his head away, stepped back and tried to focus on something else to give at least the facade of some privacy. He could hear still plain as day how Sam requested an isolated booth, caught the motion towards Steve and the little half-smile Sam had on his face.

The Hostess led them to a back booth in a somewhat darkened corner, gave them their menus and left them to order. Steve looked it over, debating what he wanted to eat. Sam only glanced at his and put it down.

“You ever have Mexican before?” he asked, curious.

“I've had a lot of different things since coming back,” Steve replied with a smile. “Tony took us out for schwarma after New York, actually.”

“Really?” Sam blinked. “How was that?”

“Interesting,” Steve shrugged. “But then food has changed.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, they used to boil everything you said.”

Steve set down his menu, “said, “They sure did,” with the half-shake of his head and the smile on his lips. The waitress came by, got their drinks and their order, and then took off with the menus. Sam pursed his lips once she was gone, looked at Steve who was glancing around the restaurant in curiosity.

“Steve,” Sam said, carefully. “I know some of what your going through.”

Steve just sort of froze for a second, then turned back to Sam. He caught the serious face on what he hoped would be a friend and shook his head. He put on that winning smile, said, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Sam groaned. “C'mon man, everyone knows your story,” he pointed out. “You can't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Look, I. We've all lost someone. We all deal with the grief, the guilt.” Sam breathed out slowly. “You're not alone, Steve.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Steve said, a bit more firmly as his smile slipped from his face.

Sam sighed. This wasn't working right, so he turned his head to the side and thought, for a moment, of Riley and what it took for him to open up about the guilt of what happened. He wasn't lying when he said people knew Captain America's story, knew that the man had lost his SiC, lost Bucky Barnes the best friend. Most people forgot that for Steve Rogers it'd barely been three years, and even then that wasn't nearly enough time. It'd never be enough time.

Sam lowered his head. “I lost my wingman, my best friend, Riley,” he said carefully, “over there.” He swallowed. “We were flying a night mission, a standard PJ rescue op.” Steve swallowed heavily. “Nothin' we haven't done before,” Sam continued, gave a brief sort of half-grimace half-smile, “until an RPG knocked Riley's dumb ass out of the sky.” Sam looked down, then looked away. “Felt like I was only up there to watch.”

Steve swallowed, face pale. “Sam, I--”

“Believe me,” Sam said. “I've got an idea of what you're going through. And, and while it doesn't ever stop hurting, it sure as hell gets easier to move on. Talking about it,” Steve gave him a look here and Sam raised his hands, his smile coming a bit easier, “hey, hey, I know what that sounds like, but it's true. Talking does help.” He grimaced, added a, “Sometimes,” and a wry sort of smile.

Steve didn't quite smile, his face a bit pained at Sam's admission, at how well Sam had read him but then, they'd both been in war, they'd both lost someone close, and so Steve figured perhaps that was why, better than anyone, Sam spotted it. He sighed, said, “I don't,” backtracked because he was going to sound insensitive and he didn't want to do that and instead said, “Thanks.”

“I know its not the same,” Sam said, correctly guessing what Steve was going to say. “I mean, hell, if half of what is speculated is true...”

“What?” Steve looked up, confused and almost ashen sick. “What's speculated?”

Sam grimaced, cursed his loose tongue, and said, “You know what, it doesn't matter. I mean I don't want to force you out of the closet if you're even in it.”

“What does that mean?” Steve demanded, leaning forward.

“Wait, what do you mean what does that mean?” Sam blinked, shocked. “Haven't you been given the highlights? Don't Ask, Don't Tell? The LGBT movement?”

Steve shook his head, brow furrowed, confused. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he said instead, lips pursed.

“Fuck,” Sam hissed between his teeth. Now he felt like he really blundered this. He bowed his head, palmed his face for a second, then sat up, said, “I don't know if I can explain it good enough, so. So when you get home, google it. Please. And if you have any questions after that just ask.”

Steve frowned, opened his mouth to ask what Sam meant, but then their food arrived and so he fell silent in favor of eating. He honestly felt starved.

He paced outside the building, debated actually going in and slitting the bastards throat who thought to take Steve out for a meal, then took that thought back with a grimace, imagining how Steve would look, and paced some more. He had to make a point, though, he wasn't sure what that point was. He paced some more, hunched his shoulders, clenched his fist.

Finally the Soldier breathed out, a steadying, fortifying breath and stepped into the restaurant.

“I'm meeting a friend,” he said to the hostess, nodded to the back corner after quickly taking stock of the room. “It's a surprise.” When she continued to stare at him, stare at his face, he sighed. “I have scarring, I'd prefer not to be stared at,” he added with a scowl. He didn't, but it was the easiest way to have his face hidden and not be called on it.

The hostess laughed, nervous, said a quick, “Oh, go ahead then,” and the Soldier slipped past her and moved towards the booth that held Steve and the, the, he didn't have a name, just a narrowed eye'd stare at this churning of acid in his gut. He walked until he was right next to them, stood there for about a full minute while they ate and didn't talk.

It was Steve who noticed him, hands shoved into his pockets and back hunched slightly with a baseball cap tugged low. Steve's eyes went wide, in shock, and the other beside him blinked.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

The Soldier had to withhold himself from reaching out and tugging this, this (remember!) interloper up by his neck. He swiftly moved his gaze back to Steve he looked pale, but reached up and tugged him into the booth with a hissed, “Sit down.”

The Soldier sat mechanically.

“Do you know him?” the interloper asked, and Steve raised a hand to quiet him. The Soldier couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips, hidden behind the bandanna, at that.

“Have you been following me?” Steve demanded, voice low. The Soldier tilted his head.

“I take it from your tone that this is not something that is allowed,” the Soldier stated calmly.

“Yeah, it's creepy and borderline illegal,” Steve said lowly.

“A lot of what I do is illegal,” the Soldier pointed out, then amended, “All of it, actually.”

The interloper glanced between them, asked, “Should I call the police?”

“No!” Steve snapped, but he glared at the Soldier and not at the other. “It's okay, Sam. Right?”

The Soldier shrugged, said, “I'm not here for anyone.”

“Except me,” Steve pointed out so the Soldier corrected, “I'm not here for a mission.” Steve sighed, scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Budge over, I need to. Use the bathroom,” he said with a sigh. He needed to clear his head, more like it, but the Soldier willingly slipped out of the seat to let Steve out. Steve added, “Stay here, please,” under his breath and the Soldier calmly sat back down and watched Steve leave.

Sam blinked, surprised at the interaction, but looked over at the Soldier who stared at him with narrowed, furious eyes.

“Uh, you didn't by any chance lie to the good Captain, did you?” Sam asked, just a hint of nervous.

“No,” the Soldier said. He pulled out a thin, butterfly knife from his pocket and toyed with it, leaning back in the booth. Sam swallowed, but kept his nerves otherwise under control.

“Good,” he said. “What do you want then.”

The Soldier smiled. “You're good. You recognized that I didn't walk in for him.” Sam nodded and the Soldier nodded back.

“I can recognize intimidation when I see it,” Sam pointed out.

“Good. Then this will go easier,” the Soldier replied. “Touch him, come on to him, do anything I see that I don't like, and I will slit your throat in your sleep. Hurt him and I will do much worse.” At these words the Soldier leaned forward, held the knife loosely but firmly in a semi-threatening manner.

“The overprotective big-brother talk?” Sam asked, and when the grip tightened he sighed. “The jealous boyfriend talk. Does he know you think of him like that?”

The Soldier glanced away, then back, then away again. He had a snarl on his face.

“He knows me,” he said simply, because Steve did. Steve just didn't know it yet.

“Really?” Sam asked, skeptical.

The Soldier growled, glanced away, glanced back, glanced away again. He leaned across the table, towered over Sam, snarled, “He knows me,” and tugged down the bandanna for a brief second. His eyes were dark, infuriated, and Sam sucked in a sharp surprised breath. Sam only recognized him because he'd seen the photographs, visited the memorial, and not five minutes ago had Steve pulling out a beaten picture from his wallet, the only surviving photo he'd had.

The Soldier tugged the bandanna back up and leaned back int the seat, playing with the butterfly knife again.

“Does he know its you?” Sam asked, his voice slightly higher. “How the hell are you even alive?”

The Soldier shrugged, said, “You tell him, and I'll make you beg for death,” coldly. He didn't know how to answer Sam's other question, didn't even know the details of what happened to him, himself, so he kept silent.

“He has a right to know,” Sam pointed out.

The Soldier shrugged again, but gave a pointed glare in Sam's direction as Steve stepped out and returned. He got to his feet.

“I hope you enjoyed my gift,” the Soldier said, and turned to walk out of the establishment.

“Where are you going?” Steve asked, a frown on his face.

“Research,” was all the Soldier said. He glanced back, looked at Sam, and felt himself smile before he turned right around and left.

Steve shook his head, looked to Sam. “You okay?” he asked. Sam laughed.

“Yeah,” he said, a bit breathlessly, a bit wide eyed. “You have one crazy ass stalker.”

Steve grinned and shrugged. There wasn't much he could say about that. Sam stared at him, sighed, and closed his eyes. He knew, somehow, that this was just one more notch into how deep down a rabbit hole Steve was. He wondered if there was any dragging him out and back into safety. Sam doubted it.

Thank you for another great chapter! That Bucky-Sam interaction was gold - now I'm hoping Bucky will try to intimidate Tony too, that would be priceless x3
But no matter where this is heading, I really really hope you update soon <3

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Prompt Post 1

Fill: Голубка [My Dove] {4B}

Re: Fill: Голубка [My Dove] {4B}

OP

Re: OP

Fill: Голубка [My Dove] {4C}

Re: Fill: Голубка [My Dove] {4C}