I've Been Searching For Salvation

Okay at least he was getting better at reading sarcasm. Well, at least he thought he was. Rogers double checked his watch as he continued to move through the compound to his temporary residence. He was still looking for his own place, something not attached to work, but the prices were insane. [MSG: Buck] What? And be subjected to the dark ages? [MSG: Buck] Yeah, meeting’s over. I’m free for a while. [MSG: Buck] Where even are you at?

[MSG: Steve] Don’t worry, the dark ages aren’t contageous [MSG: Steve] You’re Captain America, you’re cursed with a healthy sex life, it’s part of the perks. [MSG: Steve] I’ve got a place in Fredericksburg, I can be there in about an hour unless you wanna meet half way.

[MSG: Buck] Oh please, do tell me how you really feel about that [MSG: Buck] Messages never convey sarcasm properly, so that was certainly sarcastic. Just to clear up any confusion [MSG: Buck] The keyboard didn’t do anything wrong, and those things cost money. [MSG: Bucky] And knowing the system, there would be paperwork about needing to order a new keyboard…because of the paperwork problem. Vicious cycle.

“Or…we could run away and never come back. No more killing and fighting- the normal life we always dreamed about when you trained me a million years ago.” she countered.

“No biological kids, but that’s my fault. We could get a dog. And a cabin in the mountains or a house by the sea. I’ve never once had the urge to dream about those things with Connor.”

He huffs out a sardonic laugh, he can’t help it. It isn’t meant as an insult, it’s just... realistically, what chance do either of them have at actually getting out? For real, for good? It’s a beautiful dream, hiding in a cabin by the sea. One he thought he could have for a couple years there in Romania, and the surrounding satellite countries he bounced between.

One that got firmly shattered.

[MSG: Buck] I always wondered about that, cause I swear the mosquitoes don’t love me like they used to. [MSG: Buck] That’s certainly not a complaint. I hate those little buggers. [MSG: Buck] Yeah, well, meetings are a def mood killer. Paperwork is the worst. [MSG: Buck] Gonna have to rain check on that one, sorry to disappoint He kept his phone in hand, just in case he was going to keep getting rapid fire text messages. Rogers was becoming quite a fan of the new one that he had gotten. He had finally been convinced to get one of the smart phones on the market as he had broken his last one on accident. Hopefully the case would help prevent the super soldier from making the same mistake.

Okay if he didn’t back to his room people were going too look at Steve funny for laughing at his phone. He continued down the stairs, trying to keep a straight face as he moved through the compound. [MSG: Buck] Okay but those peasants probably had their houses full of fleas, and then we are back to square one about the plague. [MSG: Buck] C’mon it can’t be that bad man [MSG: Buck] Besides, self love is still a thing right?

If nothing else, let it never be said his troubles weren’t good for something. Steve Rogers laughing like an idiot in a hallway isn’t much by way of consolation prize, but he’d always considered it a personal victory when he managed to pull forth a grin. Somewhere in a rundown apartment in Brooklyn there’s probably a tally card where he’s been keeping score.

She’d never felt so disappointed and frustrated as when he pushed her away- and she’s had plenty of disappointment and frustration in her long life.

Despite being only ten or so years younger than him, her morals were formed under very different circumstances. But she wasn’t going to push him. Yet.

“I think you should stay. I’ve been looking for a reason to call the wedding off. Connor isn’t as good a man as I’d hoped…” Nat admitted.

People get cold feet the day before their wedding. It’s a thing that happens all the time- nearly every time, from what he’s given to understand. Not that he’s ever gotten married before, but he’s been to plenty of weddings. Coaxed Rebecca through hers shortly before he shipped off to England, and she nearly cried her makeup off. After he woke up, he looked her up. She stayed married to him until he eventually died sometime in the eighties.

He shakes his head, cards a hand through his hair only to have it fall back into his face again.

“I didn’t come here to- I’m not here to mess stuff up for you, even though it... Well, that’s exactly what it seems like I did, I just...” His hands fall away to his sides, thumbs search and find pockets to hook into. “I think you should... think about it. And if... if the wedding happens tomorrow, I’ll get it. No hard feelings. I’ll be there. But if it doesn’t happen tomorrow...”

Nat moved toward him and gently slipped a hand under his chin to make him look at her.

After holding his gaze for a moment, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his. It was literally now or never and after his declaration she needed to know if the spark was still there for her as well.

It was.

She’d dressed for a quiet night in in a tank top and terry cloth shorts. But the shiver that ran up her spine had nothing to do with how thin her pyjamas were

Well, hell. Now what was she supposed to to do?

The thing about it is, James Barnes is not a passive kisser. He never has been, not in 1938 and not now in 2018. If he lives another twenty years he’ll have a perfect track record for a century of good necking. 

(Realistically he’ll be lucky to make it another 20 months, but keep the dream alive, folks.)

She’s still during her approach, he’s even still during her assent, but the second lips touch his all bets are off. The world is narrowed down to a singular point of contact, lips sticking and catching, dry and soft, eyes closed, everything else gone. A metal arm slides around her waist, and with it he hauls her up, flush against him. If he only gets this once, tonight, now, god damn he’s gonna do it right.

And just as quickly, it ends. He lets her back and down with a firm hand at her hip to push her away. Clears his throat, and exhales slowly from his nose. Much as he might want to, his sense of morals come from the thirties and forties. There are some things you don’t do to people, and he’s already crossed the line.