so for Stoki Week there was another fic boiling around in my head that I wanted to try to write, but then that didn’t happen. obviously. I can still write a snippet from it at least!
It took Steve a long time to notice he was being followed.
It was the weirdest thing - mostly just a sense, prickling on the back of his neck, a sense of being watched. The day he finally glimpsed something it was almost a relief, because he’d started to think he was going crazy. And it wasn’t much of anything, even, just a shadow out of the corner of his eye that vanished when he turned to look. He caught it again a couple days later, though, and then again a couple days after that.
“Someone’s following me around,” he told Bucky, who gave him a skeptical look.
“Someone like who? The mob?”
“I don’t know,” Steve said honestly. “They’re good at keeping hidden. Haven’t gotten a good look at a face or anything.”
“I’d say it’s probably someone you pissed off, but that doesn’t narrow it down much,” Bucky said. Steve grimaced, but Bucky shook his head. “You’re not getting paranoid, are you, Stevie? No offense, but I don’t think anyone’s going to put a hit out on you.”
No one needed to take a hit out on Steve for him to get hit, though, as he was reminded by Peter Turner and James Sutter after he told them to back off Jacob Kurtzberg. They were just getting really into their pummeling when someone hauled James off him and threw him into a trash can. Peter whipped around and whatever he saw (Steve couldn’t see much through the blood over one of his eyes and the double vision) made him scarper fast.
Whoever it was moved toward him and Steve cringed, half expecting more pain, but they just dropped into a crouch.
“How little things change, murmured a faintly accented voice. Steve squinted, trying to focus on his face.
“I’m fine,” he said, pushing himself up. He had to stop when his head started spinning, though. The stranger reached out to steady him, and Steve’s head cleared, the pain fading so he could actually see his rescuer. He didn’t look familiar - and Steve was pretty sure he’d remember a face like that - but the way he looked at Steve was like…
Steve frowned. “Who are you?”
“No one important,” the stranger said. He didn’t stand or move away, though, watching Steve like he couldn’t get enough of his face. Something almost starving in his eyes, and it made Steve’s stomach feel strange. “I was just passing by.”
Steve narrowed his eyes. “What’s your name?”
The stranger’s lips twisted. “I haven’t one,” he said, oddly. Steve frowned, perplexed.
“I’m fine,” he said again, pointedly. “You can go.”
“Oh,” the stranger said, another odd expression passing over his face. “Of course.” He stood and moved back, and there was that odd longing, almost desperate, in his eyes.
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