#closed for

As a general rule, Remy did not have a hard time getting the romantic attention of anybody he wanted. Since childhood, he’d never had to struggle to get someone to smile at hime or perhaps dote on him. It wasn’t just because he could be a low-level hypnotist because of his eyes. He prided himself on his natural charm and handsome features. To wink and make someone swoon always satisfied a primal part of him, a part that assured him that yes, he was good-looking and the whole world knew it.

He was used to people liking him. He was used to people trying to get close to him. What Remy was not used to, and would never get used to was someone who scorned him for no reason. Whenever he was around Rogue, she turned her nose up at him. She rolled her eyes at his jokes (not in the good way) and called him Swamp Rat in a tone that was far from endearing. He was always sweet to her and no matter what he did, she scoffed at him. If Remy were a lesser man, he’d get angry and leave her alone. Being Remy LeBeau, he was all the more intrigued. Whatever he wanted, whether it be art, money, or romance, he got. Remy was not used to being told ‘no.’ To see someone as beautiful as Rogue, to want her so badly and be told he couldn’t have her, not just by her own words but by her very mutation that disallowed skin to skin contact, Remy wanted her all the more. He found her endlessly fascinating. She was brash, loud, and honest. He loved it and wanted more. He selfishly wanted it all focused on him.

Finally, finally, he had talked her into a date. Just one to start but he was going to be pulling out all the stops. He had it all lined up to be the most magical night that he could wrangle up on short notice. He’d texted her to meet him at the restaurant in Midtown Manhattan, hoping that the name of the place would give her a hint at exactly how maximum fancy he was prepared to go tonight.

He prepped for the date with a sensation of butterflies that he’d never felt before. He tamed his hair to perfection, donned a perfectly pressed suit with shiny shoes to match, begrudgingly popped in his sclera contacts to cover his red-on-black eyes, and headed out early as to arrive before her to make sure everything was in place.

Remy sat at the table and kept fiddling with the buttons of his white dress shirt. He couldn’t decide whether he should undo two buttons or three. Was three too much? He couldn’t remember if he usually showed so much of his collar. He didn’t want her to think he was being sleazy. Remy did up the button again and patted at his shirt only to pull at it a moment later. He was sure he was being paranoid to think that his shirt was choking him. He looked down to make sure the buttons were aligned— they were. Maybe he should have worn a tie. That would have solved his dilemma before it had even started. But Remy didn’t like ties because they were too formal. This was not prom.

He supposed that this meeting had been a long time coming. Barnes had been avoiding meeting with Steve at first because he wasn’t sure if the kill order was completely gone from his mental conditioning. Then he’d been avoiding Steve because as memories came back, it had been very evident that who he was now and who he used to be were very different people. Barnes carried some traits and memories of Bucky but Bucky had none of the experiences or hurts that Barnes had been through. Also, Bucky hadn’t had a high-powered metal arm but that was neither here nor there.

When he was sure that he could pass as something like a regular person, Barnes had contact Steve. Just an email, asking if Steve wanted to talk. Barnes was still wary of anybody trying to tail and bag him, so he’d invited Steve over to his apartment in Brooklyn. They could talk without being monitored. He’d like to think that one day, Barnes would be less paranoid but in his heart he knew that he was probably going to be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.

He puttered around his place, tidying things that didn’t need to be tidied as he waited for Steve to arrive. He futzed with the coffee maker, making himself a cup and promptly forgetting about it to fret over the contents of his refrigerator, then despaired over the cold coffee and made himself another. Fuck. Why was he nervous? Memories told him that Steve was his friend, his best friend. His gut warned him that things wouldn’t be the same. They’d practically lived life times separate from one another and the dynamic was different. Barnes sipped his too-hot coffee and winced, both at the scald to his mouth and the thought of being rejected for friendship.

Life was strange without a sense of dread. He’d grown so accustomed to it, so used to having every move he made watched or commanded. Barnes (Neither James nor Bucky nor the Soldier, not any more) was learning how to be free. Ish.

He’d found a rent-controlled apartment in Vinegar Hill, in the north of Brooklyn, and hadn’t stepped foot outside it other to frequent a nearby diner for about a week and a half. He’d set up a scope by his window and surveilled the area to make sure nobody had followed him, to make sure nobody would try and take him back to somewhere he didn’t want to go. Barnes wasn’t even really sure where he wanted to be in the first place but he certainly knew that if anybody dressed in tactical all-black showed up, he didn’t want to go with them.

So, Barnes started to adjust to living.

Once comfortable and sure that he was finally off everybody’s radar, he started to explore the neighborhoods around Vinegar Hill. He kept to himself, always wore gloves and a ball cap, but started to learn what he liked and didn’t like. On the list of likes was sitting in Brooklyn Park with a lemonade and looking across the water to watch the New York skyline at various times of the day. It gave a sense of peace to him, calming the anxious static of his mind that constantly plagued him. He began to think that maybe if he went over to the other side, he’d feel peace all throughout his entire being. Perhaps coming to stay in Brooklyn had been a bad idea. Old memories buzzed at him, wanting to break free and be known because he was always stomping around the body’s old turf. If he was somewhere that his past hadn’t touched, maybe he could feel a fresh start.

Dorcas was getting something out of back when she heard the bell of the bar door ring. “We’re closed.” She hollered, rolling her eyes.  She had no idea who in there right mind would come into an empty bar at night.  She continued to get her supplies, wait for the bell to ring again, signaling that he guest had left. Normally she wouldn’t have minded going to kick them out, but she had a weird feeling right now.  She drew her wand and walked out into the bar.  She was greeted with a masked person standing in front of the door.  “Look, I don’t have time for this.  Please show yourself out, and we’ll both be happier.”