Wistfully

Neither of you spoke on the way back to the compound. Instead, the car was filled with the soft music of the radio. You leaned your head against the chilled glass of the window, exhausted eyes watching the buildings pass by until the familiar building of the compound came into view. You lifted your head away from the glass as Steve pulled into the garage. There was a heavy pause of silence once Steve shut off the car before you reached for the door handle.

“Wait,” Steve spoke up, his hand shooting out to wrap around your arm.

His touch was gentle, but firmly held you in place. Turning your head, you were met with baby blues that were tinted with genuine concern. It was a look that had your breath hitching in the back of your throat, and you forced yourself to swallow down the sudden wave of strangled emotion that threatened to erupt.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered almost cautiously.

Your face must have betrayed the confusion that bounced around in your head because after a moment, Steve clarified ever so softly. “About how your date turned out.”

The smallest of smiles tugged at your lips before you shook your head. “There’s nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should be thanking you for getting me out of there.”

There was the briefest moment where his fingertips lingered against the bare skin of your elbow before he finally released you. He avoided your eyes as his fingers curled tightly around the bottom half of the steering wheel. When he spoke, it was almost with gritted teeth and dejected tone. “I can’t help, but think that if we didn’t meddle...”

A gasp escaped your lips, your eyes widening as you hurriedly dug through your purse. “I forgot about Nat!” You had become so lost in your endless thoughts and exhausting anxiety on the ride back to the Compound, that you had completely forgotten you’d abandoned Natasha with your date. Clumsy fingers tapped against the screen, Steve’s gaze falling on the backlit screen.

‘I’m so sorry, Nat. Steve took me back to the Compound. I should have let you know before we left. Are you okay?’

Almost as soon as you sent the message, you saw the three dots of a reply.

‘Don’t worry about it, babe. I already loaded his drunk ass into a taxi and I’ll be back home after I finished my martini.’

A sigh of relief passed your lips and a wary smile replaced the once concerned frown.

“You know you shouldn’t worry. She can take care of herself.” Steve’s voice earned your attention once more.

“I know she can,” you leaned your head back against the headrest, “but that won’t stop me from worrying about her. Especially since I’m the one that dumped that problem on her.”

Without a warning, you felt Steve’s hand touch your hip and your mind snapped out of its daze. The click of the seat-belt had you holding back a breath of relief. His brilliant smile could have been considered blinding in the dim overhead car light. “Come on, let’s get you inside. I’m sure Tony’s waiting to hear the report.”

Unable to help yourself, an almost bitter laugh erupted from your throat as you reached for the door handle. “Oh, I’m sure he already knows the results, Steve.”

Steve’s quiet chuckle was oddly comforting against the stillness of the night. It was almost contagious, and you flashed a genuine smile at the super soldier before gathering the last of your strength and stumbling out of the car. It didn’t take him more than a few seconds before he was at your side, carefully guiding you towards the front doors.

It was well passed the stroke of midnight when the rapping of knuckles against her door aroused her from the consistent binge watching of television. With furrowed brows, she tentatively crossed the threshold of her small apartment. Her fingertips had barely brushed the doorknob when another round of urgent knocking broke through the silence. Halting briefly, she took a moment to take a deep and calming breath. Whoever was on the other side of that door had better have a damn good reason to be so impatiently banging on her door in the middle of the night.

Swinging open the door with the haughtiest of huffs, she almost let out a shriek as a body stumbled forward and damn near almost took her down to the floor. Bracing her hands against his broad chest and digging her heels into the carpet, she steadied the super soldier.

Under ‘normal’ circumstances, her first thought would have been a mission gone wrong or an ambush against the team, but the civilian clothes that Steve sported had led her to an entirely different conclusion. And the moment he opened his mouth to speak, the distinctive smell of liquor tickled her nose.

A quick flash of an early morning conversation between her and Tony flickered across her mind. He had mentioned that Thor and Loki would be visiting the compound for another of Tony’s Galas, so the extremely drunk super soldier was beginning to make a lot more sense.

“Why aren’t you at the party?” The slurred question fell passed his lips.

“Why aren’t you at the party?” She made sure to put an emphasis on the ‘you’ part, but it still seemed to go over Steve’s head.

He swayed forward again as he spoke. “Are you mocking me?”

“No, I’m asking you in all seriousness,” she stressed, the exhaustion becoming apparent in her tone.

Shifting his weight, he leaned against the door frame, glossy blue eyes glancing her up and down. It was an odd gesture, but the crooked grin that accompanied it had her remembering that she hadn’t taken a moment to throw on some more appropriate clothing for answering the door in the middle of the night. Nervously and self-consciously, she pulled down the hem of the over-sized tee-shirt in an attempt to cover up a bit more of her exposed legs.

Clearing her throat, she spoke once more. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“Because I’m standing in your doorway instead.”

“Leaning,” she clarified.

“I’m resting my shoulder.”

“Okay, but why exactly are you resting your shoulder in my doorway instead of enjoying Tony’s party?”

Suddenly, he was leaning forward again, bringing his pointer finger up to press against her chest. The gesture earned a glance, and for the first time she noticed the opened beer bottle in his hand.

“Because I realized someone skipped out on Stark’s event,” he said with a small huff.

With a roll of her eyes, she frowned and crossed her arms over her chest in an almost defiant manner.

“Listen here, Captain, you know I’m not one for formal events.”

“It’s not formal at all, but you do have to wear pants.” The sly comment at the end was accompanied by another one of his crooked grins, and she could feel the sudden heat warming her cheeks.

“All right, but why would I want to attend an overtly flashy social event when I can just stay in my cozy apartment, catch up on my favorite shows, and just get the gossip from Nat in the morning?” She challenged with another signature huff.

His reply came without a single moment of hesitation, blurted out with the honesty of a drunken heart.

“Obviously because we could be laughing at Sam’s silly jokes and watching Buck charm the pants off of every woman that looks at him and listening to Tony trying to convince some stupid business guys to invest in a new invention and---” he paused momentarily, realizing he hadn’t taken a single breath during his rant.

When he went to speak again, he was met with a hand clasped firmly over his mouth. Furrowing his brows in confusion, he leaned forward against the palm of her hand.

“Let me throw on some pants and a more appropriate shirt.”

With that, she dropped her hand away from his mouth, turned on her heel, and headed back into her apartment. There was a brief moment of awkwardness as Steve watched her disappear into her bedroom before he decided on stumbling into the living-room. Though his vision wasn’t close to being blurred or seeing two heads on one person, it definitely wasn’t the best. The room was darkened with the exception of the flickering light of the television and the soft sliver of light coming from the ajar bedroom door.

He leaned onto the back of the couch, eyeing the television as he brought the bottle to his parched lips. Another rerun of Friends played across the screen, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene between Joey and Chandler arguing over something childish.

“I’m not staying longer than an hour.” Her voice called from the bedroom, and he tilted his head towards the sound of the door swinging fully open.

The way his eyes swept over her attire of tight jeans and the delicate fabric of the black shirt that hung off her right shoulder, had her questioning her quick selection to throw on something decently comfortable. He watched as she slipped on a pair of comfortable sneakers, balancing herself with a careful palm pressed against the wall.

“You’re makin’ me feel bad, doll.”

She straightened up, squaring her shoulders as she did so. The nickname that slipped passed his lips without a second thought had her heart skipping a beat. Another deep breath and she pushed the sudden surge of emotional butterflies to the pit of her stomach.

After all, she knew it was just a drunken blunder. There was no deeper meaning behind the soft way the word rolled off his lips.

“Come on, old man,” she mumbled, making her way over to the super soldier, “let’s get this over with.”

Steve attempted, rather feebly, to steady himself after pushing away from the back of the couch. It was to no avail, and she found herself reaching out once more to steady the man before her. Fingertips pressed against his shoulder, trying desperately to anchor him into place.

“I’m sorry.”

Two simple words spilled passed his lips, and the confusion was more than apparent on her face.

“I lied to you.”

“What are you talking about?”

The question barely slipped from her lips before she found his forehead pressed against her own, his fingers curling around her arm. She found herself unable to move, those bright blue eyes boring into her own, and suddenly she found herself forgetting how to breathe, as if drowning in a sea of abrupt emotions.

“I don’t want you to go to the Tony’s Gala.”

His voice was a whisper against the faint noise of the television. The thumping of her heartbeat in her ears was deafening.

“Then why---”

“Because you should have been there.”

“Yeah, I get that and I’m going to go now--”

His fingers curled tighter around her arm, his head falling to the side and resting against her shoulder. She could smell the liquor spilling off of him with every breath he heaved, and the tickle of his stubble against her cheek made it difficult to continue her train of thought.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his hand loosening against her arm.

She felt his weight against her body, his knees slowly beginning to buckle under the wave of exhaustion from a late night indulgence of alcohol. Thinking as quick as her own tired brain would calculate, taking a deep breath she heaved his heavy body over the back of the couch. Silently thanking whatever guardian angel that was looking over her shoulder that he didn’t roll off the couch and onto the floor.

Sighing once more, she kicked off her shoes on the way back to her bedroom. After a couple minutes and a quick change of clothes, she returned with a spare blanket and pillow. Settling back into the familiar position on the couch, she tossed the blanket over Steve’s limp out body, and wedged the pillow underneath his head.

She knew it was going to be a long night of babysitting the passed out super soldier, but at least he’d have someone to make sure he didn’t throw up or roll off the couch.

Though, she almost dreaded the morning to come when a heavily hungover and confused Steve would bombard her with questions about how he had ended up on her couch instead of his own room.

When the light began to stream into the living room, slipping between the parted curtains, was when Steve started to stir from his slumber. He hadn’t given her much trouble throughout the night, only waking up a few times to briefly mumble something under his breath, and pass out once more. Though at some point in the night, he had shoved the pillow onto the floor, and decided sleepily to use the side of her leg as a more comfortable substitute.

It didn’t bother her, and when he began to nuzzle his face into her hip, she ran a comforting hand through his hair, trying to ease him back into the realm of sleep.

“Go back to sleep, Steve.” Her own voice was laced with the grains of sleepiness as she mumbled to the super soldier.

“How long was I drunk for?”

She stifled a tired chuckle, shaking her head softly.

“I think you mean ‘how drunk was I’.”

“Same thing,” he muttered against the fabric of her pajamas.

“To answer your question, Steve, you were quite a drunk man.”

There was a groan that came from the man beside her. After taking a deep breath, he murmured a quiet question. “I didn’t do anything embarrassing, did I?”

A small shrug rolled off her exhausted shoulders. “Nothing other than apologizing a bunch of times.”

“Thank god,” he breathed in relief.

Another pause of silence fell between the two of them, and as she opened her mouth to question him about the needless apologies, she found herself greeted with the soft snores of a man that had drifted back to sleep. Chuckling to herself, she absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair once again.

Bucky found himself sitting in the upstairs apartment above the shop before he even realized what had happened. Natasha had taken it upon herself to practically usher the two of them upstairs— not taking a ‘no’ for an answer. He sat at the edge of an old oak table, small in size, with oddly intricate carvings that were whittled into the wooden legs. In all honesty, he couldn’t place the strange symbols that were etched into the wood. Something about the carvings seemed all too intriguing.

His attention was ripped away from studying the wood, his eyes now meeting those of Natasha’s glimmering green orbs. She had set a plate down in front of him, offering a kind smile his way. The plate was simple, but looked and smelled absolutely delicious. A cut of juicy of ham, fluffy mash potatoes, and a scoop of green beans. It was simple, indeed, but all too welcome from what he was used to making for himself in the late hours of the night. Next to the plate, Natasha sat an almost golden chalice of copper liquid.

A quizzical look crossed his face and before he could utter the question, she spoke up.

“It’s the most royal of drinks.”

When his frown only showed his confusion, she laughed.

“It’s a whiskey from countries away. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you.”

Lifting the chalice to his nose, he took a quick sniff. It wasn’t a smell that slapped him in the face. It was sweet and almost calming, and he found the aroma all too alluring. Though hesitant, he took a small sip, and found it tasted exactly how it smelled. He couldn’t lie to himself that he was more than pleasantly surprised.

“It’s one of her favorites.”

Bucky watched as Natasha placed two other plates on the table, almost curious as to why she had made the comment. And before he could stop himself, he spoke without a single thought.

“You’ve been taking care of her for a long time, haven’t you?”

An almost soft chuckle slipped passed her lips. She turned her attention to him once more, and he caught a gleam in her eyes. One he recognized because of Steve— a look of someone extremely proud of their comrade.

“They don’t call her the Mad Doctor because of her inventions, you know. Her ideas are sometimes ridiculous, but often absolutely brilliant.”

The pause between her thoughts had Bucky seemingly on the edge of his seat, leaning in with an all too curious head tilt.

When did he become so fascinated with the strange doctor?

“It’s because if it wasn’t for me, she would work herself into an early grave.”

And he found a question on the tip of his tongue. An impulsive need he hadn’t felt before, a need to know something that he wasn’t quite sure the answer was what he wanted to hear.

However, the opening of a door distracted his thoughts. She emerged from the room where Natasha had demanded that she wash up before the evening meal. Not much had changed from when the woman had disappeared early. She still wore the tight brown pants, matching suspenders arching over her shoulders, and stained white shirt still ever present. The only thing Bucky could spot that was different was her face seemed a little clearer from the black dust that coated it at one point, and her eyes seemed a slight bit more lively and awake than before.

She plopped down into the chair across the table from him, eyeing the dinner that was set out for her with all too eager anticipation.

“It looks delicious!”

Was she always this ecstatic about the simplest of things?

And he found himself suddenly nervous when her gaze left Natasha’s and met his eyes, a smile reaching her eyes in a way he hadn’t seen since the war.

“Did ya’ try the whiskey, fella’? Do ya’ like it?”

It was such genuine question that the honest curiosity caught him by surprise once more. Those eyes that seemed to stare directly into something he had removed so long ago. He found his voice catching in the bottom of his throat, his eyes never leaving hers.

“It’s the kind of smooth whiskey that has his tongue tied,” Natasha spoke up.

And he almost swore she was covering for his loss of voice.

“Oh! That’s the best though, ain’t it?” It was the way her voice was absolutely delighted that left him even more speechless than before.

Natasha took a seat at the table, that now all too familiar smirk blessing her lips.

“Here’s to new comrades, and the future.”

She raised her chalice, and the doctor was quick to respond, Bucky following the gesture. The clash between three cups rang in his ears, and the briefest of a grateful thought crossed his mind with the resounding clank between them.

Bucky watched as the strange ‘doctor’ pushed some trinkets off the table that was secured along the wall, seemingly trying to make enough room for a procedure that had his stomach dropping. When Steve had told him the address to go to after an intense battle that found him with a nearly wrecked arm--- he never thought it would be the rumored ‘mad doctor’, who supposedly specialized in mechanical devices and creations that had the capacity to either create amazing things or destroy them in a simple breath. In fact, he’d be lying to himself if he only thought the woman before him, who was currently rummaging through discarded parts, was just a simple legend--- a phantom in the night. He never thought the ‘mad doctor’ actually existed, and more so that, his best friend, would send him there.

Yet there he was though, sitting on a stool, watching as the woman frantically ran around in front of him, collecting tools and gadgets he’d never laid eyes on.

“Let’s see that arm of yours!”

Her voice broke him from the zombie like trance he didn’t realized he had fallen into. After a moment of hesitation, he dropped the clothe away from his arm, allowing her to see the extent of his mechanical injury. Jagged pieces of metal protruded at certain spots, at other locations on the mechanical appendage, she found the material had been melted by some unknown substance. However, the worrying part that had her brows creasing briefly against her forehead, was the large gash down the inner length of his arm.

“My goodness, fella’! Someone sure did a doozie on ya’!” She exclaimed and the sudden raising of her voice, caught him completely off guard.

He had been used to bombs dropping and gun fire, but he found the urge to jump like a skittish child. Chewing on the inside of his left cheek, Bucky fought the feeling in the pit of his stomach, stormy eyes watching the young woman continue to examine his arm.

“If it’s gonna be too much work,” he murmured, “I can leave my arm here---”

“Nonsense!” She threw up her hand. “It’s apart of ya’, fella’. So that just won’t do!”

His brows furrowed. “But I can remove it---”

Swiveling the stool away from his figure, she began to pick through the strange instruments on the table. Curious eyes watched the back of the ‘mad doctor’ as her shoulders rolled back in what almost seemed like innocent excitement. Once more, she spun around to face him, a grin slipping onto her lips, and he could almost catch the gleam of something strange in her eyes.

“Of course, I know we could just detach it!” She scooted closer. “But it’s ya’ arm and a surgeon doesn’t just take off the whole arm, fella’!”

Bucky wasn’t sure if the phrasing the ‘doc’ had gone for made him feel any less nervous about having her work on his arm. She snapped the goggles back over her eyes, a toothy grin now plastered across her features, and maneuvered his arm onto the steel table behind her. His body leaned closer as she seemed to direct him to do so.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

Two hours into what the ‘mad doctor’ had described as an interesting “procedure”, the fiery woman from before made another appearance. She had slipped into the room without Bucky even noticing, his eyes entirely too fixated on the woman who was working feverishly on his broken arm. It wasn’t until she was leaning over their shoulders, and her voice broke the noise of the soft clanking of tools against the inner working of his mechanical limb. A series of noises he had found oddly comfortable in the strange atmosphere of the unique shop.

“I think it’s time you two took a bit of a break, don’t you?”

A soft gasp escaped her lips, her shoulders stiffening, and Bucky attempted his best not to yank his arm away. However, her hands never wavered, steady as they had been during her silent tinkering. She merely froze on the spot, tools hovering in the compartment she had been fiddling with.

“Natasha!” She damn near hissed before spinning around to face the woman.

“Why must ya’ always do that?” A soft huff passed between her frowning lips.

A bemused smirk slipped onto her red lips before she replied. “Calm down, sweetheart. I know you have the steadiest of hands. No harm, no foul.”

The doctor pushed up her brass goggles, fixing them atop her head once more. Narrowed eyes met more than amused green orbs from Natasha. Bucky glanced between the two women, knowing that he didn’t need to hear the ‘always’ in the sentence to realize that it was a situation that happened all too often. There was an odd curiosity bubbling inside him, one that found the dynamic between the two all too interesting.

Before she could even speak, Natasha held up her hand--- almost mimicking the gesture he had seen the ‘doc’ give him earlier.

“It’s time for a break, whether you two like it or not.” She shot a pointed look at the both of them, and Bucky found himself nodding in compliance before he even realized what was happening.

There was a soft whine from the other woman, but she also seemed to concede defeat to the persistent woman.

“Yes, ma’am,” she mumbled, an almost pout playing on her lips.

“That’s what I thought!” Natasha mused, clapping her hands together briskly. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

It was a little shop, the entrance in the back of a dingy alleyway, with a simple sign hanging on the rusted door. Never a name for the strange little place, just an ‘open’ or ‘closed’ invitation or declination. A small shop without windows, where when the door creaked open, smoke often greeted the strangers that dared to step foot into the unique establishment--- whether a cigar or a cigarette or the possibility of a fire, one was never sure. There were tall standing units against the opposite walls, shelves lined with interesting gadgets and strange inventions. Nothing too obvious to what the owner actually delved into and developed.

So when Bucky Barnes slipped into the shop, his nose instantly tickled by what he could define as cigarette smoke instead of the dangers of an imaginable fire--- his blue eyes scanned the area before him, searching for the owner of the little hole in the wall. Almost instantly, his eyes found a woman who stood behind the counter. She was already leaning against the dark wood, arms crossed in anticipation for a question to come. Red hair bounced against her shoulders, her painted smirk almost knowing despite the fact the stranger had never uttered a word.

Bucky took a step forward, his stride hesitant and tentative, but he willed himself to square his shoulders and push forward. It was the way those eyes stared him down, an almost unspoken dare for him to continue. And he did, forcing himself to waltz up to the counter, swallowing the hesitation he felt in the pit of his stomach.

“What ails you, soldier?” Her voice was velvet, but all too dangerous.

The beat against his chest stumbled, his voice catching in his throat. He was a soldier of the war, but the dark gaze she studied him with was more intense than staring down a barrel of a gun. Those stormy blue eyes glanced from the red head, with an edge of danger about her, to the slightly opened door in the corner. Clenching his jaw, he attempted to steady his erratic heartbeat before speaking.

“I was told to come here,” he stated, again squaring his shoulders in defiance against the concern that was coursing through his veins.

“And what associate recommended this sort of place?” She questioned, pushing herself away from the counter.

Her fingertips trailed against the wood as she moved from behind the counter that separated them.

Again his jaw clenched, and without second thinking his gesture, he removed the clothe that draped over his shoulder. He watched as her eyes fell to the metal arm, scrutinizing the bent and contorted mechanical arm that he rested in the palm of his hand.

“Steve Rogers,” he announced, his voice louder than what he intended.

She took a moment to almost analyze his broken appendage. When her eyes finally met his own, she offered him a damn near sympathetic smile.

“Follow me, soldier.” A quick wave of her hand, and she was already making her way towards a doorway. Pushing the clothe that concealed the door way, she cast another glance over her shoulder. It didn’t take him more than a few seconds to understand her command. He followed behind her, long strides close on her heels.

“I’ve got a client for you, sweetheart!” The loudness of her voice caught him off guard.

There were a few tables in the middle of the room, parts scattered across them. Up against the walls were more shelves with interesting creations that Bucky couldn’t wrap his mind around. Tables lined up against the walls held machines he had never laid eyes on, and the curiosity was all too apparent in those blue orbs. His attention was captured by a few sparks emitting from the floor, hidden behind one of the tables in the center of the room.

Bucky followed all too closely behind the woman as she rounded one of the tables. His gaze dropping to a figure who sat cross-legged on the floor, fingers fiddling with a small device.

He watched as the woman nudged the figure with her leg, and he found himself full of surprise when the figure let out a startled yelp, almost dropping the strange tools they held. After a string of choice words, the figure pulled off the brass goggles that covered their eyes, and turned their undivided attention to both the woman and himself.

To his surprise, a woman pushed the goggles atop her head, tilting her head quizzically towards them.

“I warned you, so do not even start with me!” The woman, who had escorted him inside the curious room, chastised the other woman on the floor.

He couldn’t help, but think this was possibly a continuous thing that happened between them. It almost put him at ease, despite the situation he’d found himself in.

Bright eyes looked between the woman and himself. Another tilt of the head, her brows furrowed against her forehead. Shoving the strange device away from her, she pushed herself up, steadying herself against one of the work benches.

“Who’s the fella?”

“He was told to come here,” she paused to glance over her shoulder at Bucky, “to see you specifically.”

This time her eyebrows shot up on her face, and suddenly those orbs were filled with pure curiosity. “And who would send a soldier to me?”

“Is it that obvious?” He couldn’t stop the whisper from escaping his words, feeling a sudden ashamed feeling running through his veins.

“Steve.”

It was a quick answer. She never even had to say his last name, and suddenly the other woman was beaming with what Bucky swore was not only amusement but intrigue. And the smile that slipped onto her lips, almost stopped his heartbeat as much as the apprehension of meeting the “mad doctor” had done earlier.

“Don’t worry, Sargent Barnes. I’ll fix ya’ up real good. Make ya’ as good as new!”

A few hours had passed since the both of you arrived at the bar. A bar that was swiftly becoming your favorite out of New York’s late night scene. The bartender was more than friendly, often chatting you and Steve up when it became slower, and the old man who had taken up a seat next to Steve was a delight. You watched as another laugh escaped Steve’s mouth when the old man cracked another humorous joke, clapping a hand against your boss’ back after another witty punchline.

Being completely honest with yourself, this night was exactly what you needed. Meeting interesting people with more than intriguing stories, and laughter that rang comfortingly against your ears. Pressing the bottle to your lips, you took another swig of the cold beverage. The condensation was still fresh as it coated your fingers, the cool liquid coating your sore throat from another fit of giggles.

“Y’know, you two remind me so much of my wife and myself when we were your age.”

And in that moment the liquid caught in the back of your throat, causing your giggles to be replaced by instant choking. You felt the firm hand slapping against your upper back, the bottle dropping to the counter with a clank as you tried to breathe properly again.

“Ya alright there, missy?” The old man’s voice reached your ears despite the sudden thumping of your own heart blocking out the noise of the bar.

“Just peachy,” you choked out.

Almost daring to cast a glance towards Steve, you found him with his head on the counter, body trembling with ecstatic laughter, his palm still lingering against your back. You could see the tears forming in the corner of his eyes, fingertips trying to brush them away.

And you weren’t sure if the reddening of his cheeks was from the alcohol or the old man’s damn near embarrassing comment. Either way, straightening up in your seat, you opened your mouth to gently correct the older gentleman. That was, until a silhouette beside you caught your attention, and you found yourself staring into the dark eyes of a stranger who took it upon himself to lean onto the counter next to you.

“I don’t think I’ve had the honor of seeing you here before, beautiful.”

The laughter from before fell into absolute silence, and suddenly you realized Steve’s hand had dropped away from your back.

“First time here,” you answered curtly.

The stranger extended his hand, a smirk forming on his lips. “The name’s Micheal.”

It wasn’t like you to be exactly rude to people that attempted to hit on you in the bar scene, but something about the way he smirked, had your stomach feeling like expelling all the drinks you had so far consumed that night. Turning your attention away from him, you offered another curt reply.

“That’s nice.”

Of course, he didn’t seem to be getting the hint, and persistently continued trying to start a conversation.

“You know it’s common courtesy to introduce yourself when someone tells you there name.”

Picking your beer back up, you pressed the bottle to your lips once more.

It wasn’t until the stranger turned his attention to Steve, that you realized there was a look across his features that you couldn’t quite place. His lips pressed into a firm line, his eyes fixated on the bottles of liquor in front of him.

“Steve Rogers? Wow, is that really you?”

Something about the way he said Steve’s name instantly rubbed you the wrong way. It was as if he used the name as some type of jab towards Steve. A brief heartbeat passed before Steve finally warranted the almost arrogant stranger with a nod of acknowledgment.

And you could easily see through the fake smile that your friend plastered across his face.

“It’s been awhile, Micheal.”

The stranger shifted his weight beside you, leaning even more into the counter--- which you didn’t think was even possible.

“I haven’t seen you since high school. You finally bulked up, green-bean.”

It was an obvious insult rolling off his tongue, but you couldn’t wrap your head around how pathetic of an insult it actually was. Who uses a vegetable as an insult anyway?

“There’s no way a pretty girl like you is hanging out with Rogers.”

You took another swig of your drink, dead set on ignoring the person beside you.

The faltering in Steve’s eyes had yourself biting your cheek, forcing yourself to swallowing the words that were attempting to claw their way up your throat. Tonight was about having a good time and not getting yourself into a heated argument with some prick.

However, this certain prick was making that extremely hard to do.

“You know, Rogers and I go way back. Oh those locker room days. You remember the fun we all had, right?”

It was subtle but you caught the way Steve’s jaw clenched, despite the smile still pressed against his lips. The sick feeling that had swirled around the pit of your stomach had now become replaced with a bubbling anger. You weren’t sure who you were more angry with; the dick beside you or the fact your friend was allowing said dick to keep speaking.

“It was all just harmless fun. You know, hide his clothes after a shower. Good times, right? You remember when you liked that brunette and asked her to prom---”

“Yeah, just harmless pranks,” Steve finally spoke up, still carrying that fake as shit smile.

“She ended up saying yes and then went with me,” Micheal laughed, seeming to find the memory all too hilarious. “The look on your face was priceless, Rogers.”

Reaching into your jacket pocket, you retrieved a pack of cigarettes, yanking one out and quickly lighting it to keep yourself from going off on the ignorant asshole.

“I thought you quit,” Steve’s voice pulled you from the violent thought that briefly crossed your mind.

You turned in your seat, cigarette dangling loosely between your lips as you spoke.

“I said I cut back. I’ve been doing good actually. Only one before work, and one before bed, and one when an idiot opens his mouth.”

The last comment had the corners of his mouth turning up into a genuine smile, one he couldn’t hold back. It was the remark that stopped him from lecturing you about your health for the hundredth time.

“You know, Rogers used to be this small guy, kind of like if you dumped a bucket of water on a cat. In the locker room--- all in friendly humor--- we used to call him small pecker Rogers because as you probably have the unfortunate---”

Yeah, a cigarette wasn’t going to help this time.

Before you could stop your impulsive behavior, you were off your bar stool, and there was such a satisfying feeling when you felt your knuckles connect with his half opened mouth. You watched with amusement as he stumbled back a few steps, reaching for his mouth.

“Could you please shut the fuck up, asshole.”

Oh, yes. It was quite the satisfying feeling.

After what felt like the longest work day of your life, you were more than relieved when Steve finally locked up the office for the evening. Slipping on your jacket, you followed behind the tall man as he entered the elevator, watching him tap the ground floor button.

“Same place we always hit up, Steve?” You questioned, your mind briefly flashing to the corner booth of a slightly more sophisticated establishment.

A smile played on Steve’s lips, shaking his head in response.

“I found another place while Bucky and I were pub crawling last weekend. It’s a kind of hole in the wall place. I think you’ll like it.”

Pressing a hand over your heart, you feigned being offended with an exaggerated gasp. “You went pub crawling without me? I think you’ve broken my heart, Steve!”

He laughed, entirely too amused by your reaction. Once he settled his chuckles enough to speak, he flashed his signature grin your way.

“I believe I did invite you out, but someone was too busy binge watching Netflix and indulging in too much wine.”

Your eyes rolled to the side, mind quickly reminiscing over the previous weekend. The memories were slightly fuzzy, but from what you could recollect, he wasn’t lying. It had been a night in with one of your closest friends. Natasha had just come back from an extensive trip over seas, bringing back a few bottles of expensive and exotic wine. You couldn’t deny the redhead a night of catching up on her favorite shows, and sharing a new experience with the strange wines.

“Oh, yeah. I remember that night now.” The elevator doors slid open, and you both stepped out. “If I remember, you came stumbling into my apartment at two in the morning without knocking. Again.”

“Listen here,” he chuckled, “I wasn’t the only one stumbling.”

Again, you rolled your eyes. “I like how you skipped over the part where I said about knocking.”

Steve held the door open for you, motioning for you to go first as he spoke. “I’ve knocked before, y’know.”

“Twice in the span of six months,” you retorted.

A shrug rolled off his broad shoulders. “You should lock your door. It can be a dangerous city after all!”

Smacking his arm, you frowned. “It was locked! I don’t know why I gave you a spare key.”

“Because someone seems to lose hers when having a night out with the girls.”

Once again you were tempted to roll your eyes at his remark, but managed to suppress the urge. He wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of voicing it. Instead, you decided to switch the topic of the conversation to something that didn’t incorporate your drunken nights out.

“So how far is this place?” You questioned before adding, “Because after today I’m not in the mood to be walking for hours.”

“Honestly, it’s about ten minutes away, so you don’t have to worry about collapsing from exhaustion,” he teased.

Stifling a chuckle, you nodded in acknowledgment.

“Besides, you know I’d give you a good ol’ fashion piggy back ride there if that was the case.”

Steve’s next comment caught you off guard, earning a raise of your eyebrow. “You’re not old enough to be using that kind of slang, boss.”

Raising a hand, he huffed out a quick reply. “No ‘boss’ outside of work. How many times do I have to tell ya’ that?”

“Yeah, yeah. It just slips out sometimes,” you mumbled, shaking your head.

When Steve stopped abruptly at the opening of an alleyway, you shot him a questioning look. He seemed to sense the concern that crept into your eyes. Placing a guiding hand on your lower back, he started leading you into the dim alleyway.

“Ya’ know, if you wanted to get rid of me, you could just fire me and not kill me in a back alley,” you joked, adding a completely fake ‘nervous’ laugh.

Stopping in front of a what looked like an aged oak door, Steve pointed upwards, and your eyes followed his finger. A dimly lit sign that read ‘The Brickhouse’ hung over the door. It flickered briefly, signaling the possible age of the establishment.

“Yeah, you weren’t kidding about the hole in the wall part.”

Steve gave you a gentle nudge, once again pushing open the door for you. Murmuring a thanks, you tentatively stepped inside the building. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he had brought you there, the memories instantly of that night flooding back. The lightly was low, the atmosphere quiet except for the soft music emanating from the jukebox. There weren’t many patrons scattered around the small building. The ones that were there, cast quick glances as the sound of the door shutting behind new faces caught their attention. No distrusting looks, no lingering stares, and absolutely no hostility from the regulars sitting at the counter.

“I can definitely see myself liking this place,” you mused, a smile tugging at your lips.

“I thought you would. The night I stumbled into your apartment, I was excited to tell you about it.”

“But you never mentioned it?” You perked a brow, sliding onto one of the stools at the farthest end of the bar.

He chuckled, slouching onto the one next to you. “I got distracted by someone cursing more words than I ever knew existed.”

Pretending to be oblivious to who he was referring to, you mumbled a reply. “Yeah, Natasha sure has a mouth on her.”

The laugh that rumbled passed his lips had an instant smile spreading across your face. It was the type of laugh that always managed to reach his blue eyes, and it was in those moments that you were so thankful to have met the man beside you.

“Let’s get this night started, Steve.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Y/N.”

Tony Stark sat at the end of a long conference table, Pepper Pots standing at his side. Their attention seemed fixated on a tablet that was laid in front of them, Ms. Pots swiping her finger across the screen every time Tony nodded. The sound of the door suddenly shutting broke them from whatever they had been glancing over, as their attention now landed on you and your boss.

Steve’s smile was polite and professional as Tony stood up, offering his hand to your boss.

“Great to see you again, Steve,” he said as they shook hands.

You hung back, feeling completely out of place.

“Good to see you again too, Tony.”

As their handshake came to an end, you couldn’t stop your eyes from glancing to Pepper. There was an almost sympathetic smile tugging at her lips, her eyes meeting your uncertain gaze. The relationship between the two of you was nothing but professional. Despite that, you always found her casting apologetic glances and kind smiles your way when it came down to being in a room with Tony. She was primp and proper, and the perfect assistant--- her white blouses, black pencil skirts, and challenging high heels were a contrast to your own attire.

Not that you hadn’t tried to pull of the perfect assistant attire when you first started working for Steve. It lasted about a week before your boss himself told you that is wasn’t working. It wasn’t who you were and that you should wear what made you feel comfortable for an eight hour shift.

And that was exactly why those judgmental glances and almost snide remarks from Tony came to light. You had learned quickly that he disapproved of jeans, tee-shirts with the occasional jacket over top, and vans--- it just wasn’t what he thought an assistant to a high profile CEO should be wearing. Something which he had voiced on more than one occasion in a way that barely grazed being an insult.

“And I see you’ve brought your assistant to our little meeting as well.”

It was the way he cast that glance your way that made you want the ground to swallow you whole.

Instead, you plastered on a smile for your boss’s sake, and through damn near gritted teeth you copied Steve’s words right down to almost the last word.

“Good to see you again too, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s lips twisted into a half smirk, one that signified the pure torment to come.

The absolute dread that bubbled alive inside your stomach, had you knowing that this meeting was going to last entirely too long.

“See, that wasn’t so bad!”

Steve’s voice had you snapping out of the trance of exhaustion you had found yourself in, and you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from completely exploding on him. He was a good boss, a good friend, but he was the most oblivious person you swore you had the misfortune of meeting.

How he had become such a successful CEO that managed to acquire the hardest of deals, you had no idea. He was honestly so oblivious, and it almost made you want to smack him upside his blond head.

“You still have two more meetings today.” You ignored his comment, opting to go with professionalism over complaining.

“How about we have lunch first?’

“I’ll order something for you. You’ve got ten minutes until the next one, and I have a feeling you never checked those emails.”

Swinging around on your heel, you met your boss head on. The guilty look that flashed across his face was all you needed to know you were right.

Honestly, you wondered how he had managed a corporation before you came into his life.

“I suppose I owe you that round of drinks,” Steve murmured, almost sheepishly glancing away from you.

“You bet your ass you do.” You stabbed a finger into his chest.

Turning back to your desk, you assumed your usual posture, shooting him a glare.

“You can ask anything you want of me, boss. But don’t ever ask me to sit in on a meeting with Tony Stark again.”

Steve nodded his hand before a sincere smile crept onto his lips, and his hand found your shoulder, giving the smallest of squeeze.

“I appreciate you, Y/N.”

For once you stopped yourself from rolling your eyes, instead giving him an acknowledging nod.

“Right back at ya’, boss.”

You had lost count of how many rounds had been served, but at some point you came to realize that the food had never been delivered. Your brows furrowed, a frown pulling at your lips. You could have sworn everyone had ordered, your mind specifically reminding you that you had wanted something light because of Natasha’s shot earlier.

It wasn’t until you glanced in Natasha’s direction, finding that familiar glint in her green eyes, that you realized what had happened.

You reached for your phone, on a mission to send a text for confirmation of the food sabotage, but were deterred by a sudden arm around your shoulders. It was so abrupt that you felt like you were going to jump out of your skin as you felt your body pulled against Derrick’s side.

“I don’t know about you, but maybe we should continue this conversation back at my place.” His words whispered against your ear, the smell of pure alcohol filling your nose.

You hadn’t even realized there was a conversation going on.

“Maybe we can invite your girl pal,” he breathed, and the instant churn of your stomach was inevitable.

You placed a hand against his chest and forced a laugh that you only hoped came across as playful.

“I think you’ve had a bit much, Derrick.”

He leaned in to speak again but instead a loud yelp passed between his lips as he jerked away from you.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to kick you! I was just adjusting my legs,” Natasha gasped, throwing her hands up innocently.

He leaned onto the table. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I can forgive you.”

His words were getting progressively more slurred with every passing minute.

“I need to use the restroom,” you spoke abruptly.

Almost hesitantly, he slid out from the booth and you scooted out until you could stand. Your legs felt unstable, but oddly not enough for the amount of alcohol you had ingested, and you found your mind was terribly clear. Quickly, you made your way through the crowd and into the restroom.

You leaned against the porcelain sink, your breathing labored, and your heart hammering in your chest.

“This was not how this night was supposed to go,” you groaned, rubbing a bawled up fist against your eyes.

Completely forgetting about the perfect makeup job that Natasha had given you--- until it was too late and you let out another groan when you glanced in the mirror.

You turned away, leaning yourself against the sink once more and reaching for your phone. You tapped the highlighted name, and pressed the phone to your ear, listening as it rang.

“Pick up the phone,” you murmured, “Please, pick up the phone.”

There was a strange urgency in your voice, and suddenly you felt like you had taken a large shot, your body suddenly all too relaxed.

“How’s that date of yours going?” Tony’s voice held a smugness to it, one that if you could have you would’ve reached through the phone and smacked him upside the head for it.

“How do you think?” You hissed.

“What’s the matter? I thought you’d like that Cap and Nat showed up to… y’know… mediate.”

You took a long, deep breath to regain your composure before speaking.

And even then it wasn’t enough, because the words came spilling out of your mouth without a drop on consideration.

“Here’s the deal; I’m ninety percent sure I spent most of the night staring at Steve, I have no idea what conversation was going on between any of us, my date apparently wants to go back to his place with Nat and I, and quite honestly I feel bad for the guy but he’s quite the scummy person when he drinks--- nothing like the coffee shop boy.”

By the end of your tangent you were completely breathless, forcing out every word with just a single exhale.

You didn’t even give him a chance to speak.

“I just want to go home, Tony.”

You were surprised when you felt a sudden warm wetness falling against your cheeks. You closed your eyes quickly, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. You tried to take deep breaths, tried to inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth, tried to steady the trembling fingers that wrapped around the phone.

You knew the silence on the other end of the line was Tony contemplating coming to get you himself.

“Tony?” It was a struggle to speak, but you found relief when his voice entered your ear again.

“Hold on, give me a minute.”

Steve’s phone buzzed in his jacket pocket--- not once but twice, urgently back to back. He fished out the small device, glancing at the name that illuminated the screen before he excused himself from the table.

As he walked away, he flicked his thumb upwards on the screen, blue orbs glossing over the back to back messages he had received.

‘You need to go to her.’

‘Right fucking now.’

Those words splayed across his screen was all he needed to see before his feet carried him through the crowd, ignoring the scowls of strangers that bumped shoulders with him.

Natasha cast a glance in his direction, watching as he disappeared into the crowd, her chin on the palm of her hand concealed the knowing smirk.

“Listen, sweetheart, I’m gonna hop off here.” Tony’s voice rang in her ear, and she felt a sudden pain in her chest.

“Wha---”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. You’re strong and more than capable. I’ll see you when you get back, sweetheart.”

You could almost hear the gritting of his teeth, but you weren’t sure if your weary mind was playing tricks on you.

Before you could even fathom an answer, the line went dead, and dropping the phone away from your ear, you stared with blurred vision at the ‘call ended’ message on your phone.

You clicked off your phone, taking another deep breath and steadying yourself. You pushed away from the sink that had been supporting you, and began your walk back to the table.

When you flung open the restroom door, you were completely caught off guard by the man leaning against the wall across from the opening. His head snapped up, blue eyes meetings yours, and filled with an emotion that you swore was genuine concern. Taking the deepest of breaths, you steadied the sudden increased beating against your chest, offering Steve a polite smile. One that you hoped wouldn’t come across as fake.

“I got a bit worried when you disappeared for so long,” he spoke up, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I don’t think the drinks agreed with me all that well,” you lied.

Pushing off of the wall, he took a step towards you, his gaze dropping only for a moment before meeting yours again.

“Let’s get out of here.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t a maybe kind of thought.

Your jaw clenched, and all you could do was nod, fighting back the anxiety that was erupting inside your rib-cage. You didn’t argue against the moment to escape the night that was becoming something you wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

“Come on.”

His hand cupped your arm, leading you to that back exit of the restaurant without even a second thought to mention the departure to Natasha or your date.

And in that moment, you were so thankful for Steve.

“You’re late, boss.” The tone of voice had your employer grimacing as he entered his own office. You sat behind your desk, never raising your eyes from the computer screen in front of you, fingers feverishly typing away at the keyboard. “You have a meeting in literally five minutes.”

“Traffic was--”

You cut him off, finally acknowledging him with a simple glance.

“A bitch, right? Same excuse, different day, boss.”

The corners of his mouth fell into a frown, brows almost furrowing at your choice of words. Honestly, he should have been used to it by now. After all, you had been working for him for a grand total of six months, and he knew very well the type of language you tended to use. It wasn’t going to change any time soon either.

Pushing away from your desk, you stood and thrust an envelope into Steve’s hands. “I need you to quickly read over that and sign it. I’ve got to send it out before noon if you want to see any profit from that deal you made last week.”

Steve nodded briefly. “I take it you already read over it and everything is in order.”

“Of course I did.” You almost wanted to scoff at the implication of ignorance on your part, but you held your tongue on the subject.

“That’s all I needed to know,” he replied, flashing a half grin as he opened the envelope and scribbled his signature on the dotted line.

As much as you wanted to reprimand him for not actually listening to you and reading it, you said nothing as he handed the paperwork back to you. It had oddly become the norm for you to make sure everything was correct when it came to paperwork, and for Steve to not even second guess your judgment when it came to business matters.

You followed him into his private office, watching as he tossed his briefcase down on his desk and began to fiddle with his black tie. After a few moments of failed attempts at straightening it, you let out an impatient sigh, and waltzed up to him, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Just let me do it,” you said.

It didn’t even take you thirty seconds to have fix his tie and have him looking presentable for the meeting. After all, you had become a master at making your boss look good enough to pitch a sale. In all honesty, you didn’t think straightening and tightening his tie every day would be part of your job description, but there you were--- doing it time and time again.

“Thank you.” His voice was sincere as a smile tugged at his lips.

You shook your head, an almost amused chuckle passing by your lips. “Meeting’s in five minutes, you’ve got just enough time to chug your coffee and check your emails. Just make it snappy, okay?”

And just like that, you turned on your heel and headed out the door, making a beeline for your desk. Slumping back down into your chair, your eyes fell back on the screen in front of you, scanning the email for any errors.

A minute later, the phone of your desk blinked and you abruptly dropped what you were doing to answer.

“Hello? Steve Roger’s office.”

“Mister Stark and Miss Pots have arrived.” The voice on the other line answered.

“Can you have someone lead them to meeting room one? I’d really appreciate that,” you paused for a moment before adding, “Tell them the boss will be down in a couple of minutes.”

“Absolutely, I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you, Sharon.”

You placed the phone back down, eyes fixated on the screen once more.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Steve reappeared from his office a few minutes later.

“They’re in meeting room one,” you announced, your attention back on the screen.

Steve stopped at the edge of your desk, brows furrowing once more. When he didn’t budge after a few seconds, you forced yourself to tear your eyes away from the computer.

“What’s the matter, boss?”

“You’re not coming with me?” He questioned.

You raised your brows. “Uh no. Why would I?”

“I think you should tag along for this one.”

Your lips fell into a frown, brows now mimicking his confused ones.

“I have a lot of work to comb through---”

“It can wait. I want you to come with me on this one.”

“But---”

He reached down, hand curling around your forearm, and before you knew it, he was pulling you to your feet.

“No buts on this one. Come on.”

You internally groaned as you followed behind Steve. It wasn’t as though speaking with clients, and possible partners, wasn’t in your job description. However, when it came to Stark Industries, you always found yourself dreading the interaction. He always had an air of superiority about him, and the fact that he always cast an almost judgmental look in your direction rubbed you the wrong way.

Lost in your own thoughts, you let out a startled yelp when you ran right into Steve’s back. Instead of chastising you for not paying attention, he offered a damn near apologetic smile before speaking.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll try to get this over as quick and painless as possible.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from huffing.

“You better or you owe me a round of drinks tonight, boss.”

Steve flashed a humorous grin before reaching for the doorknob.

It was well passed midnight, and you knew you shouldn’t be downing another shot, in the hole in the wall bar that you had grown so accustomed to. Despite your normally rational thinking, there you were, ordering another after tipping your head back and downing another burning shot. Hunched over that smooth oak of the counter, tapping your index finger absentmindedly, your vision not entirely shot just yet.

So when a stranger slid onto the stool next to you--- you cast a simple glance their way, running over the outcome of the interaction in your mind. Your jaw clenched, your fingers curling tightly around the refilled glass in front of you, and you hoped you wouldn’t have to fend off another unwanted encounter.

“I’ll just have a beer,” he spoke, his voice seemed awfully light against the backdrop of a dive bar.

You hesitated on taking the shot, fingers wandering around the edge of the small glass. You kept your eyes focused on the shot glass, tilting it slightly to watch the caramel colored liquid swirl around.

“Drowning your sorrows?” His question reached your ears, and you couldn’t help but offer a half smile at the question.

“Yeah, you could say it’s something like that.”

The bartender slid the beer across the counter towards him and he nodded a simple thank you, taking a quick swig of the liquid. When the bottle tapped the counter top, an almost relieved sigh left his lips.

“Amen to that,” he said, his eyes on the bottle.

Your brows furrowed, and you frowned, caught off guard by the stranger. You had been hit on by many unwanted people in the span of the time you had been drinking. You were more than surprised when he seemed all too genuine in his words.

“Can I ask you a question?” His voice yanked you out of your thoughts, earning your attention.

“Sure, stranger.” You had answered, tilting your head towards the unfamiliar man beside you.

“It’s going to sound stupid.”

Your brain internally chastised itself for allowing yourself to indulge the stranger. You plastered on a polite smile, even though you thought for sure ‘this is where the lame pickup line comes into play’.

“If you could make one person happy in your life, who would it be?”

“My dog.” The answer flew out between your lips before you even had a chance to contemplate an answer, before you could possibly censor yourself.

You turned fully to stare at the stranger, and were met with blue eyes that seemed not only to be amused but oddly curious at your answer. The corners of his mouth turning up into a soft smile. He took another swig of his beer and turned towards you, leaning onto the counter.

You didn’t wait for him to speak, taking a deep breath, you met his eyes. “She’s getting older, even though she still acts like a puppy. I just always wanted to do something for her because she’s been there for me despite the shitty times. So yeah, I’d make her as happy as I could.”

The honest reply seemed to catch the stranger off guard for a moment, his eyes almost searching yours to confirm the answer as true.

You held his gaze, unwavering eyes meeting his bright blues.

“What would you do differently for her?”

He asked after an endless silence, and it was his voice that shook you from your strange trance. You turned away from him, finally deciding to down the shot. It burned like a flame in your throat, but you refused to cough in defeat. After a moment, you sighed, staring at the empty glass.

“I’d take her traveling. Y’know… see the world,” your words almost sounded defeated and sarcastic to your own ears.

You weren’t even entirely sure why you were telling this stranger your deepest wishes.

If there would ever be a question to catch you off guard in the middle of the night, in a seedy little dive bar, it was the one he asked next.

“Ya’ any good at paperwork and keeping track of profit? Being able to organize multiple things, and multitask is a plus.”

The laugh that slipped passed your lips was uncontrollable, the palm of your hand pressing against your cheek as you leaned onto the counter. You tried so desperately to control the amused chuckles that escaped you, but found yourself at a loss.

When you finally found yourself able to control your chuckles, you glanced towards the stranger, and through clenched teeth, attempting to keep from another fit of laughter, you spoke.

“I was a manager for two years, so yeah. I can do that kind of thing.”

It was in the way his eyes lit up, and he leaned all too close, his lips curving into the most charming smile you had ever seen--- that you found yourself with a sudden tightness in your chest.

It was supposed to be a night on the town for you and your fellow Avengers. A night of drinking and dancing, pub crawling and bar talk. However, that particular Friday night, you just weren’t feeling the bar scene, and instead you had decided to stay in for the evening. There were a few pouting moments from Natasha, and Wanda had tried her best to convince you to join them, but finding it was of no use, they all finally conceded to leave you to your own activities.

Which was nothing but pulling out the futon in the living room of the compound, and switching on the television. You had strategically placed four pillows around you, two nestled behind your head and lower back for support. The other two beside you just in-case your main ones started to become flat. Oh yes, you were in this for the long haul. The fluffy comforter kept you snug and warm in the air conditioned room. Once you had your glass of wine, and cup of cream filled coffee beside your neat little set up, you scooted your laptop onto your lap and flipped it open.

You knew you’d only half pay attention to the television, if even that. Honestly, it only served as background noise in the eerie quiet living room.

It wasn’t long until you found yourself down the rabbit hole of YouTube, finding oddly humorous videos that garnered a couple of chuckles here and there.

As you reached over from your laptop, fingers curling around the warm mug, your eyes subconsciously glanced towards the door way. A tall, shadowed figure leaned against the doorframe. You turned your eyes back to the screen, bringing the mug to your lips.

A fraction of a second later your brain registered the image, and you nearly choked on your coffee, stifling a scream of surprise.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“For fuck’s sake, Bucky. I think I almost had a heart attack!” You yelped, eyes still wide with more than apparent panic.

You watched as he crossed the room, attempting an apologetic look despite gnawing on his bottom lip in an attempt not to smile. “Are you all right?”

Tapping the space bar, you paused the video you had been watching.

“Despite nearly choking on my coffee and the possible fact I would have been severely pissed off if I had dropped it on my laptop…. Yeah, I’m just peachy.”

Bucky slumped down onto one of the recliners, now offering you a sympathetic smile.

“What are you doing here? I thought you went out with the group,” you questioned, raising a brow in his direction.

He shook his head. “Steve tried to convince me, but there was really no point, if I can’t get drunk.”

Slowly, you nodded your head in agreement. It made sense after all.

“There’s still some of Thor’s Asgard stuff in the fridge, and feel free to change the channel. I’m not really watching it,” you suggested before slipping in your earbuds.

You knew it’d be annoying for both of you to have to listen to the videos over a television program. You glanced once more at Bucky, who was now rifling through the cabinets for a glass, Thor’s liquor in hand, before tapping the pause button again.

It had been a few minutes later when your incessant giggling earned Bucky’s undivided attention. He watched with curious eyes as the corners of your mouth curved into an amused grin, and your eyes darted over the screen in front of you. Another out burst of giggles, and he felt his face warming ever so slightly. Thor’s liquor sure worked quickly. Or maybe it was because of that playful smile, either way the curiosity had overtaken any rational thinking.

“No way! They’re rebooting Magnum PI!” You exclaimed, the excitement all too present in your eyes.

You then groaned, reaching for your glass of wine. “I can’t believe it took me halfway through this trailer to figure that out.”

Bucky always found it oddly charming how you’d often talk to yourself.

A moment later and you felt the side of the futon dip down under the weight of someone. Turning your head, you found blue eyes peering at the screen, and a second later Bucky had plucked the cord out for your headphones.

“What’s Magnum PI?” He questioned, brows furrowing in concentration.

You yanked the earbuds out, staring wide-eyed at the man.

“Are you serious? It’s such a good show! It was so popular back in… the day…” You trailed off, realizing that Bucky had no idea about that decade, let alone what was popular back then.

He cast you a knowing look before propping the pillows under his head.

“Sorry, Bucky…”

He shook his head, signaling there was no need for apologies.

“I grew up watching it with my dad. It was one of his favorite shows.” You smiled, your index finger tapping the space-bar once more.

Curiously, you watched from the corner of your eye as Bucky took another swig of the magical liquor. His cheeks looked flush, but his eyes remained clear as he continued to watch the trailer for a new age Magnum. Afterwards, he brandished a half smile, and spoke with honesty.

“That looked interesting. I’d watch it with you.”

And so began a night of sipping on wine and liquor, watching trailers for upcoming television shows, shared laughter and moments to pause in order to debate on whether either of you would watch a particular one.

It wasn’t until you hit the pause button again, reached for your empty glass, and tilted your head back to Bucky, that you realized how close of proximity your faces were. If you had turned your head fully, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that your noses would have easily brushed against each others. His breath was warm against your parted lips, the smell of the foreign alcohol tickled your nose, and you watched almost mesmerized as those blue eyes captured yours, seeming to stare all too intently into your soul.

Your heartbeat stammered against your chest, the sound deafening against your ears, and you swore it was threatening to bruise the delicate bones of your rib-cage.

And then there was a very distinctive clearing of someone’s throat, earning your attention back to reality.

Both Bucky and you snapped your heads towards the doorway, eyes widening and face flushing a bright pink when you found your comrades standing there.

A mixture of disbelief, smugness, and second hand embarrassment etched across their features.

“So this is why you wanted to stay home tonight.” Wanda mused, grinning from ear to ear with no shame whatsoever.

She was leaning on Natasha’s shoulder, who now had her arms crossed and was down right mimicking Wanda’s smirk. “I’m glad we didn’t call ahead.”

“Damn, Bucky! I’m actually proud of you!” Sam flashed a cheeky grin of his own.

“I wish we had called ahead...” Bruce mumbled, averting his eyes from the situation.

Steve’s face was a little bit red, and though he said nothing, the small smile was enough to know he was thinking the same thing everyone else was.

“It’s not what it looks like!” You threw your hands up, effectively dropping the empty glass onto your lap. “We were just watching trailers and stuff!”

The instant the last part was out your mouth, you grimaced, mentally slapping yourself.

“And stuff?” You didn’t think Natasha’s grin could get any wider.

You were wrong.

“We weren’t doin’ nothin’.” Bucky’s slurred words somehow didn’t help the situation.

“You’re wearing pants under that blanket, aren’t ya?” Wanda openly teased, earning an amused laugh from Natasha.

You also didn’t think your face could get any redder. You were wrong about that too.

Opening your mouth to defend yourself, you were abruptly cut off by Steve, who raised his hand and shook his head. “Come on, guys. Lets give these two some...”

“Privacy.” Natasha winked, her voice heavy with the innuendo.

If the couch could have swallowed you whole, you would have been absolutely fine with that. Bucky, however, seemed unfazed by the awkward situation you both had been caught in. Snatching your empty glass from your lap, he rolled out of the makeshift bed, and headed towards the kitchen--- seemingly dead set on getting you more wine and continuing the marathon of videos.

Everyone had lingered for only a few more moments to crack a couple more jokes at your expense before filing out of the room. Steve casting an oddly soft and sincere smile at his best friend before disappearing down the hallway. Wanda blowing you a cheeky kiss before linking arms with Vision and disappearing as well. Sam and Bruce said goodnight without hesitation but you could hear Sam’s laughter booming down the corridor.

And then there was your best friend, Natasha, who was now hovering over the futon. She dropped down onto the cushion with such ease, and before you knew what was happening in your hazy state, she was pulling your face close to hers. She planted a lipsticked kiss against your cheek, her voice a whisper against your ear.

“Don’t be too loud,” she mused.

And before you could retort, she was bouncing out the door.

You huffed, crossing your arms in an almost pouting gesture. You were pulled out of your silent tantrum by the glass of wine that was shoved into your face, and you glanced at Bucky before taking it.

“So which one’s next, doll?” He questioned, settling under the blanket, and taking another swig of his special liquor.

Though your heart skipped a beat, you took a sip of wine and hit the next button.

Abruptly, you felt his head against your shoulder, long eyelashes brushing against his cheeks as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

The car ride to the restaurant was more than awkwardly silent, with the occasional small talk here and there. Your stomach was already churning with anxiety, and the silence wasn’t comforting in the least bit. Despite awkward glances and polite smiles, you still held out hope that perhaps it would become more comfortable once you reached the restaurant.

“Thank you,” you said as you stepped out of the car, your date holding the door open for you.

“You look amazing,” he complimented you, and you offered another polite smile.

Inside, the restaurant was relatively busy, but neither of you had to wait very long for a table. It was a nice place, perhaps a little too fancy for your taste. Waiters dashed between tables, dressed in black suits, offering champagne to almost every person they came across.

You unfolded the menu, glancing down the elegant font within lamented pages. You weren’t entirely sure what you were going to order. Your mind told you to be cautious with it, still unsure of what Nat mixed into the shot earlier. After a moment of chewing your inner cheek, you decided on a very light dish--- just in case.

“You know, I’m really glad you decided to take me up on the offer.” His voice startled you, earning your attention back to him.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You questioned, raising a brow in his direction.

He laughed softly, eyes glancing back to the menu. “You’re just way out of my league.”

This time both of your brows shot up, staring over the menu at him. You weren’t used to hearing such a thing, and it took you completely by surprise.

“You’re not gonna deny it?” He chuckled, quirking a brow of his own.

You could only smile again before answering. “I’m nothing special, but thank you.”

Once the waiter moved away from your table after acquiring your order, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander the room of patrons. It was almost instinctive, scanning for any possible threat. You almost cursed yourself when you realized what you were doing.

That was until your eyes landed on a pair of familiar faces, and your heart almost stopped in your chest.

“Something the matter?”

Your date asked, undoubtedly catching the near panic that swarmed your features. You took a moment to breathe before casting him another polite smile.

“Oh, I’m fine.” You completely lied through a clenched smile.

Another glance only saw more panic circulate through your veins, the realization that the duo was headed your way.

“Y/N! Fancy seeing you here!” Her voice was all too chipper.

“Yeah… what a surprise, Nat.” If your eyes could voice your thoughts, Natasha would have been given an earful in an instant.

And she knew it all too well.

“I’m sorry… I don’t think we’ve met? I’m Derrick.” His sudden words forced you to break the intense eye contact with Natasha.

“I’m Steve, and this is Natasha.” Steve extended his hand, giving Derrick a firm handshake.

It was brief, but you swore you saw your date grimace from the squeeze that Steve gave him.

“Mind if we join you? It’s just so packed in this place…” Natasha interjected, casting a glance in your direction.

Before you could even speak, Derrick was on his feet, shifting to slide in next to you in the booth. He flashed a smile that was all teeth at Natasha, and you tried your best not to roll your eyes. “Yes, of course!”

Steve slid into the opposite booth first, after a slight shove from Natasha.

“So what do you do, Derrick?” Steve’s voice broke through the silence of the group, and you took the opportunity to dig through your purse for your cellphone as the two men chatted among themselves.

You found Nat’s name and quickly let your figures do the work.

‘What the hell is this, Nat?!’

The vibration against her hip had her sending an all too knowing look your way before she reached for her phone.

‘Just trying to help my girl out.’

‘How is this helping me?!’

‘First of all calm down with those question and exclamation marks, babe. Secondly, he’s here isn’t he?’

“Is everything okay?” Steve’s voice broke you from your feverish texting spree, your head snapping up.

“Yup, everything’s fine. Just checking in with Tony. Y’know how he gets.”

The way Steve’s blue eyes narrowed in question had your heart almost stopping all together.

“So how do you all know each other?” Derrick asked, glancing between the group.

“We work together,” Steve answered.

“Oh, so you all work at the magazine together?”

And in that moment, you leaned back against the plush cushions of the booth, gnawing on your bottom lip in the most subtle of ways. The slight tilt of Steve’s head, his eyes boring into yours for some silent explanation, had you wishing you could just teleport to another dimension.

“We sure do. Steve’s a journalist and I’m their trusty editor.” Natasha cut in, never missing a beat.

Derrick cast a glance in Steve’s direction. “You kind of look familiar.”

Your eyes widened, your heart wanting to jump out of your chest.

Once again, Natasha came to your rescue.

“You’ve probably seen him on television a time or two. He’s an amazing journalist.” She curled her arm around his, leaning in towards his body, her smile all too alluring.

It was enough to practically wipe Derrick’s brain to the point that he could only focus on her.

You fought a sigh of relief when the waiter arrived with a round of drinks. You attempted your best restraint not to down the whole glass in one go, and watched as Steve seemed to be fighting the same urge. Natasha was all too comfortable, sipping slowly on her red wine while maintaining perfect eye contact with Derrick as he continued to speak about himself.

As the conversation continued to flow, you could barely find the patience to pay attention to your date, your eyes continuously glancing across the table to only be met with a set of baby blues.