The Viper || BUCKY BARNES [2]

04 ― New Jersey

2014 ― Wheaton, New Jersey

Steve Rogers, Holland Stark, and Natasha Romanoff had now crossed state lines into New Jersey. The truck they were in was stolen—commandeered out of necessity—and Steve was behind the wheel, eyes on the road with that same blend of intensity and calm that he always carried. Holland was stretched out in the passenger seat beside him, comfortably slouched with her feet propped up on the dashboard, one ankle lazily crossed over the other. Natasha was in the backseat, relaxed but alert, always surveying.

"Where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?" Natasha asked, her voice laced with dry amusement.

"I was actually wondering the same thing," Holland added, glancing at her friend with a smirk. Her tone was playful, but there was curiosity there too, and she shot Steve a sidelong look.

"Nazi Germany. And we're borrowing," Steve replied, without missing a beat. Then he glanced at Holland. "Take your feet off the dash."

Holland raised a brow at him, slow and deliberate, like she was weighing whether or not to challenge him. But after a moment, she lowered her legs with exaggerated slowness, clearly dragging it out for the sake of pettiness.

"Alright," she said after a beat, her voice teasing. "I have a question for you, which may be a mistake because it might only enhance your sour mood. And you don't have to answer, but in this case, your silence would definitely be an answer."

Steve let out a breath and rolled his eyes, clearly bracing for whatever nonsense was about to come out of her mouth. "What is it, Holly?"

"Was that your first kiss since 1945?" she asked. Natasha nearly choked trying to suppress her laughter, turning away slightly as her shoulders shook. Steve, meanwhile, shook his head slowly.

"That bad, huh?" he asked, raising a brow.

"I didn't say that," Holland said, her grin growing as she shook her head.

"Well, it kind of sounds like that's what you're saying," Steve replied, trying to stay serious but failing to hide the amused edge in his voice.

"No, I didn't... I was just wondering how much practice you've had," she said, keeping the conversation going with a cheeky glint in her eyes.

"You don't need practice—" Steve started.

"Everybody needs practice," Natasha interrupted from the backseat, smirking as she leaned forward slightly.

"Okay, it was not my first kiss since 1945. I'm 95; I'm not dead," Steve said, shooting them both a look.

"Okay, so... in the last three years since you've been back, you have kissed someone, and you never told me?" Holland asked, mock-offended now as she turned to fully face him.

"Do I need to tell you everything?" Steve asked.

"Yes..." Holland replied matter-of-factly, which made Natasha burst out laughing again. "Yet there's still nobody special?" she added after the laughter quieted, her voice softening just a bit.

"Believe it or not, it's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience," Steve said honestly, then turned his head to look at her. "You're the only one."

Holland rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. "Are you trying to tell me you've been holding out for me, Cap?" she teased. Steve rolled his eyes right back at her, but the smile he wore was real, warm, and familiar.

"You could always just make something up," Natasha offered casually from behind them.

"She's right," Holland echoed with a smirk, settling back into her seat as the truck continued down the road. Steve's hands remained steady on the wheel, but his expression had grown increasingly conflicted.