Red, White & Blue | Bucky x Reader

Chapter One

The cool air brushes against my face as the early morning sun rises above the horizon, and I take a few deeps breaths, trying to fill my aching muscles with much-needed oxygen as we continue our run around the National Mall. Steve keeps pace beside me, his gaze focused on the path ahead as the wind tousles his short, blond hair, and the Super Soldier serum running through his veins keeps his pale skin free of the red flush that is likely evident on my face. Although I am not as fast as him, the experiments done on me during the war gave me more speed and stamina than the average person, but I still tire faster than the Super Soldier I call my friend.

It's been two years since the Battle of New York, two years since Steve and I decided to move out to Washington to work for SHIELD, throwing ourselves into countless missions in hopes of keeping the world safe from harm. We've even managed to integrate into society, thanks to Natasha's help, but we still have plenty to catch up on.

Sunlight shimmers across the Potomac as Steve and I round the next bend, and we come up behind another jogger getting in his morning exercise.

"On your left," Steve tells him, warning him of our presence.

We make our way around the Mall for a second time, soon coming up behind the same jogger.

Again, Steve warns him as we pass, "On your left."

"Uh-huh, on my left," the jogger replies, a little surprised. "Got it."

On our third lap, the jogger hears us approaching.

"Don't say it!" he shouts over his shoulder, somewhat irritated that we're about to lap him again. "Don't you say it!"

This time, I'm the one who warns him as we pass. "On your left."

"Come on!" the jogger yells, sprinting after us in an effort to keep up. He only makes it a couple meters before he's forced to stop, exhausted.

By the time we finish our last lap, the sun is high in the sky and the streets are littered with morning traffic as commuters rush to get to work. We make our way toward the street, heading for home, and I notice the jogger sitting against a nearby tree, trying to catch his breath. He looks to be in his 30s, with dark skin and an athletic build, and short black hair and facial hair.

"Need a medic?" Steve asks the jogger as we approach.

The jogger laughs. "I need a new set of lungs. Dude, you two just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes."

"I guess we got a late start," Steve replies, turning to me. I smirk.

"Oh, really? You two should be ashamed of yourselves. You should take another lap," the jogger hesitates for a moment before continuing sarcastically, "Did you just take it? I assumed you just took it."

Steve and I chuckle.

"What unit are you with?" I ask the jogger, noticing the military logo on his grey sweatshirt.

"58, Pararescue. But now I'm working down at the VA," he replies, lifting his hand to shake ours. "Sam Wilson."

"Steve Rogers," Steve replies, taking Sam's hand and hoisting him up off the ground.

Y/n Y/l/n," I say with a smile, shaking his hand. A small glimpse of my past flashes before my eyes, but it doesn't bother me as much as it used to.

"Yeah, I kind of put that together," Sam states, still panting for breath. "Must have freaked you both out, coming home after the whole defrosting thing."

Steve gives him a half shrug. "It takes some getting used to."

"Definitely," I agree with a nod, taking a few steps back. "Anyway, it was nice to meet you, Sam."

Steve and I begin to walk away, but Sam calls after us, "It's your bed, right?"

"What's that?" Steve asks, turning around. I do the same.

"Your bed, it's too soft," Sam explains. "When I was over there, I'd sleep on the ground and use rocks for pillows, like a caveman. Now I'm home, laying in my bed, and it's like..."

"Laying on a marshmallow," Steve finishes for him. "Feel like I'm gonna sink right to the floor."

Sam smiles and nods his head, glad that we understand what he means.

"How long?" Steve asks.

"Two tours..." Sam answers. "You must miss the good old days, huh?"

"Well, things aren't so bad," Steve admits. "Food's a lot better, we used to boil everything."

"The medical advancements are great," I say, remembering the conditions I had to deal with when I was a nurse. "It's a shame it costs so much to get basic treatments though..."

"No polio is good," Steve continues.

"Don't forget about the Great Depression," I remind him. "That really sucked."

"Oh!" Steve exclaims. "The internet, so helpful. We've been reading that a lot trying to catch up."

"Oh, yeah!" I say in surprise. "How did we forget about that? It's incredible! All of that information at your fingertips..."

Sam smiles, raising a hand and glancing up to think. "Marvin Gaye, 1972, 'Trouble Man' soundtrack. Everything you've missed jammed into one album."

"I'll put it on the list," Steve tells him, pulling the notebook out of his pocket and jotting it down.

Since we came out of the ice, Steve kept a notebook at his side, ready to write down any historical events or pop culture references we missed so we can look them up later.

Steve's phone dings as he finishes writing, and he takes it out of his pocket to read the notification.

"Alright, Sam, duty calls," Steve says, putting his belongings back into his pockets and shaking Sam's hands again. "Thanks for the run. If that's what you wanna call running."

"Oh, that's how it is?" Sam smiles.

"Oh, that's how it is," Steve laughs.

"Don't let it get you down," I joke, waving goodbye.

Sam laughs. "Okay. Any time you wanna stop by the VA, make me look awesome in front of the girl at the front desk, just let me know."

"We'll keep that in mind," I tell him.

At that moment, a sleek, black car pulls up to the curb, and the driver rolls down the passenger-side window to reveal Natasha, her straight, red hair brushing her shoulders as her piercing, jade eyes find us on the sidewalk.

"Hey!" she calls. "Any of you know where the Smithsonian is? I'm here to pick up a couple fossils."

"Hilarious," Steve says, tone dripping with sarcasm as he gets into the front seat.

"Shove it, Romanoff," I chuckle, sliding into the back. Unlike Steve, I find her joke amusing.

Sam hunches forward to peer at Natasha through the open window. "How you doin'?"

"Hey," Natasha replies with a coy smile.

Steve turns to Sam. "Can't run everywhere."

"No, you can't," Sam chuckles, his smile growing.

Natasha puts the car in gear, pulling away from the curb and speeding through traffic.