III: The Girl Who Ran: Dirty Hands and Dark Hearts

III: Black and White

Steve opened his eyes, momentarily disoriented. The events of last night knocked him back. He stared at Sunny's white streak in the golden morning light.

His stomach tightened and he felt his face heat up instantly.

Her breath came out of her pink lips in little puffs, blocked by his chest. One of Sunny's slender, cool hands was resting on the bare skin at his waist, where his shirt had hiked up. Their legs were tangled together, hers in between his. He tried to slip out of her embrace, but her fingertips tightened on him and she murmured in her sleep. Her hand slid to his hip, pushing the waistband of his shorts down an inch. Steve's heart attempted to pound out of his chest. He probably shouldn't be embarrassed. They were both adults, and it wasn't like they did anything last night.

He stilled and Sunny's breath deepened again, unlike his. He reached up and touched Sunny's hair subconciously. A strand curled around his finger.

A thought shot through his mind. What if he woke her up by running his hand through her hair and down her back?

Little needles of nervousness pricked at his gut, and he let the thought fly away.

He gazed at Sunny's face. Her eyes were moving slowly back and forth behind her eyelids, and her open mouth twitched upward in a little smile. Steve moved his head an inch and the light coming through the window let him see her better. A red scratch stretched across her temple. White scars, barely noticeable on her pale skin, reached out from the corners of her mouth.

Steve wondered what had happened to Sunny. He'd never asked what they did to her in HYDRA, since they rarely had a moment alone. It had never seemed to matter. But he always wondered why she wasn't like Bucky, with blank memories and a metal prosthetic. Although Steve saw the same look Bucky had had while he was the Winter Soldier in Sunny sometimes. Hard eyes and an emotionless expression. Feet always squared to take a hit.

Everything about Sunny seemed to be black and white, alabaster white skin, dark hair, dark eyes. He saw her last night in his mind's eye, all gentle hands and sad stories. Steve remembered what she said about a guardian angel, and thought about Bucky. Steve hadn't really wanted an angel, but he'd gotten one anyway. He remembered her soft voice breaking through the images he'd seen, of a plane taking a nosedive into whiteness, of ice clouding his vision.

Steve started when Sunny's phone rang, playing a song that he didn't recognize. It was sitting on top of her bedside table, next to a picture of Maria, Anza, James, and Robyn and a couple knives. Sunny inhaled sharply and Steve looked down to see she was staring at his chest. Her brow was furrowed and the scars on her face twisted when she frowned. She withdrew from him, untangled their legs, and snapped her hand back from his hip. She rolled away and kneeled at the table, grabbing her phone and tapping a button. The song stopped. Sunny leaned back against the wood and sighed. She scrubbed her face with her hands.

"What was the song?" Steve asked, his voice still hoarse from sleep. She seemed to have an enormous cache of songs he'd never heard.

Sunny yawned, "'Stand by Me'. It is kind of sad, to be honest." She stared at him for a moment before averting her eyes and standing, collecting the empty boxes and the bottle. She dumped them into the trashcan by the window. "Good night?"

Steve nodded, "Yeah, thanks for, uh--," not freaking out about the fact that the great Captain America had been sobbing his heart out on the bathroom floor and then fell asleep in her room? "You know."

Sunny shrugged, "Everyone has bad days. You are no exception."

Steve blushed. Sunny had seen a huge crack in his armor last night, yet she was playing it off as if it were nothing. He cleared his throat, "Uh, can you please not tell the rest of them?"

Sunny looked up from folding the quilt, her head cocked, pure confusion in her eyes, "I was not going to."

Relief flooded Steve's system, "Oh. Thanks."

Sunny broke the mood by smirking, "Can you make it to your room, or do you need help?"

"Oh, shut up," Steve smiled back and rose to journey back to his own room. He passed Nat in the kitchen, she was grinning at him like the Cheshire Cat. Steve poured a cup of coffee for himself and sat down beside her, "What?"

"Did you enjoy your little date last night?"

Steve rolled his eyes, "It wasn't a date."

Nat smiled and looked at him coyly from underneath her lashes, "Well, you two seemed really close. Like touching close. I've never seen her let anyone else touch her."

Steve remembered Sunny recoiling from him when she woke up, and opened his mouth to protest. He was cut off when Sunny strode in, humming the same song that had been playing for her alarm. She went to the tea kettle and filled it up with water. She smiled at both of them when she turned around, "Good morning."

They both returned the greeting and Nat looked pointedly at Steve when Sunny turned back around. The kettle whistled and Sunny poured out the tea. She sat in front of them and sipped it. "What is the plan for today?"

"I thought you would never ask," Nat leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "I looked into 'Lazarus' and I came up with an annual black market ball in Massachusetts tonight. You can only get in by invitation, but I have that covered. There's a rumor going around that they're selling rare equipment, items, and information."

"Rare as in...?" Sunny leaned forward and Steve could practically see her caculating.

Nat shrugged, "Experimental stuff, how to make atomic bombs, they could be selling unicorn horns for all I care. The only thing that matters is that 'Lazarus' is going to be there."

Steve gulped down his coffee, "Who's going?"

"I was hoping you and Sunny could go," Nat smiled devilishly at Steve, and he sighed.

"Fine."

Nat looked at Sunny for an affirmative, and she gave a nod with that expressionless mask. "How lavish is it?" She asked.

"Top-notch. You two are going as Constantine Gaile and Eleonore Sibrian. They're engaged and filthy rich but haven't been to a public gathering in two years. Which means that you," Nat pointed at Steve, "need to find a nice suit. And you and I," she looked at Sunny, "are going dress shopping."