LADY LIBERTY ━ Bucky Barnes

ONE ━ The Beginning

ONE
— THE BEGINNING

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IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT AND CARMEN HAD BEEN GONE FOR HOURS. One of Chester Phillips' men spotted her walking inside a bar for the third time in a span of a week. He was informed of his daughter's whereabouts and, more than once, was tempted to send in troops to escort her outside. It took all of Chester's self-control not to. His relationship with his daughter was too valuable, especially after the passing of his wife. They were still both grieving, and as much as he hated to admit it, Carmen was completely capable of taking care of herself.

          The brunette was on her second round that night when a man in a sleek and neatly ironed suit entered the bar. She didn't even have to look over her shoulder to know what an up and coming officer smelled like. His whole scent and aura was all-too familiar. He took the empty seat beside her and she pretended not to notice. When the bartender set the bottle (filled to the brim) in front of her, the stranger shifted uncomfortably on his seat. His eyes scanned the girl beside him, both to study her and to get a good look at her.

          "Woah, woah, woah! You might want to consider toning down on the alcohol, miss."

          Carmen couldn't help but snort at his remark, muttering back, "And you might want to mind your own goddamn business," before wrapping her fingers around the curved neck of the bottle, bringing it up to her pinkish lips. The cold liquid swam from her throat down to her stomach. She quickly felt the familiar intoxicating yet relaxing feeling that alcohol gave her every time. "Besides, it's just beer. It won't kill me."

          "Not yet, it won't."

          The brunette rolled her eyes. "You know, if you're trying to hit on me, you're doing a pretty bang up job."

          "I wasn't aware that watching out for you meant that I was trying to get in your pants."

          Hearing this made the brunette look up to finally meet the eyes of the man she'd been talking to. Her umber eyes traced his figure, from his tousled dark brown hair to the worn out combat boots he had on. His eyes were warm, more welcoming than threatening, which was something she didn't expect given that she had been so sure he'd be another asshole looking to stir unwanted trouble.

          Carmen eyed him carefully. There was a gleam in his eyes that felt so familiar—intoxicating, even, like the alcohol she continuously consumed. "Did my father send you?" she asked in a slur, setting down the empty bottle on the wooden bar top.

          His eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes stared at her in confusion. "Your father?"

          She bit down her lip and turned to him, setting her legs just between his. The stool squeaked as she did, and neither one of them turned to look at the bartender when he poured another round of craft beer in the same bottle she had used. They were too captivated in each other's gaze, wondering just who the other truly was.

          "I guess he didn't," she muttered to herself, then proceeded to ask, "Are you really not trying to hit on me?"

          "Why do I feel like that's a trick question?"

          "Just answer me, soldier," she whispered. There was a hint of authority in her voice as she inched herself closer.

          "No," he said sternly. He really had no intentions on conversing with her when he first walked in. He had been looking for a celebratory drink after learning that he'd be heading to Europe in a day to serve for his people and fight for his country, but was there really something to celebrate when his life was on the line?