On The Run

The List

Chapter 7: The List

It took Steve a few minutes the next morning to figure out exactly where he was and how he'd gotten there. Sunlight slanted through the green curtains covering his windows, making him check the clock on the bedside table and realize that it was nearly 10:00. He'd overslept-by about four hours. Then again, he supposed he could use the sleep; it had been a very busy last few days.

Bucky was the only other person awake, sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and trying not to wake Clint-who was still passed out cold in the other room. Steve guessed, probably correctly, that the archer hadn't managed to go hunting, "You're up late."

Steve rolled his eyes,"How long have you been up?"

He shrugged,"Not long. Half an hour, maybe less. Did you sleep well?"

Steve nodded. In fact, he'd had the best sleep he'd gotten in days. "Maybe it's how quiet it is here," It was near silent, except for the omnipresent chorus of morning birdsong; nothing like the busy sounds of Brooklyn, New York-pfriesf the city that never sleeps. He'd never realized how much the city had become his alarm clock-how often he'd woken up to hear the garbage truck rumbling down the street on its way to the dump and kids shouting on their way to school. It felt like he had passed on into another world-one full of tranquility and quiet contemplation. Nothing seemed farther away at the moment than Tony Stark and the fractured Avengers.

Just then, Clint yawned from the other room-followed by a soft thump as he presumably fell off the couch and a flurry of muffled curse words. "Remind me never to do that again," he said as he walked into the kitchen, massaging his lower back. "I felt like I was going to fall off the damn thing all night."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Bucky said, sliding him a chipped ceramic mug that proudly read:

Syracuse fishing tournament 2002: Grand Champion

"Here, have some coffee."

He just looked at Steve somewhat accusingly, "I thought you said you were getting doughnuts."

"I said I'd get doughnuts when everyone else gets up," Steve replied. "Then we'll go shopping."

"You sure that's a good idea? I don't know if you've forgotten already but we're kind of wanted fugitives."

"Who says we'll all go at once? Wait for everyone else to get up."

Bucky opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of CD cases Steve hadn't noticed in his initial sweep of the house a couple of days before. "Let's see...some Beethoven, Bach, Tchaikovsky, Mozart, and...the Rolling Stones. Any preferences?"

"Your pick."

"Mozart it is," He thumbed the play button and the soft strains of classical music drifted through the house as they took in their new surroundings in the light of day-how the perishables cabinet didn't quite close and the green couch in the front room embroidered with tiny brown pinecones had been worn so thin through years of use the stuffing was starting to show in places. There was a television in the den that everyone was afraid to turn on until Scott could use his hacking expertise to tell them whether or not it could ever be traced. All in all, it seemed like a nice place. That is to say, it would suit their needs just fine.

Steve chanced a look at Bucky over his steaming cup of coffee; the ex Winter Soldier was looking out the window with an almost content look on his face. The stump where his metallic arm had once hung had been cauterized and was now covered by a clean bandage; he was getting along surprisingly well without it. In fact, Steve thought he preferred it; for Bucky, it reminded him of so many memories he was trying so hard to keep buried.