Drive. ~James Buchanan Barnes

Chapter 24

"I can't believe this," I huff as I attempt to get comfortable, "Out of every car in the city, you decide to steal an old VW Beetle. You are such a grandpa."

Steve glances at me in the rear view mirror, "If you didn't expect a car like this then neither will the people looking for us."

"Well you know what else I wouldn't have expected?  The bat-mobile."  I retort.

Steve rolls his eyes while Sam gives a chuckle, "The bat-mobile isn't real, V.  It's just comics."

"I can fix that.  I could even improve it." I say, cracking my knuckles for effect, "Remember when I turned Stark tower red white and blue for your birthday?"

"Don't.  You.  Dare." He says steadily.  I smirk, hearing the hidden amusement in his tone, and raise my arms in defeat.

"Alright pops, you got it."

Next to me, the corner of Bucky's mouth twists up slightly, but drops quickly when he sees me watching him.

"Something I can help you with?" He questions dryly.

I shrug, saying nothing.

Already I can see that the improvement he made with me has stopped progressing. He's incredibly guarded, and he has a right to be, but I can tell that even now he's trying to appear much more in control of himself than he is.

But the thick silence doesn't last long as Sam clears his throat.

"While we're waiting to hear from our friends, y'all wanna get some food? I'm feelin' McDonald's."

I chuckle a little, "You and your stomach. Food sounds good, I'm feeling pizza though.  What do you say, mom?"

We all look at Steve, and even Buck seems mildly interested as he waits for his old friend's decision.

Finally, Steve sighs.  "Fine.  Just make it quick.  We meet back up in an our at most.  I'm going to get burgers with Sam."

"Roger that! I've just been wanting pizza allllllll day."  I say dramatically as I'm exiting the car, "Do you need disguises?  I can work from a distance, just don't go too far."

"We'll be okay for an hour.  Thanks V."

As we all go our separate ways, I notice footsteps following me from a few feet back and I raise an eyebrow when I see Bucky has decided to keep me company.

"...I guess you want pizza too then?"

The man shrugs, "Better than the two of them staring at me while I eat."

"What makes you think I'm not going to stare at you?"

"There's only one of you.  Besides, I'm used to you staring at me."

I let out a surprised laugh, "Was that a joke? Were you trying to joke with me?"

He just shrugs again as we enter the little pizza joint.  We each place our orders and sit down.

I glance around the room at the cameras and very subtly move them away from us.  I take to staring out of the window at the streets as I wait.  There really isn't anything to talk about anymore. 

I comb my brain, attempting to find something to cut the silence.  As it turns out, I didn't have to.

My head snaps in his direction as Bucky aggressively unzips his pack, pulling out a notebook with shaking hands.

"Buck?"

He says nothing but looks to be failing to write something down and my eyes move to his face.  I know what is wrong.

"Bucky.  Stop."

His breathing is harsh as he ignores me.

"Bucky," I try again, very slowly moving my hand into his line of vision, "listen to me.  Remember?"

He slows as his eyes follow my hand until it is resting atop his.  He lets the pen fall.

"Tell me what you see."

He looks at me then, very briefly before looking around, and I know I am right.  His eyes are frightened and confused and unsure. 

"Windows.  Cars.  The paint is chipping from the wall." He spits out.

"Look at me," I say to grab his attention, "Tell me what you hear."

"There's a timer going off in the kitchen."

"Is that all?"

"The sound of the street..." he pauses, listening, "and the lightbulbs are buzzing."

"Good.  Breathe."

He does, and he does again, and he waits for me to continue.

I notice the muscles in his shoulders relax slightly.

"What can you smell?"

He scoffs, "Uh, pizza."

I roll my eyes at the smart response, "and?"

"Cleaning product. Something with bleach."

I nod, scrunching my nose, "And what can you feel?"

"Your hand. And the cloth covering this booth has a rip in it."

I glance around him, and he tilts to where I can see. He's right.

I look at him again, "In control?"

He hesitates, but nods, and I hand him his pen.

"I don't know... I mean it hasn't happened like that in a long time." He says quietly.

I shake my head, "It's been a long couple of days from what I've been hearing.  It's alright to be overwhelmed.  You're doing well."

He frowns, seemingly to disagree, but decides not to argue and goes back to his notebook.

I watch him write for a while before we hear rustling from the kitchen, signaling that our food has been prepared.

He puts everything away, and his hands are steady.

I take a sip of my water and go back to watching the window, ready to forget about the incident.

His eyes are on me, and I can feel them as much as I ever could.

After a moment or two I hear a slightly shaky exhale.

"...Thanks, Verity."