I'm Here | ✓

09 - Dance

Who was she? She mentioned something called the Red Room. I don't remember that. And ballerinas? I've never liked ballet. I only know how to do a basic waltz and nothing more.

"Yeah, she turned me down."

I scanned the room."How about that girl in the corner, the one with the pink dress? If I could get that man away from her..."

"I'm fine, Buck. I can barely dance as it is. I just sort of... shuffle along, I guess."

"You can't dance?"

He glanced down. "No, not really. Never had time."

"No wonder you never found a date here." I muttered. "C'mon, get up. I'll show you some moves."

"What? No, Buck, trust me, I'm fine." He said that, but didn't even try to pull away when I grabbed his wrist and helped him to his feet. I guided him out to the dance floor in between the swirling skirts and fancy suits. He glanced around nervously, so I took his other hand and guided it to my waist. He was almost a foot shorter than me, but it was funny to watch him blush as I pulled him closer.

"Come on. You hold my hand like so, keep your other hand there, and follow my footsteps, okay? We can start slow."

"Buck, people are staring."

I leaned down just a little. "Let them stare. You see that guy over there, with the white rose in his tux? He's talking about us. But look at him! He doesn't even have a woman to dance with! He's hideous to look at, so honestly, I'm not surprised. He's just jealous." Steve giggled, and I grinned. "It doesn't matter what people say. I'm teaching you how to dance, whether people talk or not."

"Fine. Let's just get it over with." He tried to sound tough, but he was smiling as we took our first hesitant steps.

I taught him a few basic moves first, and we danced until he got it right. I went slow, told him when to move his feet so I wouldn't step on him. One, two, three, one, two, three. It was a pattern, and after only an hour or so he was actually getting pretty good. I didn't have to worry about stepping on him anymore, and although he wasn't the most graceful, his dancing was passable.

The music reached a crescendo, and I decided to surprise him. I dipped him down, one hand on his back, and he squeaked. I smirked. "This is the part where you kiss your girl." He just blinked up at me, biting his lip and blushing. I stared into his eyes. Did I want this?

Now isn't the time. I brought him back to his feet and led him off the dance floor to a bench against the wall. We sat down and I sighed, glaring down the people who stared at us.

And now Stevie could dance. Imagine that.

I smiled at the memory and hummed the lines to the song that was playing that night. I can't remember what it was called, but the melody was slow and calm. I realized it was my first happy memory in a long time. I fetched my notebook from the plastic bag Steve left it in and scribbled down the memory in it.

I taught Steve to dance. People judged us, but it didn't matter. I left out the part where I almost kissed him. I would remember that without having to write it down.

I set the journal on the coffee table and glanced around. There wasn't much to do in here, and I felt like I was back at Steve's apartment, bored out of my mind. I crept around for a bit, exploring the ins and outs of the house. It did seem to be very well fortified, but it was basic. There wasn't very much decoration, but I did find lots of cobwebs, so I assumed the house wasn't used much. I could see why; it was secluded and in the middle of a forest. It was hard to access and hard to escape from on foot. Was that why they put me here? So I couldn't escape?

It's to protect you from those agents.

The bullet wounds throbbed underneath my bandages. Steve had said it was all over the news, and honestly, I'm not surprised. The world's most dangerous assassin involved in another conflict? Everyone has an opinion on that, and none of them are good.

I fiddle with the TV remote for a few minutes, pressing various buttons until the screen erupts in light. It's already set to a news channel, fortunately; if it wasn't, I would probably spend hours trying to fix it. As I imagined, it's the top story, even hours later. Right now, two reporters were arguing over my current location and how much of a threat I was. The caption read "Winter Soldier: Kill On Sight?" That's not good. The reporters seem to agree that this is best handled at a federal or international level, and yet they continue to prattle on about how hard I was to take down, even with professional attackers.

Professional. These reporters knew more than I did. These agents, they had skill, but "professional" means somebody probably hired them. I can't help but think Stark. He wouldn't do this, though.

Would he?

The reporters take a breath, and a commercial covers them up. It's for some cream cheese brand. I click the TV off. I learned nothing from that.

I think I just need to wait until Steve figures out who those guys were. For now, I slink into the kitchen, grab a few knives from the knife block, and change into some decently comfortable clothes. Peeking into the bedroom, I see the bed is already nicely made. I leave the door open, just in case, and slip under the covers.

This was surprisingly nice. I'm still incredibly anxious, because I'm alone and totally exposed to danger in this bed, but there's only one small window in the room. It's been slowly getting darker outside, and I can see a few stars out that little window. It's a beautiful night. Too bad I have to spend it trapped in a house while I'm on the run from mystery assassins that want to kill me.

It takes a few hours, but slowly, I drift into some semblance of sleep. Like usual, it's plagued with nightmares, but I know how to calm myself down enough to go back to sleep again.