I'm Here | ✓

14 - Breakfast

After a while of driving around a small suburb off the highway, we found a decently nice little restaurant called The Garden Bar and Grille. It was a little bit late for lunch but early for dinner, so the restaurant only had a few other families eating quietly in scattered booths. We chose a seat in the corner, far away from the camera hovering over the cashier and anybody who might recognize us. Everyone here was minding their own business and didn't even spare us a second glance, but I put my hood up to cover my face just in case. I ordered some French toast, bacon and a side of fruit and waited for it to come. Steve and I just sat for a few minutes, listening to other people around us talk about their afternoon plans and how the weather was going to look for the next few days.

"So, this is an improvement," I remarked to break the silence. "At least for me. Finally going out, doing things. I'm gonna have to find another place to stay after I leave the safe house."

"You're not going anywhere until we figure out who attacked you. I want you to be safe, Buck."

"I know. Thank you. I just don't know what I'm going to do from here."

"Why don't you just stay with me?"

"I hate being on the run, Steve. I hate bringing the fight to you, holding you back with all my problems, making the jump from apartment to apartment, all the time, without a break."

Steve sighed, and I glanced down. To my surprise, he reached across the table and grabbed my hands. After a moment's hesitation, he looked me in the eyes. "Look. I'm terrified."

I blinked at him. I didn't know what to say.

He continued. "I never really wanted this. I just wanted to do something good, follow in the footsteps of the people going off to war. I didn't want the showboy life, so I decided to fight. For a while, I felt like I was doing something good, and then I wake up in 2011. Nothing is clear cut anymore. The rules aren't the same. I don't know where I stand in all this anymore. I'm in over my head in the logistics and the morals and the legality of it all."

"You're doing really well so far." I add unhelpfully.

Steve smiled sadly. "Thanks. I guess what I'm trying to say is that this kind of conflict isn't what I signed up for. And who knows? This might not matter in a few years. I might never talk to Tony again. But Bucky, I've known you my entire life. I'm a 100 year old man with the brain and body of a 25 year old. I don't know how to navigate all this, but you've been my anchor through it all." He squeezed my hands, and I smiled. "So wherever we go from here, I'm just attached to that anchor. I'm gonna follow you, we're gonna follow the current, and wherever that takes us is where we'll be."

"Wow. And to think I was always the one following you. Let's just hope we won't end up chasing each other in circles."

"Maybe it's not so bad," Steve said with a grin.

We pulled back quickly as the waitress stopped by to set down our food. I didn't realize how hungry I was until I started digging into my French toast.

"You gotta eat something, Stevie. I made you some toast."

"I'm fine, Buck." He waved me off and closed his eyes. "Just tired."

"You haven't eaten anything in days, you've stayed in bed, and you've got a fever." I put the back of my hand on his forehead and sure enough, it felt warm to the touch. He pushed weakly at my wrist. "Don't think I haven't noticed that you're sick."

"I'm just not hungry. Just lemme get some sleep," he slurred. I pursed my lips and scooted my chair a little closer to his bedside.

"Come on. How about just one piece. It'll make you feel better, I promise. I'll go get you some medication tonight and see if that helps at all, too."

He rolled over slowly in bed and squinted at the plate in my hand. "Is there butter on it?"

I hadn't put butter on it in fear of making him feel worse, but I knew he loved butter on his toast. "If I say yes, will you eat it?"

He smiled, just a little, but it lit up my world. I hated seeing him this sickly, but anything I could do to make him feel better, I would do. He reached for a piece of toast, nibbling on it slowly.

"There ya go." I brushed the hair out of his eyes and smoothed it a little on top. I wondered if he even noticed, as lethargic as he was. God, I hoped he would get better soon. The last time he got like this, the bug stayed for two weeks and I almost had to take him to the hospital. I knew what kind of medicine to get this time, even if I couldn't really afford it. I'll just work an extra shift at the grocery store in a few nights to make up for it, once Steve is better again.

Steve finished the last few crumbs from his toast and reached for another slice. That's a good sign. I'll still get the medicine, but eating something is a start.

"Whatchu smiling at?" Steve asked in between a mouthful of pancakes.

I pulled out my notebook from my pocket and clicked a pen open. "I just remembered this one time, before the serum, when you were sick and I had to feed you toast like a squirrel."

Steve rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too. "I really am glad I don't get sick like that anymore. I always felt bad when you had to work extra to pay for my stuff, or take extra time off to care for me."

"It's not so bad," I smirked, finishing up my thought in my journal and tucking it back in my jacket. I dumped a little more syrup on my French toast and took another bite, relishing in the memory and the maple flavor of my food.

The little bell above the door tinkled merrily as someone else entered the restaurant. I almost didn't look because I was poking the strawberries on my plate with a fork, but I glanced up out of habit.

Other customers in the restaurant had gentle smiles on their faces. They were dressed in light clothes, mixes of greys and greens that fit the aesthetic of the restaurant perfectly. The man standing at the door stood out, though no one noticed. His eyes scanned the room, and I inconspicuously pulled down the hood of my jacket a little further so he couldn't see my face. Steve saw the gesture and I glanced up at him. He blinked in recognition, and I saw him hunch down a bit to make himself look shorter and less super-soldier-sized.

"We might have to make an emergency exit. This guy looks a little weird." I whispered.

"If we can't use the front door, there's at least two in the back that I can see, and about ten other people here." Steve whispered back.

I glanced up at the newcomer. He didn't appear to be armed, but his weirdly stoic and broody appearance made him a red flag. A waitress seated him at a table on the other side of the restaurant, where he ordered one water. He didn't take out a phone, he just looked around. I turned my head a bit again as he glanced over to our table.

"He's not doing anything. Just looking around. His hands are on the table, though."

"Just be ready." Steve sipped his coffee delicately, but I could see how he was still tense. I pulled the glove a little further up my left wrist in case any metal was showing.

Nothing happened, fortunately. The guy just looked out of place, and was a little too observant for my liking, but he didn't make any moves towards me and Steve, or do anything particularly strange. So, after a bit of light banter back and forth, I finally agreed to let Steve cover the bill, and we went up and paid.

It was a nice lunch. Maybe we could do it again sometime.