I'm Here | ✓

20 - Distractions

"What do we do now?" I ask. Steve and I sat in an inconspicuous blue car, small enough that our shoulders are practically touching. We're miles away from any town, idling in a gas station parking lot. The woman at the register hasn't even looked up from her phone in the hour that we've been sitting here.

Steve ticks off his fingers. "We can't call Natasha. Sam doesn't have a place for us to stay. Wanda's in Europe, Scott is on house arrest, and Clint doesn't want to be involved. Media's on our backs, Tony's gone insane, Bruce and Thor disappeared, and I can't have much more than a couple thousand dollars to my name at the moment."

I clicked my tongue. "We're screwed."

"Yeah."

"How 'bout a motel? Just for a few nights, until we can figure this all out."

Steve tilts his head. "That's not a bad idea." He twists around in his seat and grabs at the backpack behind us, fishing around in one of the small pockets. He yanks out a cell phone and turns it around in his hands for a few moments. He chuckles softly, pressing a button on the side that makes the screen come to life. "I've never been comfortable using one of these. I barely have a clue as to how they work."

"The only thing I know about it is that it's called a cell phone," I comment slyly. "You'll have to teach me what you know someday."

Steve presses a few numbers that appear on the screen and opens up what looks like a small, digital map. He drags his finger around and spots what's labeled "the Stardust Motel." He taps it and a blue line runs from wherever we are on the map to the motel. He changes gears and pulls the little car slowly out of the parking spot, heading back on a road that merges with a large highway.

Highways make me nervous. Cars move fast, trees blur by, and the threat of being chased still hangs heavily over Steve and me.

I feel my breathing quicken as a memory of one of my missions flickers past. Steve glances over at me, concerned. "You okay?"

There's a grenade launcher in my hand, and my fingers clench. I look over at Steve, shoving my empty hands under my legs. "Yeah. Fine."

"Memories?"

I nod. He always knows. I look down at my shoes, my knees pressed up against the glove box in this small car. I count to four, inhale, count again, exhale. In and out. It's a grounding exercise someone told me on the streets of Romania. I remember now.

Steve offers his right hand to me while keeping his eyes on the road, despite the fact that there are no other cars in sight. I give my left shakily, as gently as I can, ignoring the memories that flood back of the people I've ripped apart and killed. It's just Steve. It's okay.

"Wanna listen to music?" Steve asks.

"Sure." Anything to get the ghosts out of my head for right now.

"Today's, or yesterday's?"

I knew what he meant. "40's, please."

He fiddles with his phone for a few moments, crystal blue eyes flicking between the device and the road. Suddenly, The Ink Spots' "I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire" starts playing quietly through the speakers in the car. It's familiar, and I smile.

"You don't have to stay," Steve panted. "Go out and play with them. I'll meet you in a few minutes." He was breathing hard and yanking at the collar of his shirt, his face red. Another asthma attack hit in the middle of a vicious game of tag with some of the neighborhood kids. I had escorted Steve inside gently and he sat doubled over on the corner of my bed, coughing and wheezing for air. I didn't know what to do except rub his back gently as we waited for it to pass.

"I wanna make sure you're okay." Steve's only twelve. He shouldn't have to deal with this. I tilted my head back, my left hand carefully massaging his neck. I could hear the kids playing outside without us, but Steve needed me right now. I didn't even feel jealous.

Steve rubbed the hair out of his face, only gasping a little. I took my hand off of him and waited for him to give me some sign that he was okay. He glanced up at me and smiled, just a little, in between small puffs of air. I grinned back, tossing my arm back over his shoulders and pulling his frail body closer to mine. "Doing better?"

"Yeah," he whispered. "I hate it when that happens. It's always so scary."

"That's why I'm here, pal," I ruffled his hair and rest my chin on the top of his head. He's the perfect size for that. He puts his small arm around me too, and for a second, it's just the two of us, together, like always, like it'll be forever. "I really don't wanna go back out there, not if you're gonna have another asthma fit. I want you to be OK."

"I'll be fine, Buck."

"Let's just rest for a bit, take a break." I stood up and wandered over my nightstand, where a small radio was perched just under my lamp. "I'm staying in here with you. Wanna listen to some music?"

"Sure." Steve shifted a bit on the bed as I twisted the dials on the machine, searching for the perfect station. After a bit, a song started to play through the static noise, and I tuned to that.

"Oh, I like this one," Steve said, smiling, so I left it. I went back to sit on the bed to listen with him. "It's called "Singing A Song To The Stars." I love the lyrics. Just listen."

You and me, singing at the stars,
Moving real slow, falling real hard
I wouldn't wanna be anyone but who we are, who we are
We could stay all night or a whole lot longer

I wonder what Steve was thinking about when he heard the lyrics. I imagined Steve's sharp hipbones under my hands in the moonlight, and I blushed hard. Thoughts like that could get me killed. I blinked to get the images out of my head. The song did have some nice lyrics. It reminded me of those moments that felt like Steve and me against the world, forever.

"I like this song," Steve says. I tilt my head so my hair falls in front of my face, but I smile so Steve can't see me. It's like he never changed. He's always been one for sappy love songs. He starts to hum the tune, faintly murmuring the words. I just listen.

"I don't want to set the world on fire, I just want to start a flame in your heart. In my heart I have but one desire, and that one is you, no other will do..." he trails off into humming again, likely forgetting the words.

"That is a nice song." We lock eyes and trade smiles. That fire Steve was singing about sparked inside my ribs. I cocked my head, realizing something. "Wait. I never heard you sing after you got the serum."

Steve chuckled. "It took a bit of getting used to, but honestly, I don't think I've ever sang in front of anybody since then. Congratulations, you're the first."

"Maybe I could hear a bit more later? I used to love it when you sang."

He looks at me, incredulous. "Really?"

"Yeah. You were always so embarassed, but you were so good."

"I was okay." He's beaming from the compliment. "I don't have much time for singing now, though."

"Let's make time." I rub my thumb over his knuckles gently. "Wherever we end up. A motel, a safe house... maybe we'll get our apartment. Who knows?"

"Let's get to the motel first, yeah?" We laugh. I tilt my head back against the seat, calm as Steve hums popular 30's and 40's songs. This is so ironic, our relationship, and yet here we are. We're so far away from that time, and yet as we drive, it feels almost the same.