I'm Here | ✓

51 - Reunion

The delivery entrance was smart. Elizabeth is certainly strategic. Of course, there were cameras, but as long as I kept my head down and my left hand in my pocket, it wasn't a problem. I just wanted to stay out of the public eye for now. Causing mass panic would not help my situation.

She nodded at a few of the other nurses we passed in the hallway, the rest of them throwing incredulous looks at me. I tried not to make eye contact. I'm sure I looked like hell. Elizabeth always stayed behind a few paces to whisper "don't say anything" to those nurses. The hospital was like a maze, but eventually, she stopped in front of a door labeled "1265" and gestured for me to open it.

I just stared, my stomach turning with anxiety.

Oh my God. I can't believe I'm here.

Slowly, my left hand extended to turn the doorknob. I realized my right hand was trembling horribly, and Elizabeth must have noticed, because she gave me a small nod of reassurance.

I opened the door.

It was surprisingly dark in the room. There was a little bit of light leaking through the closed blinds, but it was cold and gray and not like Steve at all.

Carefully, I crept inside. There was a wall lined with machinery, all surrounding a single bed in the middle. Tubes ran from the machines down to a form lying under a single blanket on the bed.

Steve.

I couldn't help but stare. His eyes were closed, as though he hadn't even noticed me come in. His hair was plastered to his forehead and my eyes drifted down to his foot. It was wrapped in some sort of gauze, and I winced.

Elizabeth squeezed into the room behind me. She glanced between me and Steve before finally clearing her throat. "Mr. Rogers? You have a visitor here to see you." She shot me a beaming smile before turning back to see how he'd react.

I took another few steps closer, wringing my hands together. Steve's eyelids fluttered open, and for a moment, he just stared at the ceiling. I hated that defeated, sad look. I didn't dare say anything until a small moan escaped his lips and his eyes flickered to me.

I couldn't look him in the face, so I focused on his heart rate monitor.

"Buck?"

I didn't say anything. I knew if I did, the tears would spill out of my eyes, and then he would cry, and I would probably run out of the room, causing more damage than I had originally intended.

In my peripheral, Steve's eyes slide to Elizabeth. "Am I hallucinating?"

"You're not. I found him in a park."

Steve looks at me, and this time, I don't look away.

"Why, Buck?" He coughs weakly.

I bite my tongue hard to stop myself from crying. Why did you run? Why did you kill all those people? Why did you hide from me?

Why didn't you help me?

"Steve," I breathe quietly.

I pace over to him and sit next to his bed. My tongue is bleeding, but my eyes are welling up with tears anyway. I don't know what to do. I just stare at Steve, his glassy blue eyes even gorgeous in the dark. I'm so relieved he's here, and not dead. I shouldn't have left him, I should have tried to override my programming that was whispering run away, run away, run away.

"I'm so glad you're safe," I murmur, finding the courage to lift my right hand and stroke his knuckles soothingly. Even through all the betrayal, he smiles.

And that only makes me cry more. I was gone for twenty hours and missed him horribly.

Elizabeth clears her throat in the corner. "It'll be a while before the steroids and pain meds wear off. Until then, he'll be kind of out of it."

"Thanks." I turn back to Steve. He didn't deserve to be the one lying in a hospital bed, overridden with guilt and pain from a surgery he kept waking up from. I take a deep breath, staring at his hand. "It's not often I beat you to the fight, huh, asshole?"

"It is you," he says breathlessly, and I nod. I'm not the Winter Soldier; I'm back to me, or at least whatever I have left. He lets out a small chuckle.  "Although, if I recall correctly, it's not the first time you've jumped in ahead of me. Remember that time with the Davidson brothers?"

It's like he's plucking at memories long since erased or forgotten, but at the name, a particular incident comes to mind. Erik Davidson had called Steve's mom some ungodly derogatory name, and the twins had laughed, high fiving like they had gained some sort of personal victory from it. Steve's face had morphed into a scowl, but before he had even put up his fists, I had arranged a meet and greet between Erik's face and the pavement.

"Yeah, and I left them on the sidewalk for you to finish off, right?" I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. Those kids really deserved it. Also, it was hilarious to watch Steve give them a few good kicks just for good measure, adding a few bruises to their collection of broken bones.

"That's the one. Man, imagine the look on their faces when I was picked to be Captain America."

"They'd think it was a hoax for sure."

"Right? Like, me, of all people, the skinniest kid on the block with every allergy under the sun, picked to be a super soldier and fight Hitler." Steve shook his head. "Every once in a while, I think I dreamt the whole thing."

"And sometimes, you wish you did. I know how you feel."

Steve gives me another look, but this one is filled with love and reassurance. "They say opposites attract, but maybe we're not so different after all."

I laugh. "Don't be such a sap." Somehow, at the same time, I know he's right.

There's a light scuffling in the corner of the room and I turn. Elizabeth watches us with curious eyes, but she's using a marker to sketch on a piece of paper. I can't tell what it is from this angle, but she holds it up with a grin; it's a printed copy of Steve's x-ray, with a small phone number sketched at the top. I nod.

"It's been an honor, Bucky. Hopefully I'll see you soon." She backs out of the room and closes the door, leaving Steve and I with some semblance of privacy.

He gives me a quizzical look, but I explain quickly. "We got onto the topic of women's rights and she invited me to dinner with her family. You're welcome to come. It's nothing romantic."

Steve nods, and I know he trusts me. "Are they serving macaroni and cheese?"

I shrug. "I can ask. It's a staple food."

"If so, then I'd be happy to join."

We talk for hours, flitting from topic to topic. Every story is punctuated with laughter, even the ones I don't remember so well. Steve's happy to fill in the blanks for me, and I almost forgot that we're in a hospital, way past visiting hours, in the wake of Hydra's final stand. We talk about Steeplechase pier and Ms. Rogers' oat cookies and the Marx brothers and spitting out bitter rum and paper bags filled with books and fixing the chain on my bike and dance lessons in my apartment and popcorn at the movie theaters and happy memories, until that happiness overwhelms everything else, and I'm just content to be alive, with Steve, whenever that might be.