Six

“I don't understand. So you don't know my identity?” I sat at the long conference table. The room was mostly empty; only Maria and Steve were with me. “And I'm a news reporter?”

Maria shook her head. “No, not really. We think, based on this, that you worked for French Intelligence. On December 10, 1979, your convoy was hit on a road outside of Tehran. You were undercover posing as a news team, covering the events of the U.S. Embassy hostage crisis. In case you don't remember, a group of students took 55 embassy workers hostage, and kept them there for over a year. We aren't sure whether you were there to retrieve anyone in particular, or just to gather information. We aren't 100% sure that you were an intelligence agent, but it looks incredibly likely. Your identity only goes back to 1975. Before that is nothing. It's just a shell.”

I looked at the folder in front of me. A glossy printout of myself, with different hair, stared back up at me. I hadn't aged a day. I looked from Maria to Steve. “So I've been gone for 36 years? Nearly four decades?” They both nodded. “What happened to the other people in the convoy? I remember them. A fake news team? That explains why my gun was hidden under the seat and was not on me.” I shook my head. “If I'd have had it on me, I could have defended all of us. My friends wouldn't be dead. But no, it was under the seat.”

“Six, if you'd have gotten to your gun faster, Bucky would have still taken you. You didn't have the serum back then. You weren't a strong enough opponent.” Steve sighed, looking frustrated. “He would have still killed them.”

“So they're all dead?” I knew Steve spoke of Bucky separately from the Winter Soldier, but they were still firmly the same man in my mind.

“No. They aren't all dead. One lived. His cover name was Patrick O'Flanaghan.” Maria slid a stack of photos towards me. I looked at the one on the top. “We don't know where he is now, or who he is, or if he's still alive.”

I picked up the picture. “Dan.”

“What?” Maria asked me.

“His name is Dan. Dan Lagherty. His real name was Dan.” I slid my finger down the photo. I didn't remember much about Dan. But I remembered his name.

“An Irish man was working with French intelligence?” She looked at me, brows furrowed.

“No. Don't be so simplistic. His mother is French, his father was Irish.” I stopped. “I don't know how I know that.”

“Do you remember the other people in the photos?” Steve leaned forward. I began to flip through them. It was like reliving the dream about the attack, only worse. Now I knew these people were real and had been my friends, and I also knew they were dead. They were all dead, except for Dan Lagherty. They were dead because Hydra had wanted me.

“Frank. Peter. Adrien. Lamar. Bianca. Arman was our contact in Iran.” I slid the photos away from me. They hurt to look at. None of the people were over the age of forty. They were all so young. “I don't remember other last names. Only first.”

“I'll tell Jim, see if he can get anywhere with a little more info. And I'll start looking.” Maria stood up. She made like she was going to leave, but she stopped and turned to me. She looked at the floor, then back to me. “Six, I'm sorry. About your friends.” I only nodded, and she took her leave.

Steve and I sat there for a while in silence. I finally spoke. “So I guess we're not much closer to finding out who I am, then.”

He shook his head sadly. “Not really, no. But you've given us a good start. Besides, are you sure you're ready?”

“What do you mean? I need to find out at some point.” I was absentmindedly tracing the outline of my own face in the old photograph. I did look different. I looked softer. Happier. The last 36 years had not been kind.

“There's no easy way to put this.” He reached out a hand and placed it on mine. “You're supposed to be in your sixties right now. You may have family. You may have siblings, sisters or brothers. Cousins. Your parents might even still be alive. But they'll be very old. If you have a husband or a wife, they're nearly seventy now. They're almost forty years ahead of you.”

“You lost seventy years, and you're all right. Aren't you?” I looked diligently into his eyes. He glanced away, before returning my gaze and beginning to speak.

“Everyone I knew is dead. Except Bucky. And except Peggy.” He took in a sharp breath. There was a hurt behind his eyes that ran silently beneath all of his false bravado. He was a wounded man.

“Peggy was the Agent. From the war.” I cocked my head to the side. “You were fond of her?”

Steve nodded. “Yes. Very. She... she talked to me all the way into the ice. She was on my mind when I went down, and she was on my mind when I woke up. I found her. She's an old woman now. Very old. She's in a nursing home.” He looked at his hand in his lap, at his other hand on mine, at the wall, at the table... he didn't seem to know what to do with himself. I placed my other hand on top of his. He seemed surprised. I had noticed that I was remembering how to be human, little by little.

“It makes you think of what you lost?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Steve nodded in affirmation. “Yes. And God, I'm glad she's still here, and I'm glad she knows I didn't die, and that I know she had a good life. But it's hard, Six. These people... they lived their entire existence without us. And we were supposed to be there along with them.” He licked his lips, biting one while he thought of what to say next. “I just want you to be prepared. It's going to be sad.”

“I'm sorry about Peggy, Steve.”

“It's nothing to be sorry about. I did what I had to do. She lived a really full life. It's hard to see her layed up in a hospital bed, forgetting things. But it's done. I can't rewrite the past.” He squeezed my hand, and got up from the table. We both approached the door, but I stopped.

A thought hit me. “It won't... it won't matter if I have family. I can never see them. Hydra will find me or use them against me. They could be in danger right now.”

Steve closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked determined. “That too. They may be people you can never see, in order to protect them.”

“This is a lot to take in.” I leaned against the door. Steve put his hand on my back. I leaned against him instead.

“I know.” He put an arm around me and hugged me close to his side.

* * *

“Steve, when did you get here?” Peggy looked up from her hospital bed, her long gray lashes fluttering open. She smiled.

“Just now, Peggy. How's my best girl doing today?” Steve took the frail, elderly hand that was reaching for his.

“She's doing all right.” Peggy grinned like an imp. “And she's entirely too old for you to keep calling her your best girl.””

“Never too old.” Steve chuckled. “Nonsense!”

“I've been too old for a long time now.” Peggy looked around secretively. “Shh, don't tell anyone. They might not let you in to see me!”

Steve leaned back in the armchair. He was glad to see Peggy so lucid today. It was hit or miss, really. Some days she knew she was old and in a nursing home, and that Steve was out of the ice and the war was over. Some days she thought it was 1944. Some days she couldn't remember that he'd ever been to visit her before. Any combination of the three broke his heart in different ways. He may be hailed as the legendary Captain America, but Peggy had really devoted her life to this adoptive country of hers. And she'd lived to tell the tale.

“What's going on in your world, Captain?” Her eyes shone as she looked at him.

“Entirely too much.” He trailed off. “Entirely too much.”

“How is Bucky?”

“He's good. He and Mayday moved in together. She's good for him.” Steve left it at that, but Peggy, even in her dementia induced fog, was much too clever.

“And the answer is in what you aren't saying.” She peered at him. “Has something gone wrong? You all stopped that bomb, correct? Is there something new?”

Steve blew out a deep breath that he hadn't been aware he was holding. “Yes.”

“Well, out with it. You know I can't do anything from this hospital. I need to live vicariously through Captain America now.”

“I can't tell you too much.”

“I know. It's classified.”

“I'd tell you everything if I could.”

“I know, Steve. But I'm an old woman who can't remember much. You can't tell me anything secret. I know.”

“Someone showed up at the tower. She's running. She's... a lot like me. And Bucky. She's old, but she's still young. Frozen.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She came looking for me, to help her.”

“And you are, I'm sure.” Peggy never doubted her Captain America.

“I'm trying. But she's complicated and it's going to get more complicated.” He perked up a bit, if only for show. “But anyways, I'm sure it will work itself out.” He looked down at Peggy. She was staring off into space. “Peg?”

“Hmm? Oh, hi Steve. When did you get here?” She beamed up at him, with the same eyes that had looked on him so fondly seventy years before.

“Oh, just now, Peggy.” Steve smiled at her, trying not to show his sadness.

“I've been thinking, Steve.” She had begun to trace circles on the back of his hand.

“About what?”

“I think I'm going to end up disappointing you, Steve.”

“How so? You could never disappoint me.” Steve squeezed her hand.

“Well, I just don't think I'll be able to swing that dance I promised you, all those years ago.” She wiggled her legs beneath the blankets. “I can't walk.”

“It's okay, Peggy. I never learned to dance anyway. I'd probably step on your feet.”

Peggy gave Steve a knowing look. “Steve, I think it's time you thought about maybe finding a new dancing partner.”

“Peggy, I'm fine. I'm good. Don't worry about me.” He tried putting on a happy front, but Peggy was having none of his bullshit.

“No, no. I know you've been dating. I also know you've been half-assing your way through it.” Peggy started, then held up her finger as Steve began to object. “You think you're the only person who visits me?”

Steve stopped, flummoxed. Who was visiting Peggy? He thought for a minute. The only other person who cared at all about Steve's love life was... “Natasha?”

Peggy nodded. “You think all you young people are the only ones good at espionage.”

Steve gave her an amused look. Even in her nineties, and forgetful as she was, she still had complete control over where she got her information.

“But as I was saying, you need to find another dancing partner. Your real one.” Peggy was serious. Very serious.

“You were my real one.”

“Yes, Steve, I was. A long time ago. But what we had ended when you went into the ice.” She looked sad, but she quickly put on a strong front. “I've had a good life, Steve. A great life. Adventure, romance, everything. I never forgot my Soldier, but I had to move on eventually. And you do too.”

Steve looked at the ground. He knew she was right. He'd been in love with her. And she'd been in love with him, too. Agent Peggy Carter had been larger than life, tough as nails. She'd challenged him. But they were now on opposite sides of a chasm that could never be crossed. “I know, Peggy. And I'm trying. I really am. I can't let go of my best girl though.”

“Nothing's ever really over, Steve.” Peggy smiled softly. “But times change.” She looked him up and down. “Yes.” She nodded.

“Yes what?” He asked. He wasn't sure if she'd forgotten the conversation again.

“Yes, I know you're trying. And you'll meet someone. And she'll be cold, and she'll be ruthless, and she'll be everything you're not.” Peggy's eyes were like fire.

“And let me guess, I'll melt her heart?” Steve raised his eyebrows playfully.

“Not at all. She'll melt yours.” Peggy turned and looked directly into his eyes. Steve froze. Cold and ruthless and everything he wasn't? He stared at Peggy. How could she even know? Did she just know his type? Did he have a type? He thought back to the last few women he'd dated. They hadn't been cold or ruthless. And he had to admit, things hadn't worked out with any of them. But how did Peggy know? He'd told her very little about Six, and nothing about his feelings towards the woman; if he could even figure those out. She was still a shell of a person, but with an incredibly strong and hardheaded personality. And he didn't know what he thought about her history with Bucky and all of the spying. He was just confused, through and through. How had Peggy even known?

“You look like you've seen a ghost, Rogers.” Peggy squinted at him.

“No. I'm just... I'm wondering how you know that.”

“You young people aren't the only ones who can read a person, either.” She said back tartly. “But you can't stop visiting me.”

“I'll always be here for you Peggy, you won't get rid of me that easily.”

“Good. Because no one else around here has good looking men visiting them. It would get rather dull without you coming around every once in a while.” Peggy laughed, and Steve smiled. Everything she said and did made him realize he'd missed out on a lifetime with an amazing woman. As though reading his mind, Peggy squeezed his hand again. “Don't go getting that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“That look like your life just flashed before your eyes.”

“I can't help it. We would have been quite a pair, Ms. Carter.”

“We would have. But you have a lifetime to find the right dancing partner. Don't waste it wondering what could have happened. We had our time.”

“I guess we did.” Steve blushed, thinking back to stolen glances and kisses in broom closets and empty offices back during the war, when they had both been young. “I guess we did. We had some great times.”

Peggy grinned, obviously remembering the same memories from so long ago. Then she looked out into the hallway, then back at Steve. “Steve!” She exclaimed delightedly. “When did you get here?”

Steve sighed, putting a grin onto his handsome face. He loved this woman dearly, and it cut him like a knife every time reality hit him. “Just now, Peggy. Just now.”

* * *

“So I killed everyone in this convoy, apparently, to abduct her.” Bucky had his head in his hands, and was looking down into the cup of coffee Mayday had placed in front of him. A spoonful of sugar and enough milk to make it technically not really count as coffee anymore. She sat down across from him at their small dining room table.

“So that's what Steve came over for.” Mayday glanced at the file folder that was under Bucky's elbow, on the table. “But Bucky, we already knew you took her.”

“I know, but it was always possible, if unlikely, that her dream was wrong. She doesn't like me; it's not a stretch that she'd insert me into a memory instead of the real villain.” He stirred his coffee unhappily. “Now we know for sure. These people she remembers are actually dead.”

“We don't know for sure it was you.” Mayday supplied hopefully, though at this point she knew it was probably true.

“I looked at photographs of the convoy. It was definitely me. That damage has my name on it.”

“Bucky, it wasn't you-you, all right? You didn't choose to do this. Who knows what they told you you were doing? I can't see them coming in and saying 'Okay Buck today you're going to kill five innocent French spies and an Iranian spy, who are trying to save people from the Embassy, and abduct one of them to bring her back for experimentation.' There's no way you'd have done it. You were alone, brainwashed, and they probably told you that you were saving the free world or something.”

“It doesn't matter. I killed five of them. Maybe I killed the one who lived later, I don't know. And I took someone who had a life and they erased it.” He looked up at Mayday, his head still in his hands. “She turned into that monster because I took her. How many others did I abduct? How many people. Mayday?”

“I don't know. Babe. I don't know.” She looked dejectedly out the dining room window. “Listen, you abducted her. Yeah. But you chose not to take her life. That's got to count for something.”

“I'm really not sure she's going to be redeemable, to be honest.”

“You were. And you were gone decades longer than she was.” Mayday pointed out. “You gave her a second chance; now you need to actually give her a second chance.”

“What do you mean? I am.”

Mayday shook her head. “Steve seems to think she's making a lot of progress. Correct me if I'm wrong, but he actually seems to like her company.”

“Steve's in over his head.”

“Is he?”

“I'm not sure what you're getting at. Why do you care whether I dislike Six? We have every reason in the world to hate each other.”

“Yes, you do. But maybe if you're a little more accepting of her, it'll push you along as well.”

* * *

That evening the phone on the wall of my room rang. I was reading from a laptop that Tony had delivered to me. It was monitored 100% of the time, but it was also linked to several websites where I could catch up on what had happened since I'd been taken. So far, the entire concept of the eighties was baffling me.

I reached over from my pile of blankets and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Six. It's Natasha.”

I looked oddly at the phone. Natasha? Why was Natasha calling me? “Oh, hi, Natasha.”

“Hi. Listen. Everyone is going out tonight, for pizza and probably to a bar afterwards. Everyone who's in town, anyways. Clint just got back in and it's his birthday.” Natasha explained. I nodded, but wasn't really sure what this had to do with me. “I checked with Maria, and they said it's fine if I bring you along.”

“You want me to come with you? Why?” I didn't mean to sound suspicious, but I was.

“Because you need to get out. Do you think you can handle the crowds? It's Friday night. The bar will be full of drunk people.”

I thought for a minute. “I... I think so. I can leave if I don't want to be there?”

“Yes. If there's a problem I'll bring you home.”

Home. That word hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn't feel like this place was home. I didn't feel like anywhere was home. But they thought I was starting to belong here. “Will Steve be there?”

“Yes. He's had some stuff to do today but he should be there.” Natasha replied.

That was good. I felt calmer with Steve around. “Okay.”

“All right. I'll be up to get you in an hour.” Natasha told me, then started speaking again. “Just wear that black outfit Mayday gave you.”

“Oh... okay.” I hung up the phone. It hadn't occurred to me what I'd wear, but I was vaguely cognizant of the fact that people dressed up to go out. A memory flashed through my mind. I was standing at a bathroom cabinet, in a paisley shirt. My long hair was parted down the middle, and I was rimming my eyes with Kohl eyeliner. The bathroom was unfamiliar. A voice called from the other room. “Hon are you ready to go?”

I finished up with the eyeliner and put it into a drawer. “Yes, Sam, I'll be out in a second.”

I paused. Who was Sam and where had I been? I'd been speaking French; so had he. I shook my head to clear it. Nothing more was coming up. I sighed. If remembering was like this, it was going to take a very long time to figure out my entire life. I picked up the phone, and asked Friday to call Natasha for me. She answered on the first ring.

“It's Nat.”

“Natasha, do you have any eyeliner?”

* * *

“Why are you bringing me along again?” I asked as Natasha pulled into a parking space at a small pizzeria in Brooklyn. I was wearing the black outfit she'd instructed me to put on, and she'd brought me some eyeliner, though she thought that was an odd request until I explained I'd had a flashback of actually using the stuff. Heavily. If my flashback was correct, I'd practically drowned myself in eyeliner in the seventies.

She sighed and looked at me. Wanda leaned forward from the backseat. “Because you're weird and we need to get you unweird.”

Natasha peered at me. “Yeah, pretty much what she said. You aren't going to get back to normal sitting in a tower all the time. The real world- the actual real world- is full of reckless people doing stupid, boozy things on Friday nights. You need to get used to the normal people again.”

I nodded. “I didn't think you all liked me very much.” I stated bluntly.

Wanda and Natasha exchanged a look. “Well, to be honest, I didn't. We got off to kind of a crap start, what with trying to kill each other and all. But, you seem to be clean.” Nat shrugged.

“And it's not like either of us had the most fabulous beginnings either.” Wanda pointed out. I raised my eyebrows. I knew about Natasha being a spy. What had Wanda been? She continued. “I spent my early life, with my brother, in captivity. Actively working against the Avengers. Until I figured out they were the good guys. They had no reason to trust me, either.”

“So we're all coming back from the dark?” I looked at the two women sitting in the car with me. A small redhead in a black jumpsuit with stilettos, and a taller brunette in jeans and the red leather jacket she always wore. They both nodded. “Okay then.” I said under my breath.

“Ladies need to help each other out. Look out for each other.” Natasha got out of the car. “The world is a cruel place. We don't need to make it worse.”

I followed them out and into the restaurant. A group of people were sitting at a booth in the back corner. I recognized Bruce, Bucky, Mayday, Maria, Sam, Tony, and Steve. Another man stood up; smaller than Steve but blonde and substantial. He smiled as we approached. “Nat!”

“Barton! The lure of the big city was too much, huh?” Natasha smiled and hugged her friend.

“Never. But alas, duty calls.” He grinned down at her. “The wife and kids say hello. They want to know when you're coming to visit.”

“As soon as I can get away again.” She avoided the question. I knew Nat had been searching for the General tirelessly. Unfortunately I didn't know where he had gone. Natasha turned. “Clint, this is... Six.”

Clint's eyes fell on me, and a dark look passed over them for just a millisecond. He'd known I was at the tower for sure, but he hadn't actually seen me yet. He put the suspicion away as quickly as it had come, and smiled warmly, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, Six. Welcome.”

Wanda giggled. I raised my brows while shaking his hand. “Dad Barton, holding down the fort since 1977.” She proclaimed loudly. He rolled his eyes and pulled her into a hug.

“How many times do I have to tell you all to stop calling me 'Dad' Barton?!” He asked, feigning exasperation. Everyone took a seat. I was crammed between Natasha and Tony. Steve shot me a look from down the table, as though to ask if I was okay. I nodded back at him, nearly imperceptibly.

“Until one of us dies, bud. Until one of us dies.” Natasha replied, removing her jacket.

The pizzas came and went, and when we were finished eating we gathered our things and prepared to walk to a bar down the street. Before we left, Natasha, Maria, and Wanda dragged me off to the ladies room.

“You doing okay, Six?” Maria asked me as we entered the small bathroom. Wanda raced into a stall. Natasha fixed her lipstick, then also turned to me.

“Yes. I'm all right.” I looked around. “Why did we all come to the bathroom?”

They exchanged a glance. “I guess it's pretty common for women to travel to the bathroom in groups. There's no real reason why. Maybe because we can talk and pee at the same time, so we do.” Wanda stated from inside the stall.

“Pretty much what she said.” Maria shrugged. “The men do it too. They just pretend it's weird when we do it. And assume all we do is talk about them in here.”

Natasha laughed. “God if they knew what we really talked about in here.” Wanda came out of the stall and washed her hands.

“What do we really talk about in here?” I asked. I was getting a fuzzy memory of being a child, and being in the bathroom at school. We were supposed to be in class, but my friend and I were coloring in our coloring books on the floor of the bathroom instead.

“What do we NOT talk about in here?” A woman we didn't know left the other stall. I had known she was in here, but Wanda was startled. The woman washed her hands and left.

“That lady knows how it is.” Natasha pointed out. “Let's go. And guys, in case anyone forgot, it's Bucky's turn to make sure Tony doesn't sing anything embarrassing for Karaoke. It is NOT my turn again.”

“You failed miserably last time when he sang 'Ice Ice Baby.' Though he did rock the mic like a vandal.” Wanda rolled her eyes.

“He told me he was singing 'Freebird!” Natasha protested as we left the room.

* * *

Two hours later, we were a few drinks down at the bar. Well, most of us were. Natasha and Sam were driving, so they hadn't had anything. Steve and Bucky, it turns out, couldn't even get buzzed due to their serum. And that was true for me, as well. So half of us were drinking sodas like they were going out of style, and the other half were draining pitchers of beer. It turned out there was no Karaoke, which everyone was thankful for and made sure to point out to Tony. At nine pm a band set up and began playing on a small stage. While I wasn't really one to be able to judge music, I couldn't say they were good, but they also weren't terrible.

“Oh, oh, you hear what song they aren't playing?” Natasha paused, her hand to her ear. “You hear that Stark?”

“Shove it, Natasha.” Tony threw his dart at the dartboard, missing any points by a mile.

“Do you hear it, Clint?” Nat was still standing very still, as though listening for something. “It's not Vanilla Ice.”

“I rocked the mic. You know I did.” Tony frowned. “Hell, my company probably made the mic.”

Wanda and Sam snorted.

“Okay, Miss Interpretive Dance. Like you did any better.” Tony threw back a drink of beer.

“Beyonce is always better than Vanilla Ice.” Wanda smiled charmingly at Tony. I looked at Steve.

“Who are they talking about? They've mentioned this Vanilla Ice a few times.” I whispered to Steve. He smiled amusedly.

“They're musicians. Vanilla Ice from the nineties, and Beyonce is all over the radio today. Everyone loves Beyonce, and... everyone secretly loves Vanilla Ice but doesn't want to admit it. Or at least that's what I've concluded so far.” Steve leaned back in his chair, his brown leather jacket hanging off the back. He had on a tight blue tee shirt, jeans, and boots.

“Oh.” I nodded. Apparently 'Ice Ice Baby' was a song everyone loved to hate. I looked around. The bar wasn't that crowded, thankfully. I'd carefully cataloged everyone in here when we arrived; no one seemed suspicious or out of place.

“Bars kind of lose their allure when it basically doesn't matter if you're drinking beer or water.” Steve gestured at our sodas.

“I don't remember really, but I don't think I was ever a big drinker.” I shrugged. I didn't care. I was out with actual people doing normal person things, not stuck at the tower or in cryo. Never in my wildest dreams had I even imagined that hanging out on a Friday night was a thing I could do. Or would ever do. The band started another song, and it was really awful. Bucky and Mayday had been dancing, but it was so bad they came back to sit down. Everyone in the room went back to sit down. All of a sudden out side of the room was very crowded with people actively trying to get away from the bad music. Steve saw me look around, slightly anxious.

“You want to get some air?” He asked. I nodded. He grabbed his jacket, and we slipped out the back door to a deserted patio. It had been raining, but there was a pause in the downpour. We stood outside enjoying the silence. “I didn't expect you to come out tonight.” Steve finally said.

“I didn't either. Natasha invited me. She and Wanda were... very nice.”

“I'm glad you did.”

“It's a little overwhelming, but I assume I'll get used to it.” I looked around the patio. “I hear you live in Brooklyn?”

“I do. A few streets over.” Steve nodded. “Maybe you'll see my house sometime. It's not much. But it's a nice little place.”

“I'd like that.” I replied. I looked up as raindrops started falling on my head. A thunderclap rang out, and then lightning flashed, and the rain broke loose. Steve reached out without hesitating, grabbed me, and pulled me under the small awning before I got too soaked.

The awning was tiny, and had barely enough room for Steve under it, let alone both of us.

“Damn. That hit fast.” He shrugged out of his jacket and put it around my shoulders. I was acutely aware of how close our bodies were to one another, and I could tell by Steve's awkward movements and how he was slightly out of breath, that he was too. His hands pulled the jacket around me and pulled me slightly closer to him. I put my hands up against his chest. I looked up into his eyes.

“Yes. It did.” I wasn't sure if I was talking about the weather, or about the current circumstances. His arms had found their way around me slightly, as though he couldn't decide if he was just warming me up or was wrapping them around me. His lips were inches from mine and his eyes were fixed on mine.

“This is probably a bad idea.” He whispered, pulling me closer.

“Probably it is.” I agreed, but I didn't pull away. I didn't want to. A lot of things were up in the air right now. Basically everything. But Steve, well, Steve felt right. I stood on my toes and brought my lips up to his. He drew in a deep breath, pulling me tightly against him. His lips were soft against mine; his stubble was a rough contrast. I brought my hand up around his neck as he bent into the kiss. It was amazing. I forgot about the bad music, the crowded bar; I forgot about everything for a few moments. We were both lost in the kiss so completely, it knocked us both out into the rain when the door was opened from the inside and Bucky walked out.

“Hey Steve, Six, we gotta go. Maria said some information just came through from the CIA and-” Bucky stopped short and stared at us. Steve still had his arms around me, but now we were in the downpour. “What were you guys just doing?”

“Uhhh... nothing.” I replied, at the same time Steve said, “Kissing.”

I forgot, Steve never lied. I rolled my eyes. That was a stupid move, Steve. Bucky really didn't like me. He clearly wasn't thrilled I'd been kissing his best friend. Bucky glared at me, turned on his heel, and marched back into the bar.

Continued in “Six” pt 5: Don't Fear the Reaper