No More Second Chances

Sam Ubered, because doing a walk of shame after being lapped by Captain America was not happening, not today. He couldn’t do much walking even if he wanted to, as his legs felt swollen from stings of overexertion.

Once he arrived home, he wished the driver a good rest of her day, and checked his mailbox. Distracted from flipping through his mail, an alluring Bath and Body Works coupon, some takeout flyers and a Veterans Associations check - likely because his direct deposit wasn’t working again - Sam almost missed it. Someone was watching him. 

Clearing his throat, he pretended to sift through in his mail again. The weight of their gaze didn’t leave. 

“Okay. I’m gonna make coffee, and an English muffin with salmon.”

Sam walked up the steps, taking an achingly long time to locate his keys, giving the watcher a chance to leave. 

They didn’t.

He went inside, made a salmon English muffin just like he promised himself, and ate facing his window outlooking the front of his house. 
 
His morning was already unusual, he’d rather not add a breaking and entering to the list. 

Sam couldn’t see anyone in the foliage of trees across the street. There weren’t many other places to hide in this neighborhood, and his gut was telling him he was being spied on from there. Sam savored his breakfast, grabbing a random newspaper he had laying on the table, propped his feet up and waited. 

An hour and a half later, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Branches shifted in the opposite direction of the wind. As much as Sam wanted to pat himself on the back for his sharp intuition, and confirming he truly didn’t suffer a paranoid psychotic break, this was still a predicament to be in. He knew it wouldn’t be until night time the person would act. It was too bright and busy for a robbery in the middle of a Saturday. Albeit, a robbery would be the best case scenario, if he was honest with himself. 

As Sam took a shower, he decided it’d be safer to stay out late tonight, call the cops right when it got dark, pretending to be a concerned citizen observing suspicious activity. While he could assuredly hold his own in a fight, he decided to play it safe. If the person could nearly slip under his radar, they had to be experienced. Hopefully, the police will at least scare them away. His new security system will be delivered literally tomorrow. It’d be shitty luck if something happens before then.

The veteran shut off the shower, stepping out to inspect himself for any touch ups needed, before applying some lotion and wrapping a towel around his waist. He paused right before he opened the door of the bathroom, just in case he read the watcher wrong and they were insane enough to break in midday. Luckily, no other sounds disturbed the peace. Sam sauntered into his bedroom to pick out an outfit, why not go all out today? It was already weird, he’ll make it even weirder by going to the park, the mall, and a bar. Flirt with some people, have a little fun. 

Based on his finalized plans, he picked out a hazelnut brown leather jacket, gray crew neck shirt, light wash jeans and his old white Air Forces. He never got over the irony of wearing Air Forces, especially at his age. It was a brighter outfit than he normally wore, but the man was in a funky mood. 

Sam locked up, bounding excitedly down the steps from his impromptu day off. He made his way down the street, the watcher unrelenting until Sam felt the tension leave his shoulders as he turned the block corner. Spontaneously, Sam stopped by a bookstore on his way to the Waterfront Park, purchasing a copy of The Revenant. 

“Original edition, huh! What’d you think of-” 

Sam cut off the cashier's excited chatter. “Hold on now, I haven’t read it yet. No spoilers please.” 

“Oh-oh sorry about that, I guarantee you’ll enjoy it though.” She smiled, small curls bouncing as she recited his total. Sam smiled at her energy, declined a bag and went on his way, even more ready to bury his nose in a good book. Sam arrived, wandering the park a bit before settling down on a bench with a nice view of the overpass across Theodore Island. 

He quickly became enraptured by the story. The main character, Hugh Glass, apparently a real frontiersman too, was making some odd choices Sam could feel play into the characters' fate later on. All he wanted to do was read more, find out what happens after the campfire conversation with Captain Henry, when he felt the familiar tingle of a gaze on his back. 

“You have got to be kidding me…” He muttered. There went his well calculated plan, foiled. This wasn’t something he simply could brush off.  “I’m already out, hell if my day is going to be ruined.” 

He’ll continue the rest of his day, carrying out his itinerary. Maybe his stalker will become deterred as the day progresses. As if to annoy his stalker, Sam cleared his throat loudly, shuffling as if he wasn’t comfortable already. Throughout the afternoon, Sam was able to mostly focus on the book while maintaining a keen awareness on his environment. Between splitting his attention, dusk fell quicker than he anticipated, realizing he only had three chapters left. 

“Damn,” Sam yawned and stretched, putting on his leather jacket as he felt a wind chill. “I’ll finish it tomorrow.” 

Sam opted to skip the mall, and head straight to the nearest bar. It had mostly a younger, more hip aesthetic than he was accustomed to, but not too outside his age range as he could pick out some people more his age. Good, the night was just getting started. Sam found a corner seat at the bar, the amber lighting from the unique spherical glass lamps neatly complimented the turquoise green and black furniture. 

“Whiskey iced. Any brand. Thanks.” 

The veteran zoned out, until the bartender handed him his drink. He nodded another thank you, and took a few gulps, nearly finishing the glass. The bartender raised an eyebrow, but shrugged instead of saying anything, thankfully. How would he even go about explaining a stalker he had no evidence of? 

“Maybe the paparazzi saw me with Captain earlier?” Sam muttered to himself. 

“Who’s Captain? You in the military, handsome?” 

A younger woman, maybe by a handful of years, took a seat next to him, swiveling enough to knock her knees against his. She had pretty, sleek straight hair and caramel skin. A basic, but cute pickup attempt he’d run with, if he was in the mood right now. He spared her a side glance, aiming to make a statement he wasn’t interested in before answering. 

“I was.” 

“You saw your Captain today?”

Sam almost snorted. “Something like that.” If he thought his curt answers would suffice, he was wrong. Clearly, she was stubborn or couldn’t pick up on social cues. Coupled with the ever persistent watchful gaze he felt of what could be permeating from anywhere, Sam’s mood was souring fast. She pouted at this, and tried to keep up conversation.

“Let me get you another one of those, I can tell it wasn’t a good time then I guess.”

Sam simply nodded as she signaled the bartender. He’d never say no to free drinks.

“So, how can I make it better, mister…?” 

If she wanted his name, she didn’t care enough to wait as she snaked her arm through his elbow. Not tonight, nope, he did not have any desire to be touched by a stranger while being so high strung. 

He quickly removed his arm from her hold. “Please miss, you’d find better luck with someone else tonight.” 

“Excuse me? Better luck? You wanna specify what you mean by that?”

Oh no. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, as she somehow took offense to his rejection. Had she never been rejected before? The bartender arrived with the same drink, except, instead of drinking it, it dripped down his grey shirt and jeans. 

Do not body slam a civilian. Do not body slam a civilian. Do not body slam a civilian. Do not -

“What, got nothing to say?!” 

He needed to get out of here, go home, and just call the cops. Or he’ll call them on his way home. Yes, a better plan. Sam did indeed have nothing to say to the woman, taking out a twenty and leaving it on the bar. 

“Uh, sir, that’s not enough…” 

Sam looked at the bartender incredulously. This man really poured him top shelf.  “Here.” Sam slammed another $40 on the counter, and swiftly left before the bartender could say anything else. That woman would pay for it if it wasn’t enough. 

Never call a woman a bitch, even in your head son.

Sam relented, listening to old advice and letting it go. He fidgeted with his dog tags, waiting for another Uber while leaning against the bars’ stone wall. Lucky for him, it was a Saturday night, giving him an excuse to observe the busy crowd before him. Sam still couldn’t pinpoint his stalker, but felt their gaze all the same. He cursed under his breath. 

“911 what's your emergency?” 

Sam pitched up his voice just in case. 

“Yeah, hi, I was taking a walk through Glenwood Drive, and noticed someone rushing out of a pretty blue house, they were carrying stuff in a black trash bag? They didn’t look like the owner… I’ve seen the owner around myself.”

“Okay, do you have the address of the house?”

“Yeah it’s uhhhhh….2570 Glenwood Drive, zip code 20005.” Sam liked to think of himself as a good actor when he needed to be. 

“Okay thank you, do you have a description of the suspicious person or the owner?” 

Good point, they might shoot him if he’s just getting home, and he’d rather not have his last day on earth having been outrun by Captain America and a drink thrown on him. 

“Uhhhh… not a suspicious person but I’m uhhhh pretty sure the owner's name is Sam? He’s a very hot black man, six foot one I was planning on hitting on him but-”

“Uh okay, we’ll send a squad car out, are you still nearby? What is your name?”

“Oh no I’m not nearby, I got outta there fast, oh my Ubers here!” Sam aggressively tapped the hangup button, just as the Uber pulled up. He’ll take small wins where he can today. The veteran ignored the look the driver shot him, dreaming of his tempurpedic bed, once again fiddling with his dog tags. He told the driver to just drop him on the sidewalk, as the street was partially blocked by the squad car, red and blue lights dancing off his house. 

“Hello sir, is this your house?”

“Yes, yes it is. Sam Wilson.”

“We got a call about twenty minutes ago about suspicious activity, an unauthorized person exiting your home, did you have any guests over?”

 
“No sir, no guests. Just me. I left around noon today.”

The police officer guided Sam over to his front door. “Mr. Wilson, we swept the premises for any sign of forced entry and found no sign. The door was also locked. Would you like us to inspect your home before you enter?” 

Sam, exhausted, slightly hangry, and suddenly realizing he forgot his book at the bar as if to rub salt onto his wound, politely declined. The stalker couldn’t have beat him home, made it past two cops sweeping the very cramped parameter, bright exposing lights from the cruiser, and be waiting for him inside his bedroom. He chuckled at himself, waving to the officers from his window as they drove off.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Sam kicked off his shoes, raided his own fridge to chug a protein shake from yesterday, and shrugged off his leather jacket. He left his keys in the kitchen bowl, finally trekking upstairs. As he opened the door, Sam stripped off his damp shirt, planning to flop on the bed and lazily kick off his jeans. 

Funnily enough, the back of an intruder greeted him instead, sitting at his desk across the room reading, flipping through his copy of Revenant. 

Sam sucked in a sharp breathe, and the intruder jolted slightly, as if the sound startled them. Neither person moved, Sam noting his phone in his back pocket, the lamp as the closest weapon to him. Sam screamed silently in his head. 

Why weren’t they moving??

Finally, after what felt like hours, the person cleared their throat - a man - and shifted in his seat. He exhaled, raised his hands as if he was getting arrested and started to slowly stand.

“Stay right there. Face me. Do not move.” Sam was glad his voice didn’t tremble, but his instincts were urging him to run or fight. He didn’t like this, not one bit. 

The man paused, then continued even slower, until Sam could get a good look at the intruder. Probably around his height, maybe slightly taller than Sam. The man was also bulkier than he seemed when he was sitting, as if he was purposefully making himself smaller. He was coincidentally wearing a hat, dark wash clothes with military issue combat boots, and no weapons as far as Sam could see on his person. His face was… attractive… sure, but how attractive is someone stalking somebody else all day and breaking into their home? If he wanted to hit on Sam he could’ve done it in a different way.

“What?” The man sounded surprised.

“Shit, I said that outload. Nevermind.”

The man looked like he was.. blushing? It was too dark to tell.

“You military?”

The man cleared his throat. “Something like it.” As if that answer clarified anything. 

“Why were you following me all day today?” 

Again, surprise painted the man's face. “You knew I was?” 

“I was in the military too. I know what to look out for. Now answer the question.”

“I…I came to talk to you?” 

“Is that a question?” The intruder was getting on Sam’s last nerves “Try. Again.”  He curled his fists, ready to swing. 

The intruder must've sensed this, as he lifted his hands higher in surrender. “Wait, seriously I need to talk to you. Sam I -”

Sam crossed the room in a flash, snatching the lamp on the way. Ex-military, ‘talking’, expert surveillance, this man was dangerous. There’s a hit on him, they’ve come for the suit. 

“James Buchanan Barnes, Steve Rogers Best Friend, codename Winter Soldier, captured POW by Hydra since 1945!” 

The intruder - James - rushed out in one breath, his hands protecting his face as Sam halted halfway in a swing. He took this as an opportunity to continue. 

“You’re Sam Wilson, callsign Falcon, performing off-the-books missions for the Air Force for two tours before retiring to help recovering veterans at the VA clinic. You have a sister in Lousi-”

Sam raised the lamp again, even more ready to strike if James uttered one more word.

“Ah- uh- you’ll meet Steve Rogers on a morning run and he’ll promise to visit the VA!”

Sam narrowed his eyes at the man, then slowly lowered his lamp and set it down on his desk. He didn’t blink once as he dialed 911, hovering over the call button. 

“I met Steve this morning. Answer the damn question. James.”

The intruder swallowed and sat down, looking upset, which grated Sam’s nerves even more. He’s the one with an apparent time traveling POW in his room, sounding as if he knew Sam.

“Like I said before, my name is James Buchanan Barnes. I was in the 107th, fighting with Steve against Nazis before I fell off a train and got captured by Nazi-offshoots called Hydra. They conditioned me to become the Winter Soldier, a trained assassin, and kept me alive all this time by freezing me in and out of ice for when it was convenient.”

James paused to take a breath, also glancing at Sam to give him space to say or ask something. Sam just glared at the man. If this man was having a psychotic break, lord help Samuel Thomas Wilson. 

“I-I have no easy way to say this but I somehow…traveled back in time to this body, ten years ago. “ James visibly cringed as he said it, but continued, “ I stalked you because you and I will become partners…in the future.”

Sam stared, now blankly, and once again James took this as an invitation to continue. 

“Believe me I know it sounds literally insane, and I wasn’t sure the best approach to this but you're the most trustworthy person I know, you’re-”

“Partners as in…gay lovers?”

“W-what!”

“You said partners.”

“Yeah as in, co-operatives on a mission partners?!”

Sam narrowed his eyes on James. He was blushing , clearly this time. Maybe this James had residual homophobia from the 1940s, or he had a crush on Sam in the future. Either way, he was too out of it to process this correctly. 

“So…what you are telling me is… you spent all day stalking me because you couldn’t decide the best way to open a conversation with me about time traveling. So…you decided to threaten me…break into my house…and hope that’d break the ice.”

James winced. “Okay look maybe not the best-”

“Damn straight, stupid ass idea. For an apparent assassin you not only suck ass at stalking, you have zero strategic outlook. ‘sides I don’t know you, today, how can I be the most trustworthy person? Why not go to Steve?”

“I-It’s c-complicated but please, Sam.” James’ eyes watered, his voice pleading with Sam, no, begging him for help. Puppy dog eyes, ones that curiously reminded him of Steve Rogers. Sam groaned, turning off his phone and leaning against the wall. The coldness reminded him he was still shirtless. He sighed again, turning his back to James, sifting through his closet for a sweater.

“Wh-you’re not gonna…”

“What, what am I not gonna do James. If you really are an assassin, and I have half a mind to believe you because that was damn good surveillance, along with sneaking past the cops, you would have killed me by now if you wanted to. I’m taking a risk here, don’t make me regret it.” Sam found what he was looking for, his cuddly fluffy brown sweater, and signaled James to follow him down to the kitchen. James hesitated at the stairwell, and Sam sighed again. He closed the window curtains and turned on the kitchen sink light. 

“You thirsty?”

James cleared his throat. “Yes, water please. Thank you.”

“So. What do you want and need from me.”

“You really believe me?” 

Sam simply shrugged, and James scowled, scratching at the mug enamel. 

“I need a safe place to stay. Someone to brainstorm with and figure out the next move. Being from the future seems to be very… complicated. Things…happen. Bad things. I can't get home on my own, but I also can't sit back and wait for these things to occur.” 

James drank from his water, lost in the depths of his cup. Sam suddenly shuddered, unnerved by what he was saying. 

Sam swallowed down his fear. “What do you mean, bad things James?”

James sighed defeatedly, refusing to meet Sam’s eyes, but Sam had a feeling he’d see a look as haunted as James sounded.

“ I - I - Sam, I wish that the things out there, you wouldn’t need to know about. But. These things affect the whole world. Everything we know and love. It’s… worse than New York, much, much worse.”