Performance of A Lifetime
As soon as they pass the security checks, and take off their overcoats, Steve stuns at the vision in front of him.
Y/n is wearing a black chiffon floor-length dress, with a slit running down her right thigh and gold motifs all over. The middle has a corset with sleeves extending up to her fingers. There’s a simple black mask covering the upper half of her face similar to his own. He’s wearing a beige suit with a black tie and pocket square to match her dress.
Steve has to actively remind himself to breathe, too lost in the vision that is her.
“What?” She asks him, confused.
He shakes his head, “Nothing, you look—you just—you look beautiful.”
She takes his arm and begins moving them along.
The hall, while being spacious, is fairly lacking in decorations. The walls are pitch black and the displays are presented on pedestals with glass coverings. A hologram attached on top, showing the stats next to a video playing of it being used in the field. At the end of the hall is a giant glass shielding a stage behind it. The weapons are being demonstrated live on it, but there are no loud explosions. The glass shield is bulletproof as well as soundproof, Steve realizes. Because all he can hear is the classical music playing while waiters carrying around champagne atop silver plates.
It’s all very aristocratic for Steve’s taste. And if he knows her well enough, and he thinks does, Y/n doesn’t like it much either. Though that isn’t reflected on her face as she looks around. She seems far too focused on counting exists, assessing the security, and reading as many people as she can.
Steve knows he should be doing the same, and he will in a minute. But right now, the warm light of the dimly lit room is making her look even more ethereal. He needs a minute to take it in.
“I hate it,” Y/n replies to his statement, her face even but her tone far from it.
“But you look stunning,” Steve smiles at her, as they browse through the displays.
“Thanks, but I’d still much rather be in a suit,” she pulls on her sleeves. She’s uncomfortable.
“As exquisite as that sight would be, it would bruise the overly fragile egos of the deplorable bastards we’re surrounded with,” Malcolm comments over the comms.
“And we can’t have that,” she snickers, picking up a glass of champagne off of a waiter’s plate. She downs the whole thing in one go. And the moment she’s done, she goes for another, downing that fairly quickly as well.
“Woah. Woah,” Steve warns lightly, “slow down.”
Her brows snap together in disagreement.
“Let the lady have a little fun, Mr. Rogers,” Malcolm chimes in. Steve can spot him a few feet over to their left, standing next to the bar with a drink in his hand. He laughs before adding, “Do we have to call you ‘Mr. Rogers’ now? It makes you sound so prim and proper… so vanilla.” He takes a sip of his drink. “And considering Y/n was interested enough to keep you around, you cannot possibly be Mr. Vanilla.”
“Mal,” is all Y/n says and the smile vanishes from his face in an instant.
“Pardon me, that was quite rude,” Malcolm apologizes.
“It was. Now stop being a dickhead and let’s mingle,” she chides.
And so they do. Steve and Y/n look around trying their best to spot the display charged by alien tech. Having been at both locations first hand, they think they might have a better chance but they don’t. All the weapons, while seemingly destructive, don’t seem particularly different.
Malcolm on the other hand goes around talking to several of the people with his signature sly smile and no doubt flirting with anyone and everyone. Seemingly fitting in perfectly in this atmosphere.
“Alright, it’s official. Steve and I have struck out,” Y/n comments, sipping on champagne.
“Captain, Sergeant Barnes, are you on-site?” Malcolm asks.
“On-site and in position,” Sam says over the comms.
“Guess that’s our cue. Let’s roll,” she says, handing Steve her glass of champagne. “There’s a woman in green on your 10.” She plays with the lapel of his shirt. “She’s been making googly eyes at you since the moment we walked in.” She leans in close to him, his hands falling on her waist on instinct. Or well, he thinks it might be instinct, maybe he just wants— She brings her lips close to his ear (without the comms), almost brushing them. “I’m gonna go to the ladies’ room, and you go talk to her.” She pulls away.
“What?” He asks, still somewhat lost in the trance that she managed to rope him into fairly easily. He shakes his head in hopes of becoming somewhat cognizant again.
“Flirt with her,” she says, patting his cheek and then walking off.
Oh.
Flirt.
Yeah, he can do that.
He clears his throat, turns around, spotting the woman, and makes his way over. She’s at the bar and as mentioned by Y/n, is checking him out quite shamelessly.
“Oh this is gonna be so good.” He can hear Sam chuckling in his ear.
He can do this. He can. Right?
He leans on the bar, disposing of Y/n’s already glass of champagne. “Whiskey,” he tells the bartender. “And another martini for the lady,” he points at the woman in green.
She leans in closer to him, her smile growing. “I’m quite capable of buying my own drinks…?”
He takes the drinks from the bartender, offering her the glass of martini which she accepts despite the previous protest. “Frank. Frank Adler.” He takes a sip, turning to face her. “Do I get the pleasure of getting your name?”
“I’d rather you worked for it,” she smiles at him, bringing the toothpick-ed olive to her lips and seductively biting it off.
Unfortunately for her, Steve’s heart only has so much space to house only so many women. Peggy and Y/n seem to have claimed the territory without much effort.
But, he smiles nonetheless, “Would it be far too cliché to ask, what a beautiful woman like you is doing in a place like this?” He hates having to sound this condescending, but he thinks it goes with the character.
“Yes, but you’re handsome enough to pull it off,” she replies, pulling on the lapel of his suit.
He leans into it, playing along. “Glad you think so. Was worried for a second there. Thought I wasn’t handsome enough to pique your interest.”
She clicks her tongue, “Now now, when did I ever say that?” She takes another sip from her drink. “I just think the pretty lady you came in with wouldn’t appreciate us getting… friendly, is all.”
“What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her, can it?” What else is he supposed to say?
“Oh,” she chuckles. “But she knows.”
His brows furrow in confusion.
Until suddenly, a hand falls on his shoulder, turning around.
“You fucking bastard!” She exclaims. “I look away for one second and you jump on the nearest warm body you can find?” She’s shouting. Like, actually shouting. People are staring, and Steve can’t do anything but stand there with his jaw on the floor. “What? You have nothing to say for yourself?”
Oh yeah, words. He knows those. “I was just buying her a drink,” he tries, but it comes out more as a question than an explanation.
“Oh fuck off!” And then she slaps him. Right across the face. He can hear his ears ring.
Satisfied with her sudden assault, she turns around and begins walking away.
“Cap, give me a countdown. We’ve got to time this perfectly,” she says over the comms, breaking Steve out of his state of utter and complete shock.
He begins following her towards what he realizes is a locked security room, with guards and all. “Doll,” he calls out.
“Ten,” Sam begins counting down.
She keeps walking, ignoring him.
Nine.
She runs into the security guards, bumping them.
Eight.
“Let me out,” she chokes out sniffling, fighting with the security as they keep protesting in a heavy accent. Is the woman fake crying? Is this just a Stark women thing?
Seven.
“Hey, get your hands off her,” he threatens the guards. A part of him is seething, even though he knows she can handle herself without an issue.
Six.
“Doll,” he tries again.
Five.
“Go talk to that, bitch!” She exclaims still not turning, trying to get out.
Four.
“Come on, doll,” he coos at her.
Three.
“You’re an asshole!”
Two.
“Will you calm down?” He’s on edge.
One.
“I want to get out.” She pushes the men off, opening the door, triggering the silent alarm and suddenly the two more guards are on her.
“Hey, hey!” Steve protests, taking her in his arms, pulling away from the men from her. She keeps sniffling softly in his embrace. “Back off.”
“Sir, this area is restricted—” one of the men tries to explain.
“Do I look like I give a shit?” His tone is so angry, he alarms her too. He can feel her freeze in his arms. The door is still open, but his fury makes them step away. “Doll, come on. I was just talking. Okay? She means nothing to me,” he soothes her, caressing her face. And god, did he miss that face. She looks up at him with glassy eyes and his heart breaks. “I love you. I’ll always love you, you know that.” And he can’t pretend, even to himself, that he’s just acting. Because he really isn’t.
She sniffles, “You promise?”
“Promise.” Just like the rest of the evening, he gets lost in her all over again.
“Sir—” a guard interrupts.
“Yeah, yeah! We’re going. Keep your pants on,” Y/n chides, seemingly done crying. She pulls Steve away by his hand, walking off.
“And the Academy Award for Best Actress in the leading role goes to,” Malcolm chimes in over the comms, sounding utterly impressed.
Y/n snickers a bit, pursing her lips, trying her best to hide it. “You guys in?”
“Oh yeah, we got in a long time ago. Just didn’t want to interfere with that masterpiece of a scene,” Sam replies, and Steve can hear the smile on his face. He can’t stop his own lips from curving up.
“Captain, you just heard it. I assure you, the pleasure of watching it unfold was far greater. Almost breathtaking,” Malcolm adds.
He realizes Bucky has stayed uncharacteristically silent throughout.
Y/n and Steve have made their way to a corner, only a few feet away from Malcolm, when she says, “Mal, do shut up.” Her tone has no heat whatsoever.
“Oh come on. I’m just excited about being here, on the field with my childhood hero. I got to watch him get slapped right across the face.” Steve can see him smiling as he speaks. “I was quite the fan of yours, Mr. Rogers. I used to skip lunches to save up enough to buy your comics.”
“And yet you chose to become an arms dealer,” Steve can’t help but retort. He doesn’t quite understand him. Y/n doesn’t trust people often, so for her to trust a criminal like him…
“Well, we’ve all got a day job, doesn’t mean we love it,” Malcolm answers smoothly.
“But you do seem to love it. You seem like you’re having the time of your life,” he notes.
“Steve,” Y/n rebukes him but Malcolm is already answering.
“Looks can be quite deceiving, Mr. Rogers,” he takes a sip from the glass of amber liquid.
“Man, you’re literally invited to one of the most top-secret weapons conventions ever,” Sam chides. He sounds somewhat distracted, no doubt working on cracking the list. “You like it or not, you’re just like the rest of these people.”
“You used to run with the likes of Claw,” Steve accuses, thinking back to reading his file back when they were looking for Claw when Ultron struck.
“I am nothing like these people. And I’m sure as shit absolutely nothing like Claw,” Malcolm interjects. And for the first time since this whole thing started his sly attitude is gone. His tone is harsh and serious. “These pricks are only interested in hurting people.”
“And you’re more interested in selling weapons to people who do the hurting,” Steve supplies.
“Keep your hands clean,” Sam surmises.
“Guys—” Y/n tries to interject but is promptly cut off by Malcolm’s response.
“I’m only interested in selling weapons to insurgent groups whose causes I believe in.” Malcolm seems genuinely insulted by their accusations. “I’ve got a code, and even if it doesn’t seem to align with yours, I follow it without fault.”
“So you’re an arms trader with a heart of gold?” Sam asks, sardonically.
“Something like that,” The sly Malcolm is back as quickly as he’d left.
“Come on man, even if that’s true, there’s much better ways to make change than selling illegal weapons,” Sam tries to reason.
Steve can hear Malcolm snicker over the comms. “That optimism is a luxury, orphans of Madripoor like myself cannot afford, Captain.”
“All the righteousness doesn’t make you better than these people, Brekker,” Bucky interjects for the first time in the night. “Just makes you different.”
“For fuck’s sake. All of you, get off his ass,” Y/n reprimands, seemingly pissed off with all of them. “If you don’t have anything nice to say, then keep it to your damn selves.”
Malcolm, though, just laughs, “It’s alright, darling. I make no apologies for the choices I had to make to become the man that I am.” There’s a challenge in his voice as he says it. He finishes the last of the booze in his glass, “Besides sticks and stones, blah blah.”
Y/n though seems to still be quite upset over the whole interaction on his behalf. But changes the subject nonetheless. “Cap, tell me you got a name.”
“I don’t, the list has no names,” Sam replies but before anyone can panic he adds, “But I do know which display is the one Brekker needs to bid on.” Their ears perk up. “Number 12.”
“On it,” Malcolm answers, taking off to the hosts to place his bid. Exchanging pleasant smiles and a large sum of money, he turns back to them and nods.
The moment he does, Y/n lets out a breath of relief. “I can finally get out this fucking dress.”
“Not so soon,” Bucky cuts in through the comms. “We might have a problem.”
“Of course we do,” Y/n comments.
“What is it, Buck?” Steve asks.
“The doors are locked again, and apparently we can’t exit without triggering the alarm,” Bucky explains.
“Brilliant,” Malcolm remarks sarcastically.
Y/n however, is already taking off. “Mal, you thinking what I’m thinking?” Steve jogs to catch up to her. She takes a side exit to leave the main hall into a corridor.
“Of course, darling. Already en route,” Malcolm replies.
“Where are we going?” Steve asks her, in a hushed tone. She just shushes him and keeps walking. A minute later they turn the corner and spot Malcolm… very passionately making out with the guard.
He opens his eyes when he senses them nearby, but the man he’s got his tongue down the throat of seems reprehensibly lost in the act. And then Malcolm looks at them and winks. And Steve has to give him kudos because the man always seems to come out charming as all hell no matter the situation.
Y/n and Steve silently make their way past, opening a door marked restricted. “We’ve tripped the alarm,” she informs the rest. “Get out, now,” she says as the two of them move into what seems like a storage room and wait.
“What about the two of you?” Sam asks.
“We’ll have to get caught or they’ll come searching for you,” Y/n says as she begins adjusting her dress… pushing her sleeves off. She messes up her hair and smudges her makeup. Um, why does Steve have a bad feeling about this? “So we’ll get caught,” she adds, her expression unreadable.
She pushes a few boxes off the shelves behind them in the darkroom.
“Y/n, you naughty girl,” Malcolm snides.
“Get out of here, Mal.” She looks at Steve, giving him a once-over. “Cap, Sarge, you too. We’ll see you at the rendezvous point.” She takes a moment to consider and messes up his hair, and hastily undoes his tie. While she’s at it, they hear footsteps approach and Steve looks at her helplessly. “Just suck it up and kiss me, Rogers.”
And who is he to say no to that?
He leans in, as she pulls him in by his tie. Their lips move together and Steve can’t help but melt into the touch. He pushes her against the shelf, shaking it. Meanwhile one of her hands climbs up to his shoulder, and the other remains on the tie. His hands find her waist as she wraps one leg around his hip. He can’t really stop himself from pouring in every ounce of passion and anguish he’s been feeling since the day he left her behind. He pulls her in closer and though she comes willingly, it all feels different. Their lips are slotted together, nipping at each other but it just isn’t the same.
He remembers the last kiss they shared. It’s almost seared onto his lips. How can it not be, she was turning to dust in her hands. Promising him that she loved him no matter what and before he could even tell her he would always feel the same, she was gone; blipped away.
But this has none of the care or love or passion he was so used to. This is hollow.
Just an act.
Which is broken up quite soon, as security runs in flashing their torches at the pair. “Sir, you can’t be here,” he sounds exasperated. Y/n and Steve pull away, and Steve can’t bring himself to speak because, after that kiss, he knows he’s lost. “How did you even get in?”
He’s lost hope. She isn’t his anymore. She hasn’t been for a while.
“Same way we’re gonna get out,” Y/n replies easily, pulling two hundred dollar bills from two 1000 krona notes from the pockets of her dress and handing it to the guard before pulling a very distracted Steve behind her.
“Thank god for pockets,” she says as they exit the museum.