Longing

Steve looks down at the file Nat just handed him, his stomach rolling with a combination of worry, regret and hope. There is hope, Bucky pulled him from the water, after all, meaning that Bucky’s brainwashed mind remembers something, or at least doubts what’s he’s been told by Hydra. That alone is enough to drive Steve forward.

“You’re going after him, aren’t you?”

It’s not even a question as far as Steve’s concerned, “You don’t have to come with me.”

“When do we start?”

~ * ~

After yet another lead doesn’t pan out the way he’d hoped, Steve loses his temper. Fortunately, the only person around to see him taking his frustration and anger out on the desk, chair and walls of a currently unoccupied exam room at the VA where he’s been helping out to keep his mind occupied, is Sam.

Sam doesn’t say anything for a long time, just stands leaning against the door frame in that irritatingly patient way of his. Once Steve has regained some of his composure, he hears footsteps approaching even through the pounding throb of his heartbeat in his temples and ears. Eventually his friend finally speaks.

“Take an early lunch, Cap.” It’s quiet, but firm.

Steve drops his head lower, already hunched over a broken desk, “I’m fine,” he grits out.

Sam snorts, “Yeah, looks like,” Steve’s glare doesn’t stop him, though, he crosses his arms across his chest, feet spread, slightly...not threatening, but imposing all the same. He raises an eyebrow at Steve, “take a break, I got the next group. You’re no good to anyone like this.”

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, his eyes burning hot with unshed tears, and nods. He doesn’t turn to look back at Sam again, he can’t, he’s still shaking from anger and too many feelings swirling around that make his heart ache. He knows his friend understands - for the most part, anyway - and the super soldier pulls himself together enough to head outside without feeling the need to rip apart the nearest poor, unsuspecting inanimate object.

~ * ~

“Hey Cap, the usual?”

Steve is startled to realise he’s unknowingly wandered down to the deli he and Sam often go to for lunch, “Uh, yeah, please” he hears himself respond, pulling his wallet out on autopilot. The last thing he feels like doing right now is eating, he still feels sick, but appearances have to be maintained. He plasters on a smile as best as he can, takes the cup of coffee and bagged sandwich and leaves with a hurried, “thanks.”

Ten minutes later Steve’s sat on a park bench, the crumpled brown paper bag to his left and sipping the coffee. As he savours the flavourful brew, he’s grateful that the food isn’t the only thing that’s improved since the forties. He closes his eyes, tips his head back to enjoy the sunlight and allows his thoughts to drift - as they always do, now - to Bucky. He’s seeing the face of both his dreams and nightmares: that confused, conflicted face that was hovering above him on the helicarrier. He wants so desperately to change that pained look from his oldest friend’s face and replace it with the cocky, mischievous and carefree smile he remembers as if it were yesterday.

Steve is drawn from his thoughts by a low, yet high pitched whining sound close by. He blinks away the bright sunlight and focuses on the source of the noise. A chocolate Labrador is sitting off to his left, not close enough to touch but close enough to make his presence known. He’s young, barely more than a puppy, and adorable. A pair of large blue eyes is boring into Steve like they’re trying to look into his soul. Something in his brain registers that they look vaguely familiar before he pushes the thought away.

The blond cautiously extends his hand out in the dog’s general direction to gauge his reaction and is pleased when the animal moves forward a couple of steps, sniffing quickly before his tongue darts out to quickly lick Steve’s hand, “Hey, boy,” he croons, keeping his voice calm so as not to scare the dog away, “whatcha doin’ here all alone?” Steve leans forward a little on the bench and looks for what might be the owner of the dog, but he can’t see anyone.

He looks back at the dog who’s simply sat watching him, now, eyes glancing between Steve’s own and the paper bag next to him. It dawns on him, then, “Are you hungry?” The Captain startles slightly when the dog lets out an answering bark, and licks his lips. “Come on over,” he reaches into the bag and unwraps the sandwich before deconstructing it and pulling off a large slice of pastrami. He tears off a small piece, “here you go,” he says, throwing it so it lands at the dog’s paws. Steve smiles to himself as the lab swallows it down without chewing, licking his lips some more before taking a couple of steps closer before sitting again, watching both Steve and the food.

By the time all of the meat has been picked off the sandwich and eaten, the dog is so close that Steve can feel the heat from the lab’s body. He wipes his hands on a napkin and reaches out, slowly. The dog sniffs his hand, before that hot tongue pokes out again to lick the remnants of meat from Steve’s fingers, making the man chuckle. He reaches out a little further, aiming to pet the dog, when suddenly the animal’s head snaps up and looks at something behind the bench. He takes a few steps back and stands stock still - on guard - a low growl barely audible before a short bark. Steve follows the dog’s eyeline and looks over his own shoulder to where Sam is standing a few feet away.

“I see you made a friend,” Sam says with a small chuckle.

“Yeah,” Steve says, turning back to the dog who is still standing with the same defensive posture, “he was hungry, can’t see a collar on him so I don’t know if he’s a stray,” Both men jump when the dog growls loud and fierce before barking twice in Sam’s direction, “Hey, boy,” Steve says in a soothing voice, “it’s OK, that’s Sam, he’s my friend, too.”

The growling gets louder, a small snarl following as the other man takes a few steps closer towards the bench, “I don’t think he wants to be my friend!” Sam says, “Are you feeling better, Cap? Ready to head back in?”

The dog closes in on Steve, letting out a low whine and a quick, sharp bark drawing the man’s attention again. Steve studies the pup, curiously, watching as he turns his head questioningly to the side, almost as if he’s asking Steve to stay. There’s a new group session starting in a few minutes and Steve knows he should go back in, to clear up the mess he made in anger, if nothing else.

He sighs and turns back to the lab, “Sorry, big guy, I gotta get going.” He reaches out again and this time the dog comes up close, allowing Steve to stroke his head and ear, turning and leaning into his touch. Steve scrubs his hand over the dog’s entire head with a little more pressure, feeling calmer the more he strokes and scratches. The fur under has hands is silky smooth and somehow soothing. The pup nuzzles in closer, obviously not wanting their encounter to end, either.

Eventually Steve pulls away from the dog, standing and heading towards to hospital, giving one last scratch behind the ear and a pat on the head, “See you around, pal.” The dog whines and when Steve looks down, those blue eyes look suddenly very sad. He licks Steve’s hand again before trotting off over to the shaded tree line.

~ * ~

Steve is stacking chairs after the last session of the day when he glances out of the window. The dog is still sat under the trees, looking - so it seems - directly at Steve. Something about that warms the Captain’s heart, he feels like he’s being looked out for, watched over...like he did when he was younger, only it was Bucky who was there for him then. At the thought of Bucky, the anger he felt earlier rises again, the plastic chair creaks where he’s tightened his grip, but he makes himself calm down and release it in once piece.

As he flicks off the lights and locks up, he’s already picturing the next file he’s going to read. He’s been putting it off if he’s honest with himself because it contains sketchy details of the failed experiments prior to the “successful” one that made Bucky how he is, now. There’s a list of side effects as long as Steve’s arm - none of them pleasant - when he’d skimmed it a few days ago. It has to be done, though, and he needs to do it himself. Sam had offered to read on his behalf, but Steve knows that his friend would have gone easy on him and that’s not what he wants. He has to know everything, not only in case he starts developing anything similar - Zola’s rip off of Erskine’s formula did work after all - but it may also give him a new lead on how this new version of Bucky might think, which might give Steve a clue as to where Bucky would go to feel safe while he figures things out.

A terrible sadness washes over him then, as well as a longing he’s not felt for a long time. His heart aches with the knowledge that Bucky’s out there somewhere, frightened and confused. They need each other, and now that the younger man knows this for sure, he’ll run down every lead, take down every Hydra agent and stop at nothing to get to Bucky.