Daily Archives: 04.21.2016

“Hey, 6B.” – Chapter 9.

Story Summary: Bucky is on a Mission: Find out about his past and try to remember the Man in Blue. His “mission” takes him to Boston where he meets the fun and flirty, Colin Shea. With Colin’s help, he might just find all the answers he’s been searching for…but he also might find love. With outside pressures, Bucky has to decide between remaining in the dark and staying with Colin or going after the man who haunts his nightmares.

Crossover: What’s Your Number? meets Captain America: Winter Soldier/The Avengers/Captain America: Civil War (more the movies and less the books or graphic novels)

Rating: R if this was a movie. MA if it was a TV show. Mature on Archive of Our Own. Not rated on Tumblr. There is some LGBTQ/slash sexual situations, though nothing erotic. It’s a simple Rated-R romcom. No porn. (Think along the lines of Wings meets Love, Darrows, kiTT.) As Cap would say: Language! Because yes, there is some language and double entendres. Not so much violence as of now.

Genre: RomCom/Action

Chapter word count: 2,056

Characters: James Buchanan Barnes “Bucky”, Colin Shea, Brock Rumlow (in the clip down there), Nick Fury, Peggy Carter (Agent Carter/Margaret)

Disclaimer: All characters belong to their original creators. There is no copyright infringement intended. This is all done in fun and love for my favorite movies. Thank you for stopping by and reading.

Notes:  Did anyone believe I could do this story without Peggy Carter showing up? I honestly thought I could in the beginning…what was I thinking? This story is also getting a little more serious than where I originally intended it to go (blame Bucky’s story), I am still very much in love with this. Been having a blast writing this and living with my favorite movies.

Inspiration for this chapter:


9.

Colin shoves a gentle elbow into my side and says, “Hey, Buck. We’re almost there.”

My eyes open and take a moment to adjust to the light. I yawn and stretch myself into a somewhat state of awake. Sleeping on Colin’s shoulder was the best forty-five minutes of sleep I’ve had in such a long time. No nightmares. No Man in Blue. I almost feel like a new man.

“Go to the restroom and change,” Colin says, handing me the backpack and pointing to the small door at the back of the bus.

Bag in hand, I stand and climb over Colin—his grin turns on as I do. The narrow alley between seats is difficult to navigate as the bus continues on its path, warbling to and fro. I excuse myself as I hit a few elbows, avoiding all eye contact as I keep the forward momentum. When I get to the door, I slide it open and step inside.

The bathroom is the size of a fishbowl. Even with the paper-thin door closed, everything I do in here has got to be public knowledge. Nevertheless, I keep on my mission.

The backpack rests on the sink and I peel off my See You Latte shirt. I pull out a black t-shirt and study it. “Free Licks” whispers at me from faded grey letters. Colin’s shirt. I check the bag for the pre-approved red shirt I packed, but it’s gone.

With a huff that’s neither bothered nor upset, I slide Colin’s shirt on. My work pants are traded for a typical blue pair of jeans. I exchange the black work shoes to my boots. Everything shed is shoved into the backpack, a zrrp punctuating the urine scented air. Looking in the mirror, I pull the band free from my hair and let the strands fall, tucking the sides behind my ears. Dane is right, I should probably shave.

I slide the backpack up my arm and open the door. No one seems to notice that I’ve changed from my coffee jockey uniform. As a matter of fact, no one is looking at me at all. Well, take that back. One person has decided I’m worth a stare.

“My shirt does look good on you,” he utters as I climb over him into my seat.

“And where is my shirt?” I ask, settling the backpack on the floor between my feet.

Colin reaches up to the zipper on his grey sweatshirt and unzips it. Like a magician, my red shirt is revealed, the fabric taut against his chest. “Girls are always stealing my shirts, and you already saw me in ‘licks’ so I thought we could trade for the day.”

Well, if he’s going to put it that way….

“Now arriving at the Natick stop,” the bus driver announces over the intercom. “Natick, Massachusetts.”

The bus pulls into a small lane next to a quaint, white building, bearing the name “Bus” on a sign above in large blue letters. Colin nudges my arm and whispers, “Our stop.”

We disembark the bus. I sling the pack over my shoulder and slide the other strap up my arm until it’s supported properly against my back. I follow Colin out to the main street and down to the corner. He glances up at the sign and points across the street.

“We go to the next corner, cross, take a right then two buildings over to the museum.”

I nod and follow Colin. He pulls his phone from his pocket. I watch as he slides his finger across the screen. A square resembling paper gets a tap then he touches a title, “Buck’s notes”.

“I didn’t want this to be public which is why I’m doing this now instead of on the bus or at Latte. “ His finger flicks along the screen and he begins explaining to me what he found this morning. “Two Howling Commandos are still alive. Timothy Dugan, Dum Dum, is in Tennessee. I have yet to get an address or phone number for him. But, Gabriel Jones is still alive in a retirement home in Maryland, not too far from DC. I’ve already called and left a message. I’m hoping he’ll return the call soon. Um…I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the rest have passed. On the upside, I do have a few leads on their grandchildren. I’m also looking into members of the 107th. Sadly, that’s all I have to report for now.”

Colin reduces the note to a square again and turns off his phone. It slides into his pocket and he offers a sorrowful shrug.

I stop and pull his shoulder. He turns and I say, “I am amazed at what you’ve found so far. More than what I’ve accumulated these past few months. I…” …slipped up? …said too much? …broke my cover? Maybe he didn’t notice. “…thank you.”

We stand paused for a long moment, staring at each other. Colin has a thousand words on his lips, but he just nods and starts walking at a brisk pace, kicking through the brown leaves blowing across the concrete path.

I tuck my hands in my pockets and watch the sidewalk pass under my feet and try to assimilate why we had that awkward pause. Why he’s not flirting with me today. Dread suffocates me as I realize…

He discovered the real me in his research and my words only aided him in his realization.

“After the museum, would you like to grab a bite?” I force the words out, testing how deep this fear is seated.

“Yeah. Your treat?”

“Of course. That’s our deal.”

He catches me in the corner of his eyes. “It is…” A deep breath leaves him and I can’t determine if it’s relief or stress that forces it out of him. But then, he adds a smirk and that long, drawn out “Buck” and my world feels right again.

As brief as a reprieve from my worries as it is.

The museum is bustling when we arrive. A school group is lining up near a giant screen. Large words at the top proclaim “Welcome Back, Cap – President Matthew Ellis” just above a video of a waving American flag. Next to it, a wall is painted blue announcing the title of the exhibit—Captain America: The Living Legend and a Symbol of Courage—then in small letters it announces: on loan from the Smithsonian. A recording begins to speak: “A symbol to the nation, a hero to the world…”

Colin jogs over to a small window on the side of the and lifts two fingers, reaching for his pocket. He exchanges some bills for two red, white, and blue cards that mimic the circles and star of the Man in Blue’s shield. He walks back to me and extends one of the cards my way. “Your ticket for the exhibit, Buck.”

I take it from him and utter, “Thanks,” as I stare at the design that’s been permanently engraved into my mind since the helicarrier fight. I flap it against my hand a few times and take a deep breath, then follow Colin to the entrance. He removes his ball cap and flashes his ticket. I follow suit, showing the usher my own ticket.

The exhibit was more about him, the Man in Blue…Captain America, than the Howling Commandos. The life and history of Steve Rogers from sickly, weak, and undersized to tall, handsome, and the soldier I currently know. This would be the jackpot as far as all my research goes, but as I stare at the awkward man in the black and white image, I can’t place him with certainty at any point in my life. The more I stare, the more I question ever knowing him before.

“That’s the guy with the great caboose?” Colin asks in a whisper at my ear. He spins the hat in his hands and shakes his head. “Doesn’t even look like the same guy I found in my searches, does he?”

No.

Colin tugs on my jacket sleeve. “Come on, Buck. The Commandos have to be around here somewhere.”

Right before my eyes, through the color images on walls and the black and white ones on glass, I watch Steve Rogers turn from that unrecognizable kid into the man I fought, though they’re telling me he was this guy back in World War II, through archive images and movies.

“Battle tested, Captain America and his Howling Commandos quickly earned their stripes,” the voice says, greeting us as we turn the corner. “Their Mission: Taking down HYDRA, the Nazi rogue science division.”

The display shows my mission, next to him on his right, Dum Dum—from what I remember Google telling us—and more Commandos. On his left is me in another line of fighters. Before the image stand mannequins wearing their clothing—my clothing—from WWII. In the center, below Captain America and his regal, squared jaw, sits a shield like something a Knight of the Round Table would carry. On it is a plaque reading:  Captain America’s original uniform was stolen from the display in Washington DC before the skirmish. It is believed by many to have been reclaimed by the Captain himself, Steve Rogers, who still fights for honor and freedom for many around the world.

Colin reads the plaque and glances up at the images. “It’s so eerie how much he resembles you, Buck. I mean…”

I clear my throat and send a quick scouting glance around the room. Children linger before each display. A man with a scarred left eye, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, casually strolls into the next area of the display.

“…your hair color is spot on. And those eyes…”

Another man in a suit has a white coiled wire going from his ear into his jacket. He’s speaking, though there’s no one near him listening.

“…they’re playful, soulful just like yours. That mouth…”

Then I notice one of the adults lingering near a tour group turn and cast a glance my way. He’s muscular, dark hair, dark eyes, wearing the expression of a man who enjoys taking a life and won’t regret it for a second.

“…quirking up at the corners as though you’re harboring the best secret in the world…”

He was a HYDRA co-op. What was his name? Rumlow? It doesn’t matter if I can remember him, the deathly light in his eyes definitely recognize me.

The man pretends not to notice me, but I see his eyes follow me as I step away from Colin. The other man with the wire in his ear leans over and tells a kid to stop touching the exhibits with a loud, authoritative voice as though he’s museum security. His eyes remain glued to me, though.

New Mission: Don’t let them catch me.

“…almost like you want to laugh…Where are we going?”

I grab Colin’s hand and drag him towards a set of double doors at the opposite end of the room. Colin and I burst through the doors into a small theater. I choose two empty seats in the recessed corner of the darkened room, though my soldier instincts are taking in the locations of all possible exits and keeping an eye on the primary entrance.

The lights go down further and the projector sends a beam of white through the floating dust motes. A quick pattering sound from the projector mutes behind a woman’s voice. “That was a difficult winter,” she says with a British accent.

The voice punches me in the gut with a fist. I take my eyes from the door to the screen. A woman with bright red lips and dark hair sits in a golden sweater, talking about a mission that I don’t recall. Across the bottom of the screen, “Agent Peggy Carter, SSR” labels who she is, “New York, 1953” indicates the time. She elaborates how Steve Rogers was the brave soul to save the 1000 men—her future husband included—from behind enemy lines. How he affected her life. How she founded S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Peggy Carter,” I whisper into the darkness. The name is this song playing in my brain, but I can’t remember the words or the melody with precision. Something about her makes my stomach get riled, my teeth clench, and my hands ball into fists. Something about the name rests in me like a threat greater than HYDRA and all of her men.

Colin leans closer to me, hat still spinning in his hands. “If she knew Steve Rogers, then she had to have known your grandfather. We should look her up and see if she’s still alive.”

Maybe.

From the corner of my eye, I see a white line as the door starts to separate from the wall. I grab Colin’s hat and stick it on my head. Colin leans closer and asks, “What are you do—?”

I cover his mouth with my hand. “Kiss me,” I beg under my breath.

Colin’s eyebrows lift. “You want me to…what?”

White is growing between the door and the wall. I see a black covered muscular arm holding a Glock 19. Rumlow. Definitely his brand of firearm.

There’s no time to think. I give my lips a quick dousing as I pull him closer to me. I plant my lips to his, keeping my eyes on the man sneaking into the theater from under the brim of Colin’s hat. The operative takes the time to scan over the audience made up of mostly school children. His eyes crawl along to our dark corner.

My eyes fall shut and I kiss Colin as though this will be my last kiss ever. My fingers brush through his light brown hair as our tongues meet for the first time. Thrill runs through my veins speeding faster than my pulse. Fireworks spark behind my eyelids as Colin stops pushing me away and starts pulling me in. His hand finds my cheek and slides along my jaw to hold me still. My eyes pop open in time to see Rumlow leaving the room.

Colin and I gasp for air as I break the seal of our lips. White dots of Peggy Carter on the screen reflect in his dark eyes. He blinks and takes a breath. “Buck,” he heaves in a whisper, “if I had known you felt that way…Today would have been much different.”

Sure. Now he says that. Note to self.

And Colin pulls me to him and kisses me again. This time he’s the one that pulls away and utters, “Later, definitely,” and playfully tugs on the brim of his Red Sox hat, returning his attention to the movie of the woman who claimed to be an integral part of Steve’s life.

His first life.

I’m not mentioned once.


First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter


End Notes: Thank you for reading!

Images are screencapped from my digital copy of Captain America: Winter Soldier.

Advertisements

1 Comment

Filed under Chris Evans, fanfiction, Hey 6B, the fangirling has made it here

“Hey, 6B.” – chapter 8

Story Summary: Bucky is on a Mission: Find out about his past and try to remember the Man in Blue. His “mission” takes him to Boston where he meets the fun and flirty, Colin Shea. With Colin’s help, he might just find all the answers he’s been searching for…but he also might find love. With outside pressures, Bucky has to decide between remaining in the dark and staying with Colin or going after the man who haunts his nightmares.

Crossover: What’s Your Number? meets Captain America: Winter Soldier/The Avengers/Captain America: Civil War (more the movies and less the books or graphic novels)

Rating: R if this was a movie. MA if it was a TV show. Mature on Archive of Our Own. Not rated on Tumblr. There is some LGBTQ/slash sexual situations, though nothing erotic. It’s a simple Rated-R romcom. No porn. (Think along the lines of Wings meets Love, Darrows, kiTT.) As Cap would say: Language! Because yes, there is some language and double entendres. Not so much violence as of now.

Genre: RomCom/Action

Chapter word count: 2,056

Characters: James Buchanan Barnes “Bucky”, Colin Shea, OFC Dane, Natasha Romanov, Sam Wilson, Alexander Pierce (Robert Redford’s character in Winter Soldier)

Disclaimer: All characters belong to their original creators. There is no copyright infringement intended. This is all done in fun and love for my favorite movies. Thank you for stopping by and reading.

Notes:   You know, I tried my hardest to keep Bucky light and airy, but the character is so deep and dark during the Winter Soldier years. I sometimes wonder if he had never become the assassin, if he would have treated Steve sort of like the little annoying brother still.

Inspiration for this chapter:


8.

 

Kill the Man in Blue. Kill him. He is my mission.

Sparks fly. Bullets zoom. I hit the red-head and she falls behind a black car. The injury isn’t fatal according to my retinal displays. I’m close to not completing this mission. More bullets. More. But before I can take her out, the Man in Blue tackles me.

Fighting with fists and weapons to the death. His death. A shield passes from him to me then it’s lost. The knife comes into play by my own hands. And we fight and battle until he renders my bionic implant useless, the metal arm dangling useless. He flips me over his shoulders, and I fly through the air and land. The first thing my eyes land on is my mask, teetering back and forth on the asphalt.

I get to my feet and face him. He stands, gawking. A blink. A breath. And then, “Bucky?”

Bucky is dead. I have a mission.

But as I stare at him, something sparks. He’s familiar. A friend maybe. Home.

“Mission Report.”

I don’t know how I left the streets of DC. I’m in a lab full of screens with technical readouts. Doctors in white coats. Blue electricity zaps my arm back to life, sparks flying. A man in an expensive suit and tie is screaming at me.

“Mission Report now!”

“I knew him. The man on the bridge. Who was he?” I whisper. It’s all I can think about now. My mission. Him.

“Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Hydra needs to give it the freedom it deserves,” he responds, avoiding my question altogether.

“But I knew him.” My mission.

The man in the suit crosses the small room and talks to the man in the white shirt. “Wipe him and start over.” He stands his ground in the far corner and watches the horror as it unfolds. The doctor sticks a guard in my mouth and sets the machinery around my head. He flips a switch. The humming increases. A sharp zap enters my brain like a headache so intense my head is about to explode. Then I scream through the guard in my mouth though no one is bothering to listen.

#

“Why do you look like you died this morning, Bucky?” Dane asks, unlocking the doors to the coffee shop. “I thought for sure a day off would help you catch up on some sleep.”

Between the nightmares and Colin singing my name over and over all night, I got about an hour of sleep more than usual. I spent most of the night coming down from that dream and trying to figure out why Colin was singing my name in a rhyming game instead of some woman screaming his.

“I slept, Dane.”

“Okay. Maybe next time shave before you come to work. And cut back on the guyliner, because you look like hell.”

“What’s guyliner?”

Dane chuckles to himself as he locks the doors. We immediately get busy with the morning chores. I start the Stark 1000-and-1 so it’s warmed up and ready to go by morning rush by flipping the switches on the machine. Admittedly, that dream comes back and I flinch as the machine hums to life.

Dane moves the milk from the walk-in refrigerator in the back room to the small refrigerators in the front. “Buck, I need you to let her in for our pastry delivery.”

Amanda from Bova Bakery stands at the door with three large pink boxes stacked in her hands. She smiles when she sees me glance her way.

I nod to Dane and let her into the store. “Would you like help with those?”

“No thanks, Bucky,” she says as she sets the stack on the counter and digs a key from the pocket of her pink apron. “But if you could get the other boxes from the car for me, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

I take the key in my hand. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

The cold air runs up and hugs me as I step outside. I unlock the back of the van and pull out the other five boxes. Once everything is balanced in my hands, I kick the door of the bakery van shut. I walk a few steps and stop.

It feels like I have eyes on me. Usually, my instincts are dead on, but as I scour the street, I don’t see a living soul, not counting the few cars driving down the street. The rooftops are void of shadows or hints of anyone. The windows along the street are as dark and lifeless.

The mission is getting to me. It’s all this is.

#

Week two of See You Latte is moving along like week one. Everything is displayed to perfection and the Stark Industries machine is warmed and percolating coffee. The register is turned on and ready to accept orders and payments. The door unlocks and we start the rush towards my eleven o’clock quitting time.

“Ally, you’re going to love this neighborhood,” the blonde from last week squeals into her phone. “This coffee shop is right around the corner from that apartment. There’s a sandwich shop on the corner. And transit is just right there.”

“What would you like to order?” I ask.

A ring sitting on her third finger throws off a sharp sparkle when she waves her hand at me, more like shooing me away than anything friendly. “I have to go, Ally. Let me know when you hear about that apartment.”

She hangs up the phone in time for a squeal to shatter my eardrums. The woman turns and adds her own piercing squeals. The two blondes hug and the first one holds out her hand. “Look at the ring Eddie gave me. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“And big. Which is saying something for Eddie,” the second woman says, nudging her elbow into her friend with a wink.

They notice my glare and all their giggles cease. The first one gives me her order with her name “Daisy” and she proceeds to order for her friend “Sheila”. They pay and move down the counter to wait for their drinks.

I label the cups and hand them over to Dane. He looks at the misnomers and smirks. “You’re an old pro at this now, Bucky.”

When I look up, I’m staring into a pair of green eyes. My whole body freezes except my gaze which hits the counter immediately. She hasn’t been here in a week. And now she’s back, turning the heat up on this game. As she prattles on about the way she wants her beverage, I enter it into the register. Then the red-head hands me the name “Laura” as though I’m dumb enough to believe it’s her real name. I scribble “Norma” on a cup and set it to the side for Dane to work his coffee magic.

She pretends not to care a thing about me as she swipes her card in the slot, paying for her beverage. I hand her the receipt and over a large smile, hoping the brim of my hat is low enough to shield my eyes with a deep shadow. The high-pitched voice I use is as fake as the smile when I say, “It’ll be ready in a minute.”

“Mocha non-fat latte for Hazy,” Dane calls out.

The red-head walks off without another glance my way. The uncomfortable stiffness of her body is barely noticeable, but I catch it. Her hands are clenched and her arms seem to be forced into moving as she walks. There’s no sway at all today, though her low-cut black dress deserves more attention than that.

“Hazelnut Americano for Norma,” Dane says, setting the second cup on the counter.

The woman doesn’t even flinch when he calls her the wrong name. She picks up the cup and offers him a heart-shaped pucker in her smile. She takes up residence at the table by the window in the far corner.

For almost an hour, she sits and drinks and plays with the device in her hand. I’ve become an invisible entity as far as she’s concerned. Her eyes don’t even touch me as she stares out of the window for most of the morning. Her lips move a few times as though she’s holding a deep, private conversation with some-unseen-one on the other side of the glass from her.

“I’m not used to ordering at a coffee place. Usually I just order a cup and add my own stuff. What do you recommend?”

I peel my attention away from the woman. The man standing before me is wearing a bright white smile with a small accentuated space between his two front teeth. His dark eyes seem honest. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans and he’s rocking back and forth.

“What sort of flavors do you like? Valencia is orange. I’d recommend it in a mocha. There’s always white chocolate that would pair well with raspberry, cherry, or blueberry. Vanilla is rather plain, but still classically delicious.”

The dark-skinned man is radiant, cordially nodding with each suggestion, seeming to listen. I notice as his eyes scan over my left arm—the metal one. He stares at the appendage from bicep to fingertips as though he’s taking notes and making plans, though the serene grin and calm demeanor never leave his face.

“I’ll have one of those Valencia chocolates,” he says. “Medium.”

“Grande mocha Valencia.” I punch in the drink and ask, “Would you like whip or foam?”

The man shrugs, the grey hoodie touching his ear lobes. “Whatever you recommend.”

I punch in the more popular no-fat whip and ask his name.

“Sam,” he says.

I scribble a name and set it in the queue line of cups on the counter. His total is read and he pays with a card much like the rest. He swipes his card, and I happen to glance over to the corner. The black widow is gone from her perch. I scan the store for a red-headed ponytail, but she’s nowhere to be seen.

I can’t believe I didn’t see which direction she left in.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Sam says, sliding his wallet into his pocket, “but how did you get that arm? We’re you in the war?”

A nod is the best verification I can give him without divulging which specific war.

“I understand how rough it is to talk about…being in combat. Seeing what we saw…Um, I’m up visiting from DC. I run a support group for veterans and am talking to the local chapter up here.” He reaches into his pocket. From it, he extracts a card and hands it to me. “I would love to talk to you, and if you need, I can be a sympathetic ear. I was there for two tours. I saw and did…a lot of things that will haunt me.”

I take the card and read his name. Sam Wilson. Below it an address in DC and a phone number. Either his real identity or he spent more for this ruse than a typical spy. Whispers of HYDRA are shoved out of my mind, though not so far that I won’t recall them.

“Thanks.” I slide the card in my pocket. “I’ll consider it.” If I want to be killed or tortured again.

Sam taps the counter with the first two fingers of his right hand. “You do that. I’m in town for a few weeks. I look forward to your call.” He takes a step towards the other end of the Stark 1000-and-1 to wait for his drink.

I smile and nod, but try to keep it on the tame side. HYDRA must be scraping the bottom of the barrel for their spies these days. This guy really doesn’t seem to understand covert. Either that, or he’s diverting my attention for a possible sneak attack.

“Are you flirting with other guys behind my back, 6B?” Colin asks, stepping up to the counter and pushing up the brim of his baseball cap. He lifts a backpack in his hand and says, “I’m ready for you whenever you want me.” He adds a playful smirk and lip lick. “After I get my coffee and cannoli, of course.”

Of course.


First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter


End Notes: Thank you for reading. gifs found on giphy.com

Leave a comment

Filed under Hey 6B, the fangirling has made it here