Why Then Oh Why Can't I? (Part 2 of 6)
Title: Why Then Oh Why Can't I? (or, 5 Times Steve Rogers Felt Awkward Talking About Sex, and One Time He Stopped Talking Altogether)
Author:
ladyblahblah
Fandom: Captain America, The Avengers
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, OFC (x2)
Rating: PG (so far)
Disclaimer: Clearly I own none of this. I can't even imagine a world in which I would be able to make any profit off of something like this. I have nothing, and make no claim to anything but the story itself and the OCs. Please don't sue me. Pretty please.
Summary: “You really never did grow up all the way, did you, Steve? Of course it changes things. But hey.” He lifts his glass, and Steve reluctantly lets go to join in the toast. “Who says change has to be bad?”
Author's Note: I'm working with as decent a timeline as I can muster up, so I hope the ages make sense. If not, OH WELL HOW DO YOU MATH? Additionally, this part is a little closer to what I'd originally intended for the story, though I did get smacked a time or two with the feels!bat. HERE HAVE SOME MORE OF STEVE BEING REALLY AWKWARD ABOUT SEX!
2. Bucky again
“You've got to be kidding me.”
Things have been fairly quiet on the super-villain front lately, and the world, as it turns out, didn't end before Saturday. Sitting here now, in a new bar with an old friend and a familiar burning flush working its way up his neck, Steve finds himself almost wishing that it had.
“I really don't see why it's such a big deal,” he mutters, trying to sink down into inconspicuousness as he glances around to make sure they aren't being overheard. “Or why we have to talk about it here,” he adds pointedly.
“It's a big deal,” Bucky says, ignoring the second part of his complaint with the ease of long practice, “because you're my friend, and you're ninety-five years old-”
“I really don't think the years that I was frozen ought to count,” Steve protests.
“All right, fine. You're twenty-seven years old, then, and you've just told me you're still a virgin. I know you're interested in sex-”
“Bucky!” Steve hisses, bright red at this point and furiously wishing that the floor would open up and swallow him.
“-so what's holding you back? I know it's not a lack of female interest.”
“I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you in the middle of a bar.” Steve buries his face in his hands for a moment. A warm knee nudges his own, making his heart thump, and he looks up.
“C'mon.” Bucky has his hair brushed back, still tousled and over-long but no longer obscuring his dark brown eyes. “Talk to me, huh?” He leans an elbow on the bar and leans in a little closer, lowering his voice to something less likely to carry. It's not as reassuring as Steve would've thought. “You've never even been close?”
“I . . . well.” Steve swallows heavily, fighting against a wave of grief that's eased over time to something manageable. “There was Peggy.” It's easier to stare down into his beer than to meet his friend's eyes any longer. “I mean, we never actually . . . we kissed. Once. Right before . . .” He takes a drink, and ends up downing almost half the glass. “I would have married her,” he says at last.
“I'm sorry.” Bucky sets his own glass on the bar with a sigh. “I don't think I've actually said that yet. I know you two were . . . well, I could see how great you were together.”
Despite himself, Steve laughs. “What, you mean you noticed that when you were trying to steal my girl for a dance?” he teases, and Bucky grins without an ounce of shame.
“Can't blame a guy for trying. You're just lucky I was off my game. But Steve . . . I know she meant a lot to you, but you woke up, what-two years ago? Longer? Hasn't there been anyone since then?”
“Not really.” Steve's hands have gone embarrassingly damp under the pressure of his friend's scrutiny, and he shifts uncomfortably on his stool. “I, um. I don't really get out much,” he admits.
“Steve.” Bucky shakes his head, exasperated. “You're in New York. There are literally millions of eligible women here.”
“Yeah, well, I don't want millions,” Steve grins, remembering another conversation just like this, and a dozen more besides. It's an old argument between them, so often played out that it might as well be scripted. “I'd be happy with just one.”
“And how exactly do you plan on finding this girl if you never leave your tower? For heaven's sake, you actually live in a tower like a storybook princess.” The more frustrated Bucky gets, the wider Steve smiles; it's a nice change, seeing his friend wrong-footed for once. “Look, you're never gonna find your Prince Charming if you don't go out and kiss a few frogs first, okay, Princess?”
“Funny,” Steve says with a glare that he doesn't really feel. “But I don't want to run around randomly kissing frogs. I mean, girls. Women. You know what I mean. Heck, Bucky, you're the one who told me all I needed was to find the right partner.”
“I also told you that you'd never actually find one unless you went out and looked.” He shakes his head again, reaching for his drink. “Boy, you really have been lost without me, haven't you?”
“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “I really have.”
Bucky's eyes dart over, startled and warm at the admission. For just a moment the air between them feels charged, full of questions and admissions that make Steve's stomach clench, that he isn't sure he's ready to say or hear. Then it passes, with Bucky's smile spreading wide over his face, and a curious mixture of disappointment and relief are churning in Steve's stomach as his friend turns to survey the rest of the bar.
“Well then, it's a good thing you have me back now, isn't it? Let's find us a couple of girls.”
“No, Bucky-”
“I'm not talking about a soulmate here, Steve, but you've gotta get back on your feet. Get a little practice in,” he says with a good-natured shove to Steve's shoulder.
“And how am I supposed to practice in a place like this?” The bar has only gotten louder since they arrived, and while that bodes well for their incredibly embarrassing conversation having gone unheard, Steve can't imagine that it'll be conducive to conversation with anyone else.
“Trust me,” Bucky says. “I haven't steered you wrong yet, have I?”
“No, but.” Steve is glancing around as well now, uneasiness setting in as he watches the women laughing and flirting all around him. “Bucky, none of these girls really seem like my type, you know?”
“Steve, for once don't worry about your type. This isn't about finding a wife, it's about remembering how to talk to women.”
“I've never known how to talk to women,” Steve grumbles, and Bucky laughs.
“You're not wrong about that.”
He's still scanning the crowd, and for a while Steve simply watches him. He recognizes the look on his friend's face, though it takes him a moment to figure out why. When he finally does place it, the answer isn't comforting. It's a look he's only ever seen on the battlefield-the intense, focused concentration of a sniper picking out his target. It's unsettling to see it now, in the midst of a crowded Manhattan bar, and Steve wonders yet again just what Bucky's captors did to him to turn the warmth he remembers to such cold, grim militancy.
Steve knows a fair bit about ice, but he'd never imagined that someone could be frozen quite like this, with a frigid core still locked away even after the rest of him has long since thawed.
“All right,” Bucky says abruptly, shaking Steve out of his thoughts and back to the present, and looking more or less like himself again. “Now we're talking. Those girls over by the window,” he nods, and Steve follows his gaze. “And you thought there wouldn't be anyone here for you tonight.”
“They're pretty,” he acknowledges, unsure what else to say. “Why them?”
“The redhead's a god-fearing soul,” Bucky grins, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “Just like you. Which leaves the blonde for me. C'mon.”
He's off before Steve can ask him what on earth he means, and he's left following in his friend's wake as ever. It isn't until they're nearly to the table where the women are sitting that Steve notices what Bucky had seen from across the room: a small gold cross resting just below a lightly-freckled collarbone. He can't help but smile at the sight.
“Hi there. We're really hoping you ladies will allow us to buy you a couple of drinks.”
Steve feels his stomach jerk. For the second time in less than a minute, his friend has morphed into something that isn't quite the Bucky Barnes he'd always known. His familiar, easy charm is still in full force, but as he speaks Steve realizes that it's been overlaid now with something new, something dark and almost dangerous. He watches as a slow, wicked smile spreads over Bucky's face, and stands up a little straighter.
“We have drinks,” the blonde girl points out, a smile of her own lighting up pretty grey eyes. “We'll take your names, though, if you're giving those out.”
“You drive a hard bargain, but I guess we can manage that much. My name's Bucky,” he says, “and this is Steve.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says as she blatantly sizes them up, and her friend adds a quiet, “Hey,” with a shy little smile.
“You're not going to leave us guessing about your names, are you?” Bucky teases, drawing a laugh from both girls, and Steve has never understood how he manages to do this so effortlessly.
“I'm Pia.” The girl glances at her friend, who offers another small smile.
“Evelyn. Evie. Bucky isn't your real name, is it?”
“James, actually; no one's ever called me that but my mom, though. I had another nickname at the Academy, but . . . well, it's not exactly suitable for mixed company, I'm afraid.”
“You're military?” Pia asks, though her tone is more polite than interested, and Bucky shakes his head.
“Former. Both of us; Steve here was an army captain,” he adds with a conspiratorial glance. “I'm afraid I only made it to sergeant myself before I, ah . . . dropped out.”
“And what are you now? Let me guess-a spy?”
Bucky laughs, sudden and deep, head thrown back to reveal the long line of his throat. “Well, I could tell you, but . . .” He winks, and though Pia rolls her eyes she's smiling as she does so.
“And what about you, Steve?” The question startles him, and he turns his attention back to Evie. She's smiling warmly at him, her light brown eyes friendly and encouraging. “What do you do?”
“Me?” He can feel his tongue starting to tangle. A lock of hair keeps falling into her eyes, continually brushed back by impatient, unadorned fingers. “I'm not with the Army anymore, but I'm still . . . uh . . .” He searches frantically for something to say besides part of an elite, dysfunctional team of superheroes charged with protecting the world. “Special forces,” he finally manages.
“Wow.” She seems genuinely impressed, and Steve is flattered enough to try a cautious smile.
“He's an artist, too,” Bucky adds, winking at Steve when he turns to him in surprise.
“Really? What kind?” Evie asks, interest lighting up her face.
“Um. Drawing and painting is what I focused on in school.” Steve shoots Bucky a nervous look. “It's really just a hobby these days, though.”
“Well, now that we all know each other,” Bucky says, “are you sure we can't buy you a drink?”
“It's a tempting offer,” Pia says, exchanging a look with her friend.
“It's just that we were actually just getting ready to leave,” Evie finishes apologetically. “We're going to check out the Stark Expo. Of course,” she adds, glancing hopefully up at Steve, “if you wanted to come with us . . .?”
“Yeah!” he grins, glancing belatedly over at Bucky. “That is-”
“That sounds great,” his friend agrees, and Steve is once more caught off-guard by that same confusing tangle of relief and disappointment. “Ladies, after you.”
They stand aside to let the girls slide out of their seats, and Steve tries to focus his attention back on Evie. She's really very pretty, he can't help but think. On the tall side for a woman, she'd have dwarfed him in the days before Erskine's serum, though the top of her head reaches just past his shoulder now. She's wearing a simple cotton sundress that shows off her shoulders, the skirt short enough to hint at a pair of excellent legs. As she passes him she glances up with another one of those shy, sweet smiles, and he smiles back, still unable to completely believe that things are going this well so far.
“Way to go,” Bucky says under his breath, grinning again as they follow the girls out. “What'd I tell you? It's not so hard after all.”
“She seems nice.” Steve glances ahead at Pia, almost half a foot shorter than Evie but built like a pinup model, all rich curves and long, sleek blonde hair. “They both do. Do you, ah . . .” He gives what he hopes is a subtle nod of his head. “Do you like her? Pia, I mean.”
“I certainly like what I've seen so far.” Bucky's smile turns wicked again for a moment, and before Steve can catch his breath his friend is clapping him on the back and saying, “Let's go, don't want to keep them waiting!”
Most of the evening feels like a blur after that. The Expo is even more vibrant and fantastical than Steve remembers, and the moment they arrive all four of them find that their attention is pulled in every direction at once. Evie is easy to talk to-easier, certainly, than he's ever experienced with women before, even Peggy at first-but he's ashamed to admit that he hardly remembers a thing that either of them have said. He thinks she may have mentioned something about her brother, but his attention was divided just then between what she was saying, and the realization that Bucky and Pia had wandered out of sight again.
“Sorry,” he finds himself saying more than once, “really, I'm so sorry. It's just, Bucky's pretty new to town, and I'd hate for him to get lost, especially when he's got your friend with him.”
“Pia grew up here, don't worry, she knows her way around,” Evie is saying for the third time in an hour when they round the corner and find the other two waiting for them. Or, Steve thinks, to be more accurate: find them laughing and flirting and apparently unconcerned with the fact that they've managed to abandon their friends in the process. “See? There they are.”
“Hey, guys.” Bucky looks up at the sound of her voice, dark eyes still glittering with laughter at whatever Pia had been saying. “We lost you there for a little while, huh? Has Steve been behaving himself?”
“He's been a perfect gentleman,” Evie says kindly even as Steve sputters at the implication. “Pia, I hate to cut things short, but I've got to get home. It's late, and I have church in the morning.”
“Oh.” Her friend looks disappointed, but takes a reluctant step back from Bucky. “Yeah, I guess we probably should get going.”
Bucky is shooting him a speaking look, but with all the distraction it takes Steve a long moment to interpret it. When he finally does, he feels like a heel and hesitantly clears his throat.
“If you'd like to stay, I'd be happy to see Evie home.” He turns to her. “That is, if that's all right with you?”
He doesn't miss the thumbs-up that Pia shoots her friend; nor does he miss that Evie's smile is just a little strained around the edges.
“That's really nice of you, Steve. Sure.”
“Be sure to call when you get home,” Pia winks.
“Oh, I will. Goodnight, Bucky; it was nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure was all mine. See you later, Steve.”
Bucky waves him off with a smile and a wink of his own, and when Steve glances back on the way out of the pavilion he sees that the two of them have already disappeared into the throng. He turns back to Evie with a smile, trying to ignore the awkward silence that's settled between them.
“I had a great time tonight,” he finally manages to say when they've worked their way to the edge of the crowd. “Sorry I was a little bit . . . distracted.”
“Yeah.” She shoots him a wry look that he can't quite interpret. “I noticed.” She slows to a stop next to a taxi stand and turns to face him fully. “Steve, I appreciate the offer to see me home, but I think I'm just going to take a cab from here.”
“Are you sure?” he frowns. “I really don't mind.”
“I know you don't,” she sighs. “Look, you seem like a great guy, and in other circumstances I'd probably already be giving you my number and really, really hoping you'd call.”
“Oh.” Steve is at a loss for what to say to that. “But?”
“But,” Evie says gently, “you seem to be way more into your friend that you're into me, and that's just a little more drama than I'm interested in right now.”
“What?” Steve's face is suddenly blisteringly hot; he's a little bit surprised that his collar doesn't burst into actual flames. “No, I-what?”
“Aren't you?”
“No, I . . . look, Bucky is my best friend, and I love him like a brother, but I don't . . . that is, I'm not . . .”
It's a simple enough phrase: Things aren't like that between us. I don't think of him like that. I'm not attracted to men. Any number of ways to say it, but somehow none of the words will form. The inability makes him hesitate, and as he does he can't help but think of that wicked smile, of warm fingers curled around his neck, of affection and fond exasperation and a strong arm slung around his shoulders.
“Maybe I'm wrong,” Evie offers, and hesitates before continuing carefully, “but you might want to think about it.” She leans up, hands braced on his shoulders, and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “You really are a sweetheart, Steve. I hope you work things out.”
She's almost to the closest cab before Steve remembers to move, darting forward to open the door for her. “I . . .” He hesitates, and smiles apologetically. “I was really glad to find someone who still goes to church.”
“St. Paul the Apostle,” she grins up at him. “West 60th and Columbus; I'm there for the ten o'clock Mass every Sunday.” She slides into the car. “If things don't work out between you.”
“Right,” he says, still a little dazed as he closes the door and steps back, watching the cab pull away.
He takes a step back towards the Expo before he stops himself.
“Right,” he mutters again, shaking his head, and starts on the walk back home.
Author:
ladyblahblah
Fandom: Captain America, The Avengers
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, OFC (x2)
Rating: PG (so far)
Disclaimer: Clearly I own none of this. I can't even imagine a world in which I would be able to make any profit off of something like this. I have nothing, and make no claim to anything but the story itself and the OCs. Please don't sue me. Pretty please.
Summary: “You really never did grow up all the way, did you, Steve? Of course it changes things. But hey.” He lifts his glass, and Steve reluctantly lets go to join in the toast. “Who says change has to be bad?”
Author's Note: I'm working with as decent a timeline as I can muster up, so I hope the ages make sense. If not, OH WELL HOW DO YOU MATH? Additionally, this part is a little closer to what I'd originally intended for the story, though I did get smacked a time or two with the feels!bat. HERE HAVE SOME MORE OF STEVE BEING REALLY AWKWARD ABOUT SEX!
2. Bucky again
“You've got to be kidding me.”
Things have been fairly quiet on the super-villain front lately, and the world, as it turns out, didn't end before Saturday. Sitting here now, in a new bar with an old friend and a familiar burning flush working its way up his neck, Steve finds himself almost wishing that it had.
“I really don't see why it's such a big deal,” he mutters, trying to sink down into inconspicuousness as he glances around to make sure they aren't being overheard. “Or why we have to talk about it here,” he adds pointedly.
“It's a big deal,” Bucky says, ignoring the second part of his complaint with the ease of long practice, “because you're my friend, and you're ninety-five years old-”
“I really don't think the years that I was frozen ought to count,” Steve protests.
“All right, fine. You're twenty-seven years old, then, and you've just told me you're still a virgin. I know you're interested in sex-”
“Bucky!” Steve hisses, bright red at this point and furiously wishing that the floor would open up and swallow him.
“-so what's holding you back? I know it's not a lack of female interest.”
“I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you in the middle of a bar.” Steve buries his face in his hands for a moment. A warm knee nudges his own, making his heart thump, and he looks up.
“C'mon.” Bucky has his hair brushed back, still tousled and over-long but no longer obscuring his dark brown eyes. “Talk to me, huh?” He leans an elbow on the bar and leans in a little closer, lowering his voice to something less likely to carry. It's not as reassuring as Steve would've thought. “You've never even been close?”
“I . . . well.” Steve swallows heavily, fighting against a wave of grief that's eased over time to something manageable. “There was Peggy.” It's easier to stare down into his beer than to meet his friend's eyes any longer. “I mean, we never actually . . . we kissed. Once. Right before . . .” He takes a drink, and ends up downing almost half the glass. “I would have married her,” he says at last.
“I'm sorry.” Bucky sets his own glass on the bar with a sigh. “I don't think I've actually said that yet. I know you two were . . . well, I could see how great you were together.”
Despite himself, Steve laughs. “What, you mean you noticed that when you were trying to steal my girl for a dance?” he teases, and Bucky grins without an ounce of shame.
“Can't blame a guy for trying. You're just lucky I was off my game. But Steve . . . I know she meant a lot to you, but you woke up, what-two years ago? Longer? Hasn't there been anyone since then?”
“Not really.” Steve's hands have gone embarrassingly damp under the pressure of his friend's scrutiny, and he shifts uncomfortably on his stool. “I, um. I don't really get out much,” he admits.
“Steve.” Bucky shakes his head, exasperated. “You're in New York. There are literally millions of eligible women here.”
“Yeah, well, I don't want millions,” Steve grins, remembering another conversation just like this, and a dozen more besides. It's an old argument between them, so often played out that it might as well be scripted. “I'd be happy with just one.”
“And how exactly do you plan on finding this girl if you never leave your tower? For heaven's sake, you actually live in a tower like a storybook princess.” The more frustrated Bucky gets, the wider Steve smiles; it's a nice change, seeing his friend wrong-footed for once. “Look, you're never gonna find your Prince Charming if you don't go out and kiss a few frogs first, okay, Princess?”
“Funny,” Steve says with a glare that he doesn't really feel. “But I don't want to run around randomly kissing frogs. I mean, girls. Women. You know what I mean. Heck, Bucky, you're the one who told me all I needed was to find the right partner.”
“I also told you that you'd never actually find one unless you went out and looked.” He shakes his head again, reaching for his drink. “Boy, you really have been lost without me, haven't you?”
“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “I really have.”
Bucky's eyes dart over, startled and warm at the admission. For just a moment the air between them feels charged, full of questions and admissions that make Steve's stomach clench, that he isn't sure he's ready to say or hear. Then it passes, with Bucky's smile spreading wide over his face, and a curious mixture of disappointment and relief are churning in Steve's stomach as his friend turns to survey the rest of the bar.
“Well then, it's a good thing you have me back now, isn't it? Let's find us a couple of girls.”
“No, Bucky-”
“I'm not talking about a soulmate here, Steve, but you've gotta get back on your feet. Get a little practice in,” he says with a good-natured shove to Steve's shoulder.
“And how am I supposed to practice in a place like this?” The bar has only gotten louder since they arrived, and while that bodes well for their incredibly embarrassing conversation having gone unheard, Steve can't imagine that it'll be conducive to conversation with anyone else.
“Trust me,” Bucky says. “I haven't steered you wrong yet, have I?”
“No, but.” Steve is glancing around as well now, uneasiness setting in as he watches the women laughing and flirting all around him. “Bucky, none of these girls really seem like my type, you know?”
“Steve, for once don't worry about your type. This isn't about finding a wife, it's about remembering how to talk to women.”
“I've never known how to talk to women,” Steve grumbles, and Bucky laughs.
“You're not wrong about that.”
He's still scanning the crowd, and for a while Steve simply watches him. He recognizes the look on his friend's face, though it takes him a moment to figure out why. When he finally does place it, the answer isn't comforting. It's a look he's only ever seen on the battlefield-the intense, focused concentration of a sniper picking out his target. It's unsettling to see it now, in the midst of a crowded Manhattan bar, and Steve wonders yet again just what Bucky's captors did to him to turn the warmth he remembers to such cold, grim militancy.
Steve knows a fair bit about ice, but he'd never imagined that someone could be frozen quite like this, with a frigid core still locked away even after the rest of him has long since thawed.
“All right,” Bucky says abruptly, shaking Steve out of his thoughts and back to the present, and looking more or less like himself again. “Now we're talking. Those girls over by the window,” he nods, and Steve follows his gaze. “And you thought there wouldn't be anyone here for you tonight.”
“They're pretty,” he acknowledges, unsure what else to say. “Why them?”
“The redhead's a god-fearing soul,” Bucky grins, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “Just like you. Which leaves the blonde for me. C'mon.”
He's off before Steve can ask him what on earth he means, and he's left following in his friend's wake as ever. It isn't until they're nearly to the table where the women are sitting that Steve notices what Bucky had seen from across the room: a small gold cross resting just below a lightly-freckled collarbone. He can't help but smile at the sight.
“Hi there. We're really hoping you ladies will allow us to buy you a couple of drinks.”
Steve feels his stomach jerk. For the second time in less than a minute, his friend has morphed into something that isn't quite the Bucky Barnes he'd always known. His familiar, easy charm is still in full force, but as he speaks Steve realizes that it's been overlaid now with something new, something dark and almost dangerous. He watches as a slow, wicked smile spreads over Bucky's face, and stands up a little straighter.
“We have drinks,” the blonde girl points out, a smile of her own lighting up pretty grey eyes. “We'll take your names, though, if you're giving those out.”
“You drive a hard bargain, but I guess we can manage that much. My name's Bucky,” he says, “and this is Steve.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says as she blatantly sizes them up, and her friend adds a quiet, “Hey,” with a shy little smile.
“You're not going to leave us guessing about your names, are you?” Bucky teases, drawing a laugh from both girls, and Steve has never understood how he manages to do this so effortlessly.
“I'm Pia.” The girl glances at her friend, who offers another small smile.
“Evelyn. Evie. Bucky isn't your real name, is it?”
“James, actually; no one's ever called me that but my mom, though. I had another nickname at the Academy, but . . . well, it's not exactly suitable for mixed company, I'm afraid.”
“You're military?” Pia asks, though her tone is more polite than interested, and Bucky shakes his head.
“Former. Both of us; Steve here was an army captain,” he adds with a conspiratorial glance. “I'm afraid I only made it to sergeant myself before I, ah . . . dropped out.”
“And what are you now? Let me guess-a spy?”
Bucky laughs, sudden and deep, head thrown back to reveal the long line of his throat. “Well, I could tell you, but . . .” He winks, and though Pia rolls her eyes she's smiling as she does so.
“And what about you, Steve?” The question startles him, and he turns his attention back to Evie. She's smiling warmly at him, her light brown eyes friendly and encouraging. “What do you do?”
“Me?” He can feel his tongue starting to tangle. A lock of hair keeps falling into her eyes, continually brushed back by impatient, unadorned fingers. “I'm not with the Army anymore, but I'm still . . . uh . . .” He searches frantically for something to say besides part of an elite, dysfunctional team of superheroes charged with protecting the world. “Special forces,” he finally manages.
“Wow.” She seems genuinely impressed, and Steve is flattered enough to try a cautious smile.
“He's an artist, too,” Bucky adds, winking at Steve when he turns to him in surprise.
“Really? What kind?” Evie asks, interest lighting up her face.
“Um. Drawing and painting is what I focused on in school.” Steve shoots Bucky a nervous look. “It's really just a hobby these days, though.”
“Well, now that we all know each other,” Bucky says, “are you sure we can't buy you a drink?”
“It's a tempting offer,” Pia says, exchanging a look with her friend.
“It's just that we were actually just getting ready to leave,” Evie finishes apologetically. “We're going to check out the Stark Expo. Of course,” she adds, glancing hopefully up at Steve, “if you wanted to come with us . . .?”
“Yeah!” he grins, glancing belatedly over at Bucky. “That is-”
“That sounds great,” his friend agrees, and Steve is once more caught off-guard by that same confusing tangle of relief and disappointment. “Ladies, after you.”
They stand aside to let the girls slide out of their seats, and Steve tries to focus his attention back on Evie. She's really very pretty, he can't help but think. On the tall side for a woman, she'd have dwarfed him in the days before Erskine's serum, though the top of her head reaches just past his shoulder now. She's wearing a simple cotton sundress that shows off her shoulders, the skirt short enough to hint at a pair of excellent legs. As she passes him she glances up with another one of those shy, sweet smiles, and he smiles back, still unable to completely believe that things are going this well so far.
“Way to go,” Bucky says under his breath, grinning again as they follow the girls out. “What'd I tell you? It's not so hard after all.”
“She seems nice.” Steve glances ahead at Pia, almost half a foot shorter than Evie but built like a pinup model, all rich curves and long, sleek blonde hair. “They both do. Do you, ah . . .” He gives what he hopes is a subtle nod of his head. “Do you like her? Pia, I mean.”
“I certainly like what I've seen so far.” Bucky's smile turns wicked again for a moment, and before Steve can catch his breath his friend is clapping him on the back and saying, “Let's go, don't want to keep them waiting!”
Most of the evening feels like a blur after that. The Expo is even more vibrant and fantastical than Steve remembers, and the moment they arrive all four of them find that their attention is pulled in every direction at once. Evie is easy to talk to-easier, certainly, than he's ever experienced with women before, even Peggy at first-but he's ashamed to admit that he hardly remembers a thing that either of them have said. He thinks she may have mentioned something about her brother, but his attention was divided just then between what she was saying, and the realization that Bucky and Pia had wandered out of sight again.
“Sorry,” he finds himself saying more than once, “really, I'm so sorry. It's just, Bucky's pretty new to town, and I'd hate for him to get lost, especially when he's got your friend with him.”
“Pia grew up here, don't worry, she knows her way around,” Evie is saying for the third time in an hour when they round the corner and find the other two waiting for them. Or, Steve thinks, to be more accurate: find them laughing and flirting and apparently unconcerned with the fact that they've managed to abandon their friends in the process. “See? There they are.”
“Hey, guys.” Bucky looks up at the sound of her voice, dark eyes still glittering with laughter at whatever Pia had been saying. “We lost you there for a little while, huh? Has Steve been behaving himself?”
“He's been a perfect gentleman,” Evie says kindly even as Steve sputters at the implication. “Pia, I hate to cut things short, but I've got to get home. It's late, and I have church in the morning.”
“Oh.” Her friend looks disappointed, but takes a reluctant step back from Bucky. “Yeah, I guess we probably should get going.”
Bucky is shooting him a speaking look, but with all the distraction it takes Steve a long moment to interpret it. When he finally does, he feels like a heel and hesitantly clears his throat.
“If you'd like to stay, I'd be happy to see Evie home.” He turns to her. “That is, if that's all right with you?”
He doesn't miss the thumbs-up that Pia shoots her friend; nor does he miss that Evie's smile is just a little strained around the edges.
“That's really nice of you, Steve. Sure.”
“Be sure to call when you get home,” Pia winks.
“Oh, I will. Goodnight, Bucky; it was nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure was all mine. See you later, Steve.”
Bucky waves him off with a smile and a wink of his own, and when Steve glances back on the way out of the pavilion he sees that the two of them have already disappeared into the throng. He turns back to Evie with a smile, trying to ignore the awkward silence that's settled between them.
“I had a great time tonight,” he finally manages to say when they've worked their way to the edge of the crowd. “Sorry I was a little bit . . . distracted.”
“Yeah.” She shoots him a wry look that he can't quite interpret. “I noticed.” She slows to a stop next to a taxi stand and turns to face him fully. “Steve, I appreciate the offer to see me home, but I think I'm just going to take a cab from here.”
“Are you sure?” he frowns. “I really don't mind.”
“I know you don't,” she sighs. “Look, you seem like a great guy, and in other circumstances I'd probably already be giving you my number and really, really hoping you'd call.”
“Oh.” Steve is at a loss for what to say to that. “But?”
“But,” Evie says gently, “you seem to be way more into your friend that you're into me, and that's just a little more drama than I'm interested in right now.”
“What?” Steve's face is suddenly blisteringly hot; he's a little bit surprised that his collar doesn't burst into actual flames. “No, I-what?”
“Aren't you?”
“No, I . . . look, Bucky is my best friend, and I love him like a brother, but I don't . . . that is, I'm not . . .”
It's a simple enough phrase: Things aren't like that between us. I don't think of him like that. I'm not attracted to men. Any number of ways to say it, but somehow none of the words will form. The inability makes him hesitate, and as he does he can't help but think of that wicked smile, of warm fingers curled around his neck, of affection and fond exasperation and a strong arm slung around his shoulders.
“Maybe I'm wrong,” Evie offers, and hesitates before continuing carefully, “but you might want to think about it.” She leans up, hands braced on his shoulders, and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “You really are a sweetheart, Steve. I hope you work things out.”
She's almost to the closest cab before Steve remembers to move, darting forward to open the door for her. “I . . .” He hesitates, and smiles apologetically. “I was really glad to find someone who still goes to church.”
“St. Paul the Apostle,” she grins up at him. “West 60th and Columbus; I'm there for the ten o'clock Mass every Sunday.” She slides into the car. “If things don't work out between you.”
“Right,” he says, still a little dazed as he closes the door and steps back, watching the cab pull away.
He takes a step back towards the Expo before he stops himself.
“Right,” he mutters again, shaking his head, and starts on the walk back home.