Chapter Text
Crazy to think that it was a little longer than a year ago that he was walking down this very same sidewalk, bag over his shoulders and a hand on his head to keep his beret from blowing away in the icy wind. It seems to him half a decade has passed instead. He feels much older than his age, and he probably is, given everything that has happened to him in the past fifteen months.
The day outside couldn’t have been more different though. The sun is shining so brightly in the sky that everyone is in their summer clothes, enjoying the late spring warm breeze. You can almost taste the anticipation for the nicest season in the air. He would bet the Shore is already thriving, and wonders if maybe, just maybe, it could be a destination to hit later on. That is, providing that everything goes according to his plan. Which is quite a big question mark.
Truth is, he doesn’t know what to expect. What will Tony’s reaction be? Will he even actually be there? This was quite a gamble on his part. One that, at the same time, he couldn't help himself from taking. Coming face to face with death does that to you. And he’s been in that position not once but twice recently.
Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t realised that he had reached his destination. He stops - mostly to catch his breath, moving is still quite difficult even with the aid of the crutches - and takes a deep breath. Here comes nothing…
The inside of the diner is exactly how he remembered it, except for the sunshine bouncing off the bottles of liquor behind the counter. The clientele also appears to be more or less the same, although somewhat giddier, somewhat less gloomy. He might be projecting.
He frantically looks around to spot Tony, but can’t see him anywhere, and although he had prepared himself for this outcome, he can’t help but feel completely deflated. This was his last hope. He takes a last glance around and turns to go back out before anyone has the chance to ask him questions he doesn’t feel like replying - his mouth is so dry that he doubts anything intelligible would come out anyway - when he has another idea. Maybe Tony is not here, but maybe someone knows his whereabouts, like Bob, the owner. Steve doesn’t know what Bob looks like, but he’s memorised every word in Tony’s letters and feels quite confident he would recognise him by his demeanour. For sure, he’s not the young guy with long hair and round spectacles pouring pints behind the counter, although he must know where Steve could find him.
“‘Afternoon,” he begins, clearing his throat to catch the other’s attention. “I would like to speak with Bob.”
“He ain’t here,” comes the dull reply. The young guy doesn’t even lift his gaze.
“Do you know when he’ll be?”
“Nope.”
“Do you have his number?”
“Even if I did - and I’m not sayin’ I do - why would I give it to you? I don’t know you.”
He’s right - and Steve knows it - but still, he finds the way the guy is talking extremely irritating. Steve can sense a surge of anger inside him, and just for a moment, he feels like punching him. He disappointedly shakes his head to himself - this is not the kind of man he wants to be - before taking a deep breath to calm down.
“Yes, you’re right, but… See, it is very important that I talk to him. I’m trying to find—“
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because suddenly glass shatters all over the floor, and although it’s not that loud, it is enough to trigger the emergency response in Steve, who immediately lets go of his crutches to duck under the counter, hands engulfing his head to protect it. The brusk movement sends pain shrieks all over his body. Eyes closed, he waits to hear the alarm siren, and bullets being fired. Five, ten seconds go by. He doesn’t move or even breathes. He just stays still, waiting for hell to break loose.
“S-Steve?”
It’s a whisper, but it plays so loud in Steve’s head. And although he hasn’t heard it in a long time, the voice makes him feel at home. He opens his eyes, not completely reassured that he’s not in immediate danger, and finds Tony’s face just a few inches away. He opens his mouth to reply, but can’t put his thoughts into words. Thankfully, Tony skips the most obvious question in favour of one with a slightly easier answer.
“How did you find me?”
“L-Long story…” he manages to stutter, shivering, his body still in emergency mode. He takes a couple of deep breaths to calm it down.
“Well, if you don’t mind waiting, I’m off in an hour…”
Steve nods, and a little smile makes its way upon his lips: “I know a place where we can go…”