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Steve’s thoughts wander aimlessly as he strolls steadily down one cobbled street after another. The street lights start to flicker on giving the city a soft glow of a film noir that has him itching to capture in graphite. Bronzed leaves from the London plane trees crunch beneath his shoes, signaling his favorite season is upon him; autumn.
Sooner or later he should start paying attention to his surroundings. It’s such a nice change of pace to be wandering the streets of Paris while the world isn’t falling apart for once. So, he puts it off for a few more blocks. The only things he takes in are closed shop front windows, the bark of that one tree, and an occasional road name so he can come back and sketch later.
A soft click of heels catches his attention. His mind goes into over drive as the steady rhythm becomes louder and continues to follow him for the next three turns he takes.
How long had they been following him? Do they have ill intent or is it simply a coincidence that they’re walking the same damn streets he is? Hell. There’s never a coincidence in his life and this is hardly the time and place for them to start happening.
He slows his gate, the clicking continues at its same pace until its source is directly behind him.
His muscles tense waiting for a blow or a moment to strike.
“And I couldn’t help but think to myself, as I stroll down the rue de blah blah blah… that I have such a longing for a beautiful dame to be at my side. Oh. Would you look at that.”
Darcy’s voice and odd wit drifts to his ears and sooths his panic.
He turns. Eyebrow arched, smirk playing at his lips.
“Really, Darce? Is that what you think it sounds like inside my head?”
“Not really. I’m sure there’s much more screaming and cursing involved.”
“Why are you here?”
“You’re a hard man to find, Rogers.”
Steve looks down the street and taking Darcy’s hand and tugging her into a door way and out of sight.
“Where you followed?”
“Nope.”
“How do you know?”
“How do you know?” Darcy scoffs. “Do you even know how many blocks I was following you?”
Steve eyes her a moment, her expression almost blank save for the humor dancing in her eyes.
“Five.” He guesses.
“Wrong.” She chortles. “Eight. Either you’re getting sloppy in retirement or I’m getting too good at my job.”
“Semi-retirement. And why are you here?” He asks again. His concern rolling off him in waves. “Is it Nat? Clint? If it’s those two idiots, they know how to contact me.”
“No.” She takes his hand in hers, squeezing gently. “It’s, it’s not that.”
“Darce, what’s wrong?”
“I missed you.”
He’s taken aback by her honesty. He swallows audibly, stalling for time as his heart beats wildly.
“You, you do?”
“Of course, I do. You’re one of the few people that make having this life seem normal and doable.”
“There’s no mission?”
“Nope.” Darcy shakes her head. “Just me missing that runt from Brooklyn.”
Steve smiles brightly, a red flush turning his cheeks and ears as he ducks his head. “I didn’t think you felt that way.”
“I told you at your going away party. Don’t you remember?”
“I, uh,” Steve chuckles, taking her other hand in his. “I remember. I just thought that was very drunk Darcy. I was afraid to believe you.”
“Afraid? You?” She giggles. “You must have it bad.”
“When it comes to you, yeah.”
“Is that why you disappeared?”
“Mostly.”
There’s pain in his eyes. He’s always working through something. Guilt, confusion, depression, anger. But there’s something softer there too. A kindness found by one who’s been hurt too many times. Hope too, lying deep within.
“How can I help? Let me stay? Let me help?”
Steve smiles, slow and sweet at her concern and offer. He wraps an arm around her waist and gently brings her closer.
“Just be you.”
His nose touches hers and she sucks in a shuddered breath.
“That all?”
“Stay with me, doll.” His lips brush over hers. “Please.”