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Steve slipped out of the convention center quietly, relishing the fading of the roar inside. It was way too stuffy and loud, and the screams of the crowd when he'd stepped out on stage had been deafening, especially with his hearing. He'd only agreed to appear at Supercon 2015—in costume, no less—because the organizers had agreed to take his not-inconsiderable speaker's fee and donate it to a local charity. Natasha had paged him not long after the panel started—Avengers emergency; she was already on her way—and he was almost relieved. Seeing people fawning over Captain America was always a little odd.
The quiet didn't last long; he immediately noticed another Captain America lookalike leaning against the side of the building. This guy had customized his costume; Steve had learned that it wasn't uncommon for outfits to be altered (His favorite so far had been Captain Amermaid). His uniform had patches of black amongst the blue and white, and, instead of a helmet, he had a domino mask. What stood out the most, though, was his left arm; it was made out entirely out of medal, with a red star on the side.
The guy (he filled out the uniform nicely, Steve noticed, and then immediately wondered if that was narcissistic) nodded towards him and then did a double take. Steve sighed internally at his lost moment of brief, peaceful anonymity; it wasn't shocking that a superfan would recognize him right away. But to his surprise, his doppelgänger drew closer and said “whoa, man, those scales on your armor are unreal. How did you get them to look so life like?”
Steve shrugged. He should probably tell the truth, but he didn't want to deal with an overzealous fan and was generally curious as to far he could take this. “Oh, you know, I know a guy.” Which, technically not a lie.
“Really?” The guys said. “You'll have to give me his name. This is incredible.” He held out his hand and then snatched it back. “Can I, uh. Can I touch it?”
“Sure.”
He reached out and sort of petted Steve's bicep. Repeatedly. “Jesus, you're buff.” He snatched his hand back again, blushing. “Christ, I can't keep my mouth shut. Sorry. It's just, you could be Cap himself with those arms.”
Steve was blushing too. “It's okay. I like your arm.”
“Thanks, man,” he looked down at it. “I built it myself around my prosthetic. Took forever. Thought about trying to hide it, but then I thought, why the fuck not show it off?” He shook his head. “Sorry, normally I don't overshare this much. I'm just in a weird mood today, with the Captain and the crowd and all. This is the first time I've been around so many people in awhile.” He smiled ruefully, and Steve noticed how blue his eyes were.
“No, I get the crowd thing,” Steve said, gesturing the empty space around them. “You a big fan of Captain America?”
The guy brightened. “Yeah. I, uh, I did a few tours in Iraq, right? And during the last one, well.” He gestured to his silver arm, where apparently a prosthetic lie underneath. “I was laid up for awhile, between the field hospital and when I first got back. Had a lot of time on my hands. So I started reading about Captain America and the Howling Commandos? Kind of ironic to be reading about war, I guess, but I got sucked into it. Steve Rogers, man, he inspired me. Even before he became Captain America, he was a petty amazing guy, you know? Had all these health problems but was still involved in all of these super progressive causes for the time. He tried to enlist, like, four times before he was accepted into the Super Soldier program. And he's a fellow Brooklyn boy, of course. I just, it was really what I needed at the time and it kind of kept me sane when I was in recovery.”
“That's great,” Steve said. And it is. It was completely bizarre and uncomfortable hearing himself talked about like that (even if the guy seemed to know more about him as a person than the average Captain America fan), and though Steve thought a lot of his admiration was misguided, but it was still great to see a soldier recovered and doing well.
“Yeah. My sister knew how much of a fan I am and bought me tickets when she heard Cap was coming, so here we are. She's going to kill me when I tell her I missed him. You don't need get back inside to see him, do you? I don't think I can deal with the crowds, but I don't want you to miss him just because I was talking your ear off.”
“No, that's okay.”
“So what brought you to the convention? You must be a pretty big fan yourself.”
Steve laughed. Oh, the irony. “Not really. I just like the costume. I think Falcon's better.” At least that wasn't a lie.
“He's pretty great too, even if he was air force. Why are all the Avengers so gorgeous?”
“You think Captain America is attractive?” Steve asked. It was flattering, even if he was fishing for compliments a little.
“Is that a problem?” The guy was glaring; apparently Steve hadn't come across as flattered. “Just because I only have one arm doesn't mean I can't kick a homophobe's ass when I see one.”
Steve held up his hands in a peace offering. “No, not at all. I mean, Cap's not really my type, but. . .”
“So what is your type?” His new friend asked, switching from defensive to flirty in the blink of an eye. His voice deepened with the question, and Steve didn't even have to think about his answer.
“Brown hair, blue eyes,” Steve gave the guy's body a once over to make his point clear.
“So, does that mean you wanna get a drink sometime?” The guy purred. “I'm Bucky, by the way. I should have introduced myself before I asked you out, I guess.” Bucky bit his lip, but before Steve could respond, a sleek convertible pulled up, top down.
“Holy shit,” Bucky gasped, “that's the Black Widow! You think she's here to pick up the Captain?”
“Uh, well.” Steve said, right as Natasha shouts “Rogers! C'mon already! We're already late! Fucking traffic.”
Bucky went still beside him. Steve turned to look; his face was scarlet underneath the mask. “Um,” he said. “Um.”
Steve went with his gut reaction, which was to hold out his hand and say “I'm Steve.”
“Um,” Bucky repeated, staring at his hand. He didn't move to take it.
“Rogers!”
He looked at Bucky apologetically. “I'm really sorry, but I have to go. It was nice to meet you though!”
He ran and hopped in the car, Natasha not even bothering to look at him before she hit the pedal. As they pealed off, Steve stuck his head out and looked back at Bucky, still frozen. “Let's meet at Borgo's Friday at 7:30! I'll pay!”
The last thing he saw as they drove away was Bucky mouthing what the fuck as they drive away. Natasha looked at him. “Holy shit, grandpa, did you finally get a date?”
“You know, I think I did.”
“With yourself. That's pretty egotistic.”
“What can I say? I have pretty good taste.”