The Red Soldier: The Crimson Prophecy

ISSUE #16

*Four Years Later*

(Y/N) sat patiently, twiddling his thumbs, and staring at the patterns on the walls facing him. 'Sorry I'm late,' Rictor apologised, finally sitting in the chair opposite him, letting out a deep breath and loosening his tie. 'You already order?' he asked.

         'You're having the ribeye with a bottle of Millers,' (Y/N) said coolly, taking a sip of his soda water. He hadn't had a drink in four years, ever since he'd crashed his car and broke his arm. Had he not met Rictor, he may have still been buried under his own troubles, struggling against the binds his grief had on him and using alcohol as a means to escape them. The friendly cop was a breath of fresh air, and their date nights were the highlight of (Y/N)'s week. It had taken seventy-three years for Bucky and him to put a label on their relationship, but Rictor had been a lot more straightforward. Within a few months of dating, he had asked (Y/N) to be his boyfriend, and after much consideration, (Y/N) (L/N) agreed; he'd never forget about James Barnes, he would always love him, but he had to move on in order to preserve his own sanity.

         'I'm sorry,' Rictor apologised, just as his drink was placed on the table.

         'You were late again,' (Y/N) huffed, 'this is the third time in a row I've waited almost an hour for you.'

         'I know, and I'm sorry,' he repeated himself, an apologetic pout on his face, 'just got tied up at work.'

Rictor was extremely dedicated to his career, something (Y/N) had come to admire, even when it cut into their date nights. He wished he could be as enthusiastic about his own job but being the Avenger's personal GP wasn't as interesting as he thought it might have been when Steve proposed the idea. All he ever seemed to do was fix broken bones, suture wounds, and prescribe antibiotics whenever one of them came back from a mission with an infection. It was dull work, and he yearned to be back in a hospital. It kept him busy though, and it gave him a purpose.

         Rictor reached across the table, taking hold of (Y/N)'s fingers, his calloused thumbs rubbing circles on the backs of his hands. 'Do you forgive me?' he asked, his brows knitting together worriedly.

         (Y/N) nodded, with a small half-smile, 'course I do.' Rictor grinned, taking back his hands when the waiter set their plates on the table. They both dug into their dinner hungrily, making eye-contact every so often. 'So how was work?' asked Rictor as he put his knife and fork together on the plate, gesturing to their waiter that he wanted the bill. (Y/N) set down his cutlery also, swallowing the last mouthful of his (F/F).

         His day had been completely free since every Avenger apart from Steve and Nat was away on some sort of mission. He had a lot of days like that, so it had become his custom to visit the Columbia University library under the guise of a student. There he would set himself up in a quiet corner and study alone, whether it be reading books on all the historical events he had missed whilst living alone in Scotland, or about the advances in his own field.

'It was alright,' (Y/N) shrugged, 'quiet.'

         'You should get a job in the city,' Rictor suggested. It wasn't the first time they'd had that conversation. After only a year of seeing each other, Rictor had suggested he move in with him into his apartment in Williamsberg, but (Y/N) declined the offer.

         'I like living upstate,' (Y/N) replied, 'I have really nice housemates, and my job isn't that boring.'

         'You'd rather work in a hospital though, wouldn't you,' he stated in response, 'you always say you miss the faster pace.'

         'I do,' (Y/N) agreed, 'but people rely on me there. I can't just pack up and leave.'

         'I'm sure I'll persuade you to one day,' Rictor winked, paying the bill since it was his turn to pay for date night. (Y/N) rolled his eyes, smiling and finishing his glass of soda water before standing up, letting Rictor hold his hand as they left the steak house.