I'm Here | ✓

22 - Recognition

"Hold still," Steve says, fiddling with a pencil and staring at me.

I took a sip of my water. "You need to eat, Steve." Regardless, I leaned casually against the back of the booth seat, giving Steve a mischievous glance as he started sketching in his journal. Some things never change.

Our knees brushed under the small table and Steve smiled, just a little, thinking I couldn't see. "What are we going to do with all this extra time?" I wondered aloud. Steve shrugged and kept drawing. "What do people even do for fun nowadays?"

"Go to the park? Watch a sunset? Campfires?" He shaded in my hair, and I looked up from the drawing, knowing Steve wouldn't want me to spoil the surprise for myself. From what I remember about who I used to be, I loved the adrenaline, the excitement of the moment, and none of the suggestions Steve offered sounded particularly exhilarating. I tilted my head. I'm not the same person, and Steve's here. Maybe it'll be different.

Steve gestured with his pencil. "Nah, put your head back. You're gonna mess up your hair."

I put my head back to how it was with a small grin. "Fine. Whatever you wanna do."

Steve cocked an eyebrow at me. "Really? No amusement parks, no sports, nothing?"

"I went to science conventions for fun. I was a huge nerd. I'm down for anything you wanna do."

"I don't know if you'd enjoy stargazing, if I'm being honest."

"Only if you're coming."

Steve smiled at me and returned to his drawing. God, he's adorable. I'm so glad I played this right.

"That's a nice drawing," the waitress commented on her way by, motioning to Steve's journal. He covers it up self-consciously with his arm.

"Thanks," he replied awkwardly.

"Is that of him?" She asks, pointing at me.

It happens in less than a second. I can see her eyes glance between Steve's drawing and my face. Her eyes widen in recognition. My fingers slide into my pocket, gripping the knife I grabbed before we left. This is going to end badly. I'm always going to be on the losing end of this.

"You're... you're..."

Steve reaches across the table and grabs my left hand. The waitress follows his motion, stumbling back a few steps. She knows. She's seen the news, read the articles. Shit.

I stand quickly, eyeing the door, ready to run.

"No, no, no, no, no," she whispers quickly, her voice overlapping with Steve's. I can only hear my pulse quickening in my head. I have to get out of here, away where they'll never find me.

"Sit, sit, I'm not going to tell anyone, you're okay, please, sit," she says. I glare down at her. I don't have a choice. This isn't my choice.

A man steps between me and the door, and I turn to him, ready to fight my way out of this if that's what it takes. The man puts his hands up, pleading. "Bucky, you're okay. Don't run. Buck, please."

It's Steve.

Oh my god.

I shove the knife back in my pocket.

I was so close to losing control. Everyone in the restaurant is staring at me. I glance between the waitress and Steve, breathing hard, realizing what could've been. 

I have a choice. I sit.

Steve slides back into the booth, and the waitress motions for him to move. She scoots in delicately next to him. She gives the other gawking patrons a sweet smile. "It's okay!" She calls. "A friend of mine. You'll have to excuse him."

We say nothing as people start to look away. Everyone erupts into nervous titters, but I don't think anyone really recognized me. I put both my hands on the table, still conscious of the weight of the knife against my leg. I look at the waitress curiously.

She holds my gaze. "You're James," she whispers.

"Bucky."

"Bucky," she repeats. Steve looks at me anxiously. "I've seen you on the news."

"Maybe we should go - " Steve starts. I don't react. I want to know why this waitress defended me.

"Listen, this might sound weird, but I've got a daughter back home." She fishes through her pockets, finally pulling out a small cracked phone. "She's seven." She taps on the screen, finally pulling up a photo and showing it to me. On the screen is a little girl, all rosy cheeks, crooked teeth, and brown hair pulled back in pigtails. I almost gloss over the fact that her left arm is rounded off at the elbow. I look back up at the waitress, saying nothing. I'm still on edge.

"She was born without her left forearm. The first time she saw you on TV, she jumped up and down and pointed at the screen. For weeks, she begged me for a metal arm just like yours." The woman started to tear up. "She even dressed up as you for Halloween. Do you wanna see?"

I glance at Steve. "Sure," I manage to croak out. The woman swipes at the screen again, and after a few seconds, she shows a picture of the same girl. She has what appears to be a basic plastic prosthetic, but it's painted silver with a little red star at the top. The girl grins, displaying an orange bucket shaped like a pumpkin in her other hand. I can't even identify all the emotions that are running through me right now.

"Her name's Katie. Anyway, I know this sounds stupid, but maybe could I get a picture with you? Just to show her?" She hugs the phone to her chest, biting her lip.

I pause. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

"Oh my god, thank you so much," the woman gushes, holding up her phone. I slip off my glove and grin at the camera, making a peace sign in the frame. The woman taps a button and then pulls the phone back. I pull the glove back on, shoving my hand in my pocket.

"You have no idea how much this'll mean to her, thank you, seriously." The woman smiles at the photo and slides the phone back in her apron. "Anyway, Aaron, my supervisor, he's gonna flip if I don't get back to work here. But for real, thank you for everything you've done for this country. A lot of people see you as a villain, but you're not. You inspire people around the world and you've sacrificed so much to better our society." She slides out of the booth with a small smile.

She starts to walk off. "Wait," I say, and she takes a few steps back. "Tell Katie I said hi, and to keep going, no matter what life throws at her."

The woman nods. "Will do. Thank you... Bucky."

She walks away. I look at Steve. He's got his face buried in his hands and his shoulders are hunched over.

"Steve?" Worry overtakes me, and I come around to sit on his side of the booth. I put my arm around him. He's shaking horribly and I can hear him crying.

He looks up and smiles at me. His face is red and tears run down his cheeks, but he's smiling. He wraps his arms around me, and I do the same, just breathing in the scent of him.

"You're not a bad person, Buck." He chokes out into my shoulder. "You're more than what you were, and this is proof of that."

"I almost lost it earlier," I whisper, but I can feel tears welling up in my eyes too.

"There's just a lot going on. Nobody blames you for taking time to adjust." He sniffs and pulls away. "God, I'm so lucky you're here."

"Stargazing tonight, m'kay?" I respond. Steve laughs.

"Deal."

I have Steve go up to the counter to pay and on a napkin, I write a note to the waitress. Technically, I write a note to both her and her daughter.

Dear Katie, you're so brave and strong and I'm so proud of you. A lot of times I doubt myself, but it's nice to know I have people like you in my life that support me. Don't forget that you're my hero, too. ♡ - Bucky Barnes

At the very bottom, I write Steve's number and thank you. I make sure Steve leaves a large tip. He does. It's $125.

I hold Steve's hand in mine as we walk out of a restaurant that changed my life. Steve's praise means everything to me, but knowing that not everyone on this planet wants me dead is nice too. I inspired someone to be better. Since when has that happened?