I'm Here | ✓

39 - Shadow

"You see that gift shop to your right?" Sam says, distracting me. He sounds tense, and I furrow my eyebrows. "Walk in there."

I spot the giant windows displaying various shot glasses and I slip inside. Smiling at the man at the counter, I turn to inspect the racks of Brooklyn themed T-shirts. I flip through them, whispering to my earpiece. "What's going on?"

The bell on the door rings behind me. I don't turn around. I hear cautious footsteps that pause behind me, but they continue slowly to the back of the store. I'm on edge the whole time.

"That's the guy that's been following you for, like, twenty minutes. It's not the same one you had a conflict with. It's a new guy that walked out of the bar when you passed to come back. I just wanted to check."

"So he's following me?" I murmur, acutely aware of the man currently examining glass paperweights displaying Coney Island and Steve as Captain America. He hums quietly to himself, but I have a sneaking feeling he's not looking to buy a souvenir.

"Yeah. He's not very good at it - you walk fast - but he's kept up. I've got Redwing waiting outside on the awning of the building, just in case."

"Mm." I hear the same leisurely footsteps pacing behind me, and then I finally get a good look at the man as he walks around me. About 5'9', black hair, sunglasses, loose jacket. Good for hiding weapons, although, I've got my own hidden on me.

"Looking for shirts, huh?" The man says with a guarded smile, glancing up at me.

I nod and pretend to check the size on the one right in front of me. "Yeah." I don't know how much longer I can keep searching through the same rack.

There's a slight pause, and then the man continues. "Sorry, I couldn't help but notice your outfit. It's kind of hot out here for two layers, don't you think? Dark colors absorb heat, you know. It's, like, 90 degrees out today." It is not, but I don't comment on it. The man acts interested.

"I get cold easily," I say and turn away, looking for something else in the store.

"Get out of there so I can tag him," Sam says quietly.

I start walking towards the door, giving a small wave to the cashier. I nod to the stalker guy. "Have a good day!" I say, a little louder than necessary. His face drops as he realizes I'm leaving.

I push open the door and try my best to blend into the fray of people. The guy was right; I am a little warm. "What do I do, Sam?" I whisper.

Glancing behind me, I see the man exit the store in a rush and glance both ways. He pauses in my direction, and I turn my head back to the front. "Sam, do something," I hiss.

"Fuck! Get back here, man!" I hear Sam yell. It takes me a second of hesitation to realize he's not talking to me. "Sorry. Guy ran off before Redwing could tag him. Don't worry, I'm still following him, but the bad news is that he's got his eyes locked on you."

I glance into a window to see how far behind me he is. Ten paces, maybe? Closer than I'd like, and definitely following me.

"Can I talk to Steve?" Bird-brain has no idea what's going on. I need somebody with some experience.

Sam coughs. "He's... trying to figure out what to do."

I don't respond. Sam hesitated. I'm good at body language, not verbal tics, but I know what the pause means. Goddamnit, Steve.

"He's on his way, isn't he." It's not a question.

"He's not in uniform, don't worry. Go right. He's taking the subway; I'll have you two meet in the middle, wherever he gets off."

I groan quietly. He always had to intervene, but it's too late now.

In a few minutes, Sam's voice reappears. "Cross the street to your left. Steve's waiting for you by the business on the corner. God, it's so hard to track the both of you at the same time."

I wait anxiously on the corner. Any time I'm not walking is time for him to get closer, and I guarantee he's waiting four steps behind me.

The crosswalk symbol flashes to "walk" and I step into the street, eyeing the cars pulling up to the light. I glance at the storefront across the street, but I don't see anybody who looks even remotely like Steve. He'd better be here. I take my glasses off and make it look like I just bumped them off my face on accident. The man is about seven feet behind me and pauses when I spot him, but he keeps walking, and I can't find a way to stay on the ground until he passes. I stand and slip the glasses on my hat. I've done this dozens of times in the past. Why am I nervous now?

I look for Steve but I can't wait long. I've got to keep moving.

Suddenly, someone grabs my collar and yanks me into the door of the business. My first instinct is to push them away, but they're too fast, rivaling my speed. My eyes refocus on Steve's face an inch from mine, and I fight the urge to smile.

"I would yell at you, but I appreciate the help."

He glances around, spotting the man who was following me. "That's a first."

I look down at his hands holding my jacket tightly. "So do you have any plan?"

"I'm gonna cause a scene."

It's my turn to grab his shirt. "No, you're not."

"Sam tagged him. It'll be fine."

I don't have much time to debate. "Fine. I'll walk the way I came, you distract him." I push a pocketknife into his hand, curling his fingers over it. "Here. I love you. Be safe." A send him a small smile and push off the door, attracting the attention of the man, now leaning against the light pole. I walk past him and hope that whatever Steve pulls, he does it well.

I casually admire the buildings around me, but it's just to keep an eye on the man. He pushed off the light to stay a few steps behind me. I tap my foot nervously. The traffic light turns red and the "walk" signal flashes, so I step into the street.

I hear an angry huff of breath. "What's your problem, man?" Steve growls. He hides his New York accent with a bit of Italian, and I try to listen over the loud bustle of pedestrians. "Don't walk away from me, motherfucker! Who do you think you are?" He's yelling now, and a few people in front of me glance back, wondering what the commotion is. I pick up the pace and slip between them with a small smirk. Your military vocabulary hasn't gone away, has it, Rogers?

"Sam, is he okay?" I look backward, but I can't see Steve.

"He's fine. Just come back to the apartment; he can get his ass out of this one."

My better half tells me no, you have to defend Steve, and for a second I consider doubling back. Then I realize it's 2016. It's not a back-alley scrap or a war. Steve's 240 pounds of pure muscle and righteousness, and he's plenty capable of causing a minor distraction. Shut up, Barnes. Let Steve save you for once.

If only he knew exactly how many times he's saved me. I probably would've put a gun to my head a long time ago if it wasn't for him, though I'd never mention that out loud.

"Careful, Steve," I whisper, and retrace my route back to the apartment.