Captain America's Soulmate

Chapter 2

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Steve rolled himself to the sickbay under his own power but was quickly overtaken by nurses and doctors asking this and that as they pushed him to a room. He let the sound of their fussing wash over him. He answered what he could like no, he never lost consciousness, yes, he was still bleeding in some places, no, his bones hadn't healed yet, no, no one else had been injured.

They moved him up on the bed to pull out the rest of the shrapnel buried in his skin. Set both legs and rebandaged what they could in that efficient no-nonsense manner that reminded Steve of field nurses in World War II.

Finally, he was alone, clean, freshly bandaged, and laying on the recovery bed. He pondered the ceiling as he thought. Bucky had been right it was time he started looking.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"Please look up anyone with the name Jamie Piper Quinn."

"137 throughout history have had that name," Jarvis replied.

"Narrow it down to 1920s and beyond."

"13 people."

"Any living today?"

"Three."

"Any with registered soulmate marks?"

"Two."

"What about the third?"

"Jamie Piper Quinn, age 25, no labeled soul mark, lives in New York City, works as an intern for Stark industries at Avengers Tower, Captain Rogers."

Steve shot up out of bed, his heart pounding. It couldn't be. There was no way his soulmate was so close and he hadn't seen her. It was almost too good to be true.

"Where.." he croaked out, then cleared his throat. "Where is she?"

"He has currently left the building."

"He?" Steve asked. Jarvis wasn't one to make mistakes but he must be wrong.

"Yes. Captain Rogers. He works in the mailroom, and has for the last 7 weeks."

Steve sank back in the bed and stared at the ceiling once more. That couldn't be right, could it? It probably wasn't, but it was a lead. He would be stupid to not check it out. Maybe she was just pretending to be a he. But Steve couldn't see much point in them doing that in the 21st century.

But it also felt like way too much of a coincidence. He went back in his photographic memory and pictured the mail intern.

He remembered that lanky frame, black shaggy hair that fell into his piercing grey eyes. Lucy and he were friends, good friends.

Jamie had been on the roof when they arrived just two hours ago. Steve pictured the man's face when he exited the craft and frowned. He had looked......worried, scared, anxious, hurt, alone? Nothing positive. He should have been relieved for Lucy, but maybe something else was going on.

He needed to look into this as soon as he finished his thirty-hour power nap.....

*********

Jamie got home and clicked on the lights to his studio apartment in Brooklyn. Of course, he had moved to Brooklyn. It felt like the logical place, get to know where your soulmate lived and breathed. Walk the same streets he had. He was such an idiot. A stupid, lovesick, delusional, fool.

He looked around the small space with its cute kitchen, funky skylight, brick painted walls that he absolutely adored. He loved this place with its quirky charm. It perfectly reflected how Jamie felt on the inside. All hard edges but with soft little nuggets all around. From the overly squishy couch that once you sat down you couldn't get out of, to the queen size bed, covered in dozens and dozens of pillows in all shapes and sizes.