Save Me, Steve. // Captain America

10- Bucky

She puts her hand on his thigh, and I shake violently from trying to refrain myself from racing over and ripping her arm off. And I don't fucking know why.

I can see Steve sat on a stool by the bar, leaning on the greasy counter and facing a woman who I can only describe as gut-wrenchingly unattractive. I wouldn't touch her with a bar pole covered in bleach, and from the looks of it neither can Steve. But I was told that Steve is always polite to whoever approaches him, and I can see how much self-control it's taking him to stay sitting on the stool and not bolt straight out of this shitty club. 

I fucking hate clubs, especially this one. I'd rather go to a building site and listen to the all the noise that goes on there for 3 hours instead of having my ears destroyed by this clubs shitty taste in music. I want to march over to every single music speaker and smash it to a pulp, but I can't seem to tear my eyes away from the muscly man sat 10 seats away. And a voice in the back of my mind tells me to move closer, to shove the stick-like orange woman straight out of her seat so there's barely any space in-between us, Steve's knees nearly touching mine-

I chuck the rest of my drink down my throat, shaking my head to try and get these vile thoughts out of my head. I let go of the fragile tumbler glass I'm holding so tightly in my fist that I can feel it about to break. Steve is my assigned mission to stalk, to watch every single move he makes, not my fucking friend to have a chit-chat with down at our local club. Fuck. My mind's going crazy and I don't know why. I need to think of something else before the rest of my brain turns to mush, fast.

God, Pierce's 'stylists' has made a right fucking mess of me, dressing me up and disguising me completely so that I can barely recognise myself. I fucking hate it. I stare at my reflection in the huge mirror behind the bar that stretches along the entirety of the clubs wall, and my expression twists into a scowl. They've completely changed my facial bone structure, thinning my jawline and blending my cheekbones into the rest of my skin so as to give my face a rounder look. Or a heart shaped look. I don't know what the different facial-structure-names are and frankly I don't fucking care. I can hardly remember as I was seriously drugged up at the time. My dark hair has been scraped back and shoved under a blonde wig, which is fucking hard to resist scratching, it feels like my whole fucking head is on fire. 

I remember how they peeled open my eyelids and shoved hard disks on top of my eyeballs, which I know now to be this modern thing called 'contacts' that have changed the colour of my blue eyes to a dirty brown. They made my eyes sting and water for what felt like hours, and I'm told this is supposed to be a fashion thing these days? Fuck that, I'll keep my natural eye colour.

The long, black sheepskin coat is making me sweat like crazy, and I thank the clubs ceiling that I'm huddled in a corner by myself, and no one is close enough to see how badly I stink. But at the last possible minute when the information suddenly came through to Pierce that Steve was randomly in a nightclub, it's the only thing that can fully cover my metal arm and still allow me to move my limbs comfortably.

Steve stands up, led by the ugly orange woman, and I jump up automatically to follow him as ordered, only to see that they're heading straight for the crowded dancefloor. I settle back down on my isolated stool and laugh to myself; that dancefloor must be even sweatier than I am. I lose the pair in the crowd, but I don't panic as my place in the corner of the room offers a clear view of the main (and only) exit. 

It's not long before I see Steve and his tangerine-coloured little friend heading for the exit, and at that very moment a girl saunters up to me in dress so tight she walks funny and I have to stop myself from bursting out laughing. She's the type of girl that would be considered very pretty and very desirable to anyone, from her platinum long, blonde hair to her hourglass body. But all I can think about is Steve heading out of the exit doors and away from me, hand in hand with tangerine-face.

"Well hey there-"

"Save it." I cut blondie off mid-chat up line, shoving her out of my way with my shoulder a little too hard as she stands directly inbetween the exit and me. I don't look round as I hear her fall to the floor with a high pitched squeak that could shatter glass, my mind is entirely focused on closing the small gap between Steve and I. 

 I burst out into the street, only to see Steve getting into the passenger of a car that makes my stomach want to jump out of my throat and onto the ground in front of me. Who the fuck is that stupid to buy a car that looks like that?! Oh yeah, tangerine-face would. Figures. I watch them drive off, the car wiggling so frantically all over the road they're lucky it's 3 am and there's no traffic, or else Steve would have probably-

No. I'm not thinking about that. I take my mind off of Steve's safety as I plunge my metal fist through the driver's window of a sleek, black car that looks promisingly fast. I leap in, slamming the door behind me and ripping open a section of dashboard to reveal hundreds of different coloured wires staring up at me. I hardly pay any attention to my hands as I grab two different wires that I know will start the car and press them together.

I pull away from the parking lot hurriedly, tires squeaking but the noise drowned out by the pulsing bass in the club, shoving the gear stick all the way up to 6th gear as I race down the highway at a speed that helps me catch up with the shitty pink car in no time. I keep a relatively logn distance away, just enough to avoid detection but not enough that I can lose them easily. With me on your tail, you'd better hope that I'm in a good mood when I catch you.

The horrid pink car turns a corner into a small neighbourhood, and I follow closely this time, driving at a slower speed than before. Steve and tangerine-girl get out and I snort as I take in Steve's pale, gobsmacked and frightened face. I've never seen that one before, and for some reason I feel strangely proud that I've never scared him to the point of showing that expression. I figure that the apartment building they're walking into is home to a flat belonging to tangerine-girl, and so I sit and wait as I know that Steve will be able to handle himself. Look at the guy, he's a fucking muscly tank.

It feels like 30 seconds have passed since Steve disappeared into the tall building, and he's already walking- no, running- out of the entrance door and into the parking lot. I sit up suddenly and close my eyes for a second and breathe deeply, before opening the car door and casually sauntering over to where Steve is stood on the corner of the pavement trying to catch his breath roughly.

As I reach the same pavement Steve is stood on, I feel a strong force shove my right shoulder back, throwing me off guard and almost causing me to lose my balance. A hand grips my arm, and another steadies my shoulder as I breathe out sharply, shocked.

"Sorry, mate! I didn't see ya there, I was in my own little world!" A high pitched yet manly voice with a strong Texas accent says loudly in my ear, and I look round too see an African- American man with long dreadlocks and a loose hat standing next to me supporting my balance, his face full of worry and remorse.

I shake his hands off of me, and he lets his arms drop to his side. "It's fine, I'm fine. Don't, um, worry or whatever." I frown as he grimaces, looks me over, nods once and walks away, his long red coat swishing from side to side as he walks deeper into the neighbourhood. 

By this point, Steve has seen the entire thing and comes running over to me to check I'm okay. Bingo. Everything is falling into place.

"Hi there, do you need some help? Are you okay sir?" Steve says, the concern in his familiar voice sending shivers down my spine. I smile as he studies my face, no recognition showing in his wide eyes.

"Yes I'm fine. But you won't be." It all happens so fast. I shrug out of the boiling hot sheepskin coat, sighing as the freezing air hits my metal arm as I throw it around his neck in an unbreakable headlock. He cries out as I stab a needle into his neck, pressing the dark, thick liquid inside the tube into his veins. His body slumps to the ground, and for a reason I cannot understand, my cold as metal heart feels like it's breaking the entire time I'm dragging Steve across the dark, unlit car park to my stolen car.

There are tears in my eyes as I shove Steve in the back seats, positioning him so he's lying across all three seats, his expression so peaceful I'm almost jealous. I close the door behind me as I settle into the drivers seat, and pause for a moment to take out the burning contact lense. 

It's only until I've chucked the contacts out of the smashed window that I realise that it's not the contact lenses that are making me cry.

It's Steve.