Who Am I? » [Stucky]

20. Duty Calls

Bucky had left after their casual lunch together and Steve had been left on an endorphins high from Bucky's unexpected, but welcomed, visit. He had gotten back to his book and easily finished that after Bucky had left. He had only wished he could drop him a text or give him a call to gush to him about how much he loved the book and spew gratitude for the gift. Unfortunately that wasn't an option. Although he did get a phone call later that evening.

His white iPhone 5S interface stirred to life in a burst of colour and the American national anthem - The Star-Spangled Banner - blared from the small tinny speakers. It had been Tony's fault and it was humiliating every time that the damn device got a call, he would desperately fumble with the phone in his large hands and try and shut it off as fast as he could to avert his embarrassment. There had been countless occasions where it had gone off at inappropriate times: during meetings, during dates and even in day to day life. Tony may have found it hilarious beyond belief, but Steve felt his heart clench every time it went off and he was clueless of how to change it. Speaking of the bastard, his cocky face had flashed up as the caller ID.

With a withdrawn irritated sigh Steve reached across with a groan and picked up the mobile.

"Yup?" He answered casually, clutching the handset to his ear.

"Do you really think Howard loved me?" The vacant voice slurred messily.

Tony was drunk out of his mind.

"How much have you had to drink, Tony?" Steve questioned in a concerned and frustrated voice. He had almost been expecting a phone call tonight.

"Mr Stark has consumed one and a half bottles of Jack Daniel's Captain Rogers," JARVIS' authoritative British voice sounded down the phone.

"JARVIS, kindly switch yourself off for the evening..." Stark commanded, hiccuping lightly down the microphone as he issued the instruction, sounding drearier and groggier than ever before; he sounded as if he had caught the flu.

"Tony, if you're still drinking now, I need you to put down the bottle..." Steve said the words slowly like he was approaching a man with a gun, trying not to worry him with any sudden staccato bursts of noise.

"You didn't answer my question Captain Spandex... Do you really think that my dad loved me?" Tony sounded like his tongue had gone numb and his articulation was like a child who was just learning to speak, lazy and struggled.

"Hang on Tony, I'm on my way..." Steve shut off the phone snappily.

He melted back into the seat and gave a deep weary sigh of exasperation and shut his eyes. He felt like a nurse on emergency call on his evening off.

He leapt up and snatched his keys off the shelf by the door on his way out, stuffing them into his brown leather jacket pocket and jangling as he hopped and skipped down the flights of stairs in the stairwell in his block of flats.

He hot footed it out onto the crowded sidewalk and darted around the side of the building where his beautiful Harley-Davidson Street 750 motorcycle sitting in the shadows of the humungous block of flats, chained up to a broken lamppost that resided in the alley. He dropped down into a struggled squat and unchained the untameable beast and leapt onto the seat. He slotted the keys into the ignition with a small ringing noise as the fob clattered about and the motorcycle roared to life: the headlights flicking on and the engine chugging.

He revved it appreciatively and kicked out the metal support stand, accelerating out of the hooded darkness and onto the glaring streetlights and headlights of the jam packed New York roads.

He travelled with a deep rumble, the engine growling intrusively as it went. He tooted urgently at cars as he swerved and darted between them, attempting not to catch his wing mirrors on the vehicles either side of him. He swung out the back wheel as he screeched around corners and sped over speed bumps with a small leap.