Chapter Text
Night in Brooklyn is never truly dark. Streetlights, office buildings, headlights from passing cars... They shown through the tiny kitchen window of Steve Rogers’s apartment, lighting up the limited space and the mess that filled it--past the kitchen table, past the messy bed in the corner, past the giant red, white, and blue decorated shield leaning by the foot of the bedside table. Art supplies, note papers, and canvases of various sizes piled in the corners to make space for an easel, where a half-finished oil painting stood drying. The clothe meant to be covering the painting lay on the floor. Paint brushes scattered around a upturned palette. The artist seemed to have left in a hurry, leaving the indigo paint to shine in the city light.
Indeed, Steve had hurried out of his studio in the dead of night. It wouldn't be safe to be wandering the streets at this odd hour for most people, but the man sprinting down the streets at full speed was Captain America, a man used to far worse than street gangs and common muggers. He didn't even have his famous shield with him. Even if he wasn’t a superhero by profession, safety would remain equally far from his mind this night.
The light had shown up again, and he must find out what it was. Images haunted his dreams by night, and hues of blue dominated his brushes by day. Strange sea creatures were all that he could paint for months. Before that--well, before that he had been preoccupied with world events and the fallout with a friend that’s practically family. Thinking about his fight with Tony and the divided Avengers made Steve sadder and lonelier than ever. The consequences of their fight were great. He knew Tony was still angry, but Steve stand by his belief. Giving up the power to decide their own actions to others will inevitably turn them into another set of pawns played to fulfill agendas--agendas that doesn’t necessary put innocent lives as priority. He cannot allow that. Tony didn’t agree. The government didn’t agree. But Tony was graceful enough to pull a few strings to keep federal agents off Steve’s back. Thanks to him, Steve wasn’t on the run. But he better keep his nose clean for awhile. Keep out of trouble, as his ma would have told him.
Then the dreams started, and he picked up his brushes again. The colors exploded in his dreams night after night, driving away nightmares and worries. He still kept a lookout on what was happening in the world, but his brushes couldn’t stop. If he did, he would be overwhelmed by the images that he must put down on paper. So it started, day after day, tentacles with shining lights lining the edges, flashing on his canvas as they have shone like beacons in his dreams. He believed them to be merely dreams until a about week ago, when he woke from another seabreeze-filled dreams to find the same lights blinked and disappeared from his window. He dashed across the room and looked out, but the shadow was gone. No trace of it could be found. Steve figured he had imagined it.
This particular night, something kept him up painting all night until the small hours of the next day. He felt as if he’d lose inspiration if he stopped. He was frantically smearing more paint around a patch of star shaped marking when he saw two spots of light reflecting off the paint. He thought he imagined it. That, or one of the lightbulbs has overheated again. He blinked and the lights disappeared. Steve stood up so rapidly he knocked the stool over and turned around to the window just in time to see a dark shape dashing out of sight. He didn’t even stop to think what time it was or what he was doing. With a determined mind, he ran to the window and jumped out onto the fire escape. It was two floors up but he flipped himself over the railings without a second thought, landing on the pavement below with nothing more than a soft thud. He had to know what this creature from his dreams was doing here. What was it doing out of the waters?
Steve’s heart pounded wildly as stood on the streets looking both ways. He didn’t see the creature anywhere. Blindly, he followed a pull, or a kind of intuition, and turn east towards Prospect Park. He hardly registered the fenced-off gardens and what few stores still open that he dashed pass on the way. No, the only thing on his mind was the shadow and the lights that kept calling to him. He didn’t stop when he got to the park to find the gates closed. Without hesitation, he jumped and pulled himself over. Picking up speed again as soon as he landed on the other side, desperate to get to the lake.
It wasn’t until he was finally standing at the water’s edge that he registered the rashness of his actions. What was he doing standing in the deserted park at 2 am, out of breath, and in search of a shadow of an illusion? What made him so sure that the thing was here, if it was even real to begin with?
He turned to go. But from the corner of his eye, the waters stirred. Steve jumped back so quickly he tripped over his own foot and landed on the ground. Ripples flow towards the edge from where a shape disappeared under the surface.
Probably just a fish. Steve shook his head and breathed out a sigh. He should really stop this nonsense and go home. But he couldn’t make himself get up off the ground and go. He watched the waters until it stilled, as if expecting something to happen.
Seconds ticked by.
That something, as it turned out, was the light below the surface, growing ever brighter. Steve stayed vary still this time, afraid that if he blink, it would disappear again. A head broke the surface. Two eyes, deeply set and rimmed with glowing blue markings were peeking out at him curiously. Steve couldn’t breath. They were the exact same eyes that watched him from every corner of his dreams. The markings flashed in variant brightness, like tears about to fall. But there were no sorrow in the eyes, only cautious curiosity. Mirroring the look on Steve’s face.
“Um. Hi?” Steve tried.
Immediately, the head disappeared under the waters, but the lights didn’t go out this time.
Ever so slowly, the strange man poked his head out of the water again.
“Hey.” Steve tried again.
Neon markings flashed nervously, and the water around the man (Creature--Steve reminded himself. Remember he might not be as friendly as he looks.) rippled as if he was about to move away but forced himself to stay. When Steve made no move to get closer, he got out of the water more. The waterline dropped below his chin, showing a glowing lower lip on an otherwise very human looking pair of lips. They are thin, but with beautifully well-defined points and cupid's bow. The corners looked as if they can smirk and poke fun at you and still not offend. But the man wasn’t smiling now, he looked ready to bolt if Steve turned out to be hostile.
“Um…. I’m Steve.” Even as he said it, Steve started to wonder if the man even speaks English. The Arial did, right? Oh wait, she lost her voice in the beginning. Okay, he should really stop equating the current situation to a fictional mermaid encounter. Anyway, it doesn’t hurt to try to communicate. “What’s your name?”
The creature hummed, but otherwise said nothing. Steve inched closer. Mr. Silent got bolder and swam right up to the edge, and propped himself up, both arms on the side and resting his chin on top, still inspecting Steve with interest.
Steve inched closer. Kneeling on all fours, his fingers were as close to the strange man's arms as he dared to be. Their eyes met, the man staring at Steve unblinking until Steve finally looked away, choosing to focus on his glowing lips instead.
“I, um, I think it was you at my window earlier.” He could think of nothing to do other than continuing the one sided conversation.
To his surprise, the man responded with a brief nod. Oh, so he does understand English!
The man reached out, his figures growing with the same cold luminance as all his markings. He touched Steve's paint-smeared finger--ET style. Steve was transfixed. Finally, the strange man spoke. "You paint beautifully."
Steve blushed. He wasn’t expecting that. Of all the things the man could have said, he complimented on Steve's painting. Most people don't talk about that anymore, now that saving lives is what usually gets Steve media attention. He doesn’t have that much down time to paint anyway. It's only a hobby to help him wind down nowadays, and he doesn't exactly go around showing people his work (even though Nat and Sam kept encouraging him to do so). He was at a lost for a proper response.
“My friends call me Bucky.” the man offered after it became clear that Steve wasn’t going to say anything else.
“Bucky…” Steve repeated.
In the silence that follows, Steve was suddenly aware of the cool breeze on his exposed neck. It was already late Spring, but the night can still get chilly. The pond water must be freezing! Steve felt guilty he that he didn’t notice this earlier. He was about to say something to convince Bucky to get out of the water, but something in his expression must have alarmed the man.
Bucky pulled his hand back as if he got electicshocked. His muscles were tense, ready to escape into the waters again. He was looking at Steve with concern.
“Don’t go!” Steve said it much louder than intended.
Cautiously, Bucky swam back. “You look like something was wrong.”
“I was thinking you must be cold in the water.” Steve explained hurriedly. “Do you want to come out? Come back home with me. Maybe, you want something to eat?"
What was he doing inviting a strange man to go home with him?
Bucky frowned. "I don't get cold. But thanks for the offer."
The declination disappointed Steve more than he thought reasonable. He cleared his throat. "Um, okay. If you change your mind, you know where I live."
Bucky smiled for the first time, although he seemed more apologetic than happy. "Sorry, Steve. I didn't mean to intrude. I thought--Well, I was curious about Captain America." He made a face after the sentence left his lips. "That sounds creepy, doesn't it?"
Yes. Yes it does. That was what Steve should've said. "Not at all." he replied.
Steve Rogers simply cannot lie.
“Earth is lucky to have you.” Bucky continued. "You should go home. Can't have you sleep-deprived and catching a cold out here because of me."
He's chasing me away. Steve thought sadly. But Bucky's words have a finality to them so Steve obeyed. He stood up, ignoring the loneliness that was creeping on him. "Alright then. Visit me sometime? I hope I'll see you soon."
"Sure Steve." came the uncommitted reply.
The trip home seemed much farther than it really is. Steve couldn’t forget the face with the strange luminescent markings, so cautious yet curious. He was so sure Bucky wanted to get to know him better, yet he refused to have any more interaction than a meeting in the park. Steve sighed. Perhaps seeing him up close was all that Bucky wanted. He turned around to look back the way he came. Already Prospect Park come to mean something quite different than a daily jogging route. He was beginning to associate everything on the way with Bucky. Water for him to swim in, shadows for him to hide, breeze through the leaves that he can hum to.. Steve realized he was looking at all the shadows, expecting to see the strange man in one of them, following him ever at a distance. But it was just his imagination running wild again, keeping him from getting home too quickly lest closing the front door meant ending what possibility he had of seeing Bucky again. Steve shook his head for the last time that night, forcing himself to be logical and get a move on home.
By the time he opened the front door and replaced the spare key under the carpet, Steve had made up his mind to stop fantasizing about meeting Bucky again.
Across the street, a dark shadow emerged took form under the London planetree. Two tear-like fluorescent markings lighted up, framing the sea-grey eyes that gazed up to the second floor.