Chapter Text
Steve might not know what to make of Agent Romanov, but anything is better than flying; he feels far more comfortable on a ship.
The same can’t be said for the man currently looking lost and flustered across from them.
“Dr. Banner!” Steve lifts a hand, waving and trying to look as friendly as he can. Volume is something he’s had trouble with since the rebirth procedure, and – if the doctor’s startled jump is anything to judge by – he was louder than he’d thought.
Bruce Banner turns, picking his way through the bustle on the deck, nimble and nervous, hand extended by the time he reaches the two of them. “Oh, yeah, hi.” Steve’s lucky his hand is held out and ready because his brain sure as shit isn’t, the last vestiges of his sense draining away as the doctor’s fingers brush his palm. The touch of Bruce’s hand against his own sends needles pricking all the way up to Steve’s wrist, even as Bruce keeps speaking. “They told me you’d be coming.”
They’d told him, too; his ma and Bucky, even Peg, but he hadn’t believed this was possible, not for him, not once Steve woke up and realized where and when he was. Of course, Bruce wasn’t talking about that – couldn’t have been talking about them, since there wasn’t a them before the last few seconds – and Steve needs to get his shit together; to keep the conversation professional and not focus on the endearing way his soulmate – Fuck, really? – is biting the edge of his lip.
“Word is you can find the cube.” Steve balks internally at how stupid he sounds, feeling himself slide into his roadshow smile. Of all the idiot things to say to a man he’s been waiting a literal lifetime to meet. Though, with Agent Romanov at his back, maybe Steve should just count himself lucky neither he nor Bruce have really shown their hands about this.
Bruce steps to the side, tipping sweet brown eyes up at Steve to ask, “Is that the only word on me?”
Hardly. Steve’s done a lot of catching up since he got to here and now, but he’s barely scratched the surface with any of the people he’s supposed to meet today, soulmate included. What he knows already leaves him a tiny bit awestruck because – word is – Bruce Banner is a lot; a genius scientist with as many degrees as there are days of the week; a man SHIELD only managed to catch because he was such rebellious humanitarian; a soft-spoken if snappish sort of guy, with a dry sense of humour and perpetual bed head, whose very nice handwriting is looping those nine fateful words across Steve’s ribs, which really are the, “Only word I care about.”
Swing and a miss, Rogers, and they might share some fated connection, but that doesn’t mean Steve isn’t going to fuck it all to hell, isn’t watching Bruce turn away to tip his chin at the unit jogging by.
“Must be strange for you, all of this.”
Not at all. Yeah, it’s a new century, everyone he knows is dead, and he’s just met the man of his pathetic, decades old dreams, but – on the whole – not too much has changed. Steve’s working for a secret government alphabet branch, surrounded by agents and soldiers in the middle of a training camp, standing beside a woman who is always the most dangerous person in the room; he’s managed to put his foot in his mouth and is vainly hoping that he can grit his way through this fucking social disaster and make it to the other side without too much embarrassment. On the whole, “Well… This is actually kind of familiar.”
“Gentleman, you might want to step inside in a minute,” Agent Romanov interrupts the moment, and Steve would slug her if he wasn’t convinced she’d kick his ass, feed it to him, and throw him overboard. She nods to each of them in turn, wrist clasped in hand. “It’s gonna get a little hard to breathe.”
Oh, fuck, what now? Another squad jogs past them as the loudspeaker drones out, “Clear the deck!” and in that moment Steve’s right there again in forty-two – marveling and terrified that they’re going under once the hatch closes – mind boggling because of the sheer size of this thing, but still wondering, “Is this a submarine?!”
For all that Steve is caught between awe and shock, Dr. Banner seems nearly unfazed. He walks closer to the edge, hands in his pockets, his answering question spoken with perturbed curiosity. “Really? They want me in a submerged, pressurized, metal container?”
Steve hurries to catch up to him, standing as close as he reasonably can. “I didn’t expect…” to live long enough to meet you. It’s the truth, but a heavy one, better saved for another time; they can talk once Steve can stop acting like an idiot and manage to carry on a half-decent conversation. “We’ll talk later?”
“Yeah…” Bruce Banner catches himself as the entire deck tilts, but Steve comes dangerously close to grabbing hold of him.
Bad idea, since he knows full well he wouldn’t be letting his soulmate loose any time soon if he did. Steve eyes the horizon, wondering aloud as the arc of the sky shifts. “Are we going up?”
“Oh, no; this is much worse.”
He sounds so dejected that Steve can’t stop himself; resting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, he nods back to Agent Romanov, already strutting away. “We probably should get going.”
Steve gets a hesitant nod in reply, and his gut does a fluttering twist when they fall into nearly matched step hurrying toward a wide set of doors. It would be easy to take hold of Bruce’s hand in the darkened hall, but Steve doesn’t want to spook Bruce further. Still, he can’t help the soppy grin stretching his face, nor stop from turning to catch his soulmate’s eye before they reach the command centre.