Captain America's Soulmate Ch. 02

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 mail room, 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, love sick, 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.

He would miss this place, he would miss New York with its never-ending movement and energy. He thrived off the city life he had cut out for himself. But it was time. It finally hurt too much to stay.

Jamie allowed himself one small selfish moment though. He crawled into bed, pulled out a picture frame from under a pillow that he had placed one of the cuttings from an old newspaper he had paid was too much money for and traced the lines of Steve's face before he had taken the serum. The picture itself was a before and after of the serum treatment, but it was all Jamie allowed himself to have of his other half.

Just this one newspaper clipping. Jamie clutched the frame to his chest and let out a sob. He would be self-indulgent tonight and cry himself to sleep. Tomorrow he started a new life.

********

Steve's nap didn't last as long as he was expecting. He wasn't sure what woke him up, just that only 5 hours into his nap he was wide awake and restless.

There were no clues as to why he should be awake. Everything was fine. His wounds were healing nicely, no one had disturbed him, and Jarvis hadn't called him. Maybe he was just hungry.

Steve slid his feet to the side of the bed and stood shakily, his bones were mostly healed, but he still felt like a newborn baby lamb taking their first steps.

As he went he grew more confident, and soon was striding down the medical wing to the elevators.

The doctors and nurses knew not to stop him. They'd tried it once and found that It didn't work. If an Avenger was really injured, the rest of the team would send them back down to medical bay.

He got in, pushed the button for the Avengers communal kitchen. His stomach grumbled impatiently.

"I know belly. Food soon." He murmured to it as he rubbed it.

Once the doors slid open he walked in and looked around. Nat was sitting in a corner reading, Clint was making food, and Bucky and Lucy were cuddling on the couch, acting nauseatingly cute. Steve could see out of the corner of his eye that Lucy was lazily tracing Bucky's skin between his shirt and pants right where her mark was. She seemed to be doing it unconsciously. Just another reason to throw up.

Bucky looked over as he entered. "Hey punk, what are you doing up?"

"Food," Steve replied.

"Gotcha," Bucky said before settling back down to gently run his fingers through Lucy's hair.

Steve shook his head, trying to get their adorableness out of his head. God, he wanted to be in Bucky's place so bad.

Cuddled up on the couch with his soulmate.

"They're nauseating just to watch," Clint commented from the stove where he was stirring a pot of pasta.

"I heard that!" Bucky called.

"Then get a room!" Clint shot back.

"We will, as soon as the movie is over." Lucy cut in.

Clint grumbled but let it go.

"Enough pasta there for one more?" Steve asked hopefully.

Clint snorted "Yea, but not you. Hold on, I'll pour some more noodles in."

Steve gratefully watched as Clint added a whole other box to the boiling water. While he waited he decided now would be as good a time as any to ask Lucy about Jamie.

"Hey, Luce?" He called

"Yea?" She replied, not moving her head.

"You have a minute?"

"What kind of minute?"

"To answer some questions of curiosity."

She gave a put-upon sigh but sat up and looked at Steve from over the back of the couch. "Yea?"

"You know that..." Steve trailed off just now realizing how many ears were listening to this conversation.

"Know what, Steve?" Lucy asked impatiently.

"Oh your friend from the mailroom."

"You mean Jamie? What about him?"

Steve heard Bucky shift restlessly.

"I was just wondering what you could tell me about him..." he trailed off lamely. Lucy's eyes narrowed and she gave him a look.

"You just said that he didn't seem to like me, and I'm just trying to see if I did anything wrong, you know how customs have changed since I went in the ice and all." Steve rushed on.

He knew he wasn't fooling Bucky and probably not Natasha, but Lucy seemed appeased.

"Well, he's gay, for one. Maybe he's worried about your views on homosexuality."

"Oh," Steve said, going a little weak in the knees at that revelation. He cleared his throat. "I wasn't aware of that."

Lucy raised an eyebrow at him. "It's kinda hard to miss. He is pretty loud and proud about it."

Steve gave a shrug wanting this conversation to end like yesterday. "Thanks, I'll see if that helps."

"No problem," Lucy responded before curling back up on top of Bucky.

Suddenly, Steve wasn't that hungry, but he needed to eat and it would be rude not to after Clint had made all that pasta.

Jamie was gay, and his full name was the same as the name on his skin. No, it was just a coincidence, he wasn't gay. He couldn't be. It was a sin.

The world had changed over the last 70 years he had been in the ice, and Steve realized that even though he had been awake for over four years didn't mean that all his values had automatically changed.

He still believed in his catholic roots, and how he was raised by his mother. His mother had taught him that you should treat everyone around you with respect, no matter their skin color, culture, sexuality. But that didn't mean it would be ok if he was gay.

In the late 1930s, if you were gay, you were considered to be mentally ill. Steve hadn't thought one way or another about it. He had been so focused on his tiny Brooklyn world that he hadn't thought about the bigger picture.

Now though he wasn't so sure how to feel. At least the Catholic faith was still very clear. It was a sin plain and simple, just like killing, but Steve had done that too. Ugh, this was too much to think about right now.

His body still hurt, and his stomach was continually growling at this point. Luckily Clint had finished cooking. The archer placed a plate piled high with pasta covered in marinara sauce in front of him. It looked incredible.

Steve grunted out a thanks before he dived in. He devoured the carbs faster than any normal human ever should.

"Ugh," Clint said. "Watching you eat like that makes me want to puke in sympathy for your poor stomach.

Steve swallowed the mouthful he had and looked at Clint. "When you have a super human metabolism you can complain about how I eat, not before."

Clint gave him an eye roll but dug into his own plate of pasta.

Food solved everything. After finishing his plate. Steve pushed it away and rubbed his happily full stomach. Just what he needed, a giant plate of carbs. Steve waited for the sleepiness to hit, but it didn't. He was still wide awake and restless. Steve got up from the table and paced.

"Hey punk, would you settle down, you're distracting from the movie," Bucky called from his place on the couch.

"Oh, sorry." Steve forced himself to sit down in one of the chairs by the TV.

Bucky gave an irritated sigh. "Punk, the leg?" He said with a pointed look.

Steve looked down at his leg to see it bouncing uncontrollably. He stilled it. It didn't last long. Within five minutes Steve was back up and pacing.

"If Lucy wasn't conked out on top of me, I would get up and force you to sit," Bucky said. "But since she is, why don't you go to the training room and punch a bag for a while."

"Yea, that sounds like a good idea," Steve mumbled and headed towards the elevators.

He tapped his foot as the elevator went down to the training room.

The doors opened too slowly. Steve squeezed his wide shoulders through before the elevator doors were fully open and made a beeline for his punching bag. This one wasn't too badly damaged yet, but it wouldn't last long.

Thankfully Stark had created a pulley system that if he pressed a button with his foot, a brand new punching bag would descend for him to pummel.

Steve didn't bother to put on boxing gloves or wrap his hands, he wanted to feel the pain. It would help with the restlessness he felt.

His other wounds were almost healed, and without the pain from the wounds, he was feeling itchier and itchier.

He would almost classify it as anxiousness, but he never got anxious. Even before the serum, anxiety wasn't something he experienced. Anger, frustration, determination, restlessness, but never anxiety. Anxiety meant uncertainty and worry, which were things Steve didn't do.

It was part of being Captain America. One had to be decisive when they made life and death decisions for thousands of people.

Steve didn't bother warming up. He punched the bag with all of his inhuman strength and sent the dead weight flying across the training room, sprinkling sand.

The whole process was highly satisfying. The super soldier pushed the button and another punching bag rolled out.

Steve gazed at it with contemplative eyes. The super soldier gave a sudden turn and roundhouse kicked the bag. It exploded at the impact, sending sand everywhere around the room.

A low whistle from behind him caught Steve by surprise. Within an instant, he had turned and pinned the enemy against a wall by their throat with a forearm. The super soldier blinked and saw Tony scrabbling at his arm and turning purple.

Steve backed up, the color draining from his face. He couldn't believe he had attacked a teammate.

He was Captain America, always in control, always doing the right thing. He didn't make mistakes, couldn't afford to. What was wrong with him? Ever since asking Jarvis about Jamie he had been off. That must be it.

"You ok, capsicle?" Tony asked, his voice sounding rough from the choking.

Steve didn't respond, he needed answers, and he needed them now.

The super-soldier turned and practically ran from the room, too impatient to take the elevator, he ran down the stairs, nothing on his feet, shirtless, phoneless and still bandaged.

As he ran he called out to Jarvis "where is Jamie located?"

"He is currently not in the Tower Captain. His address is _________ Brooklyn."

Steve stumbled down a few steps then caught himself.

"Brooklyn?"

"Yes, Brooklyn, Captain."

Steve slammed the door leading to the first floor, the door broke off its hinges at the impact and crashed to the ground with a bang. He ignored it and kept going.

The sliding front doors to Avengers Tower barely escaped getting shattered as Steve slid through them and ran down the streets of New York City like a mad man.

Anyone that he couldn't dodge, he just leapt over as he made his way from Manhattan to Brooklyn. He made the 2-hour walk in 13.6 minutes to Jamie's Brooklyn apartment.

Sprinting up the ten flights to the studio apartment, Steve didn't think about the fact that it was almost 1 in the morning when he knocked on the apartment door.

Knocking isn't exactly accurate —it was more like shaking the door on its hinges.

The super soldier heard movement, and grumbling on the other side of the door, pulling his fist back in time to not hit Jamie as the lanky man yanked open the door and glared out with bleary eyes,

"What!" Jamie shouted, then actually looked to see who had been knocking on his door.

******

Jamie was pulled from sleep by someone slamming on his apartment door. He grumbled awake and staggered to the door.

He yanked it open yelling "What!" as he did so.

Then froze to look up the naked bandaged chest of non-other than Steve Rogers standing in his doorway.

The intern looked the super-soldier up and down, categorizing the fact that Steve was shirtless, wearing low riding sweatpants and barefoot. On closer inspection at Steve's feet, Jamie noticed blood on the floor.

"What the hell." Jamie said as he bent and reached for Steve's foot to better examine it.

The soldier backed up but allowed Jamie to lift up his right foot and examine the bottom.

Red blood dripped onto the floor of the hallway from a gash wound in the man's foot, it looked deep and Jamie could see the hint of something shiny in it, probably a shard of glass.

"Come here," Jamie said, turning on the lights and dragging Steve into the apartment by the arm.

"Sit." The lanky man commanded as he pushed a pliant Steve into one of his kitchen table chairs.

Next Jamie went to his bathroom and pulled out the first aid kit he always kept there. He walked back to Steve, knelt in front of him, and Grabbed the injured foot, pulling it into his lap so he could wipe at the blood.

There was definitely a piece of glass in the foot. Jamie pulled out a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit and murmured to the giant man, "Hold still, this might hurt a little..."

He latched on to the shard of glass with the metal tips of the tweezers and pulled. The glass shard was slightly stuck but with a wiggle and gentle yank he managed to extricate it from the wound.

Steve didn't even flinch. He stayed still as a statue as the lanky man disinfected the gash and bandaged it up.

Jamie looked up to see the super-soldier staring at him with intense bright blue eyes. Jamie flushed at the intensity.

"What?" He mumbled.

"Where is your soul mark?" Steve demanded out of the blue.

"Wh..what?" Jamie asked falling back on his hands and scooching away from the soldier

"Your soul mark, where is it."

"What's it to you."

Steve didn't respond; he just looked Jamie up and down in his rumpled day clothes that he had fallen asleep in.

Jamie did an unconscious movement and placed a protective hand over his right hip. Steve's eyes honed in on the gesture and he reached down towards Jamie. The intern attempted to curl in a protective ball, terrified that Captain America would strike him.

But Steve didn't, instead, he pushed Jamie's right hand aside, tugged up the man's shirt, and pushed down on the waistband of Jamie's jeans to reveal a name. They both froze as the captain stared at his name on Jamie's skin. The super-soldier couldn't seem to help himself as he reached out and tentatively traced the letters of his name: Steven Grant Rogers.

Jamie couldn't help the welling of tears filling his eyes at the intense moment. He never wanted this to happen, not in a million years. As soon as the shock wore off, Steve would be angry, no beyond angry he would be furious. He would yell and scream like Jamie's father had. He would probably go even one step further and beat Jamie to a pulp like the kids at school had when he tried to go back after being disowned.

The captain did none of these things, instead, he got up and walked out of the room, leaving Jamie on the floor, clothes askew, and silent tears trailing down his face.

It took a long time for Jamie to pull himself off the floor, close his apartment door and lock it then crawl wearily into bed. If he had needed more incentive to leave he had just gotten it.

Steve should have yelled or even hit him, it would be better if he had. Jamie would have welcomed it, instead of receiving the cold response of the Captain walking out. Jamie could understand volatile emotions, his father had been like that. He wasn't abusive until finding out his son was gay, but he was quick to anger and would show it by breaking or hitting things.

This cold disdain felt so much worse, it was like Jamie wasn't worth the energy it took to get mad, he was so beneath the Captain that he was like an ant that you didn't even bother to step on.

He wanted to matter. He would matter. He wouldn't go away or be ignored. Captain America would have to deal with him.

*******

AN: So that's the first two chapters. I live for feedback and actually right faster when I get it.