It's another week before James talks to me. Most likely sensing some tension between us, Steve asked me to keep James company again, this time under the thinly veiled cover of us getting to know each other better. I'm not sure if he was expecting us to play Go Fish or something, but here we are, in his apartment, sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. Again, all I can hear is my own breathing and it makes me wonder if James is like a bug and just absorbs oxygen through his exoskeleton. I've no idea how he can be so quiet.

This silence gives me too much time to think.

It's all very exciting.

Have I ever mentioned that I don't do well in awkward silences? No? Well, I don't, which is odd considering that I have social anxiety. But the need to break the silence is like that feeling you get when you're really high up and you look over the edge of whatever you're standing on and get that little niggling in the back of your mind that wonders what it'd be like to just step off. Thankfully, making an idiotic spectacle of myself isn't going to leave me squished on the pavement. Well, most likely. I am alone with an assassin, after all.

"Interrobang," I say casually. Great icebreaker, that.

"Excuse me?" James looks to me in confusion after a pause.

"Interrobang. It's my favorite punctuation mark. It's a combination of a question mark and an exclamation point. You'd use it to ask an excited question or to express disbelief. Like, 'Steve's never had Dippin' Dots?!' I like it because it looks sharp and its name is just, I don't know, snappy."

"You have a favorite punctuation mark?" he asks flatly.

"You don't?"

He's quiet for a long while and I don't think he'll answer, I know I wouldn't if I were a normal person, but he does. "The semi-colon, I guess."

I turn my head slightly to look at him. He's completely serious and I don't have to ask why he chose that. What's before the semi-colon is complete, but there's still something to come. It leaves something in the past while looking to the future, but what's in the future couldn't be without what was in the past.

Then again, maybe he's just teasing.

I nod in approval, hoping he isn't messing with me. "Solid choice. A classic. A twofer, really – comma and a period. Yup." I hold far too long on the 'u' in that 'yup'.

'Guys, I'm really good at casual conversation. No, really. I'm thinking of going professional, maybe even entering in Nationals.'

"So do you hate me?"

'Observe, for I am the master of the subtle topic shift.'

"I mean, do you see me as some sort of threat? Or did I just make you uncomfortable? You can't have seen me as a threat... I mean-" I gesture to myself. He remains silent. "But I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I'm not very good at talking to others so for some reason I feel like if I just keep spitting words out, eventually I'll stumble on the right combination and it'll make whatever came before it make sense – like monkeys on typewriters. You probably have no idea what that's in reference to. I'm sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable again?"

He gives me a look like he's waiting for me to be quiet. I clamp my lips together. "You gave me some things to think about."

I nod, keeping my mouth shut.

"Mostly wondering about how you see so much," he finishes.

"I'd like to think I 'observe'. A bit like Sherlock Holmes. Vaguely." I smile. "Very vaguely."

He stares, waiting for a legitimate answer.

I sigh. "It's a bit of a long story, so get comfy if you really want to know."

James shifts to face me better and sinks back into the couch.

"My mom always pushed the importance of reading stories of all kinds. She said it helps develop empathy, seeing things from someone else's perspective. In my natural state, believe it or not, I'm quite shy. This lends itself to the observation of others. And people tend to say more to those who listen well. I suppose the combination of my love of reading and my silence around most everyone made me a 'noticer' of sorts." I shrug. "Or maybe I'm just a good guesser. But I'll admit, some of what I put on you, I was assuming from my past experience."

James looks at me in surprise.

"I don't mean because I've been brainwashed or anything. But- ugh. This is dull. Want to do something else?"

He shakes his head. "You want me to stay and keep Steve safe. I need to know about the people closest to him. That very much includes you. You might not look like a physical threat- 'duh' –but that doesn't mean you can't hurt him."

I twitch in slight annoyance. I really wasn't expecting to have to give a backstory today.

"Fine. My mom, she was in the hospital a couple of years ago when all the aliens attacked. She um, she didn't make it. I was across the country when it happened. I know that if the doctors and nurses couldn't save her, that my being there probably wouldn't've made a difference..." I glance up to him. "But what if it did? Some people are upset when all they can do is watch their loved ones pass away, knowing they can't help them. I didn't even get that. I'll never know if I could've helped her. Instead, because of me, she died alone. I can't forgive myself for that. I see that in your eyes when you look at Steve, not being able to forgive yourself, reliving what you did. At least you didn't have the choice."

He stays silent, watching me.

"My dad was a marine. He lost most of his left leg in combat and was honorably discharged when I was in high school. He had just finished up his physical therapy and was able to get around by himself very well. I was at a sleepover with a friend and we got into a fight. I called and asked my dad to come pick me up since my friend's family didn't own a car. He took the subway and saw another vet he recognized from physical therapy. The man wasn't well. My dad tried to help him, get him to calm down. He shot my dad twice in the stomach before shooting himself in the head. I-I can't blame the man. He was sick, needed help, and no one saw it except my dad. But I know if I had just waited until morning, or not even gotten in that stupid fight with my friend that I can't even remember what it was about... I know it isn't exactly my fault, but I'm not entirely not to blame either." I clear my throat. "All that to say, I see some things of myself in you. Not the same, but similar enough to recognize."

James looks at me with softer eyes, less suspicious. "Why aren't you afraid of me?" he asks gently. "My metal arm doesn't bother you, much less the fact that I'm a murderer. You seemed scared of me when we first met and you knew nothing about me. But after finding out who I am, you're fine around me. That's really backwards."

I smile weakly and look down to my hands. "Were," I correct. "You were a lot of things. But I guess I'm not as interested in what people used to be as much as I'm interested in what they are. Your past as a brainwashed assassin isn't who you are now any more than your past as the cocky bff/protector of Steve. You aren't your past; no one is who they were yesterday. Sure, what you were and the choices you've made influence who you are today. But you get the final say in how they affect your future. You can let them loom over you and cast a shadow on everything you do, or you can learn from them, let them make you a better man. I think you deserve the opportunity to prove yourself to be your own person and you can't do that without some amount of trust. I can't pretend to know what you went through...before...but I can and will treat you for who you are now, not who you were before I met you. Clean slate, and all that."

I glance up to see James open and nearly vulnerable as he listens. "And as far as your metal arm goes, when my dad was getting fitted for his prosthetic, he would say how he wanted to get a prosthetic that was chrome plated and had spinners." I chuckle rather forcedly. "Granted, I haven't seen yours, but I did see a lot of prosthetics at my dad's sessions. Speaking of, it's all right if you just want to wear tshirts and ditch the sweaters and gloves. Seriously. It's the end of June. Just looking at you makes me sweat."

This catches his attention and he smirks deviously; an eyebrow raised.

"I meant, because you look hot! No! I mean you are a good-looking man, obviously, but- ugh-"

His smirk grows and adds more than a pinch of that cockiness I remember seeing in the picture of him and Steve before he fell. It's a nice change from his usual dourness.

'Not words working, bad. Try again.'

I take a breath, glancing away to collect myself. "Looking at you in sweaters in the summer makes me feel a second-hand, physical overheating. I know you're all supery and stuff like Steve, but still, how can you not be gross and in a pool of your own sweat? Totally not fair."

I hear him take off his gloves.

"I didn't realize it bothered you so much." His smile shines through his voice.

I look back and my eyes stop at his left hand. It's so much more intricate than I had thought. "It's beautiful. My dad would be jealous." I move to smile up at him when I see that he's taking off his sweatshirt. "Whoa!" I cover my eyes and turn my head. "What are you doing?!"

'On point use of an interrobang.'

James sighs dramatically. "What you told me to – changing into a tshirt."

I peek sidelong between my fingers. He's in a white undershirt. His arm is amazing and I drop my hands to see it better. "I- may I?" I ask, holding out a hand.

He's hesitant, but he nods and lifts his arm a little towards me.

My fingers lightly trace over the complex bands. They're obviously layered to imitate the fine articulation and shape of a fleshly arm nearly perfectly. It's surprisingly smooth despite all of the layers of metal. It disappears under his sleeve and I wonder how far up his arm it goes, but I don't ask. It's not quite cool to the touch; either retaining some of his body heat or perhaps it has internal wiring that warms it from the inside. The bands shift strangely as he moves his arm.

"Hydra may be run by a bunch of ass-hats, but they can make some pretty cool tech," I murmur. "You should practice your glare before you meet Stark. If he isn't scared of you he may try to bully you into submitting to some kind of study. Actually, he'll probably try anyway." I smile teasingly but James seems disconcerted.

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Your arm? It's a bit distracting, but only 'cause it's frickin' cool. You're a lot like Queen Elsa, you know?" Attention span of a paper clip.

"The animated ice lady?" he asks dubiously.

I nod and begin counting on my fingers as I list things off. "You isolate yourself from your best friend/sibling figure because you think you're a monster. You blame yourself for inadvertently causing said bff/sib harm. Bff/sib won't let you just run off and goes globe trotting to find you and bring you back. There's a Sneaky McTraitor-Pants who uses an army to try to hunt you both down and kill you. It takes a sacrificial act of true love on the part of bff/sib for you to gain control of yourself. And you have an endearing hanger-on who sometimes bursts into song." I poke my chest with my thumb, "That last bit is in reference to me. Probably over-inflating my part in your story, but – shhhhh, don't tell me."

James pauses, looking at me carefully. "Steve was right, you take entertainment very seriously.

I make a face and smack him playfully, immediately pulling back my hand to cradle it to my chest. "Goes up to your shoulder, eh?" I ask with a grimace.

He nods with a small grin and sweeps his hand in a crescent over his chest, indicating where the metal stops.

"Duly noted. Um, could you do me a small favor?" I ask, glancing back down to my hands as I shift gears abruptly. Again.

I had a sugared cereal for breakfast this morning.

"Depends." Returned to single word answers, I see.

"Could you not mention to Steve what I told you? The part about my parents, I mean. I don't mind if you tell him the 'Frozen' part."

"Does he not know they're gone?" His voice is gentle again, if remaining a little cautious.

"No, no he does. He was there for me when my mom passed. But um, he doesn't know how much I, uh, still blame myself. For both of them."

He lightly, and with an incredible amount of awkwardness, sets his hand on my shoulder. "Isn't that more reason for him to know? Maybe he can help?"

I shake my head. "I hated the way he looked at me; like I was a two-legged puppy. Helpless, hopeless, something to be pitied."

James works his jaw for a moment before nodding. "I understand. I won't say anything."

≈o≈

To pass the rest of our time together, I decide to introduce him to my friend, Mario. Something about James makes me think he'd enjoy it more than Steve would. I just have a Gameboy SP, pretty outdated by now, but I love it.

Of course, once James got the concept, he was stupidly good at it. The fingers of his left hand were a bit clumsy at first, but he adjusted quickly and kicked major shell. At least until he got to the end of one of the castles. It was one of those really long, swapping maze types and he was just about to the end when he miscalculated and fell into the lava.

He hadn't died since the first couple of levels, which were ages ago, and even though his face remained impassive, I could tell he was mad. The tip-off was the cracking sound coming from my Gameboy.

James' eyes immediately widen in regret. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to!" He pushes it into my hands, trying to get rid of it before he does something else to it.

I hold in a sigh as I take in the almost shattered interface around the directional pad. "I know. It isn't your fault. I should've thought of that. You and Steve are both kind of idiots about yourselves. He's broken a chair and a couple of my glasses because he just forgets sometimes." I try to shrug it off.

"I, could pay for a new one?" he says unconvinced. I know he's as uncertain as I am where he could get the money or figure out where to buy a new Gameboy SP.

I shake my head. "Don't worry about it. Tony never gave me a birthday present, just an IOU. I'll make him fix it for me or something." I won't. Who knows what he'd do to it other than just fix the casing. Probably put in a tiny missile launcher or a mic so it'd record embarrassing things that I say that he can use against me at a later date. I'm a touch paranoid, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong.

"Are you sure? Can I make it up to you somehow?" He looks distraught.

I shake my head again, smiling at his adorable state. "It- don't worry about it, James." I give his hand a quick squeeze before putting the broken toy on Steve's end-table.

Steve himself comes home not too much later.

"Hey guys!" he calls cheerfully from the door. As he comes around the corner I can see that he's happy – not his usual emotion when returning from a "business" meeting.

Steve stops in surprise as he sees us.

I glance to James and between us, trying to figure out what's got Steve so gobsmacked. I had just been showing him some other video games and what a wide variety of content, accessibility, and interactivity they have. Since I was showing him via my phone, I had moved a bit closer than normal. But that was hardly shocking; we still weren't even touching.

"You, your arm..." Steve trails off, confused.

Ah. He didn't know that James knows that I know.

Huh. Never thought I'd be in a position to make use of that trope.

Anyway.

James and I both glance at his arm. "Oh my goodness!" I cry dryly. "What happened?!"

He gasps. "My arm! How could I have missed this?!"

We both stop abruptly and give Steve the eye.

"Excellent use of the interrobang," I compliment James warmly.

"It was a delightful experience, I must confess," James replied, putting on a slightly posh accent. Weird to hear when he still sounds American.

Steve huffs, acting ill-used. "So you both know now, right?"

"I thought the serum was s'posed to make you smart...?" I make a thoughtful face.

James snorts and Steve looks amusedly insulted. I laugh at them both.

"Sorry Stevie. Yes, we both know that we both know, and now you know about our knowing too. It's a big, knowing, cuddle-puddle. No. Not a cuddle-puddle. You two oxen would definitely suffocate me in a cuddle-puddle; like two leaden meat blankets. Why aren't either of you stopping me? I've long passed the point of ridiculous."

"Isn't this normal for you?" James asks dryly.

"You know, I'm beginning to regret your warming up to me," I say with a frown.

"Yeah, that doesn't go away," Steve adds with a sigh.

James narrows his eyes at Steve and a glimmer of puckishness crossing his features. "How was the date?"

My eyes snap to Steve. "Date? I thought you had to go to a meeting?" I think I do fairly well at swallowing down the slight anger and surprise in my voice and showing mere curiosity. But I can feel James looking at me, so maybe I don't do as well as I think.

Steve smiles a little shyly. "I believe I said I was going to meet someone. But I did mean as a uh, date, not business."

I try to smile encouragingly. It feels more like a grimace. "And how is Kate?"

He nods, his smile grows but he still looks hesitant. "She's good, really nice. Somethin' else."

I clear my throat, "'A swell dame', you could say?" Maybe teasing will cover my feelings of watching my friend disappear.

Steve relaxes. "I could say that," he agrees.

"Great!" I say, glad I didn't croak it out. Not able to keep looking at Steve without feeling guilty for, well, feeling this way, I turn to James. "She's something else. Isn't that great?" I ask him as I nudge him with my elbow. "I think it's great. Swell, dandy, nifty, the tops, aces-"

"Okay, don't hurt yourself," James teases. But his eyes are sharp, studying me closely. I don't want to know what he sees, so I look down to my broken Gameboy.

'Stupid. He was trained as a master assassin, probably as observant as Nat and Clint. Do you really think you could hide what you're feeling from him?'

"Well uh, I should be going. I, I actually have to open up the library tomorrow, which means I need to be there extra early to set things set up. So I should, should be going." I snatch my Gameboy from the table and stand up quickly.

"Oh, all right." Steve sounds disappointed and a small part of me clenches at hearing it. But I can't stay around him while I'm like this... I know I'm being a crummy friend and it feels like I'm betraying him. He deserves better and James will be a good listener. At least, that's how I justify it to myself.

------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: So, I had written most of this chapter out in Word a while ago. Like, a month ago. In Word, I was able to use interrobangs. Upon copying over this chapter, I discovered that Wattpad does not support whatever it is in Word that allows me to use interrobangs. So that's why they talk about interrobangs and use interrobangs but you don't actually see any interrobangs. Just pretend, I guess.

-_-

You might've guessed that interrobangs are my favorite punctuation as well. Too much fun to say.

Anyway.

Have a "Steve-Being-Happy-Over-The-Wrong-Girl" gif (or is he?! Yeah, I'm just trying to add unnecessary suspense. Don't mind me). It's bittersweet, admittedly.

I swear, his smile is like petting a puppy. No idea how that works. But now I want to pet a puppy.

Can you tell I'm on cold medicine?

No? Probably because I tend to use these bits at the ends of the chapters as a stream-of -consciousness thing.

Scary, isn't it?

I'll most likely regret not editing this author's note tomorrow. Oh well. I'm sick. *cough* *sniffle*