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.
