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Chapter Text

Bucky sits in his local Starbucks, sipping on his latte and flipping through his phone. He's got time to kill until his students get out of school and meet him at the park for what will prove to be a rousing game of baseball.

With the advent of the warmer weather, he can move the activities of the children that attend his youth outreach program out of the local school gym and into the sunshine. He always sees a marked change in attitude and behaviour in the outdoors, which is nice.

But that's not for an hour, and Bucky is early. He needs something to occupy his time.

Tinder generally turns out to be either hilarious or horrifying, and in some very special cases, both at the same time.

Bucky swipes through quite a few profiles, discarding many on the first image alone. Of those he looks into, there are some baseline standard things he wants and doesn't want.

If the photos are unclear or pixelated and he can't make out a general face, swipe left.

If there is more than one shirtless mirror, gratuitous cleavage, upside-down bed or gym selfie, swipe left.

Due to Bucky's dad's tenuous relationship with alcohol leaving him with distinct feelings about excessive drinking, if most photos include alcohol of some kind, swipe left.

If the profile is left blank, swipe left.

If the profile is extremely short, or is just an attempt at a comedic routine without giving any information about the subject, swipe left.

If there's an excess of tattoos, especially on the neck or face, swipe left.

If they're flipping off the camera, swipe left.

Photos of cars, swipe left.

Allowing for a random typo, if the spelling and grammar are too bad, swipe left.

If there's enough fake tan to turn hands visibly orange, for the love of all that is holy, swipe fucking left.

He's looking to find at the best, a boyfriend or girlfriend, at the worst, someone new to maybe hang out with. This leaves him weeding out a lot of people most of the time. He's learnt to pick out the purely hook up profiles pretty quickly and tends to tap out if people get overly familiar too quickly after they've matched. It's quite an arduous process, but he expected as much, and is content to just keep plugging away.

Bucky opened his Tinder account as a bit of a lark. He'd like to meet someone, but feels too old for the club scene. Bars tend to be a bit of a waste of time when you don't drink all that much. His workplace is small, and he's a big believer in not shitting where you eat, which is also one of the reasons he never got together with any of his fellow soldiers during his time in the army.

He thinks he's put together a pretty decent profile:

James, 31

5'11". Born and bred in Brooklyn, now back after a stint in the Army. I work with disadvantaged kids now, which is less hard and more rewarding than you might think.

Mornings don't start until after the sun comes up. Animals are usually more compassionate than people. Cat and dog lover, but I only own the former. Bilingual. (Conversational Russian. Also curse words)

Things that mean the world to me: Coffee, Baseball, family and friends. (Not in that order. Probably)

I'm athletic but don't live at the gym. I like a good party but I don't really drink. I love food but I don't like making it.

Would like to find someone who compliments me at best, friends as a middle point, or at the very least, some horror stories to share with friends.

He doesn't have a gym selfie on there, but there is a photo of him playing Ultimate Disc in the park with some friends in a tank top. It's a pretty good photo and -- without being overly shallow -- shows him to be pretty fit.

There's an older photo of him in uniform from his deployment, feeding one of the stray dogs he found in Kabul. There's a snap of him with his calico kitten Babushka, who is one year old going on ninety-nine, and one from two winters ago in a knitted hat, cradling a cup of coffee. That was when he'd grown his hair out a little after the Army and it nearly touched his shoulders. Now it just grazes his jawline.

Tinder has proven very hit and miss for him. He's ended up on a few dates. Only a couple of people warranted more than one, but it just ended up either fizzling out, or established them more as friends. There's been a spectacular amount of one date wonders, each as either painfully awkward or lacking in chemistry as the last.

But, it's something. It's getting him out and meeting people when he probably wouldn't be, and that's better than nothing, he supposes.

He feels like he's going to get RSI in his fingers from the constant swiping left, though.

Bucky puts his phone flat on the table and sips his coffee, continuing to swipe, consoling himself that he's not that picky.

Okay, he is, but there are things that'll get him through.

He's looking for someone he finds attractive. A great smile will get him to swipe right, as will a really gorgeous set of eyes.

He likes a variety of different body shapes in men and women, but does have a particular lean towards the more athletic, like him.

He's not ashamed to admit that a cute pet photo will automatically glean more consideration, too.

He goes for the profiles that range from open-hearted honesty, to cheeky but still giving out at least some information on their subject.

Bucky's a fan of people with artistic hobbies, because he doesn't lean that way at all and has always been fascinated by them. So anyone who writes, or makes art, or plays a musical instrument piques his interest automatically.

All in all, he doesn't think he's asking for the world. And with the amount of people registered on the site in Brooklyn alone, he doesn't necessarily have to feel too bad about his tough screening process.

A little alert pops up then, with the familiar flame logo.

You have been Super Liked!, it proclaims. Keep swiping to find out who.

So someone has really liked his profile, then. If Bucky keeps swiping through, odds are he'll hit a thumbnail surrounded by blue, and he'll know who it is. It's the only time he finds out if someone's wanted to match with him ahead of time.

Bucky keeps flicking through images, discarding after only a few moments, until he sees the telltale edge of a blue profile making its way to the top of the pile.

It pops up and Bucky studies the photo of Steve, 30 critically. There's a silhouette of a guy, completely backlit by an orange, setting sun. It's a lovely photo, but he can see zero firm details about the person in it. If Bucky were looking at it without the Super Like, he might've swiped past purely on the principle that he can't see the person's face.

He always makes it a point to at least get past the first image and to the profile for a Super Like, though. It's only polite.

Clicking on the photo, Bucky is relieved to find there's at least some text.

6'2". Back in Brooklyn after many years, and looking to make a connection. My job keeps me busy so I find it hard to get time to meet new people.

Non-smoker, rare drinker (except for coffee), I stay fit where I can, but would rather spend time drawing than going to the gym. Sorry for the gym selfie though :-)

If you'd like to know more, please just ask!

Bucky makes a non-committal sound. Not too much information in the profile, but it's passable.

He begins flicking through the photos, and oh my. There's the gym selfie. Bucky's not sure about what Steve says about rather doing other things than going to the gym, because the dude is ripped. And not in the scary steroid-bulging-veins way, more in the sculpted-like-a-classical-statue way. Steve's not shirtless, he's wearing a tight, sweat-soaked shirt and a pair of pretty tiny workout shorts. The image is cut from the chin down, so Bucky can't see a face, but he can see the clean lines of his arms as he holds the phone up, how the fabric molds to Steve's pectorals, the breadth of his shoulders tapering into a ridiculously narrow waist. It's enough to make Bucky's mouth a little dry.

The next image is of the man sitting astride a motorcycle. His long legs are encased in jeans, brown leather jacket over his shoulders, a helmet with a funky stylised wing painted on the side of it on his head. Bucky thinks he recognises the wing from an advertisement or something, but can't quite place it. That's not as important as how effortlessly cool the photo looks, however.

The fourth photo looks like it has been taken candidly. Steve is stretched out on a sofa, one arm dangling down as though he's asleep. Bucky takes a moment to admire Steve's body in jeans and a t shirt that rides up just slightly to show a pale strip of skin right across his lower stomach. What makes the photo amusing -- and frustrating, again -- is that a book is lying open over his face. The book is War and Peace. Bucky grunts. Is he really reading it, or is it just a fun photo where someone decided to stick a heavy book on his face while he slept? If Steve were actually reading Tolstoy, that would make him marginally more interesting.

The fifth photo gives Bucky pause, as it's Steve with a golden retriever mushed to his face, smiling. It's a bit blurry, obviously taken on the fly, but very cute. Due to the positioning of both the dog and Steve's hands holding said dog, however, he barely gets a look at the man's profile.

The final photo is of a pair of well-shaped hands on a sketchbook. It seems to be a crop of a larger photo, and the drawing itself seems to be of the Brooklyn Bridge, looking into the Financial District of Manhattan. It's an extremely good likeness, and Bucky is impressed.

It takes Bucky another good flip through the photos to fully comprehend the fact that he can't get a decent look at Steve's face in any photo. He frowns and sits back.

What's the deal with this dude not showing his face? Is he shy? Ugly? Famous? Under witness protection? Unfortunate adult acne?

Bucky's not sure. While the profile isn't the worst he's ever seen, it does leave a lot to the imagination. He's clearly built well, but without seeing a face, Bucky's a bit nonplussed. There are a few other nibbles there, but by and large, he doesn't think he's missing out on a whole lot if he swipes past Steve.

Bucky goes to take a sip of his drink, at the same time as making contact with the surface of his phone. A lone drip of coffee runs down his cup and splashes on the screen. Automatically, Bucky goes to wipe it off quickly and --

Shit.

He accidentally swiped right and matched with Steve.

Bucky wipes the liquid his screen off quickly and puts his coffee down. No matter, he can quickly unmatch himself before Steve even realises and--

Steve has sent you a new message

Well, fuck. Steve must be on Tinder right now.

Bucky sighs and glares at the alert, and grudgingly flicks to the message screen. Whatever he is, he's not a total asshole. If the guy has already messaged him, he can at least engage. Preferably briefly. And then unmatch later.

Clicking on the link, Bucky opens his message.

Steve: Hi, James! I was really hoping you would match with me!

Bucky mulls over his prospects and decides on a response.

James: Thanks for the super like, it's very flattering :-)

His reply is immediate.

Steve: No problems. I liked what you had to say, and you look great.

Steve: Look like someone I would like to know better.

Steve: It's not all about looks, but you do look really nice.

Steve: I'm trying to get out of this hole, it's not working.

Bucky lets out a surprised chuckle. Well, it was a bit dorky, and kind of cute. Maybe Steve isn't a meat head gymbro after all.

James: No, it's okay. Dig up, stupid!

Steve: Wow, you're kind of a jerk :p

James: It's a Simpsons reference. Don't tell me you haven't seen it.

Steve: Was it on recently?

James: Dude, the Simpsons has been on for 20 yrs. This was one of the earlier seasons.

Steve: Oh. I'll have to try and see it.

James: Didn't you watch it on tv when you were a kid?

Steve: My family didn't have a tv when I was growing up.

Bucky snorts derisively and continues typing unthinkingly.

James: Did you live in the dark ages? What, were you poor or something?

Steve: Yes.

Bucky stops. Well, fuck, that kind of went somewhere bad super quick, and it's his fault. He tries to soften his words.

James: I'm sorry, that was pretty rude of me. I didn't mean to insult.

James: Do you have a tv now? I figure if you have a smartphone it's a good bet.

Steve: I do.

James: You don't have that much to catch up on. Focus on seasons 7-11. Nothing is as good as those.

Steve: I'll be sure to write that down.

Steve: on my papyrus.

Steve: with my quill

Steve: by candlelight.

Bucky barks out a laugh. Clearly the muscles are hiding a mind that is deeply sarcastic, and that's something Bucky can relate to. Steve seems comfortable sassing Bucky already, Bucky automatically gives it straight back to him, safe polite responses be damned.

James: Who's the jerk now, you punk??

Steve: haha, now we're even.

Bucky finds himself unwittingly smiling. He takes another swig of coffee, while Steve sends another message.

Steve: So you have a kitten?

James: Yeah, a little calico. She's too sassy for her own good.

James: That lab yours? Looks cute.

Steve: I wish! Lucky belongs to a friend. I'm away for work a bit, and my schedule can be pretty sporadic... I wouldn't want to be an irresponsible pet owner. But I love animals.

James: That's a shame. Pets are awesome. Sure, it's annoying when I wake up and Babushka's asleep on my face and I'm nearly suffocating... but she's good company otherwise.

Steve: That sounds nice.

Steve: The company part, not the suffocating part.

Bucky wonders what kind of job Steve has that is so erratic he can't keep a pet. Babushka drives him crazy some days, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

James: So what did you say you did again?

There's a pause before the answer comes through.

Steve: I didn't. I work for the government? It can be pretty hectic.

Bucky chews on his bottom lip a little, intrigued.

James: I'm guessing you're not a pencil pusher? Don't think desk jockeys have to be that buff :p

He stops for a moment. Bucky meant to unmatch from Steve, not keep the conversation going, and getting borderline flirty. But he's starting to find him stimulating, not in the least because it seems the guy has a little more to him than being a slab of unthinking muscle. Bucky's done hot-but-dumb before; it gets tiresome.

Steve: Sometimes I think a desk job would be a nice break, but I like what I do.

Steve: You know about active, right? How long did you serve?

James: '08 to '14. Iraq and Afghanistan mostly, but also trained on bases in Dubai and Saudi Arabia. Spent a lot of time around sand. Not a fan.

Steve: I know the feeling. Was in the Army before my current job.

Bucky's eyebrows go up, but he can't say he's fully surprised. The information is kind of welcome. As trite as it sounds, there's some things he's been through in his life that only other soldiers can even begin to comprehend.

James: What regiment? Maybe we've actually met before :)

There's a little pause before Steve answers.

Steve: I don't think so, I feel like I definitely would've remembered you!

Steve: As to my record, I was in a Special Ops team? There's still a lot of information that is classified, and it does relate a little to my current job.

Classified Army and now government work? It's possible he works for an internal agency like the FBI or CIA. Maybe even an undercover field operative. It would explain an erratic work schedule and quite potentially why none of his photos show his face.

James: Ahh, it's an 'If I told you, I'd have to kill you' scenario, right?

Steve: I'm sorry.

James: if it makes you feel any better, I was with the 75^th, so most of my record is sealed, so we're even.

There's a bit of a pause in the communication, and Bucky takes another sip of his coffee. With all the typing he's doing it's getting cold.

When he does get a reply, he's glad he's swallowed the coffee, otherwise he might've accidentally spat some out.

Steve: ... You mean you got to wear those little Ranger panties? I've heard of these.

James: First of all, they're SHORTS.

James: Secondly, they're comfortable. I mean, seriously super fucking comfortable.

James: Thirdly

There is a long pause in which Bucky doesn't type anything. It is enough to prompt a response from Steve.

Steve: Thirdly?

James: I don't have a thirdly, I just thought it'd sound better if I had three points instead of two.

Steve: Haha

Steve: it feels like I won that one.

James: Anyone ever told you you're a competitive son of a bitch?

Steve: It's been mentioned in passing, yes.

So help him, Bucky is starting to like him.

Casually looking at the time, Bucky sits up straight in his chair. It's nearly time to meet the kids. With mild surprise he realises he's been trading messages with Steve for half the time he's been waiting.

James: Sorry to do this, but I've got to run to work. Playing baseball with kids is serious business.

Steve: That actually sounds like great fun.

James: Equal parts fun and hard work, actually :)

Steve: I've really enjoyed talking to you, James. Can I write you later?

Bucky chuckles at the slightly endearing antiquated turn of phrase. He gives it a quick think, but the answer has been obvious for at least the last fifteen minutes.

James: Yeah, sure. I'll let you know who wins.

Steve: Yankees or bust! Dodgers are filthy traitors.

Bucky smiles as he closes the app, only to be distracted by a few familiar faces squished against the window of the coffee shop. Apparently his group has decided to meet him along the way instead of waiting at the school.

He gets up and pockets his phone, before throwing his empty coffee cup in the trash on the way out.

"All right, all right, no faces on the glass or you're cleaning it up," he grumbles. The kids just laugh at him, Felicia throwing a catcher's mitt at his face, which he grabs deftly. "Funny. Okay, march!" Bucky herds the kids forward on the sidewalk and promptly forgets about his messages with Steve.

***

Steve doesn't forget about him, though. Later on in the evening, after Bucky's made some dinner and is kicking back watching tv, his phone chimes.

Steve: So I found that episode of the Simpsons you were talking about? It was in season 5.

Steve: It was pretty funny.

Bucky grins and puts down his plate on the couch next to him.

James: The cat burglar one, right? I haven't seen it in years. But it's a good one.

Steve: Do you have any other recommendations? Simpsons or otherwise?

James: TV? Movies? Gimme a frame of reference.

Steve: All of the above. Sometimes I have heaps of free time, sometimes I have none at all. I tend to miss out on a lot of things due to that... I'd happily take suggestions on board.

Steve: To narrow parameters slightly, I like drama, comedy, action -- but not necessarily war -- movies. With TV I generally stay away from reality shows, as they make me want to punch people. Other than that, the field is pretty open.

Bucky understands the subtle distinction between action and war movies. He loves Die Hard but he couldn't sit through the opening sequence of Saving Private Ryan even if you paid him. And you can forget about American Sniper.

Some things just ping him in a bad way, even though he'd like to think, as far as circumstances allow, he's a moderately well-adjusted individual.

James: Settle in, Steve. Got your quill and papyrus ready, or do you need to go find a candlestick first?

James: That is, if you've got time this evening? Work, etc?

Steve: I've got time.

Steve: To sit in the dark with no electricity and, I don't know, ponder the Great Depression.

Bucky, who has taken another mouthful of his pasta in the meantime, nearly accidentally spits his mouthful out.

James: Gotta say, Steve, when I was looking at your gym selfie, I didn't realise the muscles hid such an unrepentant smartass.

Steve: How hard did you look, James?

Pretty damned hard, Bucky thinks to himself, but holds back from typing that in response.

James: Also, if you're going to sass me this righteously, you should probably start calling me Bucky.

Steve: Okay, but why Bucky?

James: Nickname I prefer to my given one.

Steve: I feel like there's a story behind this, Bucky :)

James: For another time, maybe :)

James: Quill at the ready?

Steve: I'll try not to drip from my inkwell :p

They exchange messages most of the evening. Bucky's pasta goes cold and he scolds Babushka for sticking her nose in it, but she ignores him. Steve seemed to miss out on some of the best and most fundamental cartoon shows of the 80s and 90s, and Bucky tells him so. He tentatively asks that if maybe he didn't have a tv, perhaps a friend from school had one and he could've watched there?

Steve explains -- not unkindly, but matter-of-factly -- that when he was little he was sick a lot. Consequently he missed out on a lot of school and didn't really have too many friends. He goes on to explain he's physically a lot better now.

Steve: I don't want to make excuses, but sometimes if I come across a bit awkward, please remember my lack of social interaction with peers as a child and take pity on me.

James: Oh, like your very first messages to me?

Steve: Shut up :p

Some hours later, Steve mentions he has to get some sleep, and makes an offer.

Steve: I'd like to give you my phone number. You're completely not obligated to use it at all if you don't wish, but if you ever wanted to text me, or even have a phone conversation, I'd like that a lot.

Steve gives him his number, and Bucky doesn't even hesitate in programming it into his phone.

He waits for a moment, before scooping up Babushka and taking a quick selfie of her pushing her tiny paws belligerently against his face. Bucky sends it, along with the text:

Just because I can't see your face, doesn't mean you get to escape from mine :P Goodnight, Steve.

Steve replies back immediately.

Haha, I really wish I didn't have to go. Don't upset your cat just to send me great selfies. Have a lovely evening. Goodnight, Bucky.

Immediately followed by:

Can I write you tomorrow?

Bucky shakes his head almost fondly.

Sure you can.

Excellent, Steve replies, I'll speak to you tomorrow. P.S. You look very handsome in your picture.

Bucky doesn't know what to reply to that, so he just lets it go. He spends the rest of the night toying with his phone, and accidentally allows Babushka to eat the rest of his penne.

***

Over the next few weeks, contact with Steve is almost a daily occurrence. Sometimes, depending on either of their schedules, it's only a handful of texts, other times, there's a chain of them going from early morning until late at night.

Two things stay consistent, though. Steve always texts a 'Good morning, Bucky' first thing, and his last text of the evening is, without fail, is 'Goodnight, Bucky. Can I write you tomorrow?'

Steve starts posting pictures to him. As expected, they never contain anything that will identify him, but that's not to say he's not in them at all; they just never include his face.

Sometimes they're photos from his travels around New York, pictures of sketches he's currently working on, his coffee pot as he impatiently waits for it to brew. Steve's obsession with coffee is close to Bucky's heart. There have been a few from a high rise building looking down on Midtown, leading Bucky to believe that Steve might be based somewhere in Manhattan for work, even if he lives in Brooklyn.

If Bucky really wanted to he could start researching and trying to figure out what Steve does, and where he's based, but he doesn't want to do that. He's enjoying Steve letting him in with baby steps. It's like being given a little piece of a puzzle each day, that Bucky studies and figures out where it fits in the overall scheme of things. He's always been fond of a good brain-teaser.

Their texts sometimes take on a flirty tone, and Bucky's finding it harder and harder to resist flirting back. In actual fact, he's wondering why he's resisting at all, but it comes down to that initial (misplaced) reticence about matching with Steve's profile in the first place. He is starting to become more interested in Steve, maybe it's time he began showing it more obviously.

One morning Steve sends a picture message from his run of the pre-dawn light in Prospect Park.

Good morning, Bucky, rise and shine! He says, knowing very well that Bucky despises getting up before the sun.

Bucky has forgotten to mute his message tone and it wakes him up. He scrubs a hand across his face tiredly. Now he's up, he won't be able to go back to sleep. The words are so bright and chipper Bucky just knows they're drenched in sarcasm.

God-fucking-damnit Steve why are you so cheerful, he texts back. With a yawn, he flicks on the tv straight away, happy that cartoons are on. The quiet can be oppressive sometimes.

It's the start of a beautiful day, comes the reply, and another photo of the park, presumably from a bench because there are a pair of long legs encased in pretty tight sweats at the bottom of the frame. Steve's ankles are crossed casually, but Bucky spends longer than he should following the line of muscle under the fabric.

Parts of him, early-morning-still-half-asleep parts, twitch with interest.

Looking down, Bucky's lips curve in a bit of a grin at a remembered conversation between him and Steve. After a moment's hesitation, Bucky engages the camera on his phone, holds it up and takes a photo. After inspecting it, he attaches it with the message: Can't be as good as still being in bed watching Spongebob. You are doing life wrong.

Ostensibly it's a photo of what he's watching on tv, but two-thirds of the bottom of the frame are taken up by Bucky's body. He sleeps shirtless in summer, and the only thing he's wearing is...

Are they the Ranger panties? Comes Steve's immediate response.

Ranger SHORTS, Bucky corrects. And yes. I sleep in them sometimes. Like I said; comfortable.

There's a bit of a pause, wherein Bucky second-guesses what he's done. The flirting has been kind of gentle and up to this point hasn't included any even slightly risqué photos. Steve comes across as a little old-fashioned, which is really endearing. Maybe he's overstepped.

Wow. Absolutely amazing.

There's a pause before a second message comes through: Your sheets are incredible.

Bucky grins. He hasn't overstepped.

May I point out that you have woken me up -- on a Saturday, no less -- purely to be an asshole to me? I'm not sure why I'm still talking to you right now.

Babushka jumps up on Bucky's bed and he runs his fingers repeatedly over the soft fur from her nose to her forehead. She curls up next to him and starts purring.

He takes another photo of her curled in the crook of his arm.

At least someone respects me and my philosophy that mornings are for sleep.

And if there happens to be a good deal of bare skin in that photo as well, well that's just coincidence.

That's gorgeous, comes the reply. Also Babushka is pretty cute, too.

Bucky gives a shit-eating grin that no one else can see. Not even Babushka, she's sound asleep already.

***

It doesn't happen really often, but Bucky will have a bad night from time to time. They're not a daily or even a weekly occurrence, but he's never gone more than a month without having at least one.

When he does, if it's after 2am and before 7am -- despite what his VA counsellor says about no time being a bad time -- he'll sit at the bottom of his shower and decompress for a while before calling. If it's past 7am, he'll call Benjamin straight away and they'll have a talk. That's usually enough to calm him down, but if it's not, they'll get together and have a very strong coffee and a chat.

It's 5.23am, and Bucky is lying in sweat-soaked sheets. It's too early to call Benjamin and he just doesn't want to have a shower right now. He doesn't want to leave the relative comfort and safety of his bed.

Bucky reaches out blindly for his phone. The message alert is blinking in the corner. The time stamp is from 5.12am.

Good morning, Bucky! Steve's text proclaims cheerfully. A bird nearly shat on me when I stopped for a water break on my run this morning. I'm wondering if that means something about the day ahead.

Bucky lets out a little laugh that comes out bearing more of a resemblance to a choked off sob.

His fingers start typing automatically. You busy? Can I call?

The reply is fairly quick. Of course.

Bucky sags in relief. He doesn't know why he wants to talk to Steve, when he's not calling Benjamin, or even any of his other friends. But it's five in the morning and he needs some human contact.

He sits and swings his legs off the mattress, feet hovering over the floor anxiously. Even the sensation of putting his toes on the carpet is setting Bucky's teeth on edge, so he pulls his legs back up, tucking them into his chest to lean back against the headboard.

Bucky hits the green phone icon and puts the device up to his ear. It rings approximately twice before the call is connected.

"Hey, Bucky. Is everything okay?"

The unfamiliar voice in his ear is somewhat deep, and it's soothing, full to the brim with what sounds like genuine concern. And bless him for realising this isn't a regular request straight away. Bucky's shoulders drop almost immediately, some of the tension seeping out. Why, when he's never heard Steve before, he doesn't know. But there it is.

"What makes you say that?" Bucky croaks out, voice embarrassingly rusty from disuse.

"Well, I know how you hate mornings," Steve says conversationally, and that pulls a small laugh from Bucky's chest.

"One of many things I don't miss about the Army is getting up at the ass-crack of dawn," Bucky says.

"I'm surprised you could train yourself out of the habit. I haven't been able to do it yet."

"Takes dedication and a willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty. Feel like I should get decorated for that shit. Might be nice to have a spangly accolade to my name."

"You'd think the big medals look really nice... and they do, from a distance. But up close they're really not all that good. Plus all you do when you get it is put them in a drawer, you know?"

"So you don't wear your Medal of Honor out clubbing on the weekend?" Bucky asks facetiously.

"Like I said; in a drawer," Steve responds, and while Bucky knows he was joking, it feels as though Steve is not.

He pauses, fingers rubbing over his mouth. "Uh..."

"Bucky?" Steve asks tentatively.

"You really have a Medal of Honor?" Bucky asks, his voice going slightly higher pitched than he would like.

"Uh, yes?" Steve answers. He sounds embarrassed now.

Well, shit. The Medal of Honor. The Medal of Honor. The highest military award (non-posthumous) for bravery. That Medal of Honor.

Fuck his life. He's not just calling a fellow soldier or a friend with his head-noise, he's calling a Medal of fucking Honor recipient. For fuck's sake, these things are presented by Presidents for the most courageous acts, and here Bucky is whining about having shitty night terrors. Suddenly the desire to talk about his problems to Steve fades.

"What'd you get it for? Or is it classified, too?" It seems to be a good deflection at the time.

There's a longer pause on the end of the line. "It's not classified, but I don't really feel like talking about it now, if it's all the same to you." Steve's voice is quiet, a little pained.

And the deflection crashes and burns. Bucky feels like a fucking heel.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. Look, it's early, I'll ah.. yeah. I'll get my foot out of my mouth and I'm gonna--"

"Did you have a bad night?" Steve asks gently. They've touched a little on PTSD in their texts, but nothing major. They've used the terms 'bad night' or 'bad day' as polite code for anything ranging from anxiety and panic attacks, to nightmares. Bucky is completely unsurprised that Steve cuts to the heart of the matter immediately.

"Yeah," Bucky says with a sigh. Suddenly, he can't sit still anymore. Sliding off the bed, he begins an aimless pacing in his bedroom.

"Anything specific? Anything you want to talk about?" Steve prods gently.

Bucky cards the fingers of one hand repeatedly through his hair, ending each stroke with a little tug on the end of the strands. The pull at his scalp keeps bringing him back into the room. "Nothing specific. I can't even remember what the dream was about, or who was in it... I just woke up feeling sick, and scared."

"I'm sorry, Bucky," Steve says. If anyone else told him they were sorry for how he's feeling, he'd probably tell them to cram it. But Steve knows, as much as any other human can know, and that's okay, he supposes.

"I'm sorry for calling, Steve, I'm not thinking straight. And Numero Uno on the 'Not Thinking Straight' list is phone the guy I've been texting to speak for the first time when I'm feeling my absolute shittiest."

"I don't know," Steve says, "It's actually a little flattering."

His tone is really kind, but there's also a low burr in that voice that's on the edge of sexy, which also sounds completely unintentional on his part.

Which only makes it sexier to Bucky.

"Only you would think that, Steve," Bucky says, stopping his pacing for a moment to scrub a hand across his face. "You sound all smooth and entirely too awake for this time of morning, and I sound like I've been gargling sand."

"You don't sound bad, don't be so hard on yourself."

Bucky sighs and they lapse into silence. He's not sure what to say, but Steve does it for him.

"I've been wondering for a little while what your voice sound like."

"Oh?" Bucky queries, taking a shuffling step forward. "Have I lived up to your lofty expectations?"

"Met and exceeded them all," Steve answers with confidence, and Bucky shakes his head. This guy might actually be too good to be true, and that makes him inherently suspicious.

Steve gives a warm chuckle. "Do I sound like you thought I would? I'm curious."

"Your voice is--" Better "--deeper than I thought it'd be. I didn't think you'd speak like David Beckham, but still. Deeper." Bucky clears his throat.

"You sound a little better, your breathing's evened out," Steve comments, and Bucky starts. Without really noticing, the tension in his muscles has been easing over the last minute or two, the ants running under his skin slowing their ceaseless march.

He's almost forgotten why he called Steve in the first place.

"And please don't mistake this for complaining, but why did you call me and not your counsellor? Benjamin, right?"

"Too early. I didn't want to be a bother."

"But you called me?" Steve doesn't sound annoyed. If anything, he sounds like a cross between amused and pleased.

"Yeah well... You were already up, weren't you? Ass crack of dawn, and all that," Bucky mumbles.

"I'm glad you did," he says, before there's a pause. "Okay, so I'm going to ask something, and I hope you don't think it's too much. If you do, that's fine, you're under no obligation to do anything, really, I just thought, well. I just thought..." he trails off for a moment.

"Getting awkward there, Steve," Bucky teases gently, and for some reason, knowing that a recipient of the Medal of Goddamn Honor can be so fucking awkward makes his chest feel lighter.

"Shut up," Steve says slightly breathlessly. "I was wondering if you wanted to meet up and get a coffee today?"

Bucky freezes for a moment, and everything in the room is vaguely charged with static electricity. He's been thinking about this for a while, and he knows more than anything what the answer should be today.

"No," he replies.

"No?" Steve says, and while he tries to hide it, the disappointment is a palpable entity.

"Not never, Steve. Just... not today. It's not a good day."

"Oh."

"You wouldn't be meeting the real me if we caught up today. And... I like you enough that I'd rather you meet Bucky Barnes, well-rested and deeply sarcastic, not the exhausted, bitter human functioning on two hours of truly crappy sleep."

There's a pause at the end, and when Steve answers, some of that disappointment is gone from his tone. "I understand. I really do want to meet Deeply Sarcastic Bucky."

"Pal, at this stage it's a bit of a foregone conclusion."

Steve chuckles, and there's a pause that's not awkward, just calm.

"Thanks for letting me call you," Bucky says quietly.

"Anytime. You doing any better?"

Bucky takes stock of his hands that aren't trembling, his steadier heart rate -- now only slightly elevated. "I am," he replies. "I don't work until later this afternoon, so I've got time to... level off."

"Do me a favour?" Steve asks, then continues before Bucky can answer. "Call Benjamin? Be a stubborn ass and wait until after seven if you have to, but call him?"

Bucky had planned to do that anyway, but doesn't get argumentative at the suggestion. "I will," he says.

"Well, I'll let you rest, and give you a bit of space for the rest of the day, if you like," Steve says.

While Bucky wouldn't be averse to hearing from Steve more today, he also knows he needs to work on calming and focusing techniques with Benjamin, catching up on sleep, and being prepared for his job later in the day. A day to himself won't kill him.

"That would be much appreciated, thank you."

"Two quick things, though. One, now that we've spoken on the phone, do you think maybe we could do it again at some stage? If you wanted to."

"I am definitely okay with that."

"Great," Steve says, and Bucky can practically feel the relieved grin in his voice. "Secondly... can I write you tomorrow?"

Bucky really can't help the helpless smile that graces his exhausted features. He suspects that Steve does know the answer is 'yes' every day, but it's still nice to be asked. Bucky likes it. "Of course."

True to his word, Bucky has radio silence from Steve for the rest of the day, save for one message in the early evening after he's finished with his kids, wishing him goodnight.

***

The first phone call seems to open up even more avenues of communication for Bucky and Steve. They still text most days, and they talk on the phone several times a week. The phone calls get longer.

Steve is pleasant to talk to. He's got a world view unique and quite unlike anyone else Bucky has ever met. He has old-fashioned values, but he's not close-minded. He's the sort of guy that would hold a door open for a woman, not because he thinks she's incapable or shouldn't do it herself, but because it's the polite thing to do.

The coffee date is an ever-present subject, and a definite date is made. Unfortunately, the night before their proposed meet, Steve calls apologetically and says he's getting sent out of state for a week for work.

"Should I be reading into this at all, Steve?" Bucky jokes. "We make a time to meet up and you suddenly have to go away for work?"

"Well, you are a terrible conversationalist. I mean, really. No redeeming qualities whatsoever," Steve says dryly, though he can't hide the tease in his voice. "To tell you the truth, I was in it purely for the coffee."

"Your priorities are spot on," Bucky notes.

"But I am sorry," Steve says, and the genuine apology is back in his voice. "I'll likely be gone for a week, if it's longer, I'll find a way to get a message to you. Hopefully it won't be."

"It's okay, if you go full comm blackout, I understand," Bucky says. "Go off and save the world, or whatever it is you do."

There's a slight pause on the end of the line before Steve speaks again. "Can I write you when I get back?"

Bucky knows he should probably be getting tired of the question, but he's not. He's really not.

"I'll allow it," Bucky answers, as though he's doing Steve a favour.

"Great," Steve answers, and Bucky's fairly sure he can hear the smile on the other end of the line. He's not seen Steve's face, but he sounds like the kind of guy that would smile a lot. "Goodnight, Bucky."

"Goodnight, Steve. Stay safe."

***

Bucky doesn't realise how much he just foregoes general interaction outside of work until Steve's gone, because he realises quite quickly that in the last six weeks, communicating with Steve has filled in those gaps.

He still gets the odd notification from Tinder where there's been a match, and some of the connections he's made still talk to him, but Bucky has found the desire to continue swiping through -- and the subsequent follow-through conversations -- has dwindled somewhat.

Someone he'd matched with before talking to Steve starts chatting to him, and given he's not doing anything else, Bucky returns conversation. It's not the same, though. The guy is a bit of a dick; too full of himself to do much more than talk about himself all the time, never asking anything about Bucky save for wanting to know when they can meet. As if, Bucky thinks, and unmatches them after declining.

'

Without Steve to talk to, it turns out to be a pretty boring-ass week. Bucky's not moping, he's not, but he can't even be bothered to do much more of an evening than park himself on the couch, watch tv and stroke Babushka.

He doesn't even get much solace there, when the movie he's watching (along with a lot of other channels) crosses over to a live feed of some of the Avengers clearing out some terrorist base in Mexico, or Brazil or something. He falls asleep on the sofa waiting for his movie to come back on.

***

Eight days later -- not that Bucky's really been counting -- Bucky wakes mid-morning to find his phone flashing a message. He yawns and scratches his stubble; maybe it's work calling him in earlier than his 12pm session with the group of kids from the local high school. He's organised with the science teacher to take a small group of troubled kids in their afternoon period to the New York Aquarium. They have specialised projects to work on, and the setting gives them a chance to digress from school work and talk about issues they might be having, without it feeling like they're in trouble or in some kind of counsellor's meeting.

Plus, the sea lion show is awesome.

Bucky blinks at the screen blearily, to find a message most certainly not from work. He swipes it open quickly and wills his eyes to focus on the text:

Good morning, Bucky! I hope you're keeping well. Back home and stuck in wall-to-wall briefings all day, but I could definitely use a coffee tomorrow morning. Maybe you'd like to join me?

Bucky swiftly texts a reply in the affirmative, and he definitely gains a spring in his step as they hash out the details of where and when over the course of the day; presumably in between Steve's briefings.

The thought that Bucky is finally going to meet Steve after about six weeks of talking back and forth has him equal parts excited and nervous. He knows he likes the guy, but he's liked people he's met before sight-unseen, only to meet them and really have no spark of attraction.

Maybe if all else fails and there's no romantic chemistry between them, Steve will end up turning into a friend he can catch up with. They've definitely gotten on well enough for that to be a possibility.

Bucky can't help hoping that there's some little spark there, though.

His afternoon with the kids goes well; Jonathan, a kid whose teachers say is nothing but disruptive and trouble in class, opens up to Bucky about his challenging home life while they're studying starfish at the touch pool. He also seems to do brilliantly in his set project when lots of visual aids are involved. Bucky suspects home problems coupled with a potential learning difficulty might be contributing to his behaviour. He makes some notes for the school and his own personal files.

He gets a few texts from Steve during the afternoon, which makes him smile. Bucky responds with photos of the sea creatures he encounters, and also a quick selfie of him in front of the groper tank when the kids aren't looking.

Is that meant to be suggestive? Steve jokes, and Bucky sends him another photo flipping the bird.

***

On Saturday morning, Bucky wakes up earlier than usual. He has a shower and shaves off three day's worth of growth around his jaw, and makes sure is hair is neat. The wardrobe situation is interesting; he wants to look nice, but not like he's trying too hard. Even though it's still a little warm, he goes for a burgundy and light grey striped sweater, which he can push the sleeves up on, and a pair of black boot-cut jeans. Sure, there are tighter jeans in his wardrobe, but he wants to be comfortable. Casual attractiveness is what he's after.

Bucky has the option to walk or catch the subway a couple of stops to the coffee shop they've decided upon. He ends up taking the subway and getting there early to eliminate the risk of getting sweaty on the journey. Bucky arrives about twenty minutes before ten o'clock. He stalks the outside nervously for a while before deciding to get into the air conditioning and order something to eat, having been a little too preoccupied to do so before he left home.

He orders an Americano and a ham and cheese croissant, and finds a booth along the back wall. Sitting so he has a clear view of the door and front windows of the coffee shop, Bucky needs something to do with his hands while he waits for his coffee and food; the anticipation is a killer. With a flick he unlocks his phone and types out a message to Steve:

At the coffee shop, booth in the back. Look kinda like Waldo without the beanie...

Bucky's a bit nervous, but he always is on first dates. And let's not kid around, this is a first date. Whether it's a good or bad or mediocre one remains to be seen.

His phone chimes with Steve's message: ETA 5 mins. I'll find you, Waldo :)

The tiny part of him that was wondering if Steve might cancel again is silenced. Steve's really on his way, and Bucky can't decide whether he's excited or terrified. A waitress arrives with his coffee in a large cup and saucer, his croissant on a matching plate.

Bucky absently bites a corner off the croissant and goes into the folder of photos Steve's sent him, created shortly after they traded numbers. It includes the pictures from his Tinder profile, but also all the pics that Steve has sent through since they've been in contact. There's photos of his travels, art work in progress shots -- there's a beautiful study of the face of the angel statue in Central Park -- and one time, a selfie in a suit asking for advice on its cut. Bucky pores over the photos, trying to divine any extra information from them that he might've missed.

He's trying not to expect too much, even though said expectations have been built up pretty high based on their interactions. There's always the possibility that Steve isn't as great as he seems; God knows that's happened before and Bucky's been disappointed.

If nothing else, he's enjoyed talking to Steve over the past six weeks, and the man has been a breath of fresh air. Their contact has convinced him he needs to make a little more of an effort to reach out to people; he does it to the kids in his program all the time, but he could do so much more in his personal life.

The bell on the door chimes and Bucky looks up absently. A large man nearly fills the doorframe. Broad shoulders wear a plain white shirt, with a black lightweight jacket thrown over them. Semi-fitted boot-cut jeans encase long legs that end in fancy running sneakers.

Bucky's mouth goes a little dry. He's certainly the right shape, but as usual, Bucky can't see his face; he's wearing a peaked cap pulled down low, with large aviator sunglasses peeking out from underneath the brim's shadow.

Any question of it being the right person is summarily banished when the man in question quickly scans the interior of the coffee shop. He stops when facing in Bucky's direction. The lower part of his face gives a little grin, and he walks directly over to the booth.

Bucky slides out of the booth to greet him standing, but he's waved back down. "Bucky?" the query comes out in a voice that Bucky is eminently familiar with now, although hearing its timbre in person is a whole new ballgame. Bucky nods and the lower half of Steve's face opens up into a wider grin.

Steve holds out his hand and Bucky takes it. The skin is warm and calloused. "It's so nice to finally meet you," he says.

Steve sits opposite Bucky, sliding into the booth. He takes his glasses off and hangs them on the yoke of his t shirt and the cap comes off to perch on the table next to him. Steve runs a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it a little from where the hat has messed up the style.

Bucky looks.

And looks.

And looks.

"Steve," he says dumbly.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, a little grin creasing the corner of his lips.

"Steve," Bucky repeats, stupidly.

The grin begins to fade. "Bucky? Are you all right?" he asks with concern.

"Steve," Bucky repeats a third time. "Steve Rogers?"

The penny drops for Steve, and he looks a little embarrassed. "That's me?"

Bucky places both hands flat on the table in front of him to steady himself.

Because sitting across from him is Captain fucking America.

There's the strong jaw, pink lips, slightly crooked nose, crystal blue eyes and long dark eyelashes, dark golden hair he's seen on tv from time to time, or an occasional newspaper photo.

"So... just to clarify... Steve Rogers from Brooklyn who fought in World War II. You're that Steve?"

"When I said I was poor and sitting in the dark contemplating the Great Depression, I wasn't actually lying," Steve says in that ridiculously familiar deadpan, and Bucky lets out a slightly hysterical peal of laughter.

Oh yeah, it's the Steve he's been talking to this whole time. Nobody else is that goddamn snarky. Except maybe him.

Everything makes sense. His manners, the gaps in his pop culture knowledge, the nature of his job and Army service and--

"You just came back from Mexico. You were hunting terrorists."

"Venezuela, actually," he corrects. "Did you see it on the news?"

"A little, but I don't like to watch the news. Too depressing."

Bucky shakes his head and gives another laugh that is just a shade too close to manic for comfort. His eyes search Steve's face, before noticing a laceration on his left cheekbone, the centre is red and purple but the edges are turning that sickly shade of healing yellow.

"You're hurt," Bucky reaches out automatically, going to cup the side of Steve's face. The edges of his fingers brush the bruise and Steve's eye twitches. "I'm sorry," Bucky says, drawing back, but Steve reaches up to catch his hand and keep it there.

"It's okay. Yesterday it was a fractured cheekbone. Today it's just a tender bruise."

"Wow," Bucky breathes out, only half in fascination at the story. The other half is probably definitely because Steve is still holding Bucky's hand to his face.

After a few moments, Steve lets his hand go and Bucky drops it clasp his fingers together in front of him.

Bucky needs to take a moment. So far, nothing has happened that he has anticipated for. At all. He needs to regroup.

Taking up his coffee in both hands, and proud there's no tremor, Bucky sips all the while watching Steve carefully over the rim of his cup.

With great effort, he puts it down and laces his fingers in front of him calmly.

"I know you might not get this, but Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do," Bucky says.

Steve gives a little smile. "I understood that reference," he tells Bucky. "But before I go into any explanations, do you mind if I order a coffee? That's really what I'm here for, after all," he says.

Bucky waves him off with a dismissive hand gesture. "Go. Take your sassy ways to the counter, and let me think for a minute."

Steve nods and walks to the counter to order. If Bucky's being honest he spends less time thinking about what's actually happening and more time staring at Steve's behind as he's buying coffee.

But he does spend a little time thinking about his situation. Most of it being combinations of Steve fucking Rogers and Captain fucking America, swirling around in his head.

Steve returns and slides back into the booth gracefully. Bucky returns to sipping his coffee as a coping mechanism and trying not to stare, but it really is quite difficult.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," Steve says immediately. "It's not really something I find easy to just come out with. Plus there's a chance you'dve thought I was crazy and stopped talking to me."

"Well, you could've always sent me a photo of you in uniform," Bucky blurts out without thinking, and Steve laughs.

"There's that," he said, "but then I would've missed your face in person."

"Oh it wasn't that bad," Bucky scoffs.

"You went a little white. I thought you were going to pass out," Steve says.

"In that case, you might've needed to give me mouth-to-mouth." The flirt just pours out of his mouth automatically, but he doesn't wish to call it back when he sees Steve's grave nod.

"It would've been un-American not to."

Bucky laughs again, and Steve grins as well. He reaches over to pick up Bucky's croissant, tears it in half, drops some back onto the plate and starts chewing on the half he stole.

"Hey! Speaking of un-American," Bucky says with a wounded expression. "What kind of hero does that?"

"The kind that has already ordered a replacement?" Steve suggests. The waitress chooses that moment to bring over Steve's cup of coffee, as well as a replacement ham and cheese croissant, a blueberry muffin already cut in half, and a little container of fruit salad.

Steve thanks the waitress until she blushes, and gestures to the wares in front of him. "Help yourself," he says.

Bucky looks at the nice spread before them, and takes a strawberry from the fruit salad.

"So, I gotta ask the most obvious question," he says around chewing on the fruit, "how does Captain America find himself on Tinder? What's more, why the hell did Captain America contact me?"

"Well, like I said in my profile, my job is hectic and I do have difficulty meeting new people. Whilst the dating pool at work is pretty diverse, I really want something separate from that part of my life, something I can just call my own. But... maybe, someone who can at least understand what I have to do."

"And that's me because...?"

"Well, you've served in the military, which goes a long way to understanding what I do and why I do it. You work with under-privileged kids in the neighbourhood, which is important work that I respect." Steve gives him a little grin. "You're kind of sarcastic without being obnoxious, you're active, and a bit of a looker, to boot."

Bucky's sure his cheeks are going a little hot. He is not flushing in front of Captain America, damnit.

Bucky's hands curl around his coffee cup, just for something to do. "And you couldn't show your face on there because of--" He drops his voice to a whisper, "of SHIELD?"

"You can say their name at a regular volume," Steve grins before nodding a little. "There's the security aspect, yes. But there was also an element of wanting to meet someone without them knowing what they think they know about Captain America. I tried to include as much about me as I possibly could, just without mentioning that."

"You didn't want anyone to treat you differently because of who you are," Bucky finishes the thought. It makes perfect sense. Someone like Steve must find it hard to get treated just like a regular person. Hell, Bucky probably would've acted differently without meaning to, had he known he was talking to the Steve Rogers. He's suddenly very glad he didn't know.

"I didn't want to lie, but there were certain things I couldn't say. Do you know how annoying it was to have to put my birth year as 1987 so the profile showed my correct chronological age?"

Bucky hides a smirk behind his coffee cup. "I never thought of that," he admits. "It must've been terrible for you, you Boy Scout."

"Exactly." Steve cocks his head to the side. "What did you think when you saw me on there?"

"I thought..." Bucky considers. Does he tell the truth or make up some bullshit story?

That's not even a question.

He puts his cup down on the saucer. "I thought you were a bit of a meat-head gym bro who wouldn't be able to string two words together even if they were your own name," Bucky answers.

Steve freezes for a moment, and Bucky thinks he's definitely fucked up by telling the truth.

Then Steve tilts his head back and laughs. And it's possibly the best sound that Bucky's ever had the privilege of hearing.

***

And so, the best first date of Bucky's life continues. Steve is just as charming and cheeky in person as he has been on the phone or through texts, except now Bucky gets to note the hand gestures and the micro expressions and sees how his words affect Steve's behaviour.

Any doubts he'd previously entertained about perhaps not having any chemistry with Steve in person are summarily dashed. Steve leans forward when they speak, eyes glittering. His knees brush against Bucky's from time to time, until somehow they find their feet touching under the table. Bucky lays his left hand on the surface of their table, and as Steve's making a point about something, he lays his right hand over the top of it. And never quite takes it away.

They talk enough that their waitress comes over and asks if they want to order anything else. Bucky orders a regular coffee with milk this time, Steve gets a pot of tea.

"Traitor," Bucky says without too much heat, and Steve's fingers squeeze his briefly.

Bucky feels like they could continue forever until Steve's phone makes an insistent buzzing sound. He looks as though he wants to ignore it, but grabs it reluctantly anyway.

It's a call, not a text message. "I'm sorry, this will just take a second," he apologises before answering the phone. "Rogers, go," he says in a clipped tone.

The one-sided conversation is fairly short, but obviously doesn't have any news that Steve likes in it.

"Yes... all day yesterday... they want what? But I'm just repeating myself and-- No, no. I understand... okay. I'll be there in thirty minutes-- you don’t have to do that. Look, you don't even know where I am and-- Well yes, but... please don't tell me you bugged my clothes again--"

The door to the coffee shop opens and a deadly-looking black-clad figure with blood-red hair enters. She has a phone up to her ear. "Come on, Rogers, let's go," she orders. Steve looks over his shoulder and sighs.

Bucky's breath catches. The Black fucking Widow just walked in and is ordering Steve around. Steve heaves himself reluctantly out of the booth, and Bucky stands as well.

"I apparently have to do a thing. They're not quite finished with me from yesterday," Steve says with obvious chagrin.

"That's okay," Bucky says, scratching the back of his neck. "Duty calls, right?"

"Sometimes I wish Duty lost my number," Steve jokes and Bucky laughs. There's a loud clearing of a throat, and the distinct sound of a heel tapping impatiently against the floor, which Steve summarily ignores.

"I have to go," he says sadly.

Bucky nods. "I had a really good time," he says, and he means it sincerely. It's not every day you get to go on a date with one of the best soldiers in American war history and all-round living legend. "I think we should do this again. You know, if you wanted to."

"Me, too," Steve says with a beaming smile. They stare at each other for a moment, only to have it broken again by the Widow's impatience.

"If I have to get over there and drag you away..." she lets the threat dangle.

"You'd better go," Bucky says, giving Steve a little push in the bicep.

"Yeah. This could take a while." Steve says, reluctantly retrieving his cap from the table.

Bucky bites his bottom lip a little. "Well, bye, I guess."

Steve starts to back away before suddenly changing his mind. Instead of moving away, he leans in close, a hand resting lightly on Bucky's hip. Steve's hair brushes Bucky's cheek, and lips ghost over the skin there before pressing down, lighting up Bucky's nerve endings like fireworks.

"Can I write you later?" he pulls back to ask, but still close enough that Bucky can smell his cologne mixing with the scent of coffee on his breath.

Bucky grins. "Of course. Now will you leave before she kills you?"

Steve smiles brightly once again, skating a thumb gently over Bucky's cheek. "Bye!" he says before turning towards the door.

When he gets there, the Widow is watching him. Her expression isn't as severe as her words, however. In fact, the corner of her mouth twitches decidedly with amusement. "Come on, Romeo," she says, pushing Steve out the door.

Bucky watches them both move past the large open windows of the of the coffee shop, and sees the redhead flick him a quick, speculative glance just before she leaves his sightline.

When they're gone, Bucky falls back down into the booth like a marionette with its strings cut. He sits, staring at the remnants of their brunch. It's been about ninety minutes since he walked into the coffee shop, and a little over sixty-five since his world definitely became a helluva lot more interesting.

Bucky's picking at the leftover crumbs of the muffin he and Steve shared when their waitress comes back over.

"I don't mean to be rude, but... were you just having a brunch date with Captain America?" She asks with wonder.

Bucky huffs out a laugh. "I... I guess I was." He looks up at her with a questioning glance. "Say... you wouldn't know how to uninstall Tinder, would you?"

Chapter Text

The One With The Nickname

(Location: Bucky's Apartment)

Steve is sitting on the edge of the sofa at Bucky's apartment, while Bucky gets them both a cold drink. Bucky wouldn't ordinarily be inviting a date to his home so early, but Steve's a special case. Sometimes out in public he tends to cause a stir, so Bucky thinks maybe this might be a nice way to get to know one another better without the added pressure of watching out for paparazzi cameras, or well-meaning (but intruding) members of the public.

It's strange looking to his sofa and seeing Steve there, but it's also really, really nice.

"Bucky," Steve says, and Bucky looks up.

"Mhm?"

"You never did tell me why you go by 'Bucky' for a nickname."

"You didn't ask," Bucky replies, moving to the sofa to hand Steve a glass of cold water, before sitting next to him.

"I did ask," Steve corrects, "and you told me it was a story for another time."

"Oh, right." Bucky takes a sip of his water, and puts it on the coaster on the coffee table. "It's not really terribly exciting. My little sister Becca hated calling me 'James' when she was small, so she went straight for the middle name and butchered that instead."

"Your middle name being...?"

"Buchanan."

Steve freezes, and Bucky is momentarily panicked. "What? What is it?"

He quickly swallows his water. "Your name is James Buchanan?"

"Yeeess?" Bucky says, arching an eyebrow. "So?"

Steve shakes his head. "Wow. It's just... yeah. Coincidence."

"What is?"

Steve puts down his water and sits forward on the sofa, leaning towards Bucky. "Okay, so see the Nazi science division--"

"HYDRA, yeah, you've mentioned them once or twice," Bucky says wryly. "What about them?"

"HYDRA had this blue glowing cube. The Tesseract, they called it. It was from Asgard."

"Where Thor's from?"

"The very same."

Bucky is a little confused. "What does this have to do with my name?"

Steve shrugs a little. "Not so much your name, but your namesake. See, last time I touched the Tesseract, it sent me back in time. To 1856."

Bucky's eyes widen. "Shit, really?"

"Yeah," Steve nods, clasping his hands together. "It so happens I ended up helping one James Buchanan secure the Democratic nomination for the 1857 election."

Bucky's eyes nearly bug out of his head. "That's insane!"

"I know," Steve says. "What are the odds, huh?"

"Weirdly astronomical, I think," Bucky says.

"Who knows?" Steve shrugs. "Without me being there, your name could've been something completely different. Your name could've been John Fremont instead, and I could be calling you 'Monty'."

"That's kind of ridiculous and--" Bucky catches Steve's shoulders shake. "--what are you laughing at?"

Steve begins to chuckle out loud, and Bucky frowns. "Steve, are you having me on?"

Steve looks at him for one moment longer, before tipping his head back and braying laughter, clutching at his chest with one hand.

"You are such a lying little shit!" Bucky howls, punching Steve in the arm. It only ends up hurting his fist, but he takes mild satisfaction in the fact that Steve at least pretends to feel it.

***

The One With The Tinder Notifications

(Location: Bucky's Apartment)

Steve is on the floor playing with Babushka and a ribbon, when his phone on the breakfast bar vibrates.

"You've got a notification," Bucky says from the refrigerator, where he's rifling around. "Meanwhile, I might have to go to the store, you eat more than I thought."

"Can you check it out for me?" Steve asks, unable to tear his eyes from Babushka's playful gambolling. "And sorry about that, we can go now if you want? I'm buying."

Bucky grunts in approval, and checks Steve's phone. He sees a familiar little flame logo on the screen. He holds up the screen to Steve. "You still getting Tinder notifications?" Bucky asks, and does his best to sound as non-judgmental as possible. Even though he's still getting to know Steve, he trusts him a fair bit already.

Steve glances up with a slightly adorable frown. "Yeah. I'm pretty good with tech but I couldn't quite figure out how to get rid of the program," he says, admonishing Babushka gently when she sinks her claws into his hand at his inattention. "Could you help me?"

Bucky's grin takes over slower than molasses. "Sure. In a minute."

"What do you mea-- ow, Babushka, no," Steve mumbles out, trying to dislodge Babushka's needle-like teeth from his palm. She looks up at him innocently, blinking big, green eyes, and Steve immediately smiles and pats her again. Once Babushka is appeased, he gets up and dusts his knees off. "What are you doing?"

Bucky hushes Steve and taps the flame icon. "You've matched with Liam," he says. "28... loves art museums and-- oh. Steve," Bucky clicks his tongue in disapproval. "You're into pot smokers?"

"What?" Steve looks over Bucky's shoulder. "I swear it didn't say that."

"That's what '420 friendly' means."

"Oh..." Steve says slowly, brow furrowing. "I didn't know. I was going to look it up, but I didn't get around to it and it sounded harmless."

Bucky grins like a lunatic. "Captain Healthy-Living matched with a pot smoker."

"Shut up," Steve rolls his eyes and makes a grab for the phone. Startlingly, he misses.

"Noo... I must send him a message detailing all the doobies you wish to smoke with him."

"'Doobies'?" Steve scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. "Now I know you're having me on."

Bucky grins and goes back to Steve's matches page. He goes to click on another before stopping himself, and looking up. "The polite thing for me to do would be to ask if I could look at this stuff. Everyone else I know would freak out if someone grabbed their phone."

"Unlike everyone else you know, I don't need to have this on me."

Bucky pauses expectantly. "...But you do need it."

Steve's lips purse. "Well, yes, for emergencies. But if I left my phone at home and went out somewhere, I wouldn't miss it. Would you miss yours?"

"Desperately. I might actually have to, y'know, talk to people I don't know."

"Horrifying," Steve deadpans.

"Or talk to people I do know."

"Right."

"Or just... people. In general."

"Uh-huh."

"Also if I don't play Temple Run at least once every twenty-four hours, all my bonuses reset to zero."

"I feel pity for you, you know."

Bucky grins and hands Steve back his phone. Steve takes it and spares Bucky a brazen light slap on one buttcheek before he sits down on the sofa. "If you don't want to help, that's fine. I'm sure I can figure out how to de-install it by myself." He side-eyes Bucky as Bucky flops down next to him on the sofa, giving a large and overblown sigh. "I'd have thought it'd be in your best interests to help me."

Bucky puts a hand over his heart and hitches a breath. "Wow... my first guilt trip from Captain America. This is a day for the history books."

Steve gives him a little smile. "Actually, that was pure Sarah Rogers, that one. It was all about the big sigh."

Bucky notices that Steve doesn't talk about his mother too much, even though they were obviously very close. The subject had come up in their previous text messages, but it never went too in-depth, and that was long before he knew who Steve was.

It doesn't matter that she died 11 years ago (for Steve) or a few lifetimes ago (for the world), he thinks it's still a painful topic.

"Baby Steve sometimes needed a guilt-trip, huh?" Bucky asks tentatively.

Steve stares at the screen of his phone without really seeing it. "Mostly when I got into too many fights. All she ever really had to do was sit in her chair, wrap her hands in her apron and sigh, and I was grovelling on the floor for forgiveness."

Bucky grins. "Well-played, Mrs Rogers, well-played."

Steve stares at his lap, a small, sad smile on his face, and Bucky doesn't want to see Steve upset. He nudges Steve's thigh with his knee.

"I'll help you uninstall, on one condition."

Steve looks up and arches a brow. "What?"

"We have a little peek at your matches first, see who else you were looking at."

Steve ponders the deal for a moment before agreeing. They sit together, shoulder-to-shoulder as Bucky holds the phone between them, poking and swiping at the screen.

He pauses for a moment, finger hovering over the glass. "I should say as well, that if there's anything on here you don't want me to see, just tell me. I won't ask any questions."

"It's fine," Steve says. "You can look at whatever you want."

Bucky gives Steve an exaggeratedly shrewd glance. "You realise that this is the nightmare of most humans between the ages of fourteen and sixty-four, right? Someone else having carte-blanche on their phone?"

"Maybe in your century. Mine was not having enough to eat."

Bucky facepalms. "Oh god, here we go again."

"With the Great Depression and all."

It's Steve's absolutely favourite argument, and one he loves to bring up even when it's not relevant. Bucky's pretty sure Steve's only doing it because he knows it makes Bucky roll his eyes back into his head so far he can see his own optic nerves.

Bucky taps the phone deliberately, and the both take a look at the screen. He swipes to the page with all of the people Steve's matched with. There are a bunch of half-finished conversations, and a row of people along the top that he hasn't contacted yet.

The first thing Bucky notices is, like his own matches, there's a mixture of men and women.

"So how long had you been on Tinder, anyway?" Bucky asks as he touches one of the people to look at. "Or rather, how long were you on before you saw my profile?"

"A little over two weeks," Steve answers, shuffling a little closer to Bucky. "It was... an interesting couple of weeks."

Bucky chuckles ruefully. "I'll bet. And how did you find the whole 'dating by app' phenomenon?"

"Pretty weird. Some of the profiles are rather..." Steve searches for the right word. "Provocative," he settles on.

"Very diplomatic," Bucky commends.

"Maybe I should be 'Captain Diplomacy'," he jokes.

Bucky snorts. "Then you'd have a massive 'D' on your helmet, and I don't think I could ever take you seriously again."

"You don't take me seriously now," Steve gives Bucky a gentle elbow to his side.

"And you like that," Bucky returns confidently. He gives Steve a sidelong glance, who is smiling back at him.

"I do."

Steve has a way of imbuing his answers with simple honesty that Bucky often finds in short supply in the modern dating pool. It's refreshing, to say the least.

He clears his throat. "So... provocative, huh?" Bucky gets back on track.

Steve looks down at his phone screen and gives a little frown. "Yeah. I mean, it's not like I don't know what sex is, or that some people are just interested in it. There were people like that back when I was growing up."

"Shocking," Bucky gasps in mock horror.

"It's just that more people seemed to want to find stability, too. The person they didn't just have sex with, but the one they wanted to partner up with."

Bucky can't resist. "Even during the Great Depression?"

Without missing a beat, Steve nods. "Save on hot water. Take a bath with a friend."

Bucky laughs delightedly. "Okay so... Provocative profiles. I'm guessing you could pick the purely 'hook up' bios straight up?"

"Definitely. I think most people were fairly honest to the point of being brutal if they're using it purely for liasons."

"The gratuitous cleavage and mesh underwear shots gave it away, huh?" Bucky grins.

"I could see right through them," Steve nods gravely, and Bucky starts laughing so hard he wheezes. Steve has to pat him on the back, a small, amused smile on his face.

Eventually, Bucky regains control of his lungs and goes back to the phone. "May I?" he asks, finger hovering over some of Steve's matches.

"Go ahead," Steve says.

Bucky scrolls through the men and women listed. It's an interesting mix of people, all different ethnicities, varying in age from approximately twenty-four to thirty-five. Even though Steve said it was okay, when he chooses people to look at, he quickly swipes past the screen where Steve might've been having a conversation with them, to go to their profile and pictures.

"So what are your deal breakers, Steve. What's something that'll absolutely get you to swipe left?"

Steve looks thoughtful. "Well, if I thought they were a hook up profile, I tended to bypass automatically. Also anyone who left their bio blank. Or just filled it with emojis."

Bucky gives a tiny, self-satisfied smirk. "Go on."

"If they didn't smile once in any of their pictures, or did that stupid duck-face thing..."

"Good call," Bucky encourages.

"I found it really odd to be talking to so many people at once. And the knowledge that everyone I was talking to was probably talking to other people as well? It was a little tough to wrap my head around."

"I know the feeling."

Steve gives him a quizzical look. "Did you keep talking to other people after you started talking to me?" Bucky's face freezes and Steve pats his leg. "It's okay, I know how it works. I'm just curious."

Bucky presses his lips together. "I did for the first day or two? But seeing as we traded numbers really early and then moved to texting, I sort of... forgot to keep opening the app up."

Steve gives him a little grin that he reads as super-pleased.

Bucky goes back to Steve's phone and keeps scrolling through before he notices something. "Steve..."

"Yes?"

"There's a hell of a lot of brunets in your matches..."

Steve sits up a bit straighter on the couch. "I happen to think dark hair is very striking," he says, mock-defensively. Bucky holds up his hand in surrender, before combing his hand through his hair in an exaggerated movement. Steve rolls his eyes.

Bucky goes back to some of Steve's matches. They're... well, they're a good-looking crop of people. Bucky knows he's easy on the eyes and isn't necessarily insecure about his appearance, but can't help feeling a little lucky that Steve chose him.

An odd thought occurs. "Hey, did you ever meet up with anyone? You know, besides me?"

Steve shakes his head. "No. With some people the conversation dwindled, or it took a turn that I didn't care for. With others, they tended to want to meet up really quickly and... for obvious reasons, I had to vet people pretty thoroughly before I got to the stage of meeting them. I don't think I went longer than three or four days before someone wanted to meet up, so when I would put them off they tended to lose interest and stop talking to me."

"I can imagine," Bucky says. "Probably would've remembered seeing a TMZ report on 'I met Captain America on Tinder!'"

"Yeah. But in a way, that's part of why I kept talking to you? Not just because I enjoyed it, but you were just happy to chat without bringing up the meeting thing, and I ended up getting to know you... and I got to be the one to ask you to meet."

"And I totally turned you down, too" Bucky shakes his head. "Wow, ain't I a dope."

"Yes," Steve agrees gravely, "but I'll keep seeing you, anyway."

As they speak, Steve's phone chimes and the little flame logo appears on the top status bar.

"Ainsleigh has sent you a message, Steve," Bucky says expressively, his eyebrow cocking up rakishly.

Steve visibly cringes, and Bucky leaps on this immediately. "Ooohhh, who's Ainsleigh? What's her deal?"

Babushka jumps up on Steve's lap and begins pawing at his jeans. He takes to patting her absently. "Did you ever swipe right on someone accidentally and get stuck talking to them?"

Bucky tries desperately not to laugh. "Um, maybe once or twice."

"I sort of did it with this woman before I got the chance to read her whole profile thoroughly, and now she keeps sending me messages. I've not really replied, but she's not getting the hint."

Curiosity getting the better of him, Bucky swipes on Ainsleigh's profile. He scans the text, eyes widening with each sentence.

Ainsleigh, 33

Let's be clear about this, I'm not looking for a hook-up or a casual date, I'm looking for marriage. No one under 6' or over 190lbs, please.

I want a professional, career-orientated man, university educated. No tradesmen, or frivolous occupations. If we match I really do expect us to strike up a conversation and not sit there. No gameplayers.

I'm very dedicated to my job as an investment banker, and am looking for a like-minded, driven individual. Match with me and you won't regret it.

Bucky gives Steve a gleeful look. "Oh. Oh Steve. You have to talk to this woman."

Steve puts his face in his hands. "I don't want to. She sounds like a praying mantis."

"What, you mean eat your head and lay eggs in your body to hatch?"

Steve nods mutely.

"Dude, you're Captain America."

Steve doesn't look convinced.

Bucky chuckles as he flicks to her messages, where there's a very one-sided conversation going on. Steve's contributions are occasional, polite and succinct.

"You should tell her you're two-hundred pounds and a carpenter. Or an artist! See what she does."

"Isn't that kind of mean?"

Bucky makes a 'so-so' motion with his hand. "Maybe, but..." Bucky scans the messages where she's hunting for Steve's attention and sending him flirtatious gifs, "I dunno, she's giving me 'bunny-boiler' vibes. I'd '86' her."

"'Bunny boiler'?"

"Yeah, don't ever watch Fatal Attraction," Bucky advises. "Not if you like rabbits."

Steve points to his phone and stabs at the screen. "This is exactly why I want to uninstall Tinder," he says with a frustrated sigh, "I don't want to focus on anyone else right now." He retrieves his phone gently from Bucky's hands and types out a quick message to Ainsleigh.

Steve: I'm very sorry, Ainsleigh, but I'm deactivating my profile as I've met someone. All the best to you finding your future husband. I hope he's tall!

"Now will you help me uninstall?" he asks, holding his phone out to Bucky. Bucky reads the message and makes a solid effort to keep the grin from overtaking his entire face. It's pretty hard, though.

"Sure," Bucky says, taking the device and heading straight to Steve's phone settings.

Steve watches quietly, before he pipes up. "I don't see you offering to show me any of your matches, you know. Think I'll get jealous?"

"Oh, I know you would," Bucky replies. "Had some serious contenders there, and I'd love to show you, but..." he bites his lip and looks up at Steve through his eyelashes. "I deactivated my profile last week. Seems I met someone."

***

The One With The Cat Bribery

(Location: Bucky's Apartment)

The doorbell rings, and Bucky opens the door to see 6'2" of actual studly superhero waiting to be let inside.

"Hey," Bucky grins.

Steve grins right back, and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. "Hey," he says back, toeing his shoes off at the door, eyes slipping to the inside of the apartment.

Bucky lets him in and shuts the door, watching as Steve cases the place. He rolls his eyes.

"She's in the bathroom," he says, and Steve flushes a little red.

Sure enough, after finishing her ablutions in the kitty litter tray on the tiled floor, Babushka struts out like she owns the place -- which she kinda does. As soon as she lays eyes on Steve, however, she turns into the biggest dork-cat of all time. Gambolling up to him, and already purring like an outboard motor, she rubs her cheeks against his jeans-clad legs.

"Hello, Bushka," Steve coos, adopting the nickname Bucky uses for her. Babushka looks up at him with big, green eyes and meows pitifully. Steve sits and picks her up, placing her gently on his lap.

"Coffee?" Bucky asks.

"Please." Steve reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny mouse toy he bought especially for her. Babushka instantly turns into a miniature hunter; crouching low and stalking up to Steve's hands.

Bucky and Steve chat about their day, but Bucky sometimes has to repeat questions when Steve gets too intense into the literal game of cat-and-mouse he has going on with Babushka.

Bucky sets the coffee down on the table in front of Steve. "Should I really be jealous as to who you're here to see, anyway?" he grumbles.

"You, of course, Buck," Steve replies. "Babushka can't work the coffee maker."

"If she knew that's all it'd take to keep you visiting, she'd learn." Bucky tries to sound surly, but it's really hard when his favourite little non-human is turning Captain America into a massive pile of candyfloss.

Anytime Steve gets up to get a refill of a drink, or a snack, or use the bathroom, he comes back to find Babushka curled up in his spot, one eye open watching him. The big softie can't bear to shift her out of the way, so he ends up squishing closer to Bucky. Bucky doesn't mind, and Babushka ends up climbing over them both at intervals whilst they talk, even falling asleep in the centre of Steve's chest when he lies back on the sofa a little. Steve barely dares to breath, he's so happy.

When Steve leaves later, he finds one of Babushka's tinkly balls in the toe of his shoe. The smile he gives Bucky lights him up like a firecracker inside.

Chapter Text

The One With The Surprise Interrogation (pt 1)

(Location: Avengers Tower)

Steve and Bucky are hanging around Central Park, eating hot dogs and casting silly sidelong glances at one another, when Steve gets a call on his phone. He looks at the caller ID, frowns and promptly ignores it, only for the phone to continue ringing every two minutes for the next ten. With each successive ring, Steve's shoulders edge closer to his ears.

Bucky arches a brow after the fifth call. "You going to get that?" he says, taking the last bite of his hot dog and lobbing the foil and paper into a nearby trash can.

"I should," Steve mutters, "or I'll never hear the end of it." However, he still hesitates.

Bucky laughs. "You're not being rude to me; answer it."

Steve smiles at him, and next time the phone rings, he connects the call. It's a mostly one-sided conversation where Steve doesn't address the caller by name, and doesn't seem to be able to get a word in edge-wise. He does, however, agree to do something.

"Date cancelled on account of national emergency?" Bucky asks deliberately casually.

"Not by a long shot," Steve replies, "but while we're in Manhattan, would you mind if we took a side-trip somewhere?"

"Not at all. We're just kind of futzing around today, anyway."

And it's true; their day today has no structure apart from 'meet up' and 'flirt outrageously'.

Steve gives him the grin that melts a significant portion of Bucky's brain, and they make their way to the closest subway station. The southbound B train takes them most of the way, and Bucky enjoys the ride. Not because of the actual subway -- it's too noisy and smells like ammonia -- but because they find a seat in the corner and Steve's leg is pressed up against the length of Bucky's thigh, their shoulders brushing each time the train moves. They chat a little, but mostly just seem to both enjoy the fact that they're sitting together.

If all subway rides were like this, Bucky would never drive anywhere ever again.

When they get to street level, Steve makes a quick phonecall, informing the recipient that he'll be turning up with a friend, who will be required to pass security clearance. Bucky hasn't really bothered to ask what the destination is, but it becomes evidently clear after that conversation, and their subsequent direction of travel.

Avengers Tower stands tall and bright and slightly obnoxious and basically everything Bucky has come to expect from anything Stark's had a hand in building. Bucky gives a glance of trepidation up to the metal and glass as they cross the threshold and enter the foyer.

There's bustling activity, as Avengers Tower is still, in essence Stark Tower, too, and still the home base of Stark Industries. Steve nods to some security guys behind a desk, but keeps walking towards the elevators in the back. Bucky follows at Steve's shoulder, looking puzzled.

"I thought I needed to go through some security clearance...?" he asks with confusion.

The lift doors shut behind them. Steve gives him a kind smile. "You're about to. JARVIS?" he addresses the room.

"Good afternoon, Captain Rogers," a sharp, posh-sounding voice with an English accent pipes through the elevator's speakers, and Bucky jumps. "Your companion is authorised for access to the laboratory level upon passing standard security checks."

"Of course," Steve says.

"Who the hell's JARVIS?" Bucky asks. He's looking in the corners of the elevator but hasn't detected any obvious security cameras. Hell, he's really good at spotting hidden cameras, and he can't see a thing. A frisson of anxiety shoots down Bucky's spine.

"JARVIS is Tony's AI. He's built into the Tower and pretty much runs the place." At Bucky's arched eyebrow, Steve brushes the back of his hand against Bucky's. The touch is grounding. "He's actually pretty amazing."

"Thank you, Captain, I do try," JARVIS responds primly. The AI clearly turns its attention to Bucky. "Please state your full name and date of birth for voiceprint analysis and identification."

Flicking a glance to Steve, who nods encouragingly, Bucky eventually answers. "James Buchanan Barnes, 10^th March, 1985."

There's a moment where in Bucky's mind's eye, the little circular 'thinking' colour wheel is spinning.

"Identity confirmed. Thank you, Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS responds.

Bucky starts uncomfortably. "I haven't been called that in a while."

"If you would prefer another title, I would be quite pleased to oblige," JARVIS offers.

"Just my name will be fine," Bucky says. His time in the Army has always been a source of pride, but that part of his life is over. The rank belongs to who he was, not who he is now.

"As you wish, Mr Barnes," the AI replies.

"How does it know about my rank?" Bucky asks Steve, sotto voce.

"JARVIS has access to government and military personnel databases, he would've been able to access your record."

"Oh." Well, that makes sense. Anything Stark invented would probably be able to do that. "What about a security check? I would've thought someone would be waving a wand or a metal detector?"

"Unnecessary, sir," JARVIS responds. "I have already completed my physical scans. You are unarmed."

"What if I had a metal arm? Or a plate in my ass?"

"I would be able to detect those, as well. Also, I am pleased to see that your left scapula has healed well from its break approximately five years ago."

Bucky sputters and looks at Steve. "How does it know about that?"

"My scans have detected a slight calcification where the superior notch has re-knit."

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but finds his voice has gone. Steve gives him a concerned look.

"Thanks, JARVIS, maybe that'll be enough for now," Steve cuts in.

"Of course, Captain. Mr Stark is waiting for you in Laboratory Three."

The elevator goes blissfully silent.

"I know it's a bit to take in, I'm sorry I didn't think to warn you about JARVIS." Steve shrugs helplessly, moving a little closer so that their arms are pressed together. The tiny bit of contact once again helps Bucky feel more grounded. "It took me a while to get used to, but now he just feels like another person."

"Just omnipresent and watching your every move," Bucky answers.

"Something like that, yeah." Steve gives Bucky another one of his patented, encouraging smiles. "While you won't see his name on any tee shirts, JARVIS is as much an Avenger as I am. He's an invaluable part of the team."

"Thank you, Sir," JARVIS responds, and Bucky laughs because they both jump that time.

"Also, he's nosey," Steve grins.

The elevator opens on floor sixty-four, and Steve takes a moment to re-orient himself before turning right. Steve makes sure to keep up the casual contact as they walk the corridor to a large glass-panelled room.

There's a woman standing in the corridor wearing a tailored dove-grey suit and holding a clipboard. She must be important; anyone holding a clipboard usually is.

"Ms Potts," Steve greets, with a large, warm smile.

She looks up, and the little frown creasing her brow immediately disappears. "Steve. How many times do I have to tell you to call me 'Pepper'?" she scolds lightly, and tilts her face up as he leans down to peck her cheek.

"I guess one more time should do it," he grins.

The vague inkling that Bucky should know who she is coalesces. Sure, Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, and responsible for putting out more of Stark's professional and personal fires than the FDNY.

Pepper's gaze shifts politely to Bucky. He can see her eyes immediately take in his proximity to Steve, how Steve's body is angled in towards his, like the overprotective asshole he is.

"You must be the recipient of additional security clearance," Pepper says, though there's no malice in her words. She extends her hand, and Bucky takes hold of it gingerly.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion. You must be the woman who helped Steve decorate his apartment. I knew it couldnt've been all him," Bucky smiles charmingly and gives her hand a gentle squeeze. It definitely works.

"That I am. You too must have impeccable taste to have noticed."

"Bucky Barnes, ma'am," Bucky introduces himself.

Pepper rolls her eyes and shakes his hand firmly in return. "Pepper, please," she insists.

"Unlike this guy," Bucky chucks his thumb towards Steve, "I only need to be told once. Lovely to meet you, Pepper."

Steve frowns and makes a show of touching his chest. "Wow, Buck. If I had a heart, that'd really sting."

Bucky points at him. "Y'see what I have to put up with?"

Pepper nods in commiseration. "I know, trust me." Pepper cocks her head to the side. "'Bucky' is an unusual name."

"Nickname, really," Bucky answers. "I much prefer it to being called 'James'."

Pepper laughs lightly. "I can relate! Only my parents ever call me 'Virginia' now, and that's because they gave me life." They share a little chuckle together. "So Bucky, how do you know Steve?"

Bucky pauses for a moment, and gives a glance in Steve's direction. They've had a chat or two about this in the last couple of weeks. Of course some of Steve's friends already know about Bucky, but Bucky's happy to leave it to Steve as to who he choses to tell, and when.

Steve quirks his eyebrows at Bucky, and Bucky responds with a shrug which he hopes reads 'it's up to you."

It must be transmitted effectively. Steve turns to Pepper and ever so gently rests his hand on the small of Bucky's back. Bucky watches Pepper track the movement carefully. "Bucky's my date," Steve says with quiet confidence, then gives Bucky what he's coming to recognise as Steve Rogers 101 for 'smug bastard'.

Bucky huffs out a laugh and turns to Pepper. "I'm his date," he confirms with a winning smile.

"Oh, that's lovely!--" The attractive smile on Pepper's face at Steve's news morphs quickly into horror. "Oh. Oh no. You're on a date right now. And Tony's--" Pepper shakes her head and grips the clipboard tighter. "I told him not to bother you on your day off, and that his work could wait, but as usual, he didn't listen to me..." She turns to both men, sincere apology on her face and in her voice. "I'm so sorry you've been interrupted."

Bucky shrugs. "It's okay, we were just in Central Park playing a rousing game of 'Top-knots and Man-buns'."

"I was winning," Steve puts in helpfully.

"Because he's cheating. A lot," Bucky retaliates.

Pepper raises an eyebrow, and links her arm in the crook of Bucky's elbow. "Clearly, you need to explain this game to me," she says, walking him down the hall.

"Did you ever play Punch-Buggy as a kid?" Bucky asks.

"Sure, didn't everyone?"

Steve raises his hand. "Beetles weren't released until 1938 because Hitler stole the design from a Jewish engineer. So no, I didn't really play when I was a kid."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Don't be unbearable, Captain Great Depression," he says, before turning back to Pepper, without missing a beat. "So it's like Punch-Buggy, save for we're looking for men wearing their hair in buns, or women with their hair pulled right up on top of their heads. There's more of them than you think."

They enter the large laboratory, Pepper on Bucky's right arm, Steve flanking at his left. "And how was that working out for you?"

"Well, Steve is really good at being distracting, and I've probably got a bruise on my arm the size of Minnesota."

Pepper laughs lightly, and it's only when the background tinkering of the room stops that Bucky realises where he is. Across the other side of the room, a dark-haired man with a sharp beard is eyeing their entrance critically. In his hands, he's holding one of Steve's helmets, with its wings and white stencilled 'A'.

Bucky's only ever seen Tony Stark on television and never in person, so he'd never realised how the man has a presence that fills up more than his actual physical space, but there it is.

"Hey, Cap. Pepper." He eyes Bucky analytically. "Man whom I've never met before, walking with Pepper." Bucky rears back a little. He wasn't sure what kind of greeting he might receive, but that definitely wasn't it.

Stark then promptly proceeds to ignore Bucky. "Steve-o. I've re-jigged your comms that were hitting interference in Venezuela. HYDRA were using some pretty intense jamming signals to isolate your frequency, but all that should be fine now. We'll be able to warn you next time you're about to run into a wall. Literally."

Bucky gives Steve a sidelong glance. "You crashed into a wall... Did you make a hole?"

"Only a little one," Steve says, and Bucky shakes his head.

"Stealthy," Bucky comments, and Steve pokes him with his elbow.

Pepper clears her throat. "Tony, this is Bucky Barnes."

Tony's eyebrows quirk, and he turns his body fully towards the three of them, focusing on Bucky. "'Bucky', huh?" he says, and Bucky already hates how his name sounds coming out of Stark's mouth. "Sounds like a pet jackrabbit."

Pepper looks embarrassed, and Steve shakes his head. Bucky simply folds his arms across his chest.

"So what do you do, Buckster? Let me guess..." Stark play-acts thinking carefully. "Underwear model? Sexy bartender? Male host at a strip joint?"

"You trying to say you find me sexy?" Bucky says without really thinking.

Tony isn't flustered at all. "Only in that overly-obvious way. With no subtlety."

"You'd know about subtlety, right Tony?" Steve puts in wryly.

"Hand on my heart," he says, adopting a long-suffering expression that wouldn't look out of place on an icon of a Saint.

"Well, too bad for you," Steve looks to Bucky and gives him a little grin, which Bucky can't help but return. "Bucky's my date, find your own."

Bucky internally winces as the words hit home for Stark. "Ohhhhh?" he says, pushing himself up from the lab bench he's leaning on, perking up. "Capsicle. You getting some?"

Steve doesn't get the chance to answer before Bucky cuts in. "Not really any of your business."

"I feel like it kinda is," Tony answers. "So where does one find a Bachelorette contestant like yourself?"

"Why, you in the market?" Bucky snipes.

"Gentlemen," Pepper tries to intercede, focusing a rather impressive glare on Tony. Of course, he ignores it.

"Tetchy," Stark clicks his tongue. "It's just that we've been wondering about Captain America's social skills for quite a while now. Dear old Dad always said he went down like a lead balloon with the ladies."

"I don't know about Captain America's social skills," Bucky says slowly, "but Steve Rogers makes do just fine. And last time I checked; not a lady."

"Not even when you and he--"

"Tony," Pepper cuts him off harshly, and Stark just sits back with a shrug.

"Whatever. So, you and Steve, huh?" Stark drops his tools and walks casually towards Bucky. "You know, as far as the ol' Star Spangled Man With A Plan went, I figured his gosh-darned morals would go for more... substance over surface."

Bucky's hands, resting on his biceps, tighten. "Really." He feels Steve just behind his left shoulder as a solid presence, but he doesn't cut in. Which he's thankful for, in all honesty. He doesn't need Steve to butt in and fight his battles for him, not when it comes to mouthy runts the likes of Tony Stark. Bucky doesn't care how much money the guy has.

Stark nods enthusiastically. "Yeah. So what do you do?

"Why don't you just ask your AI?" Bucky suggests. "It's done all the background checks."

"That's entirely no fun at all. So what is it? Secretary? Starbucks barista in one of those uptown stores? Lifeguard? Daytime TV actor trying to break into Broadway?"

Bucky gives Steve an incredulous glance, who seems to be stifling a smile. The little shit is enjoying this. Bucky's had to listen to his share of complaints about one of Steve's 'unnamed coworkers' -- before Bucky knew who he was talking to, of course -- so he's probably amused as hell at this little exchange. Unfortunately, not everyone is.

"Tony, you're being obnoxious," Pepper shakes her head irritably.

"I'm being the exact right amount of 'noxious', thanks Pep," he puts in. "If Rogers wants to bring a random into the Tower, I should be able to question him all I want."

Stark clearly has quite ridiculously low standards of self-preservation if the burning fire in Pepper's eyes is anything to go by. Bucky feels his temperature go up by a few degrees. He's tempted to really let Stark have it, but Steve's presence right behind him channels his reaction somewhere else.

Bucky shrugs, palms open and facing up. He decides instead to drop a couple of truth bombs on Tony Stark.

"You got me. I work with a bunch of child therapists, and run a youth outreach program for troubled and disadvantaged children over a few Brooklyn school districts."

Pepper's annoyance at Stark is immediately replaced with piqued interest. "Really, Bucky? That sounds wonderful."

Stark blinks once, looking vaguely like he's temporarily forgotten how to process the English language. "Uh..." Obviously not the vapid answer he expected.

Bucky continues, wanting to go for (hopeful) full devastation. "Before that, I was career Army. Rangers, in fact. That was a while ago, though."

"How long?" Stark asks.

"Long enough to be in it when you were producing weapons. Sometimes even for the other side," Bucky says, before cheerfully adding; "You were still getting called the 'Merchant of Death'!"

There is a very pregnant pause in which the only sound that can be heard in the laboratory is the gentle hum of an air conditioning unit.

"Oh." Stark actually stops speaking, which is something of a relief, as Bucky is sick and tired of hearing his voice. His grin stays frozen on his face, long enough for Stark to actually start to squirm a little. Bucky's never lost a stare-off in his life, he's not about to start now.

Steve, who's been silent up until this point, places a hand on Bucky's shoulder, but talks to Stark. "I think you've interrogated him enough, Tony. Thanks for looking at my comms, though. Maybe I can give it a thorough test when I'm in next, in a more official capacity?"

The question shocks Tony out of his sudden brain-hiccup, and he breaks eye contact with Bucky. "Sure thing, Cap."

Steve's fingers squeeze Bucky's shoulder slightly. "Let's head out," he says in a low voice.

Bucky spares Steve a bright grin. "Let's."

He turns to Pepper. "Really lovely to meet you, Pepper." Bucky takes her hand and squeezes it gently, before turning to Stark. "Nice to meet you, Tony. You're a lot shorter in person, though." Bucky manages to squeeze one last jibe in before Steve hustles him out of the lab.

Steve yanks on Bucky's hand until they reach a little further down the corridor. One look at Steve's face tells Bucky he can't decide whether to scold or congratulate him. If it were Bucky's choice, he'd go for the latter.

"I can't believe you said that to him," Steve says, voice husky with laughter.

Bucky shrugs. "He was purposefully being a dick to the both of us."

"That's Tony for you," Steve replies. "But as much as he is a dick, I work with him and he's not totally... abhorrent. You might've let cooler heads prevail."

Bucky steps back from Steve with an incredulous look. "You're telling me I should've backed off? You? The world's leading -- historical, I might add -- authority on not backing off and being a hothead?"

"Marvel at the source," Steve says with a tiny smile. Bucky rolls his eyes and relaxes his stance a little. His words are firm, but their delivery lacks the heat he'd give real argument. That and Steve reaches out to touch his bicep, before running his hand down the length of Bucky's arm to tangle their fingers together.

Steve's phone chimes twice in succession. He digs the cell out of his pocket with his free hand, and flips open the messages. A grin forms at the first, getting larger at the second.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, and Steve wordlessly shows his phone screen, flicking between the two messages.

Tony: Jesus, Cap, assholes recognize their own kind. If you wanted to date one of us, you should've just said. I could've made an exception for you. Workplace romance, schworkplace romance.

Pepper: I like him. [thumbs up]

Bucky unsuccessfully stifles a grin. "I'm surprisingly okay with both of those messages. But did Stark actually just type schworkplace?"

Steve grins back at him, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips. It's probably pretty vanilla as far as kisses go, but it lasts longer than a peck, and while there's no deep tongue involved, Steve does clamp Bucky's lower lip with his and tug oh so gently as they part. Bucky's insides do a rather magnificent flip.

Steve's hand not holding his rests at the crook of his shoulder, gently cradling the base of his skull, and it doesn't seem as though he's going to move it anytime soon. "Want to get out of here?" he asks.

"Please," Bucky answers. "My snark has burnt off the hotdogs and I'm hungry again. Also, I intend to win round two of 'Top-knots and Man-buns'. You know, despite your cheating."

Steve's hand slides to his shoulder, letting the bulk of his arm fall in a comfortable weight across the breadth of his back. They walk down the corridor and back to the elevator. "Disgusting how you accuse a National Treasure of cheating. Practically un-American."

"Gee thanks, Senator McCarthy. You think I have a Red under my bed, too?" Bucky rolls his eyes.

Steve makes a show of thinking, tapping his finger against his lips obnoxiously. "You have a box spring, right? I don't think Natasha could fit."

Bucky whistles. "First of all, that's a terrible joke. Secondly, oh damn. If she heard you say that, she'd probably kick your ass, Rogers."

"You're right. You may have to protect me."

Bucky shakes his head. "Ohhh no. Leave me out of feuds you start with your highly trained combat-ready teammates. There's only one Avenger I'm interested in engaging."

Steve affects a pout that looks rather ridiculous on him as they enter the elevator. "I thought you were going to have my back."

"I do. Just not in superhero conflicts. Look, you want to date a heroic asshole? Take Stark up on his offer. Me? I'm just a regular, run-of-the-mill asshole. No frills."

Bucky gives Steve a look out of the corner of his eye. Steve is watching him intently, almost to the point of making him squirm. A beatific smile graces his lips. "I'll take 'regular, run-of-the-mill asshole' for $200, thanks Alex."

Bucky laughs as they re-enter the foyer. "You're never allowed to watch Jeopardy. Ever again."

Steve's hand once again goes to the small of Bucky's back. "Noted."

***

The One Where Size Does Matter

(Location: Steve's Apartment)

In the interests of not eating Bucky out of house and home, Steve invites him around to his apartment to eat and watch movies.

Bucky's not sure whether he expects some ultra-modern Stark-style palatial apartment, or whether he's going to be walking into some kind of weird 1940's time capsule.

Turns out it's neither. It's a decent-sized brownstone in Brooklyn Heights with a great view. It's bigger than Bucky's, but it's not as luxurious as Steve could probably afford. It is, however, very Steve.

There are big windows to let a lot of light in, and one corner of the living room acts as a makeshift studio. A draftsman's desk and an easel are tucked into the wall near the window. There's two bedrooms, one slightly smaller than the other. While the décor isn't cutting edge, it isn't terribly old-fashioned, either. Steve tells him that the infamous Pepper Potts of Stark Industries helped him with the interior.

There are clean lines, but there's an older charm to it as well, with the bookcases lining the walls, stacked with reading material, and the record player in the corner. There's a dock for an iPod as well, but it's nice to see those old touches. Steve says he misses the static crackle when the needle touches the vinyl, so he likes to play older music on the record player sometimes.

On the walls -- some framed and some unframed -- are pieces of art, ranging from old pieces on yellowed paper, to some that looks fairly recent. Bucky is drawn to a three-quarter pencil portrait of a woman, looking to be somewhere in her forties. She shares some very significant features with Steve, the shape of the eyes, turn of her mouth. Steve comes to stand behind him. "Your mom?" he queries. Steve just nods. "She's beautiful," Bucky murmurs. He doesn't get a verbal answer, only a light squeeze on his shoulder.

There are a few others of buildings and street scenes on the walls, which Bucky admires as well. Also on the walls there are some old photographs and memorabilia that Steve says was his from the 30's and 40's that the Smithsonian gave back to him from their exhibit.

There is a photo of Steve from his original SSR file. Bucky looks at it with a raised eyebrow. Like all American kids -- especially those from Brooklyn -- he learnt about Steve in school and did the requisite projects on him. But he'd never visited the DC exhibit nor done anything since Steve was defrosted. It's been a while since he's seen the picture of skinny Steve.

"I remember this one," Bucky says, pointing to the photograph. "It was in one of my text books in school."

Steve's cheeks colour slightly. "Wow, that's embarrassing to know."

"What, that I was looking at your picture when I was fourteen?" Bucky grins.

"You just had to make it weird, didn't you?" Steve bumps into his shoulder gently. The smile falls away to be replaced with a thoughtful expression. "I like to keep it around, actually."

"Why is that?" Bucky asks.

"So I remember where I came from," Steve replies simply. Bucky senses there's more to it and waits it out. "If you think about it, I've only spent about six years looking like... well, like this," Steve says, eyes on the picture. "Most people forget that I spent twenty-five years being pretty small.

"The serum changed the outside, but it didn't change the inside, not really. Sometimes I still feel small, and get confused when people treat me like a big guy."

He looks at Bucky, abashed. "Sorry, that's kind of weird."

"Not at all," Bucky says. It makes sense, really. Steve's never inelegant when he moves, generally graceful and steady to a fault. But there are times when Bucky will catch him standing or sitting in a certain way -- usually when he's alone -- that speaks of someone curling up to make themselves a lot smaller. Shoulders curve forward, knees get drawn in. As soon as someone joins him, Steve extends out, almost unwittingly. But in those brief moments, Bucky catches a glimpse of a much younger, smaller Steve Rogers.

Steve chooses a movie to watch from Netflix based on one of Bucky's many recommendations, while Bucky sits himself on Steve's plush sofa. When Steve joins him, he sits close, but not too close.

Bucky's arms are around the back of the sofa, his legs stretched out towards Steve.

And he has an idea.

"Hey, c'mere," Bucky says.

Steve shuffles a little closer. "Not good enough," Bucky gripes, pulling him over further until Steve's head is resting on his chest. With a tentative gesture, Steve curls one arm around Bucky's back between him and the sofa cushions, stretching his legs out behind him.

When his head is comfortably in the centre of Bucky's chest, Steve lets out a little sigh.

"Everything okay?" Bucky asks in a low voice.

"I feel small again," Steve replies.

"That a good thing?"

Steve gives him a little chuckle and moves in what Bucky would suspiciously class as a nuzzling manner. "Oh yeah."

Bucky grins and drops one arm down to curve around Steve's shoulder. They stay like that for a long time.

***

The One With The Surprise Interrogation (pt 2)

(Location: Neighbourhood café)

It's a beautiful morning, and Steve and Bucky walk to a favourite café of Steve's for some brunch. Bucky has to work in the afternoon, and Steve's got to test some field equipment at Avengers Tower just after lunch. To be a shit, Steve asks Bucky if he'd like to head to the Tower again, and Bucky politely declines (by flipping him off).

Steve's still laughing about that, and let it be said that while Bucky appreciates Steve's friends and co-workers, he's not necessarily in a great rush to meet them just yet.

Which is why when they arrive at the café and Steve immediately walks to a booth already occupied, Bucky tenses slightly.

The black man sitting at the booth is tall, and handsome, and smiles easily. He pulls Steve into a hug and slaps him on the back a few times. Bucky stays back a few conservative paces and observes.

"Good to see you, man," the stranger enthuses warmly, and Steve grins in reply. Both pairs of eyes then drift to Bucky. Steve beckons him forward, sliding a hand to his elbow.

"Sam, this is Bucky," Steve says, and Bucky notes the tentative cadence. Steve's slightly nervous, that doesn't bode well. Bucky suddenly feels the weight of expectation upon him, and it makes his neck itch.

Sam gives him a once-over, open and friendly smile in place. "You're the famous Bucky Barnes, eh?" Sam offers his hand and is polite enough to wait patiently while Bucky slowly makes the decision to take it.

"I'm Bucky, don't know anything about being famous, though," Bucky responds, shaking Sam's hand slowly.

"Oh, to hear this one talk, you hung the moon," Sam says, and releases Bucky's hand, gesturing back to the booth he'd been sitting at. Steve looks at Bucky, but Bucky insists Steve to sit first, so he can be on the outside.

He's (mostly) well-adjusted, but he still doesn't like being boxed in.

Bucky gets settled in the booth and watches Sam catalogue each one of his movements in minute detail. He knows it, because he's doing it right back to Sam, taking in his bearing (military, definitely), how he observes Steve (good friend, cares about him), and his beverage of choice (tea, he must be stopped).

It takes a few moments, but a miniature lightbulb goes off in Bucky's head. "Sam..." he says, quite before he realises he's speaking, "Sam Wilson? You're an Avenger, yeah?"

"Newly minted," Sam says proudly.

He turns to Steve and gives him epic side-eye. "So you don't actually have any normal friends, do you?" he asks, and it comes out a touch sharper than he intended, and Steve meets his eyes with some level of confusion.

His brow creases as he goes to answer, but Sam interrupts. "Hey, on the normalcy scale of zero to Thor, I'm practically negative-three."

"Except you're a superhero," Bucky hits back.

"I do have normal friends, but Sam's my best friend," Steve tells Bucky, and he really does sound perplexed now. "I wanted you to meet him."

"And I'm happy to, I just--" Bucky stops and blows air sharply from between his lips. He doesn't know how to explain himself.

Bucky's eyes slide to Sam and he bites his lip. He really doesn't want to be having a conversation like this with Steve in front of Steve's bestie. It's not a fight, or even an argument, it's just--

"Oh, I see," Sam says, and it's in a tone that is so self-assured, Bucky's almost worried. Almost.

"Well, could you draw me a picture?" Steve says, a pinch of frustration leaking into his tone.

Sam fixes Steve with an unwavering gaze. "You didn't tell Bucky I was coming, did you?"

"Thank you!" Bucky blurts out, only to clam up immediately.

Steve, bless him, still looks confused. "But Sam's great! I didn't really think it was that important."

"And that's really flattering, Steve," Sam says kindly, "but how many soldiers -- or ex-soldiers, for that matter -- do you know that actually like surprises?"

And when the penny drops, it's not so much a penny as it is a ten-tonne weight.

"Oh shit," Steve says and Bucky internally punches the air that Steve swore. Because it's never not funny when Steve swears. He gives Bucky the most horrified, hang-dog look. "I'm sorry. Sam asked to meet the same time we were going out, and I thought it'd be great to introduce you." His shoulders slump dramatically. "I thought you might get nervous after the Tony thing, and--"

"Wait wait wait," Sam cuts in, "he met Tony already? You met Tony?" Sam directs the second question to Bucky, and Bucky nods.

"I had to stop by the Tower earlier in the week to check some things out, and Bucky came with me," Steve explains.

"And he got subjected to Stark? Before me? Man, that's just cruel." Sam leans back in the seat, shaking his head in a mystified fashion.

Steve shuffles closer, and his shoulder brushes Bucky's. "He actually handled himself really well. Went toe-to-toe with Tony."

Sam's face lights up. "Yeah? Tony can be hard work. I mean, I love the guy, but sometimes I just don't like him, y'know?"

Under the combined weight of Steve's flattery and Sam's understanding, Bucky finally starts to loosen up, the faint coil of tension around his spine easing.

"Well, in between the know-it-all AI and Stark pegging me alternately for a host at a strip joint or a barista, it was an interesting twenty minutes."

"I'll bet. What did you come back at him with? From what I've heard from Steve, you've got a pretty smart mouth on you."

Bucky gives Steve another sideways glance, though this one is a lot kinder than the first. "You talkin' about me, Rogers?" he asks with a small smile.

Steve gestures to Sam dramatically. "Best friend, Buck."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Right, right."

Sam rests one elbow on the back of the seat behind him. "I know Tony in full flight can be pretty intimidating. How'd you knock him down a peg?"

"Bucky told him he looked shorter in person!" Steve blurts out, what Bucky would describe as a ridiculously shit-eating grin on his face.

Sam's eyes bug out, his mouth falls open. Then he starts laughing, and it's a full-body laugh that is completely, one hundred percent infectious. Bucky feels Steve jerking beside him as he starts his own round of guffaws, and in the face of such laughter, Bucky really can't keep a straight face, either.

"Oh man, can we get JARVIS to playback the security feed? It would've been amazing. What did he do?"

"I don't know," Steve wheezes, "we didn't stay long enough to find out!"

Sam starts laughing again, which sets Bucky and Steve off. Bucky puts his hand up to his face, elbow leaning on the table, laughing helplessly, and Steve ends up pressing his face into Bucky's bicep, hand on his thigh. He can actually feel Steve's laughter-tears wet the fabric on his shirt.

They laugh together for a few moments, and it's good, really good. Sam catches Bucky's eye and it sets off another bout of snickering.

The dam finally breaks on any remaining apprehension that Bucky had when he realised Steve was springing a friend on him. A waiter comes over to take their order, which seems to be enough to feed a small army.

Bucky takes it upon himself to get to know Sam; the guy is obviously an important part of Steve's life, it would be a smart thing to give him the time of day. But he quickly finds out that having time for Sam and listening to him are the easiest things in the world.

Sam is an absolute delight; he's amiable and level-headed, but in no way boring. In fact, his 'regular guy' insights on the craziness that surrounds Steve's life are downright hilarious. He asks Bucky about attending his local VA, but not in a guilt-tripping way like others have done in the past. Bucky tells him outright he only goes semi-regularly to meetings, but he's in regular contact with his counsellor and calls when he has issues.

"I have a shitty night or a shitty day from time to time. It's not great, but I'm not too stubborn to call Benjamin. I mean, what's pride going to get me? A fucking nervous breakdown, probably."

Sam nods in approval. "That's a real healthy attitude to have. We all need help sometimes, there's no shame in that." And Bucky definitely doesn't miss the very pointed look he shoots Steve.

It turns out Steve has talked about him to Sam, but there's still plenty of things Sam doesn't know, and that's good. It's nice to know that Steve doesn't relay the details of every single conversation they've ever had to his friend.

Their food and coffee -- dear, sweet giver of life -- arrives, and the three men attack it with gusto.

"I don't know how he can be using his Sunday-dinner manners and still manage to shove that amount of food in his face," Sam marvels.

"I'm a miracle of modern science," Steve says, ruining the illusion by saying it with his mouth full.

"I don't know how we're seen in public together," Bucky shakes his head. "That was truly shameful."

Steve swallows before he answers. "I'm a national treasure," he says.

"You keep saying that like it means something," Bucky counters, "when really, you using it as an excuse to chew with your mouth ope-- Steve, you're spitting croissant on me."

Sam watches their back and forth with a bemused expression before turning to Bucky, busily wiping flakes of pastry off his shirt. "History books and the news reels just didn't do him justice, did they? They were pretty silent on the fact that Captain America is wildly sarcastic and has terrible table etiquette."

"They also said that I had a torrid affair with Simone Simon while in France, and that never happened," Steve put in.

"Who's Simone Simon?" Sam asked.

"French movie actress."

Bucky whips out his phone and looks her up in Google image search, and whistles. "Shame. You could've done a helluvalot worse."

"I like the brunettes," Steve gives Bucky a private smile, a hand coming to rest on Bucky's thigh, "and she was gorgeous, but I never had the good fortune to meet her. Too busy spooning Dum Dum in a draughty barn somewhere on the way to a HYDRA base. Also, he snored."

Steve's frank admission gets Sam and Bucky laughing again, which leads into a fun Q & A with Steve about working with the Howling Commandos.

Bucky enjoys the line of chatter. In the few weeks he's known Steve, this particular subject had yet to come up. Of course it was war, but Steve focuses less on that and more on stories of friendship and camaraderie about the first racially integrated unit in American antiquity. One look at Sam's enraptured face tells Bucky he's not alone in being fascinated at listening to amazing historical accounts from a first-hand source.

He doesn't realise he's doing it at first, but Bucky leans into Steve, who hasn't taken his hand away from Bucky's thigh since he put it there. Now they have points of contact on his leg, hip, arm and shoulder. He likes feeling the muscles of Steve's arm flex as he moves, the twitch of his fingers just barely squeeze his leg in response to Bucky laughing at something.

It feels right for Bucky to move his hand to sit on top of Steve's, which is still on his thigh, and so he does it. He does, however, still flick a glance to the side to try and gauge his actions. Steve doesn't stop telling his story about Gabe Jones to Sam.

But he does turn his hand over to be able to hold Bucky's hand and interlace their fingers together.

A warmth settles somewhere near Bucky's solar plexus. It's a pretty fantastic feeling.

They're having such a good time, that when Bucky looks up at the oversized clock on the wall, he makes a displeased face. "Steve, it's nearly one."

Steve frowns. "I have to get going," he says sadly, even though he makes absolutely no move to get up.

"You do," Sam confirms, "or Tony's gonna have JARVIS redial your cell every minute until you arrive."

They slide out of the booth, groaning atrophied leg muscles cramp. They settle the bill and walk to the door of the café. Sam gives Steve one of those huge hugs again, and this time when he holds his hand out to Bucky, Bucky doesn't hesitate in shaking it.

"Hope it didn't end up being too bad, meeting me without any warning," Sam says, and Bucky shrugs.

"It ended up being okay, I'll admit."

Sam leans in conspiratorially. "If he wants to introduce you to someone else, get him to work up to the big ones. You've already met Pepper, so I'd suggest Barton or Banner next. Start off easier, work your way up." He turns to Steve. "And maybe warn a guy ahead of time, too." Sam winks, and Steve rolls his eyes, but nods all the same.

With another farewell, Sam leaves Bucky and Steve alone. Steve gives him a gentle smile and takes a step closer. "So it was okay? You didn't mind?"

"I liked Sam, if that's what you mean," Bucky responds, "I did mind being surprised by his presence."

Steve does sad puppy face like nobody's business. "I'm sorry about that, I really did think you'd be nervous. It was a bad move on my part."

"Yeah, some tactical genius you are," Bucky scoffs, and starts laughing when Steve gives his shoulder a little push, hard enough that he steps back a pace to keep his balance.

Steve gently puts his arms on Bucky's biceps to move them both out of the way of the door when some other patrons get up to leave. They end up standing off to the side, and Steve doesn't take his hands away.

"But we're all good, though?" he asks in a low voice, and Bucky detects the underlying real concern.

"Yeah, we're all good," Bucky confirms, moving forward to bump deliberately into the wall of Steve's body. The answering grin is nearly blinding, but the shrill ringing of Steve's phone completely spoils the moment.

"Shit," he curses under his breath as he digs the device out of his pocket looks at the number. "It's started."

Bucky grins. "Better get a move on, champ," he says, slapping the side of Steve's hip, perilously close to his butt.

Steve pulls Bucky towards him so they're almost toe-to-toe. His hands slide up to cup Bucky's face, and he presses a sweet, and entirely too-brief kiss against Bucky's lips. "Call you tonight?"

"After seven," Bucky says, wishing the kiss could've gone on one or two or twenty seconds longer.

Steve slides his hands down to Bucky's biceps before giving them a squeeze.

"Just one more thing, though?" Bucky says, and he can feel Steve's breath still hot on his face.

"Mhm?"

"If my next scheduled play-date involves the Widow, and you don't warn me? I'm fucking killing you and dumping your body in Jersey."

Steve gives him a beatific smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

Chapter Text

The One With The Smartass Carnie

(Location: Coney Island)

It's something of a cliché to do, but it's cliché for a reason; if you're from Brooklyn, and dating someone, at least one of those dates should be at Coney Island.

It's been maybe three years since Bucky's visited, on leave at home before shipping out for his last tour. He was with his sister, Rebecca, and was a little hit-and-miss at handling crowds and loud noises at the time. But now he does fairly well; even better when he's with someone.

The last time he was here on a date, however, he was in high school.

It's Steve's idea to go, but Bucky lets him hang before he agrees, mainly because it's so much fun to hear Steve's increasingly elaborate reasons for wanting to go.

"It's been a long time since I've been there. Literally. A generation has passed."

"I don't know, Steve..." Bucky shakes his head slowly and deliberately.

"There are rides my pre-microprocessor brain has yet to even comprehend!"

"But it's so kitschy." He drawls the word, unsure if it's too much and Steve's cottoned on to the fact he's getting totally had.

"I will buy you hot dogs until you are sick."

Bucky gives Steve a languid smile. "You've got yourself a deal, Cap."

And so Friday night finds Bucky and Steve at Coney Island.

It's like he remembers, really. Loud, smelling of sugar and popcorn and salt air mixing with a few less-than-aromatic odours... But Steve's face under the black peaked cap pulled low as they enter, is the picture of happiness. Bucky's quickly finding that Steve's happiness is more contagious than the flu.

Steve slips his hand into Bucky's and interlaces their fingers together as they walk, and Bucky finds it far more interesting than the last time he was there.

True to his word, Steve buys Bucky as many hot dogs as he can comfortably eat -- two and a half -- before he starts to feel weird, with Steve finishing off his own three and Bucky's leftovers.

He then offers Bucky some hot buttered popcorn, but Bucky has to decline. He really is going to hurl if he eats anymore. However, the popcorn is decidedly better when he tastes the salt on Steve's lips as they trade soft kisses under the brim of his hat in the line for the Fun Wheel. A lady behind them clears her throat very loudly at their PDA, and Steve and Bucky break apart, snickering like teenagers.

And, much like teenagers, they spend a good deal of time on the ride appreciating each other instead of their beautiful surroundings.

They exit the Fun Wheel and Bucky waves cheerfully to the lady who made her displeasure known, deliberately wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

"You're a menace," Steve says with a guffaw.

"Pot, meet kettle," Bucky replies.

Still hand-in-hand, they make their way to the sideshows and games. The carnies and show-folk love yelling out over the blaring music, trying to tempt people to spend money to play, often using flattery, guilt, shame or a combination of all three to try and score a buck.

Steve leans down close to Bucky, lips brushing his left ear. "Not much about this has changed, except inflation," Steve remarks, hot breath ghosting Bucky's skin.

Bucky points to a very elderly man with a set of lungs on him that would put a foghorn to shame. "I think that guy was here last time you were, too."

Steve laughs, before something else distracts him. "C'mere," he says determinedly, tugging Bucky's hand until they veer off to the side.

"Where are we-- oh," Bucky says as Steve pulls him over to the shooting gallery. Bucky shakes his head at Steve's stupid, grinning face.

"Want to give it a try?" he asks.

"Eh, you know these things are rigged, right?" Bucky answers, bumping shoulders with Steve. "The rifles are always weighted incorrectly, and the sights are crooked."

Undeterred, Steve squeezes his hand. "This is the part where you show me how good you are and beat the odds." He nudges Bucky forward, even as Bucky digs his heels in. Bucky likes showing off to someone he's interested in as much as the next guy, but the game is stupidly expensive, the guy behind the counter looks skeezy, the prizes are awful, and it's usually rigged.

"Step up, Boss," the skinny man behind the shooting gallery counter gestures towards Bucky. Sharp eyes take in their joined hands, and a smile that's large, but slightly disparaging -- and definitely doesn't meet his eyes -- gets plastered on his face. "Don't be shy! Wanna win something for your girlfriend, Chief?" He nods towards Steve, and Steve's brow creases immediately. "Prove you've got what it takes! Be a real man."

The hawker clearly has no idea who he's speaking to. Bucky almost feels sorry for him.

Almost.

Steve steps forward with a grim expression and looking as though he's about to say something, when Bucky stops him with a hand to the centre of his chest. "Want I should win something for you, cutie?" he asks, turning away from the game to face Steve.

Steve looks down at him, and Bucky makes a very deliberate move with his eyes back towards the carnie, mouth curving in a wicked smile. He'll always take getting even over getting mad.

Catching the smile, the frown on Steve's face eases. He squeezes the hand that Bucky's placed on his chest, and gently strokes the back. "Do you think you can?" he asks, just loud enough for the carnie to catch it.

Bucky affects a casual shrug and turns so that Steve's arm is wrapped around him. Most of their PDAs, even if in public, are still sort of private affairs. Bucky makes a point of wrapping Steve's arm around himself deliberately, watching the man track their movements with badly-hidden disapproval. "Sure thing, dollface. What d'you want?" He makes an expansive gesture towards the stall full of crappy merchandise.

Steve rests his chin on Bucky's shoulder as he peruses the toys, definitely in on the game now -- though Bucky knows he's probably not one hundred percent clear on what the game actually entails. "That one," he points suddenly, gesturing to an oversized foam cowboy hat hanging right next to the target wall. It has a huge brim, a spotted cow print black and white hatband, and a plastic sheriff's star on the front.

Bucky inwardly cringes. It's so very, very ugly, but he keeps up appearances. "It's yours," he promises, before forking out the eight dollars -- eight fucking dollars -- to the greasy individual. The man spirits the money away into one of the many pockets in the ratty utility vest he wears. Without further ado, he picks up one of the rifles, breaks the barrel, and begins loading pellets.

"You've got five shots, Sport. All five bullseyes wins you pick of the stall. Three gets you anything from the centre wall, one and you can pick from the sides."

He snaps the barrel back into place and hands it to Bucky.

Bucky gets an odd sense of déjà vu when he holds the rifle, uneven wood surface itching in his hand. He studies the instrument in his hands. It was probably a good piece once upon a time, but it's not been looked after very well. Even though the barrel seems well oiled, the stock is badly battered, and showing signs of wear. His eyes don't miss some tiny scrape marks on the metal where it's been tampered with, presumably for game purposes. He runs his thumb gently across the indentation.

"Are you gonna shoot with it, or kiss it, Slugger? Five shots makes you a winner."

Bucky snaps back into the room. He gives a quick glance behind him to know Steve is standing at his shoulder -- close, but not too close -- and he exhales. The weight of the rifle is slightly off; not evenly balanced like it should be. Bucky adjusts his stance to compensate, and looks through the sight.

Sure enough, everything's marginally off. He could find out how much by popping off a random shot, but he doesn't want to waste it. Bucky looks at the wall of targets. They vary in shape and bullseye size, some of them are even moving.

It's been a while since he's done this, but he plays up any hesitation purely for his audience. He rolls his shoulders, squints his eyes at the targets, and takes note of the location of each one he's going for.

Decisions made and trajectories calculated, Bucky exhales slowly, squeezing off the trigger just at the moment where he completely runs out of breath.

There's a distinct lack of a metal 'ping'. Bucky looks at where he hit, and it was slightly off from his intended target. "Damn," he breathes disappointedly, and the carnie gives him a melodramatically sympathetic smile.

"Not to worry, tough guy, you've still got four to go." The constant stream of condescending nicknames is also meant to unnerve him, but Bucky's not phased, even if they are slightly annoying.

Instead he nods, and over the next minute, squeezes off another four shots.

All the targets remain intact and in place.

Bucky lowers the rifle, and the carnie can barely contain his glee. "What a shame, Slick. I really thought you had it in you. Most people hit at least one of the targets," he gestures behind him. "Still, you can win a consolation prize."

The man points to the front of his booth where there's an array of cheap, plastic toys and pencils. There's an eraser painted up like Steve's shield that catches Bucky's eye, but he's making a point, and the point requires him to be awesome and devastatingly cool.

"What do you mean?" Bucky asks. "I hit every target." He points to the hat hanging by the wall. Tall, Dark and Skeezy gives him an odd look and moves closer to the hat to check it out. When he does, an unintended swear falls from his lips, and he takes it off its hook.

There are five pellet-sized holes in the hat, each going through a different black spot on the hatband.

"I was meant to shoot at what I wanted to win, right, fella?" Bucky says earnestly, cocking his head to the side. He feels Steve step close enough now that he's making contact with Bucky's body from shoulder to hip, right down his left side. The contact makes him stand up that little bit straighter, even as he presses into it.

"No, but--" The guy readjusts his grimy cap on his head. "What the hell?"

The carnie looks at them, then, properly takes them in this time. Bucky notes the way his eyes skate over the breadth of both Bucky's and Steve's shoulders, the relaxed-but-ready stance and the utterly ridiculous size of Steve's arms.

He also notes that Bucky's still gripping the rifle in his right hand. Bucky's fingers tighten on the forestock and he shifts his arm just enough to make the muscles of his bicep flex.

The man's eyes flick to Bucky's face, and he subtly quirks an eyebrow up. It's a very low-key dare to challenge, but one the carnie reads without fail.

His fake public smile falls away, and for the first time the hawker looks annoyed, uncomfortable, and slightly concerned.

Bucky looks up at Steve, who is grinning so hard back at him. "Nice shooting, Sergeant," he says, squeezing Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky's lips twitch at the nickname. "Thanks, Captain. Hope I did you proud!"

The carnie stands up stiffer and blows an exasperated jet of air from between his lips. "Take it, just take it. I can't give it away now," he mutters, thrusting the hat at the two of them. Steve grabs it, and Bucky hands the rifle back with a sweet smile, where it's snatched back with a lot of unintelligible muttering.

They move from the stall to find a place to stand out of the way of the thoroughfare. Steve studies the hat carefully, taking in the perfect holes.

"You're good," he comments, and Bucky gives a little shrug.

"Not bad for absolutely no prep. The rifle was beyond shitty, too. So tricked out it wasn't even funny."

"You know," Steve says slowly, "if you were ever interested in stepping into the SHIELD rifle range for an afternoon, I could see what I could do."

Bucky smiles, but shakes his head. "If I want to, I can hit up a civilian rifle range. I don't need to go to SHIELD to do that. But thanks for the thought."

"You're really good, though," Steve insists. "Why did you even say 'damn' at the beginning, anyway? You hit every one," he asks.

Bucky turns the hat over to show one hole that's on the border of the black spot, instead of punching through the dead centre. "First shot," he explains. "It was a test. Had to figure out how far the sight pulled to the left."

Steve starts laughing, and he's having trouble stopping. Bucky can't find it in himself to complain, until Steve tears off his cap puts the foam hat on.

It's huge, even on him, and it looks absolutely fucking ridiculous.

"Steve, no."

"Steve, yes," he insists, pulling it down further. "I'm going to wear this for the rest of our date."

"You look like Woody from Toy Story. Only more... what's the word..."

"Handsome?" Steve asks.

"Dorky," Bucky corrects.

"Somebody's poisoned the waterhole!" Steve proclaims, and Bucky loses it. He starts laughing so hard his eyes water.

Somehow, he finds himself leaning into Steve, face tucked into his chest, laughing until his throat hurts and his eyes sting. It's a really good feeling, even better when Steve's hands come to rest on his hips. Steve's laughing too, but he's not thrown quite into the disarray that Bucky is.

Bucky's laughter tapers off, but it takes a while. He pushes up from Steve's chest but makes absolutely no movement any further away from him. They've seen each other a number of times over the last month since they met in person, but most are somewhere a little more secluded, a little more private.

Somehow this feels like it's a turning point, like it's their first proper date. He knows it's not, but it's so clichéd it's hitting scarily close to rom-com territory. Bucky doesn't know if he's ever been on a perfect date, but this'd probably be the nearest he's gotten in his adult life, at least.

Nothing's felt like a hardship, or strange and awkward. They've been able to enjoy each other's company without worrying about any outside influences, even if sometimes the politically correct and/or slightly homophobic crowd made an appearance. It wasn't anything they couldn't handle, and they didn't dampen the mood.

In fact, looking up into Steve's smiling face only a few inches away from his, Bucky's hard-pressed thinking about anyone else at the moment.

The brim of the hat is so huge it shades both Steve and Bucky when they're standing so close together. "You know what the hat is good for?" Steve asks, breath tickling Bucky's cheek.

"You're going to tell me," Bucky says, grinning.

"Mhm," Steve responds in a quiet voice. "Camouflage."

He then leans in, taking one hand away from Bucky's waist to cup his face, and kisses him.

And it's true; the hat completely shields their faces from the outside world. It's like they're in their own private bubble, and the noises of Coney Island and the people around them fade into the background. Bucky curls his arms underneath Steve's to curve around his shoulder blades, bringing their chests together.

Instead of the series of shorter kisses, it's one long one. And as kisses go, it's a doozy. Steve's lips are soft, but they slot firmly against Bucky's mouth, tongue brushing at his lower lip and making his nerve endings tingle. And yeah, Bucky's had deeper kisses, but this one doesn't have to be deep to be awesome.

Which it most certainly is.

Steve's nose nudges against his cheek when he breaks the kiss, exhaling heavily. "There's a snake in my boot," he breathes against Bucky's face, and that terrible line shouldn't be sexy, or cute.

But there you have it.

"Is that a euphemism for anything?" Bucky laughs, trying to get his breath back.

"Sure, if you're dirty," Steve responds, before brushing his thumb across Bucky's cheekbone. "But I'm Captain America," he finishes.

"Paragon of virtue, huh?"

Steve smirks, and Bucky knows exactly what's coming. "Ever since--"

"--The Great Depression. Yes, Steve, of course." Bucky looks heavenwards, but can't quite keep the fond smile off his face. He leans forward and presses a short, but very sweet kiss, against Steve's lips.

"Come on," Bucky says, pulling on Steve's hand, "I want to see if you can keep that hat on while we ride the Ghost Train."

"Is that a euphemism for something?" he asks guilelessly. Bucky might entertain that Steve's being sincere, save for tiny quirk of his eyebrow that speaks volumes.

The biggest volume being titled 'Steve Rogers is Fucking With Me'.

"Oh, for shit's sake, Steve." Bucky shakes his head. "Paragon of virtue my ass."

The One With The Medal

(Location: Steve's Apartment)

"Have you found it yet?" Steve calls from the bedroom.

"Nope," Bucky replies from the living room. He opens the drawer again and sifts through it. Nothing.

"Try looking in the coffee table drawers."

"Steve, if you ever treated your shield like you treat your remote control, the world would be in serious trouble."

Steve pokes his head out of his bedroom. "Never happen. My shield is by the door."

Bucky straightens up and points to the side of the sofa, where Steve's shield is actually resting. "You were saying?" he deadpans.

Steve pauses, the little muscle underneath his jaw working, before he disappears back into the bedroom. "You moved it!"

"Sore loser," Bucky mutters, knowing there's a decent chance that Steve's heard him anyway.

He moves to the far side of the coffee table and opens the other drawer. There are assorted papers, what looks like a birthday card, some old copies of TV Guide and Time Magazine, the remote control, and a blue velvet box with battered corners.

Bucky retrieves the remote control before getting side-tracked by the box. It looks old, with the brass edges taking on tarnish, and doesn't seem to fit in with the other contents of the drawer.

Putting the remote on the table, Bucky picks up the box and runs his fingers across the velvety top. He bites his lip, knowing he shouldn't pry, but also knowing Steve just doesn't seem to mind him prodding about. That shouldn't make it okay, but before he knows it, curiosity is getting the best of him.

Bucky walks absently to the other side of the coffee table and flops on the sofa, before opening the box.

Its hinges squeak as it opens to reveal a gold five-pointed star topped with an eagle, surrounded by a wreath and hanging from a blue ribbon. Bucky's eyes widen involuntarily, and he swallows audibly.

It doesn't matter that he's never seen one of these in person before; he knows exactly what it is.

The Medal of Honor sits unassumingly in his palms... the highest award for bravery in the United States. Bucky never expected to be in a position where he's holding one.

He hears Steve's footsteps exiting the bedroom. Even if he could get it back in the drawer and shut before Steve entered, he wouldn't. "It's awfully quiet out there and I can't hear any gloating, so I assume you haven't found--"

Steve stops speaking abruptly when he sees what Bucky has in his hands. Bucky looks up to apologise, but Steve doesn't seem angry. If anything, he looks... troubled.

"I found the remote," Bucky says quietly.

Steve doesn't answer straight away, all he does is sit next to Bucky and look down at the medal.

"Not the only thing you found," he says eventually. It's not a harsh comment, despite Bucky thinking maybe he deserves it.

Bucky turns towards him, holding out the medal dumbly. "Steve, I didn't mean to--"

"It's okay, Buck. It's okay." He punctuates the words by placing a large, warm hand on Bucky's shoulder. The rigid tension that had begun to build when Steve entered the room ebbs.

Bucky lowers his hands and continues to stare at the five gold points, the embossed word 'VALOR'. It's so tempting to run his fingers across the letters, but he can't bring himself to physically touch the metal. Steve moves from where he's in contact with Bucky's shoulder, resting one closed fist in the palm of the other hand.

It is silent for a long moment.

Bucky doesn't know what to do, he feels like the box is burning a hole through the flesh of his palms. He's not sure if Steve picks up on this, or whether he just wants to take back his property, but he holds his hand out for the box. Bucky hands it to him immediately, but can't quite tear his eyes away from the dull shine of the gold.

Steve, too, seems hypnotised by its contents.

"The Army awarded it to me posthumously -- or so they thought -- after I crashed the Valkyrie," Steve says presently.

For some reason, as Steve looks down at the medal, Bucky gets the impression that the medal is much larger than the man. "Normally they're presented to next of kin, but I didn't have anyone left, so the Smithsonian took it for their archives." Steve lowers his voice towards the end, almost as though he's speaking to himself, rather than anyone else.

Bucky's not sure what so say, so he doesn't say anything. Instead, he shuffles a little closer and places his hand on Steve's thigh. Steve reaches down and grips his fingers painfully tight, but Bucky doesn't flinch or otherwise give any indication of discomfort.

"When I was found and revived, some historical society started up a petition to have the medal re-presented and given back to me. They made enough noise that the Smithsonian and some White House representative got in touch with me about a ceremony."

Bucky's brow furrows. "Okay, it's not like I was the biggest Captain America fanboy or anything but... I don't remember seeing you get the medal awarded by the President. I mean... the networks usually report that stuff. Even Fox."

Steve huffs out a laugh, before he grows serious again. Large shoulders are hunched around his ears, and Bucky gets the distinct feeling that Steve's unconsciously trying to make himself small again. He shrugs and, noticing the posture, Steve deliberately tries to loosen up. He presses his lips together in a firm line, tongue darting out to moisten them. "I declined the official ceremony. Even told the Smithsonian they could keep the Medal for the exhibit, but they insisted I take it. Apparently the Historical Society wasn't going to let them off the hook until I had it, so it was just easier to give it to me. They still have plenty of mementos for the displays."

"So you didn't meet the President?" Bucky asks. He doesn't know anyone who'd turned down an award from the Commander-in-Chief. He knows, if given the opportunity, he'd definitely meet him.

"Not for that. I went to an unrelated function about six months later, and he met with me privately for a few minutes. The whole medal thing came up then."

Bucky looks at the medal in Steve's hands, and then back to Steve. "You are completely free to not answer the question, but... why did you turn down the ceremony?

Steve heaves a sigh. It takes him a few moments to gather his words before he can answer. He hasn't looked at Bucky since he took possession of the medal, and even now, seems unable to tear his gaze away.

When he finally does speak, the words are slow and deliberate. Steve's had a lot of time to ponder the answer, even if he's never said it aloud, as Bucky suspects.

"So much of my life is public record, or written into books. When I woke up again, everything's on Youtube or TV or Facebook to be replayed over and over.

"I didn't want to relive the worst day of my life in front of the President and all those television cameras."

Bucky's fingers twitch in Steve's palm and suddenly, he feels so stupid for not thinking of that.

He remembers from school, from when Steve was defrosted... Captain America fearlessly jumped on a Nazi plane loaded with bombs and heading for American soil. He couldn't change its course, so he crashed it.

But that's not exactly the whole story.

Steve -- his Steve -- crashed a fucking plane into the ice and never thought he'd be around to hear people talk about it like it was brilliant, or stupid, or pick apart his reasons and strategy.

So of course, if Steve went to a ceremony like that, he'd be forced to listen to the story once again, being retold by people giving second and third accounts according to records, coloured by layers of patriotic heroism that would only seem bigger and more outrageous after time... then afterwards subjected to the endless amount of people dissecting his actions, his expressions -- from news networks to entertainment shows, they'd all do it -- hell, whole websites would probably crop up with screen captures of each little moment.

He'd become a propaganda tool all over again. An exploitable image macro. A fucking meme.

"It was the worst day of my life to date," Steve reiterates with quiet resolve, pulling Bucky out of his thoughts, "I've spent enough nights thinking about it to give it time of day in front of TV cameras."

Bucky squeezes Steve's hand in return. Steve snaps the box shut, leans forward and tosses it the short distance to the coffee table. He flops back on the sofa and finally looks at Bucky, giving his hand a gentle tug.

No further encouragement needed, Bucky leans forward and rests his head on Steve's shoulder. Steve pulls their joined hands to the centre of his chest, pressing his cheek to the top of Bucky's head. They stay like that for a while, not speaking, just holding one another.

Bucky often forgets that so much of Steve's life was lived before he was even born. He wasn't birthed into the information cesspool that is the modern era.

Because Steve ends up just being so... well, so Steve. So comfortingly ordinary and delightfully extraordinary.

It makes Bucky appreciate... well... everything. He huffs out a sigh and shifts in Steve's embrace, rubbing his cheek against Steve's cloth-covered chest in a move that he may've unconsciously adopted from Babushka.

"What are you thinking?" Steve asks softly, fingers curling around Bucky's a little tighter.

"I'm thinking we're going to watch Milo & Otis instead of Watership Down now," Bucky remarks with rueful grin.

"Okay... anything else?" he prods.

"Nothing much," Bucky muses, "I just keep on forgetting I'm dating a real-life hero."

Steve cringes at the statement. "About the Valkyrie--"

Bucky pushes himself up off Steve's chest. "Who said anything about the Valkyrie? You're a hero because you do brave things, sure, but you also admit that some shit sucks, and is hard to deal with."

"That doesn't feel brave."

"Trust me, it's one of the bravest things anyone can do."

"Huh," Steve says.

Bucky reaches over Steve's body to grab the remote control. When he settles back down, he manoeuvres Steve to the front end of the sofa cushions and slots behind, draping his right arm over Steve's narrow waist. He begins pressing buttons idly, getting Netflix working.

Steve lays his arm over the top of Bucky's. "So if you don't think of me as a hero when we're dating... who do you think of me as?"

Bucky nearly wants to laugh and the sheer trepidation of Steve's tone, as though after everything, he is still unsure about who Bucky sees. He affects a shrug. That's the easiest answer in the world.

"Just Steve," he says.

One thing Bucky has learnt about Steve is when he really smiles, he smiles with his whole body. So even though he's staring at the back of Steve's head, he can feel the glow of happiness begin to radiate out of the blond's very pores. It's confirmed when Steve half-rolls on his back to look up at Bucky.

The half-cocked eyebrow is an invitation, and Bucky plans on accepting. He leans down to press his lips against Steve's in a lingering kiss.

"That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Steve says when they separate, lips parted, face betraying guileless surprise.

"I don't know," Bucky says, "What if I told you you've got the greatest ass I've ever seen?"

The corner of Steve's mouth curls in a smile that lights up his eyes. "Okay, second nicest."

The One With The Best-Laid Plans

(Location: Bucky's work)

Bucky shuts his computer monitor off with a world-weary sigh. The day that wouldn't end finally has.

It's been a tough week. Another outreach centre in an adjacent district has closed, and Bucky's branch has -- or at least, tried to -- pick up the slack in their absence. It's meant long hours and new case files and meeting dozens of new kids, all the while still making time for his current roster. And they're understaffed, as it is. The past five days has seen him reading case files, conducting interviews, and doing his best to fit new kids into his current groups. It's meant a hell of a lot of short lunch breaks taken at his desk.

With Steve in multiple briefings for some big international summit thing he's attending, they've pretty much been relegated back to phone and text chat. While communicating like that is a normal part of their routine, their dating has been progressing steadily forward, so to take a step back like this is a little frustrating.

Not tonight, though.

Steve leaves for Geneva early tomorrow morning, and he has a few hours free this evening. Considering the Geneva gig is going to last at least five to seven days, not including travel time, he's really looking forward to having a nice, early dinner with him, then spending a bit of quality time watching a movie together.

And if that quality time also includes plenty of making out, so be it. The thought makes Bucky smile.

Bucky checks his desk once again: Inbox empty, outbox full, files stacked neatly, data entry done. He's still got his kids from the local school for a Saturday afternoon but there's nothing resembling office work to worry about until Monday morning.

It was worth the hard slog to get all of those tedious jobs out of the way.

Grabbing his keys, Bucky turns his table lamp off and slings his messenger bag across his shoulder. "Dee? I'm ready to lock up," he calls out.

Denise doesn't answer straight away, and Bucky finds it odd because she was only in the next room not even a minute ago. "Dee," he calls again.

The mystery is soon revealed as Denise returns to the back offices, a young man with her. His dirty blond hair is mussed, jacket spotted with the rain that's been falling for the last half hour, and a duffel bag over his shoulder. His mouth is set in a grim line, brows drawn together.

"Tyler?" Bucky blurts out, gesturing for them both to enter quickly. Tyler stumbles forward and Bucky grips his shoulders to inspect him. The boy's eyes meet his for a moment before they settle straight ahead. "What are you doing here?" The fifteen year old doesn't seem to be hurt physically, just looks a bit bedraggled and miserable. Bucky runs a hand through Tyler's hair, scruffing it up.

"Came home," he says with a sniff, fingers tightening in the strap of his bag.

"But you moved to Jersey with your mom a month ago!"

"I hate Jersey," Tyler says with vehemence, and Bucky, being the professional that he is, successfully stifles a snort of humour. Now is not the time to laugh.

"I hear ya, buddy, but you seem like you're a man on a mission." Bucky eyes the duffel deliberately. "Going on a trip?"

Tyler pauses before he speaks, grinding his teeth. "I'm moving back to Brooklyn with my dad."

"And does he know this?" Bucky asks pointedly.

Silence. Tyler looking him squarely in the chest, not in the eyes.

Bucky lets a jet of air out of his lips and catches Denise's eye. She nods. They both know they're not getting out of the office now. Bucky shucks off his messenger bag and leaves it on his desk chair.

"Come with me, pal," Bucky says, laying a gentle hand between his shoulder blades and leading him into one of their meeting rooms. They're bright and cheerful, and are full of comfy furniture.

Bucky ushers him inside, staying at the door to speak to Denise in a quiet voice. "He's in my inactive files, under 'Tyler O'Neal'. Parents are going through a divorce and he's moved to Jersey with his mom while everything goes through the courts. Dad is still here in Brooklyn. Her updated contact details should be there, can you try getting hold of her first?" Denise nods, and Bucky smiles. "Thanks, Dee."

"You owe me," she tells him.

"I always owe you," he replies with a grin.

Tyler is sitting on one of the couches, duffel clutched on his lap. Bucky drags a dining chair from the little table off to the side and sits it in front of Tyler backwards. He slings his legs over it, propping elbows on the back rest.

They're both quiet for a moment, before Tyler breaks the silence.

"You calling my mom?" he asks despondently, still not making eye contact with Bucky.

"You know I have to," Bucky replies. "She's probably worried sick about you."

"I want my dad to come pick me up," Tyler says.

"How come you came here instead of going straight to your dad's?" Bucky asks, redirecting.

"I dropped my Metro Card," Tyler whispers dejectedly. "Couldn't take the subway anymore and I was closer to here."

"How 'close' are we talking?"

"Maybe twelve blocks?"

Bucky sighs and rubs his eye. "T, that's a really long way to go by yourself."

Tyler's chin juts out defiantly, even as his bottom lip trembles. "I just want to go home," Tyler reiterates, only this time, his voice is a lot less sure than it was.

Bucky gets up immediately from the chair and sits on the sofa next to him. As precocious and grown-up he's always appeared, the kid drops his duffel to the floor and wraps his arms around Bucky's chest. "Hey, hey, it's okay, Tyler," Bucky murmurs in a soothing voice, "I'll get you home. I promise."

"But not to Brooklyn," Tyler sniffles. Bucky doesn't directly reply.

Bucky pats him on the back and can't help but compare this Tyler to the one that attended his programs.

The only reason he entered the outreach in the first place was his home life got strained due to Mr and Mrs O'Neal's impending divorce, and his grades took a sharp nosedive. He'd started off a little combative and argumentative, but soon began enjoying the challenges set, and was making some great inroads.

Bucky's been helping where he could, and scholastically there was a gradual upswing reported from his school, but then the divorce started to really hit into high gear. Mrs O'Neal moved out of the family home and in with her sister in New Jersey, taking Tyler with her.

Tyler's dad is a good guy, and still in Brooklyn, but an erratic work schedule with lots of afternoon and evening work prevents him from consistently being able to care for Tyler after school. They see each other on weekends, but weekdays he's in Jersey with his mom at the new school.

Through sniffles and gasps of breath, Tyler tells Bucky that he hates his new school and doesn't have any friends. He misses his old school, his neighbourhood. He even misses the other kids he used to do Bucky's program with.

Bucky just holds him and listens to him until the sniffles, complaints, and hitched breaths even out. He pushes away from Bucky eventually, wiping his nose with the back of one wrist.

"Feel better?" Bucky asks, and he receives a little nod.

There's a gentle knock at the doorframe. Bucky looks up to see Denise waiting.

"Your phone's been buzzing away in your bag, and there's a call from a Steve on line two for you. Shall I tell him you're busy?"

Steve. Shit.

Bucky looks at Tyler, catching his eyes. "You mind if I take this call? I'll only be two minutes, but it's okay to say 'no'."

Tyler sits up a little straighter. "I'm okay," he says, and his voice no longer has the waver in it.

"Okay," Bucky smiles at him and ruffles his hair. "I'll be right back. Oh," and he leans in conspiratorially. "I have it on good authority Dee has a packet of hidden RingDings in this room that she thinks I don't know about. Want to see if you can find 'em before I get back?"

Denise gasps. "I heard that, Barnes!"

"You were meant to," he smiles sweetly.

Tyler perks up a little and stands. Satisfied he's not abandoning his charge, Bucky exits the room.

"You owe me," Denise says yet again, and Bucky really, really does.

"Put it on my tab, I'm good for it," Bucky replies. He exits the room and walks to his desk. "Any word from his mom?"

"I got through. She'd just realised he was missing and was going a little nuts. Very glad he's safe and is on her way, but it could be a while. Rush hour plus rain," Denise says, and Bucky cringes.

"Okay. Try the number for his dad. Hopefully he can get to one of his parents' homes tonight." Denise nods and heads back to her own desk, while Bucky slings his bag onto the desk and sits down.

There's a blinking light on his phone, and Bucky picks up the receiver. "Steve?" he says.

"Bucky, hi," Steve replies immediately, and he's not imagining the relief in his voice. "You wouldn't happen to have forgotten anything by any chance, would you?"

Bucky takes a quick look at the time and winces. It's just after six, and he'd told Steve he'd be at the apartment at five-thirty. "I'm so sorry, Steve," he apologises, "I've had one of my former kids run away from home and kind of turn up on the doorstep."

"Oh no," Steve responds, and Bucky can't help but think it's helplessly cute that he goes from ribbing him to instant concern. "Are they okay?"

"I think so. Trying to get in contact with his parents now, but one's stuck in Jersey--"

"Ugh."

"I know. The other's in Brooklyn, we're trying now."

"Good, good." He pauses for a moment. "Is it entirely selfish if I ask how long do you think it's going to take? I'd still really like to see you tonight."

Bucky tries to stop the goofy grin, but it's hard. He's grateful no one can see him. "Not at all. Look, I don't know how long Tyler might need me, but I'll keep you updated and let you know the second I get out. I really want to see you tonight, too."

"Okay," Steve says, and he sounds happy. "Just... maybe ignore the three or four text messages I sent beforehand. If you haven't already seen them."

"Are they embarrassing?" Bucky asks.

"More like... vaguely insulting and derogatory about your time management skills," he replies.

Bucky shakes his head. "How are you even a role model. You're awful."

"I ask myself the same question all the time," Steve replies. "Let me know how you fare, okay?"

"Of course," Bucky promises. "See you soon."

Bucky takes out his phone and quickly scans Steve's ridiculous text messages with a grin, before pocketing it.

Denise is still trying to get hold of Tyler's dad -- no answer -- or his aunt -- voicemail full -- when Bucky finishes the call with Steve. He leaves that with her, and heads back to the meeting room.

It's in slightly more disarray than when he left, but Tyler sits cross-legged on the couch, a packet of RingDings in his lap. He looks decidedly happier than when Bucky left, but sugar will always do that.

Bucky sits with Tyler and eats a RingDing, who has calmed down enough to talk some more. Apparently his living situation in Jersey isn't ideal; his cousins are older and don't want to share, he struggles to be heard, and feels alone. So he took matters into his own hands.

Eventually Denise pokes her head in the room. "Can I talk to you for a second, Bucky?"

"Sure." He looks over at Tyler, who waves him off imperiously.

They convene outside the door. "I finally got in touch with Tyler's dad," Denise informs him, "He's working his crappy hours but has begged off the job early to come pick him up. All that construction in the south is going to delay him, though."

"Shit," Bucky mutters.

"And..." Denise trails off, chewing her bottom lip. "I'm wondering if you really need me here."

"Trying to get outta work, Dee? That's very unlike you," Bucky gives a little smile. "What if I had plans tonight?"

"Unless your plans were your tenth wedding anniversary, I win."

Bucky's eyes widen. "Oh, fuck. Why didn't you say so?"

She gives a one-shouldered shrug. "Tyler needed help."

And as much as it is personally sucky... "Okay, both parents are on their way. I've got a psyche degree and am also a highly trained former Army operative. I think I can handle this."

"Are you sure?" Denise asks. "I really will stay if you think I need to."

"Na, I'll be okay. Go." He nudges her towards to door. "Have a happy anniversary. Your husband's a lucky man."

"Oh, I know," she says with a grin, before leaning in to kiss Bucky on the cheek. "Thank you."

Denise collects her bag and heads for the door. Just as her hand hits the knob, Bucky calls out. "Hey, Dee?" He grins when she turns around. "Think we're even now?"

She gives him the sweetest smile in return. "Replace my RingDings and it's tabula rasa."

Bucky's still chuckling when he re-enters the room. The time is now seven-thirty.

He watches Tyler polish off the last of the packet of Ringdings, licking his fingers clean, and his stomach gurgles loudly.

"Hey T," he says, and Tyler looks up, "Have you had dinner?"

Bucky ends up taking Tyler to the little diner a block and a half away, but not before they write a note and stick it to the door. Just in case either of Tyler's parents show up while they're out, Bucky's number is on the paper so they can call.

The diner does all-day breakfasts, and Tyler chooses waffles. Bucky's not one to judge on food choices. He orders a side of bacon to tide him over until he has dinner with Steve.

Because he is having dinner with Steve tonight, damnit.

Steve texts Bucky intermittently through dinner, and Bucky keeps him updated. Tyler appreciates the meal and thanks Bucky for it, earning him a few more gold stars in his mental file. He also doesn't seem to mind Bucky taking a few moments to answer messages from time to time. It's not necessarily rude, but he doesn't want Tyler to think that he's not being attentive.

The conversation is entertaining, to say the least.

Steve: Somehow the channel got stuck on Kitchen Nightmares, and god help me, it's kind of interesting.

Bucky: The censored or non censored version?

Steve: Non censored. His swearing takes me back to the army

The text conversation plays background to Tyler eating waffles and telling Bucky about all the ways that New Jersey is inferior to New York. While Bucky privately agrees with much of Tyler's reasoning, his spoken words betray a less emotional response.

"Everything's different," Tyler complains, "I can't do the same subjects I like, the teachers are all new and they don't like me. I was meant to be in Mr Stockard's class this year back in my old school, and we were going to do that essay on World War II. Now I'm in someone else's class and it's not the same. It's some stupid thing about the Civil War."

"I get it, you were prepared for one thing, now it's something totally new."

"I hate it there." He takes a vicious bite out of his waffle.

Bucky leans his elbow on the table and looks at Tyler. "Did you tell your mom that?"

"Yes, she didn't listen to me."

Bucky pauses. "Did you give her good reasons, or just yelled 'I hate it here'?"

Tyler doesn't answer, and Bucky presses on. "Ever thought about making a list about all the things that are really hard, and sit down with her and have a talk about it? You've got some good reasons, but I bet she doesn't know them."

Tyler slips into silence, chewing thoughtfully on his waffle. Bucky can see the gears in his head turning. He lets Tyler have his thinking time, and glances back down at his messages.

Steve: I think we've missed out on time for a movie.

Bucky: I'm sorry! We can do it when you get back?

Steve: bring me food and I'll forgive you. Also we can just watch tv and hang out on the sofa.

Bucky: Steve... did you just ask me to Neflix and chill?

Steve: [photo of glass of water with icecubes in it]

Bucky: NO MORE INTERNET FOR YOU. YOU'RE BANNED.

And that's the thing. Tyler really is a good kid. He's otherwise a polite, well-spoken and thoughtful boy, who generally really applies himself to tasks. In fact, his dropping grade was the only reason he was attending the program, he had no other emotional or behavioural issues to speak of.

Bucky had been pondering asking Tyler and his parents about getting his help in a 'big brother' type role for the junior high group he has. Tyler's responsible, and they'd look up to him being in high school. He's also not a flake, and Bucky could easily entrust him with tasks.

But then the soon-to-be-ex Mrs O'Neal moved him to Jersey, and that plan got shot to shit.

Bucky: I'll pick up the family dinner thing from my Thai place. Because you have hollow legs.

Steve: Not my fault I'm a growing boy.

Steve: Can you make sure you get lots of coconut rice?

Bucky: There is no such thing as a Thai feast without coconut rice.

Tyler finishes most of his waffles, and Bucky eats all of his bacon. They've not had a call from either parent, and the note is still intact when they get back to the office, so nobody's been through yet. Tyler gets increasingly anxious the longer he's waiting, even though Bucky's explained about the delays due to distance, traffic, and weather. To get his mind off it, Bucky finds the board games stashed at the top of the bookshelf.

While they play, Bucky brings up the subject of what's going to happen when his parents arrive.

"They're not just going to take you and go, something serious happened tonight; we're going to have to talk about it."

"They don't believe me when I say it's hard," Tyler sighs. "I don't mean to be doing badly, but I can't-- I don't have--" He stops speaking, frustrated. "When I try to explain, my words get all mushy in my mouth. I can't say them properly."

If they're having trouble listening, or you're having trouble speaking... would it be okay if I stepped in to help out? You've been pretty articulate with me, I think I might be able to help them understand what you mean."

Tyler nods, and Bucky starts mentally putting all his soldiers in a row.

Steve: I did a bad thing.

Bucky: ??

Steve: I may've... ordered a pizza.

Bucky: You are a bottomless pit.

Steve: I'm still happy for you to bring Thai. I will have room! But are you going to have time?

Bucky: Stand by :/

Bucky: Maybe save me some pizza

Steve: I make no promises.

Thirty minutes into an increasingly competitive game of Monopoly, there's a frantic knock at the door. As luck would have it, Tyler's parents show up within minutes of one another. They both pull him into separate, individual hugs. There's some scolding and a few raised voices, but by and large not much animosity between the parents; they're just relieved to find that their son is safe and well.

Bucky doesn't let them off the hook so easily, though. He gets them to sit on the sofa, with Tyler in the middle, and returns to the dining chair to face all parties.

He might as well start. "Mr and Mrs O'Neal, thanks for coming. While you're both here, Tyler would like to talk to you about a few things." Bucky turns to the boy. "Tyler?"

He squirms in his seat, unable to look his parents in the eye. Bucky almost thinks he's not going to say anything at all, when a soft voice breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry I went away without telling you, Mom," he begins. "But I just wanted to come back to Brooklyn. I miss my school and my friends. I don't like staying with Aunt Janice--"

"But I thought you loved Aunt Janice!" his mother exclaims.

"I do, but I like visiting her, not living with her. There's cat hair everywhere that makes me sneeze, and a weird smell in the bathroom. Also Todd and Phil don't want me there."

"Your cousins are older than you, and it's their house--"

Tyler turns to face her. "That's it. It's their house. Not our house. I have to sleep in Phil's bedroom and he doesn't want to share. He's always playing music when I'm trying to do my homework and I can't concentrate."

His mom looks surprised. "You never told me that."

Tyler huffs. "I did. You said to work on the kitchen table. But Todd is always in the living room playing Xbox."

"That's still no excuse to jump on the subway and run away, young man," Tyler's dad cuts in, and Bucky can nearly feel the hair stand up on the back of the kid's neck when he hears young man. Tyler clams up; his complaint of not being listened to appearing very genuine as his dad unwittingly shuts him down.

"Hey, Tyler," Bucky interrupts smoothly, "do you remember where the kitchen is?"

All three O'Neals snap their heads towards Bucky. Good thing Bucky doesn't warp under scrutiny.

"Yeah," Tyler answers.

"Good. You're not going senile yet," he grins. "Remember how to make those hot chocolates in the machine?" Tyler nods in the affirmative. "Great. How about you make your folks some hot chocolates, and bring them through? There's a tray under the sink, and I think you'll find some cookies in a barrel on the bench."

Tyler gets up and exits immediately, and Bucky watches him go. When he's out of the room, Bucky chucks his thumb towards the door.

"That's what I love about this kid; he takes direction really well. He's smart and responsible." Bucky rests his elbows on his knees. "So you've got to know him acting out like this is serious. He's struggling, and he's doing his best to ask for help the only way he knows how.

"He was only ever coming to me because is GPA dropped from 3.8 to somewhere in the high 2's." Bucky turns to Mrs O'Neal. "Things aren't going to get any better if he's not comfortable in his environment and unable to study."

"He'd seemed a little moody on the weekends," Tyler's dad offers, "but I put it down to the move and being a teenager." He turns slightly, directing his statement to his wife. "You didn't tell me he didn't have his own room."

"It's just temporary, until I find a new place I can afford."

"Are you even looking in Brooklyn?" he demands.

"I am, not that it's any concern of yours," she replies waspishly.

Tyler's dad makes an annoyed sound. "Do you even know how hard it was to leave my job early today to get here?"

"And that's exactly why he's with me!"

"With all due respect," Bucky buts in, voice firm, "the stress that these conversations are putting on your son is what's causing his trouble at school. He needs stability and consistency, and he's not getting any of that."

Both parents stop biting at each other, as if remembering Bucky is in the room. With their undivided attention, Bucky softens his voice. "You have to realise he's a good kid. Put yourself in his shoes for a minute. His entire world has been turned upside down. He says he's tried talking to you, but it hasn't gotten him very far. For whatever reason, he felt his only choice was to take matters into his own hands. He couldn't get all the way home, so he came here. Even though he's only fifteen, his executive functioning skills are high. That is, analytical thinking and making subsequent choices."

"That's why he does so great at school," his mom says, and Bucky hears the pride in her voice.

"Did well at school," Bucky corrects. "Past tense. It's because everything that was familiar to him has changed. New school, new home, new classes, new teachers. He's in a tailspin and doesn't know where to go for support or encouragement. It's going to take a hell of a lot of work to raise his GPA back up to anywhere near what it was, and without a few changes, I can't see it happening at this stage."

"What do you suggest?" his dad asks quietly, looking suitably concerned. "Trish and I talked about him staying with me during the week to go back to his old school while she gets on her feet with her sister, but I can't be there to get him home from school, or get him studying. I don't get home until after six most days. We can't leave him alone that late, that's no good either."

Bucky presses his lips together. He won't berate them for not doing research, he won't. "I'm not sure if you know, but the local Brooklyn libraries have what they call a 'Teen Zone'. It's a supervised area where kids can go to study, get tutored, and it specifically works outside of school hours.

"Add to that... I wasn't kidding when I said Tyler was smart. I have been looking for someone his age to help mentor my junior high group a couple of times a week, and I think your son's perfect for that role."

As if on cue, Tyler re-enters the room, carefully carrying a tray. On it are four mugs with little whisps of steam coming out of them, and a selection of cookies on a plate. His parents each take a mug, and then Tyler offers one to Bucky. Bucky gives him a large smile. "Thanks, buddy. That's really thoughtful of you."

Tyler smiles at him, and it's the first proper one he's had all evening. The O'Neals exchange looks that clearly mark them as impressed at their son's behaviour. He sits back down with his parents, and they sip their beverages.

Bucky rises and stretches his legs. "I'll have to ask you to excuse me for a moment. Maybe you can tell Tyler what I was just talking about."

They nod and Bucky ducks out, letting out a sigh of relief. Once again, he's glad he never made the leap to work as any form of marriage counsellor. He quickly texts Denise to let her know that yes, the O'Neals have arrived, and he's handling the situation.

There are also a bunch of messages waiting for him from Steve.

Steve: Pizza is here, it's amazing.

Steve: I'm saving you less than you think.

Steve: Hypothetically speaking, what would you say if I told you I ate a whole pizza? Would you be impressed, or hate me?

Steve: You're not going to make it, are you?

Bucky cringes at the last one, and types out a response.

Bucky: I don't think so. His parents are here, but I can't let him go with them until they've at least sorted out some of the shit that led the kid to cut and run in the first place.

Bucky: If it's any consolation, I'm starving.

Bucky: I'll call you when I'm done, though? Shouldn't be too much longer, but I know you have to get up early.

Without waiting for a reply, Bucky heads back into the meeting room.

He spends the next half an hour hashing out some ideas. Tyler begins speaking for himself a little more, telling them he's more than capable of getting to the libraries to study, and get home. Bucky can see that his parents are at least trying to factor his wishes into the plans that also suit themselves.

The good news is, it looks as though Tyler's mom has agreed to reverse their current arrangement and take him on weekends -- until she moves back to Brooklyn, of which Tyler is ecstatic about -- and let his dad do the weekday thing.

Provided that a) his old school will be willing to accept him as a transfer back mid-term, b) he makes use of the Teen Zone program and c) he works with Bucky (if he wants to) on the days he's not going to the library, to which Tyler agrees. They're willing to give it a trial, starting the week after next to allow time for the school paperwork to clear.

By the time they're finished, nearly all the adults are slightly hysterical from exhaustion, and Tyler's passed out, curled on the sofa. He held out so well, really impressing Bucky with his moxie, and actually got somewhere with his parents. Bucky's not wrong about him at all.

When all is said and done, Bucky receives a firm handshake from Tyler's dad, and a kiss on the cheek from his mom.

The first thing Bucky does as he does a final sweep to make sure everything's locked for the weekend is to send a final message to Denise.

Bucky: Finally all done! Multiple crises averted, heading home. Will fill you in on Monday.

Denise: Fill me in at the lunch I am going to treat you to, because you've gone above and beyond tonight. Go home and get some rest! x

It's not until he's actually outside the centre, having locked it up, that he gets around to checking Steve's unopened messages.

Steve: Sure, you can call. I'll sleep on the quinjet, anyway.

Steve: our operators are standing by

Bucky dials his number as he walks to his car. It doesn't take long for the call to be answered.

"H'lo?" Steve says, sounding tired.

"Did I wake you?" Bucky asks, feeling rather wretched as he hops into his car. The call immediately connects through his Bluetooth, and Steve's voice comes piping out of his speakers. Bucky can't help but smile.

"Na, just dozed in front of the TV."

"Food coma. That's what you get for eating an entire pizza, you glutton."

"Did you get everything sorted?" he asks, and Bucky notes the genuine concern.

"I think so. Details will still need to be ironed out, but Tyler's on his way home to his Dad's for the weekend. There's a possible solution in the works, but it's kind of above my pay grade. I've done all I can right now, but it looks promising."

Bucky looks at the clock on the LCD. "Fuck, how is it nearly ten?"

"That's what you get when you're awesome at your job," Steve replies, and Bucky doesn't think he's imagining the naked admiration in Steve's voice. "You get to do it more, and outside of hours, for no additional pay."

Bucky smirks. "Let me guess, you do this all the time?"

"Welcome to my life," Steve says, and Bucky can just picture the expansive gesture that goes with it. Stupid adorable bastard.

Bucky and Steve chat for the fifteen minutes it takes for Bucky to drive home. While he's a bit annoyed he didn't get to see Steve tonight, it wasn't for nothing; it was for a very worthy cause.

Walking up the stairs to his apartment, Bucky sighs into the receiver. "I guess I should let you go," he says in a slightly disappointed voice.

"Not until you're home. I'm going to walk you to your door," Steve replies immediately.

"That's either extremely chivalrous, or you're in league with my service provider and trying to push my phone bill up this month."

"Captain America has no company affiliations, thank you," Steve says imperiously.

Bucky's about to scoff, until he reaches his apartment. Directly outside his door, there's a pizza box. Someone's drawn a replica of Steve's shield on the top, and written the note 'Can I write you next week?'

"Steve..." Bucky's tone gives away the fact he's found the food.

"You said you were hungry, and sounded like you'd had a long day."

Bucky opens the box to see it's his favourite; pepperoni. "You really are a superhero." Bucky unlocks the door, and pushes into his apartment. He has a slice of pie in his mouth before the door's even shut.

"Sometimes," he says gently.

Bucky makes supremely unattractive eating sounds into the phone, but he really can't help it. "I'm glad you didn't hear me do this before. You never would've agreed to date me," Bucky says when he finishes chewing.

"Somehow, loud eating isn't a deal-breaker for me," Steve responds, the grin evident in his voice. Regret soon takes over, however. "On that note, though, I really do have to go."

Bucky hastily swallows. "I am really sorry our night got messed up. That's actually a pretty rare occurrence."

"It's okay, I'm glad you were there to help. Also, it was a nice surprise. I thought if anyone's occupation was going to throw a spanner in the works, it was going to be mine."

Bucky laughs. "You know, that's kind of funny."

"I'm a funny guy," Steve deadpans, and Bucky laughs one more.

"Well, I'd better let you go," Bucky says reluctantly, flopping on the sofa with his pizza. "I have to make sweet, sweet love to this pizza."

"Delightful," Steve says.

"Be safe, hope it all goes well. And you can write me when you get back."

Steve chuckles. "That's my line."

"Deal with it."

Chapter Text

The One With Captain America

(Location: Bucky's work / apartment)

Bucky's week without Steve progresses as it ordinarily would, save for two significant things. They're pretty different, like comparing apples and oranges, but each end up relating in some way to one another.

By and large, it's business as usual. He goes to work, he comes home. He works out a few times, he spends most nights working through his Netflix queue. His phone is set up for Google alerts about the Geneva conference, so every once in a while, he'll get a pop up about how things are travelling.

Sometimes there's a photo of the few Avengers in attendance, overseeing security and generally acting as a deterrent to the assholes of the world. The photos are never posed affairs; they're always of Steve standing off to the side, getting his thousand-yard stare on, being totally professional. Sometimes he catches a glimpse of Sam and the Black Widow there, too (He's not met her properly to feel comfortable referring to her as 'Natasha', even in his own head). There's also the occasional update on the news with some footage, often referring to the Avengers' presence as though they're celebrity guests, not soldiers there to do a job.

But if he's being honest, the footage and photos makes his boyfriend look really hot.

The first significant thing that happens, is that for the first time, Bucky thinks of Steve in no uncertain terms as his boyfriend.

That in itself is pretty big, but Bucky does his best to downplay it. Hell, he hasn't even talked to Steve about this yet, but it feels natural; as though their weeks of texting, then subsequently further weeks dating have been leading to this realisation. He's definitely felt as though he's grown closer to Steve, and has started to develop a really solid relationship with him.

Bucky's also pretty sure that feeling is entirely mutual.

So, yeah. Bucky's boyfriend is off being a total professional badass in Geneva.

The second significant thing that happens, is that the Geneva conference turns into an absolute shitshow when a terrorist group with known links to HYDRA shows up, guns blazing, and kidnaps some of the high-profile attendees.

Bucky's at the office, sitting at his desk drinking coffee when Denise runs in and bodily drags him into the meeting room with the TV. The rest of the staff are already there, watching as CNN shows some shaky mobile phone footage of people fleeing a building.

The news ticker down the bottom spews forth information and Bucky does his best to read at the same time as listen to the news anchors talking, narrating the video footage.

... EXPLOSIONS AND GUNFIRE ROCK GENEVA CONFERENCE ... HYDRA SUSPECTED BUT NOT CONFIRMED ... 2 DEAD AND 11 INJURED ...

"... can clearly see the Swiss Federal Police in their riot gear being driven back by a hail of gunfire. They're doing their best to get civilians and delegates out of the building..."

... AVENGERS WORKING WITH POLICE TO RESCUE HOSTAGES ... 16 DELEGATES FROM 7 COUNTRIES AS YET UNACCOUNTED FOR ... CAPTAIN AMERICA, FALCON, BLACK WIDOW ON THE GROUND ... IRON MAN EN ROUTE DIRECTLY FROM NYC ...

All work in the office has ground to a halt. Bucky's transfixed by the television. He keeps his breathing steady, inhaling and counting to three before exhaling.

There's lots of shaky video from a variety of sources, with news anchors talking over one another to try and explain what's going on. All reports are prefaced with words like 'unconfirmed' or 'allegedly' or 'suspected'. There's no real solid information apart from the fact that bad guys are there, and the good guys are amassing to deal with the situation.

Which is fine, because the best guy Bucky knows is there to take care of it.

And steady breathing and counting keeps him from hyperventilating with that knowledge. It's working fine as a calmative until someone spots Steve on TV.

"There's Captain America!" Rory announces unnecessarily loudly, pointing to the screen. Bucky takes a tiny step closer, squinting at the screen.

The footage isn't close, it's from media cameras that have been moved back past the police barricades, zoomed in as far as they'll go. The vision is grainy, but Steve is unmistakeable in his uniform. He seems to be with a bunch of the police officers, and they're making their way into one of the buildings.

This isn't the first time he's seen Steve on TV, but it's the first time since Bucky's been dating him, and his stomach does a little flip. It definitely makes a difference to his perception. He frowns, finding himself studying the blurry image of Steve in profile, trying to see if he can recognise the expression.

"Why isn't he wearing something more subdued? He makes a pretty good target in that red, white and blue getup."

Bucky flinches, but nobody notices.

Denise slaps Rory's arm. "That's a terrible thing to say!"

"But am I wrong?" Rory counters. "At least Widow's wearing black... the guy is like a beacon."

And Bucky is okay with not hearing the rest of this conversation. He breathes out sharply, and turns around to head back to his desk.

"Everything okay, Bucky?" Denise asks, and the rest of his co-workers turn around to look at him.

"Yeah, fine, Dee," he says, pretty pleased that his voice remains level. "I just have a lot of work to do. And let's face it, this is gonna be on TV for a while."

"But what if something happens right now? What if Cap gets shot on live tv, or something?" Rory comments.

Bucky goes very still. "Then I'm sure we'll be seeing it on repeat for the next six months. Don't you have your troubled teen group from Midwood High due in an hour?"

Rory nods and Bucky returns to his desk. He takes a moment to stare blankly at the screen, before slowly taking a sip of his lukewarm coffee and going back to his files.

The thing of it is, Bucky knows what Steve does. He knows it's a dangerous job, one that one day he might not walk away from.

But that's part of being a soldier. He understands that on an instinctive level. Sometimes there were jobs he hated, sometimes he went somewhere not knowing if he would survive, but that never stopped him doing them in the first place.

Not if there was a job to be done.

Of course he's worried. He's not a fucking robot. Steve might get hurt... or worse.

But Bucky worrying about it, or staying glued to the TV to watch the same bits of footage over and over again, hear 'experts' dredged up from any field to commentate and speculate on what the terrorists might've had for breakfast that morning... is not going to help. It's going to drive him crazy.

And, like Steve, Bucky has a job to do. He has kids that are relying on him to not lose his fucking shit.

The rest of the day is challenging, but he gets through it. Bucky takes himself to the diner close by for dinner after work, blatantly ignoring the TV in the corner with live feeds from Geneva, and blocks out the spirited debate about exactly what the Avengers should be doing that the neighbouring table is having.

At home, he has a long, hot shower and stays in his routine; Netflix with Babushka.

He changes the alert in his phone only to ping at mentions of 'Captain America', and it, thankfully, cuts out a lot of unnecessary notifications.

Not since 9/11 has Bucky loathed rolling coverage more, because the next day, it's still going full force. Someone in the office decides it's a great idea to have the radio on all day, where there are long talk-back segments devoted to the crisis in Geneva, along with citizens phoning in their own opinions on the topic, however ill-informed.

There's been two big cancellations in his schedule, and Denise -- bless her for noticing -- upon realising Bucky'd been a little off since the situation began, and isn't getting any better, suggested he go home early and work from there for the rest of the week. Considering that's only two days, it's not too much of a hardship from his employer's point of view. He knows she thinks it's possibly a PTSD reaction to seeing all the activity on TV, and as much as he feels a little like a heel for it, Bucky's not going to correct her.

He takes the opportunity to stay at home, reviewing school counsellor reports on his new intake of kids, listening to music, and occasionally, just sitting with Babushka and stroking her fur. He limits himself to five minutes of news about Geneva, once in the morning and once at night, and along with the Google alerts on Steve, that's more than enough information. Turning off the TV is easy; having to block out or ignore the office chatter where his co-workers are discussing the situation for what seems like all day, was much harder.

The gist of it is this; the bad guys have rigged up the room they're holding the hostages in with quite a few explosives, and the authorities have to either talk them out, or get in there without tripping something bad that'll cause explosions.

Bucky trusts Steve not to run in there guns a-blazin' if there are people's lives on the line, and he's right. They seem to be taking their time negotiating, while the Avengers in attendance try to figure out how to get in and save everyone.

Well, that's what he assumes. Even the networks aren't dumb enough to broadcast that plan on the news, and thank Heaven for small favours. Terrorists still have access to information and could find things out to jeopardise the safety of the rescuers.

He has another quiet night reading and playing with Babushka. Bucky only watches five minutes of news coverage where the weary-looking anchors are postulating as to how long the terrorists are going to hold out, and whether there's going to be some sort of rescue attempt soon.

Having been in situations where the reality was starkly different to what was being reported, Bucky takes everything that's said on TV with a grain of salt. He won't believe it until the facts are triple-checked, or he hears from a more direct source.

Bucky doubts any of the Avengers are putting him on the high priority call list, so he's just going to have to stay calm, and be patient. Panicking and worrying are not going to help Steve, and it's not going to help him, either.

The last thing he sees on the screen are some images taken by a professional photographer at an event a while back of Steve, Sam, Stark and Widow -- still not calling her 'Natasha' -- before he flicks the TV off.

Bucky trusts Steve's training and his intelligence. He'll do everything he can to get the hostages out, but safely.

After all, he's got someone to come back to. Even if he doesn't know it yet.

Chapter Text

The One With The First 24 Hours

(Location: Steve's Apartment)

Bucky wakes from a pretty shitty night's sleep to his phone sounding like it's having an apoplectic fit. He gently pushes Babushka off his chest, and rubs one eye as he picks up the phone.

Google is losing its shit on his device. Sixteen separate alerts with regards to 'Captain America'. Bucky breathes deeply and goes through them in chronological order. His heart rate doesn't improve as he goes through and reads them.

Captain America leads Avengers and Swiss Police into secured building.

Explosion 'rattles window frames' as authorities attempt to take back hostages.

Avenger down! Unconfirmed reports Captain America taken to hospital suffering injuries.

Geneva General Hospital admits Captain America; extent of injuries unknown.

All hostages freed as Avengers and Swiss Police storm building.

Bucky's got the remote control in his hand even before he realises, and flicks on the TV. He immediately turns it to sketchy footage of people being loaded into ambulances amidst a bit of debris. The voice-over is saying they are hostages and police who need medical treatment over the rescue. Time stamps for Geneva say that whatever happened, happened at least six hours ago, NYC time.

"Fuck," Bucky breathes. The news is old. The networks are only cycling the same scant intel over and over again. Bucky takes the news with a grain of salt, and knows how unreliable first reports can be in the chaos of an op. He's not sure that Steve has been injured, but he's not entirely sure that he hasn't.

There's not really anyone he can call and ask. He doubts there's anyone at Avengers Tower that'll take an enquiry from a near-stranger as to the classified welfare and whereabouts of Captain America. There was that one-off meeting with Pepper Potts, but on the off chance she remembers him, the likelihood he can make contact with the CEO of a Fortune 500 company with such a tenuous link is doubtful.

There are no other options open to him, so he resolves to remain as calm as possible, and try to get on with his routine.

Bucky's phone chooses this moment to go off, making him jump. He gropes for it where it sits on the sheets next to him.

The caller is unknown. Bucky answers it straight away.

"James Barnes," he says, voice still rusty from sleep.

There's a slight pause on the end of the phone. "Bucky?" a familiar voice asks hesitantly.

"Yeah?" Bucky says, his still slightly fuzzy brain trying desperately to place the other person on the end of the phone.

"Oh, great. I thought I'd gotten the wrong number. It's Sam Wilson."

Bucky's heart lodges somewhere in his throat. This is either very good news, or very bad news. He fumbles for the remote control to hit the 'mute' button.

"Is he okay?" There's no point in beating about the bush here, and he hopes Sam will forgive the directness. But if he's learnt anything about Steve's best friend in their short acquaintance, it's that he will probably understand.

"Yes. He did have to go to hospital to get treated, but everything's fine."

Bucky exhales, sagging forward. "Good. Good."

"I'm guessing you saw the news?" Sam queries.

"I just woke up and heard about the resolution? Haven't really processed too much mentally right now, don't even know how it happened."

"Oh, the time difference," Sam acknowledges, "I completely forgot. It would've all happened in the middle of the night for you. Sufficed to say, the media's probably not all that accurate. Let your boy fill you in later."

Sam's reference to Steve as 'his boy' makes his heart do the two-step in his chest for a brief moment. It distracts him, but Bucky quickly gets back on track, clearing his throat. He's not sure where Sam and Steve are, how secure their line is, how long it might hold out. Bucky needs the important info, and he needs it now.

"What's the extent of Steve's injuries? How bad are we talking?" His eyes get drawn back to the silent TV, still displaying pictures of emergency services, and Armed Forces running about with rifles drawn.

The fingernails of his right hand come to dig into his knee.

Sam only realistically takes a moment to answer him, but that moment feels interminable. "In supersoldier terms, barely a scratch. The building was wired with explosives, but we got in and out without any dramas... except that one of the bad guys got to trigger a bomb during the evac before we could stop him. Steve was the last one out, and got caught in the edge of the concussive blast."

Bucky winces. "Shrapnel?"

"Actually, not. He pretty much got blown through the doors of an elevator and fell down the shaft."

"Shit."

"Steve broke his ankle and got a mild concussion when he landed badly at the bottom. It's a bad break, but it could've been a lot worse. He got taken to the GGH where they've re-set the bone and put it in a cast. His particular gifts should get him healed up a lot faster than a regular person, but he still needs rest."

Bucky inhales deeply, holds for a second, then exhales, loosening the grip on his knee. "I'm glad it's not too serious." The thought occurs that he has no idea where they are right now. "Where are you even calling from?"

"Quinjet satellite phone," Sam answers, "Natasha and Tony stayed back for debriefing and clean-up, I have the dubious honour of escorting Steve home. We're probably about two hours out of New York."

"'Dubious honour'?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah." Sam gives that infectious laugh down the line. "So they needed elephant tranquilisers to knock Steve out while they were messing with his ankle, then he woke up yelling at everyone."

"What for?"

"The noise of the explosion also perforated both ear drums, so he subsequently thinks everyone else is deaf."

A chuckle escapes Bucky's lips, and oh God that's a good feeling. "Aw man."

"That's the reason I'm making the call, and not him, but not for lack of trying." Bucky's mouth quirks up involuntarily, as Sam continues. "He'll contact you personally when we land."

Closing his eyes, Bucky exhales. "Excellent. Thanks a lot, Sam," he says sincerely.

"Oh, don't thank me yet. You've never seen Steve when he's less than one hundred percent."

They say their goodbyes, and hang up. Bucky immediately turns off the television and flops down on his bed, musing over Sam's last comment and wondering exactly what he means.

Babushka leaps back up onto the mattress and snuggles into his side. He stays like that for a while, staring at the ceiling, before jumping in the shower.

It's still business as usual, Bucky tells himself, he's still got work to do until Steve calls.

Feeling more at ease after the phone call, Bucky manages to have a shower, shave, get dressed in clean clothes and hit the paperwork again, but concentration is hard to come by. He finds himself side-eyeing his phone more than once, making sure the ringtone is definitely turned up, or calculating how long it might take for the quinjet to land, Steve to get out and get to wherever he's meant to be before calling.

With effort, Bucky keeps plugging away, and reviews another sixteen child profiles when his phone finally trills. Cool dissolving in nanoseconds, he grabs for the device.

It's not a call, but it is a text message.

Steve: Hey, Buck. Sam said he spoke to you like I asked, which is great. My hearing's still a little patchy so I don't think I'd be able to hear you over the phone, but I was wondering if you weren't busy with work... did you want to come visit me?

Bucky: Of course I do! Where are you?

Bucky: And it's great to hear from you :)

Steve: Home sweet home. Got dropped off about five minutes ago, Sam had to go to the Tower. I'd say it's great to hear from you, too... but we both know I'm not doing a whole lot of that right now :)

Bucky grins. It's just like Steve to joke about something ridiculous like this.

Bucky: They just don't make eardrums like they used to. Shoddy Great Depression workmanship.

Bucky: Also I'll be right over.

Steve: Is that an age joke?

Steve: Sam put my spare key under the doormat so you can let yourself in. Otherwise you might be knocking on the door for a while.

Bucky: Sam's a smart guy. You owe him.

Steve: Don't I know it. See you soon!

Bucky grabs his car keys and wallet, and power-walks downstairs. He could take the subway, but doesn't want to deal with people right now. Plus, his car will be faster.

There's not a lot of traffic around on a Friday close to lunchtime, and it takes Bucky barely over fifteen minutes to reach Steve's apartment, which is a vast improvement on the regular commute.

Also, he may've exceeded the speed limit a touch.

He takes the steps in Steve's apartment block stairwell two at a time, far too impatient to wait for the elevator, and hotfoots it to his door. Sure enough, there's a key under the doormat.

Bucky puts the key in the door, and with a sharp exhale of carefully-controlled excitement, turns the lock.

"Steve? I'm here... Ste-- Jesus-fuck, what do you think you're doing?" Bucky's voice enters a very specific incredulous range when he sees Steve balancing precariously on one foot as he vacuums.

Speaking to Sam had alleviated anxiety about Steve being injured. He knows the guy wouldn't blow smoke up his ass, so Bucky's aware he's not walking in to Steve's apartment expecting Captain Deathbed.

But nor is he expecting Steve to be on one leg in clothes he's clearly worn at the hospital, doing domestic chores.

"Vacuuming, Steve?"

Steve looks up, slightly startled. A smile blooms on his face to become hesitant at the dark expression Bucky wears.

"Hey, Bucky," he says, just a touch louder than normal. "You got here fast." He pauses, and all Bucky does in the silence is arch one eyebrow. Steve gestures to the floor around him. "The carpet was pretty dirty and--"

Bucky, having dropped his keys on Steve's kitchen island, crosses the room to pry the vacuum cleaner out of his bandaged hands, dropping it to the floor. He ushers Steve to the large sofa and tips him so Steve's butt hits the cushions with a soft 'oof'.

Steve looks wary and hesitantly at Bucky, as though trying to figure out the reason for Bucky's demeanour. Bucky stays silent as he pulls the coffee table forward, and helps guide the cast-encased foot to rest elevated.

Steve looks sheepish. He's wearing what appears to be scrub pants and a classic rock tee shirt. Judging by the way it stretches across his chest, it might've come from a spare clothes stash of Stark's on the quinjet. His left foot is in plaster, toes poking out the top, hands are both wrapped thickly with bandages around his palms, leaving fingers and thumb free. There's a bunch of surface lacerations over his exposed skin, and a butterfly bandage on one eyebrow. He rests his hands, palms up, in his lap expectantly and waits for Bucky to make the first move.

Bucky's never seen anything quite so wonderful in his life.

He flicks a leg over Steve's lap to straddle his waist, kneeling on the cushions of the sofa. Making sure as to not put any undue weight on Steve at all, Bucky cradles the blond's face very gently in his hands and kisses him. It's equal parts passionate and gentle, given Steve's injuries. Steve, for his part, responds immediately. He rests his ruined hands ever so gently on Bucky's waist, but pushes up into the kiss. Bucky comes down to meet him further, not wanting Steve to strain himself unnecessarily to deepen their contact.

Eventually Bucky has to come up for air. He reluctantly pulls his lips away from Steve's before resting their foreheads together.

"I missed you." Bucky's murmur is barely even a whisper, so he's not actually sure it's been heard. Steve's eyes are still closed, but a ghost of a smile playing on his lips after that.

"Ditto," Steve responds, rubbing his stubbled cheek against Bucky's smooth one.

It's nice, but there's a burning question Bucky has to ask. "Why the hell were you cleaning your carpet?"

He feels Steve's large shoulders shrug. "Was feeling restless, and I didn't do it before I left," he says softly.

It's kind of a strange answer from Steve. Maybe it's some kind of weird adrenalin thing. He sometimes used to have strange responses after coming off an op, like there was a build-up of energy that had nowhere else to go.

"Well, forget it," Bucky hits back instead. "Doctor gave you orders to rest, right? Put your foot up?"

"Mhm."

The 'Mhm' sounds totally insincere, and he would pull Steve up on it, save for that it's accompanied by another nuzzle.

"Resting doesn't include vacuuming," Bucky continues valiantly. "Hell, if you're deadset on getting the carpet clean, I'll do it. Just... just don't be an idiot."

Steve affects that kicked puppy look, and Bucky rolls his eyes. "It doesn't work, don't even try that shit on me. You follow doctor's orders or else."

"Yes, Sergeant," Steve responds, subdued but not serious.

Bucky presses a short, hard kiss to Steve's lips before moving to sit next to him instead. They both stare at the black TV for a few moments, before Bucky can bring himself to speak. He makes sure to talk a little louder, and face Steve, so if nothing else, Steve can read his lips.

"Sam said you weren't seriously injured, but I thought you might at least be taken to a hospital when you got back to New York."

Steve makes a face. "The Swiss doctors did a great job, but I didn't want to see the inside of anymore wards," he explains, hooking a pinky finger around Bucky's with a sigh, resting his cheek against the sofa cushions as he faces Bucky. "I just wanted to come home."

Bucky curls his finger around Steve's, both his words and the contact making him feel light-headed. He mirrors Steve's pose, also resting his cheek against the sofa pillow. As he looks at Steve, a small smile grows exponentially bigger, only to be reflected in Steve's face. "Yeah, but if you're concussed, don't you need to be observed for a few hours after to make sure you don't fall unconscious, or something?" Bucky queries.

Steve gives a slight smile. "I was hoping you might want the job?"

Bucky shakes his head. "I see what this is. It's an elaborate ploy to trick me into being your nursemaid. Sam did warn me."

"Is it working?"

Bucky pauses. "You're fucking lucky you're cute, is all I'm saying." He groans and pushes himself up from the sofa. "I'll put some coffee on, and then we're going to discuss what this 'nursemaiding' of you is going to entail."

Steve moves to get up as well, and Bucky flips switches instantly from 'amiable' to 'murderous'. "Don't even attempt it, Rogers." Steve puts his hands up in surrender, and relaxes back down. "Come to think of it, did Sam leave you with crutches? You have to be slightly mobile, within reason, of course..."

"No, but I have some in the closet of the spare bedroom from when I broke my leg a few years back."

"Right." Bucky charges into the bedroom and, after a little searching, finds a pair in the back behind a few coats. He returns to the living room to rest them on the arm of the sofa, before moving to the kitchen to make coffee. He gets the pot working, but a quick search of the cupboards and refrigerator find next to no food. Bucky pokes his head out of the kitchen.

"Steve, your kitchen's barer than Old Mother Hubbard's. Just what the hell were you planning on eating?"

Steve screws up his face and shrugs. "Uh, not sure?"

Bucky folds his arms. "'Not sure'."

"I have a concussion?" Steve hedges.

"Try again, hotshot." Bucky shakes his head and goes back out to Steve. "Well, seeing as I'm on 'Concussion Watch 2016', and you're on 'Sit On Your Ass' Duty... is there anything you need? Anything I can help you with?"

"Well, I--" Steve starts, then clams up. Bucky quirks an eyebrow.

"What? If it's food, I can order in. Tell me what you want."

"Well, given we missed out on Thai last week, that'd be great, but, er... that's not what I was thinking of right this second."

"Okay," Bucky says slowly, re-taking his seat on the couch and touching gently touching Steve's arm encouragingly. "So what do you need?"

Steve rubs the back of his neck with one hand uncomfortably. "I haven't actually had a shower since the day before the siege..."

Oh... oh. "That was about four days ago," Bucky states.

"I know. And I feel kind of yuck."

He nods in return. Another thing Bucky doesn't miss from his deployment days would definitely be not getting to shower regularly. "Okay, well... I can help you with that. As long as you've got some kind of trash bag to cover the plaster, we should be able to figure something out."

"Under the kitchen sink," Steve says, looking monumentally relieved.

Bucky heads back into the kitchen, and is bending down to open the cabinet when it hits him.

Bathing Steve requires that Bucky undress him.

Oh sweet mother of fuck. He's not sure he's ready for this, but Steve needs him to help, and not be a child. He finds the trashbag, takes a moment to compose himself, then heads back into the living room.

"Okay, Hopalong, let's go." Bucky helps Steve to his feet and hands him a crutch, then supports his weight on one side as they slowly make their way to the main bathroom. Steve has an ensuite that's connected to his bedroom, but Steve explains it only has a shower. Standing on one leg on tile isn't an option Bucky wants Steve to deal with, so bath it is.

"The way I figure, if I lower you into the bath and you dangle one leg out, you can at least get most of your body submerged and get rid of that ripe smell."

"Hey!" Steve protests.

"Sorry, pal. You stink a little. I was way too busy yelling at you to tell you sooner."

"Didn't stop you kissing me," Steve mutters in return, grimacing as he accidentally puts a bit of weight on his cast.

"What can I say? I have low standards," Bucky shoots back as they enter the bathroom.

It's actually one of Bucky's favourite places in Steve's apartment. Nearly twice the size of Bucky's bathroom, the tiles are sea green and white, with a wave pattern feature at random intervals. The shower is one of those expensive ones with the huge head and the multiple functions and different ways for the water to flow out, and the bath has a couple of handy bars that Steve can use to get in and out of the tub.

"These are useful," Bucky comments, gesturing to the bars.

"Tony got them installed last time I broke my leg. At least I could bathe myself then," he jokes.

Bucky helps Steve sit down on the toilet. "Well, it's a good thing you've got me around, then," Bucky says, gesturing to Steve's bandaged hands.

"I always think that's a good thing," Steve says, before he looks at his hands. "I might need a little help this first time? But they're healing well, I should be able to do it myself next time."

"What did you do to them, anyway?"

Steve tugs at the bottom of the t-shirt he wears, toying with the idea of removing it. "Did Sam tell you how I fell?"

"Yeah. Bungee jumping down an elevator shaft without a bungee. Very dangerous." Bucky smirks.

Steve holds up his hands. "After I went through the doors, halfway down, I managed to grab hold of the cable to slow my descent. But it was sliding through my hands at great speed..."

"Holy shit, Steve," Bucky cringes. He knows exactly where Steve's going with this. The friction would've just ripped into him.

"My gloves bore the brunt of it," Steve continues, "but they wore through the middle and I lost a few layers of skin for my troubles."

Bucky pauses. "Looks like I'm helping you in and out of the bath today, then."

"Looks like." He gives a little smile, running the fingers of one hand through his hair. They both lapse into silence, for the time for beating about the bush is over. "Well, best get started, I suppose?" Steve drums his fingers against his belly, looking up to Bucky for confirmation.

Bucky nods. "Yep, go for it."

Steve lifts the edge of the t-shirt up and begins pulling. He does well, until the fabric gets caught around his neck. While he doesn't seem to be injured around the shoulders, Steve is definitely a little stiff and can't quite get the collar of the shirt off his head with limited movement. He struggles for a few seconds, before giving up.

"Uh, little help?" he asks, and Bucky can't help but bark out a laugh. It's not the easiest job, but he gently helps unhook the fabric from Steve's jaw, getting the sleeves stretched over his biceps.

"I thought if this were Stark's shirt, the collar would be much more stretched out," Bucky grunts, folding the shirt and turning away to hang it over the towel rack, "you know, to get over his massive head."

Steve starts chuckling. It's a sound he's missed over the last week, so he turns to comment on that and holy shit.

Bucky's caught glimpses of Steve's bare skin, flashes during movement, or walking past an ajar door, but this is Steve, in the flesh, sitting bare from the waist-up in front of him.

Bucky would like to amend his previous thought to 'holy fucking shit'.

He really is all kinds of perfect.

Steve catches his eye and gives him a shy smile. Bucky chokes on nothing but air, as his body throws him suddenly into a coughing fit. He braces a hand on the counter, and Steve gives him a gentle thump between the shoulder blades.

"Y'okay there, Buck?" he asks with concern.

"Fine," Bucky croaks out. For shit's sake, it's not like he hasn't seen a shirtless dude before. He's seen racier images on the sides of buses.

None of those dudes happen to be sitting right in front of him, though.

He grabs the glass that sits to the side of the sink and fills it up with water, chugging it down to soothe his wrecked throat.

Placing the glass down and breathing deeply, Bucky calms himself. He needs to be an adult about this. He looks to Steve, who's sitting there with his big shoulders curved in, hands gently resting between his thighs, looking kind of shy, and--

And Bucky finally takes note of the cuts and the bruises on that -- frankly, magnificent -- torso. Seeing the ugly colours on Steve's skin sobers his attitude significantly

There is a particularly nasty bruise across Steve's clavicle that's still purple. Bucky points to it. "Does it hurt?"

"Only when I pee," Steve quips, and the awkwardness is broken irreparably. Bucky doubles over laughing, arms wrapped around his stomach. Steve joins in the laughter, resting one of his hands very lightly against Bucky's shoulder.

"You asshole," he gasps out, "you trying to make me cough again?"

"I like it when you laugh so hard you can't breathe," Steve grins.

"Then you're the one stuck giving me mouth-to-mouth, you realise."

"I'm finding it hard to see a downside to this plan, Bucky."

"One thing at a time," Bucky says. "Bath first, CPR later."

"Okay, okay," Steve agrees mildly.

Bucky turns to kneel next to the tub. He leans into the porcelain and turns the faucets on, congratulating himself for not having a brain aneurysm at taking Steve's shirt off. Yay, he's a grown-up, he can undress his boyfriend who doesn't actually know he's his boyfriend yet.

"How hot do you want the water?" he asks Steve, running one hand under the spigot idly.

"What?" Steve asks.

Shit. Bucky forgot that Steve's hearing still isn't one hundred percent, and the water is pretty loud.

"How hot do you want the water?" Bucky repeats, a little louder as he turns to address Steve over his shoulder.

"Pretty hot," Steve answers, his eyes quickly meeting Bucky's from where they'd been looking at his ass, "my muscles are a little sore, it'll help me feel better."

"Gotcha." Bucky turns back to the tub with a barely-repressed grin -- it's nice to know he can get as good as he's giving -- and twists the hot water knob further. "Have any Epsom salts?"

"Under the basin," Steve says. Bucky hoists himself off the ground and goes digging in the cabinet beneath the sink. He finds a box of Epsom salts and a little scoop. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he liberally shovels some into the water. "That should help with your muscles, too." Bucky also finds some kind of nice-smelling bath liquid that he pours in. "Because everyone needs bubbles, Steve," he says matter-of-factly, and Steve laughs.

It doesn't take long at all for the bath to fill halfway. Bucky reaches out to the faucets and turns them off.

He scratches the back of his head. "Now, d'you want help to take the scrub pants off, or leave them on, or...?" Bucky doesn't really know what 'or' entails. Because he's not sure he's ready to see Steve naked.

Thankfully, Steve is decisive on the matter. He balances his hands on the toilet seat to stand up. Bucky gets up with him, holding his arms out, just in case Steve topples. "I'll take them off. Wet fabric like that always feels... heavy and wrong. But I'll ah... I'll keep my shorts on," he says, giving Bucky a small smile. "Gotta keep some mystery, right?" Steve gives a cute little shrug, and Bucky thinks his nervousness is probably the world's worst-kept secret right now.

Bucky wants to sigh in relief and simultaneously die a little inside. It's not as though seeing Steve naked has never crossed his mind, he just never thought the first potential time might be when he's injured. So... boxer briefs on? Probably for the best.

"Sounds like a plan," Bucky says, voice deceptively even.

Steve nods once and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of the scrubs. "I'll probably need your help getting the cuff around my cast, though?" he says.

"No problem," Bucky confirms. Sure, he can do that.

"Right." Steve pulls the scrubs down over his hips quickly, bending at the waist, before sitting back down on the toilet seat. He gets the material off his unencumbered foot, but predictably, it snags around the other ankle.

Bucky, who'd been steadfastly watching the cast to avoid getting an eyeful of anything else, kneels down to help. He unhooks the fabric from the plaster, as Steve lifts his foot off the ground, but they're still not quite wide enough to get his foot through.

"You weren't particularly attached to these pants, were you?" Bucky asks.

"Nope," Steve replies.

"Good." Finding the seam, Bucky pokes his fingers into it until it begins to rip. As gently as he can, he tears the seam until the pantleg is big enough and can fit over the cast comfortably. It's much easier to remove the scrubs now, so he does. Bucky then reaches for the trash bag and gets Steve's foot into it, gently tucking the ends around the rim of the cast. Finally finished, Bucky stands and folds the scrubs, placing them over the railing with the shirt.

Bucky can't help a quick glance to Steve's underwear because -- because well he just can't -- and chokes down a laugh.

Steve rolls his eyes as Bucky helps him stand. "Go ahead, they were a gift."

Bucky chortles as they shuffle over to the tub. "Strawberry underwear?" He asks, gesturing to the boxer briefs with a realistic strawberry print all over them.

"Clint got them for me for my birthday? I told him I liked strawberries. This was the result."

"Say no more," Bucky says, biting his lip. "I only laugh because I'm picturing you wearing them while dealing with a hostage scenario."

"You would," Steve replies derisively as Bucky grips his forearms and backs him up to the tub. Anchoring his feet against the tile, Bucky slowly starts to lower him down.

Steve winces as his injured hands grip Bucky's forearms, but he lowers himself anyway. "You think that's funny... shoulda seen the looks I copped... from the Swiss nurses..." Steve bites out.

His butt hits the water with a splash, and he sighs gratefully, even as Bucky laughs.

"Oh man. They totally had to cut you out of your tac suit and see the strawberries, didn't they?"

"They were far too professional to comment on it," Steve says, swivelling his bottom on the porcelain to lie lengthways. His left foot dangles outside the rim of the tub, and his head rests against the back. Steve closes his eyes, and lets out low groan of pleasure.

Bucky bites his lip. "Everything okay?"

Steve doesn't even crack open an eye. "Mhm." The bubbles have frothed up and cover up most of him in the tub. Bucky can't decide whether he's disappointed or not.

He lets Steve settle into the tub, wriggling down to bring as much of his body under the water level as he possibly can.

"I'll be right back," Bucky says, having an idea. He heads out of the bathroom and goes into the kitchen. He grabs a couple of bottles of spring water from the fridge, cracks one open and has a long pull. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he takes that and the other bottle back into the bathroom.

Opening the lid of the new bottle, he hands it to Steve. "Don't want you dehydrating in there," he says.

Steve takes the bottle gratefully and gulps half of it down.

Bucky stands there a little awkwardly as Steve watches him. "So uh... I can give you some privacy if you want--" Bucky starts, but Steve sits up a little straighter in the tub.

"Stay. Please. Talk to me?" Steve asks, his brow furrowed, and Bucky's head cocks to the side a little in unexpected pleasure.

"Okay," Bucky says, and sits down on the toilet seat. "Well, we've already covered the important topics like strawberry underpants... what else is there to talk about?"

Steve flicks some water at him and Bucky chuckles. "Tell me about your week? Pretty sure you know how mine went." Steve looks far more invested in stories of Bucky's week than he probably has any right to be. Maybe... just maybe... Steve missed him a little, too.

Now that's a nice thought.

Bucky starts to tell him about everything Steve missed while he was gone. He goes over cases he's been working on, activities he's been doing with certain groups, field trips, and is pleased to note Steve relaxing into their conversation. He interacts at different points, asking questions or making cheerful comments, as he uses a washcloth to absently scrub his skin.

Then the news changed about the situation in Geneva, and Steve's lips grow tight. Bucky tells him about how his co-workers and strangers talked about what was going on... how the information was everywhere, seeping into every conversation, and he didn't really care for the coverage that came with it. Throughout this part of the conversation, Steve appears shuttered and brooding. He no longer offers up comments, instead he drags his fingers over the surface of the water, watching it ripple.

Bucky could sugar-coat his feelings, or coddle Steve, but especially since he's returned from active service, Bucky feels very strongly about being open and transparent about things that bother him. He's found his mental health is a far kinder place for it, and that includes telling Steve what he really thinks about witnessing the horribly invasive news coverage 24/7.

Bucky gets to the point where Sam called him, and Steve knows everything that happened after that, when Steve finally breaks his silence.

"I'm sorry," he apologises, biting his lip.

"What for? You don't put the cameras on you."

"Not that. I'm sorry for..." Steve stops, and Bucky can see him attempting to find the right words for his apology, only to ultimately wave one hand impotently, "everything," he decides on instead.

Bucky cocks his head to the side. "Why?"

Steve looks minorly pained. "I had to go away, and it was dangerous, and then I got hurt, and you had no way to contact anyone for information. Then you were mad when you came in, and--"

"Steve, stop."

"But I--"

"Please," Bucky implores holding up his palm. The strong gesture makes Steve clam up.

Bucky waits until Steve loses the expression that says he might butt in at any moment, before he asks a question. "Is being sent away part of your job, yes or no?"

"Yes, but--"

"While away, did you do your job to the best of your ability? Yes or no?"

"Well, yes--"

"Did you take any risks that jeopardised your life or the lives of your teammates and/or civilians?"

"I tried not to."

"Was there anything you could've done to prevent getting hurt?"

"No."

"Did you come back in one piece?"

Steve gives a little smile. "More or less."

Bucky sighs. "Then you did all you could to fulfil your mission. Steve, this is your job. I get it, God do I get it. It's not easy, and it's not pleasant, but it has to be done. And you're... you're a fucking champion at it. The only reason I was angry when I arrived was that you weren't following doctor's orders."

"Oh," Steve says. "I thought you might've... been upset that I got hurt." Bucky lets out a quiet snort and shakes his head. Steve looks adorably confused. "...Then you're not mad that I got hurt...?" he hedges.

"Of course I'm not mad. Shit happens. Unpreventable shit. As long as you're doing your absolute best... I believe in you." Bucky pauses. "Provided you're taking reasonable precautions at all times." He looks to Steve for confirmation, and the blond nods gravely. Satisfied, Bucky continues.

"Granted I don't know them very well, but you seem to have a pretty amazing team backing you up. As long as you don't go thinking you can handle serious shit on your own without them..." he sighs again. "I'm not saying I'm not gonna worry, otherwise I wouldn't be a very caring boyfriend if I didn't, but I believe that you're going to do the very best that you can to get out of each situation safely.

"Because if you don't, I'll kill you myself."

Steve is staring at him, gobsmacked. Bucky winces, maybe it was too much.

"What did you say?" Steve asks, voice weirdly calm. Bucky starts. He just said a whole heap of stuff, Steve's going to have to be a little more specific.

"Oh shit. Did you hear any of that? I forgot about your ears. Um." Bucky curses, thinking back to all the touchstones in his little monologue... team back-up, worry, stay safe... "Well it was a really good fucking speech, I don't know if I can do it agai--"

"I heard the speech," Steve waves his hand dismissively. "What did you say about 'boyfriends'?"

Bucky freezes. Because yeah he'd been meaning to say something but no that is definitely not how he was imagining. He's wondering if a quick backpedal is in order, until he takes a good look at Steve's face. His eyes are boring holes into Bucky's, a suddenly sweet and hopeful smile on his lips. It's enough to loosen his tongue.

"Yeah, well... if you didn't mind?" Bucky says, scratching the back of his head. "Kinda feels like we were heading there..."

"I think so, too," Steve says, and the accompanying grin is nearly blinding, and that's as good a response as any. Bucky stands to take two steps over to the bath, dropping to his knees on the mat. He cups Steve's face in his hands and, mindful of the bruises, kisses him tenderly once again.

Bucky's heart flutters in his chest as he feels Steve smile against his lips. It's the dumbest and somehow most perfect way for this particular information to come to light. He knew it was something he wanted to address with Steve, but thought it might've come out in slightly more adult-conversation clinical terms. The absent blurt wasn't expected, but now that it's done, it was perfect.

Everything feels like it happened in just the right way.

Steve breaks the kiss and touches his fingers ever so slightly to the side of Bucky's face. "This is a pretty timely revelation," he says against Bucky's lips.

"Why is that?" Bucky asks, one hand drifting down to encircle the back of Steve's neck.

"Because I'd feel kind of weird asking anyone other than my boyfriend if they'd mind washing my hair."

Bucky laughs, pressing a kiss against the corner of Steve's mouth. "I can do that," he says, hauling himself back onto his feet. "Where's your shampoo?"

Steve looks lazy and a little kiss-dazed. Bucky could quite easily get used to this. "There's some under this basin," he directs again, tracking every single one of Bucky's movements unabashedly now.

Bucky grabs some shampoo and conditioner, and also gets the glass from the sink. The edge of the bath was uncomfortable, so he also grabs a folded towel from the cupboard, and puts it over the porcelain rim.

Taking the glass and filling it with the hot water from around Steve, he looks critically at the blond. "Can you lean back a little, but still support yourself?"

Steve obliges. He looks up at Bucky with those big, blue eyes and it takes his breath away for a moment.

He's sure everything is written plainly across his face, but Steve doesn't mock him for it, instead smiling in a soft, guileless way.

"Close your eyes," Bucky instructs gently, and Steve immediately obeys. He can't help himself, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to Steve's lips before pouring the water onto Steve's hair. One hand does that, while the other shields Steve's eyes from the water.

"Do you have any injuries on your scalp I should know about? Soreness anywhere?" Bucky asks.

"Nope, was wearing my helmet," Steve confirms, creaking his eyes open when the water stops, and moves to sit straight once again.

"Safety first," Bucky praises, and Steve's lips quirk. Bucky pours a moderate amount of shampoo into one palm, and coats his fingers. Steve's hair has gone a dark golden honey with the water, and he's itching to touch it, to separate the strands.

"Your hair's pretty dirty. Might have to 'lather, rinse, repeat' before it's actually clean."

"Whatever you've got to do, Bucky," Steve agrees mildly, nodding in encouragement.

Bucky grins. The first touch of his hands produces a muffled exhale from Steve, his eyes fluttering shut. As he works his fingers through the strands, gently pressing into his scalp, Steve lets out a moan that sounds on the edge of painful.

Bucky's hands freeze and release some of the pressure. Maybe it's a little too much for him, he'd better--

"Don't stop, Bucky, please," Steve nearly whines, eyelids only showing slivers of blue. "Feels real good."

Oh... oh. It's good. Like, really good. Bucky bites his lip. While he wants Steve to feel good and relax, he's pretty clear on the fact that this is all it's meant to be. He briefly considers stopping, but that wouldn't be terribly fair, either. Bucky exhales. He needs to stop getting ahead of himself, and just focus on what will be most beneficial to Steve right now. "Tell me if anything hurts, okay?"

"I will," Steve promises fervently, pushing his head up into Bucky's hands. He's adopting way too many of Babushka's mannerisms to be healthy.

Bucky goes back to the task at hand. It's entirely gratifying to watch Steve nearly dissolve under his touch. He's by no means an expert, but Bucky is a skilled amateur masseuse. Ever so gently, he washes Steve's hair and gives him a pretty damned fine scalp massage in the process. Once the shampoo's lather starts to look a little grey rather than white, Bucky asks Steve to lie back so he can rinse, and start again.

It takes two shampoos to one conditioner treatment to get Steve's hair looking clean and smelling better. Steve is a malleable, happily groaning lump through this entire process, allowing his head to move however Bucky wants it to. He even lolls it forward when Bucky supports his forehead with one hand, gently squeezing some tense muscles in the back of Steve's neck. The groans he produces are embarrassingly satisfying, and sometimes kind of sexy.

More than anything, it's gratifying to see Steve really relax. It's definitely been happening more and more over the weeks they've been getting to know one another, but at this moment, this is the most vulnerable and the most human he has ever appeared.

Bucky can even forget that he's nearly naked, because this is about helping Steve's healing process by making him feel good.

Judging by the response, it's working.

If he's being honest, Bucky unexpectedly enjoys the sweet intimacy and domestic feel to the act of washing Steve's hair. It's just nice to be able to take care of someone who spends so much time taking care of just about everyone else. And to do so with something as simple as washing his hair... it's not just making Steve feel good.

After the final condition and rinse, Steve opens his eyes. He looks like he's just woken up from the most glorious nap.

"You're amazing," he mumbles, and Bucky successfully doesn't flush. Because that's his super power, apparently.

"Are you ready to come out yet, or do you wanna turn into a prune?"

Steve's eyelids flutter, his eyes opening just a little wider. "Think I'm ready to come out," he says, voice deep and lazy.

"Okay." Bucky drums his fingers against his lips, figuring out how he's going to accomplish this. "First, I'm going to grab you some clothes from your bedroom, if that's okay. Then I'll help you out of the tub, and we can move from there."

"Sounds like a plan, Sergeant," Steve says.

"Enough of that," Bucky scolds. "So, do I have permission to dig around in Captain America's underwear drawer, or not?"

Steve waves him off. "Go for it. Just know half the stuff is gag gifts from my colleagues."

"Sure. The whole 'Hawkeye bought me strawberry briefs' is really a big, fat lie, isn't it?" he asks as he backs out of the bathroom.

"You've got me," Steve deadpans, before flicking bubbles in Bucky's direction. Bucky shakes a disapproving finger and heads towards Steve's bedroom.

It occurs to Bucky as he pushes open the ajar door that he's never actually set foot in Steve's bedroom before. Their time together has always been spent out in his spacious living area, or in the kitchen.

Steve's bedroom is neat, but not so neat that it appears clinical. His bed is made, presumably from before he left for Geneva. The room is dark due to the black-out curtains in front of the window being drawn.

The first thing Bucky does is move straight to the window and open them up, letting in a stream of bright, white light.

It opens up the room to his gaze, and Bucky studies the detail. A pale green and white bedspread on a Queen bed makes it look fresh and inviting. There's a bedside table on the right with a lamp, a digital clock, a StarkPad and a dog-eared paperback on it. Two shallow closets are separated by a framed sepia-toned photograph. Bucky squints at it, recognising New York City, but it's definitely not modern. It's Old New York, as Steve must've been eminently familiar with back in the thirties and forties. A blue and white Brooklyn Dodgers pennant hangs proudly underneath it.

Bucky peruses the rest of the room, stopping to laugh when he sees that ridiculously ugly foam Sheriff's hat he won for Steve at Coney Island taking apparent pride of place on top of his dresser.

"You idiot," he mutters fondly, but that does lead him to where he needs to be. Bucky opens a couple of drawers and finds various items of clothing before he hits the underwear drawer. Sure enough, there are plain items that he can see Steve purchasing for himself, as well as ridiculous shit that could only be his friends buying him gag gifts.

Bucky needs clothes that are going to be able to go over the cast without too much trouble. That rules out a lot of those delightfully conservative underwear choices. He picks up a pair of boxer shorts with wide legs that should fit over the plaster, and digs around for something else to go over the top of them, finding a pair of grey boardshorts. They too have the advantage of wide legs and a drawstring waist. Further digging finds a stash of tee shirts, of which Bucky picks one at random.

With enough clothes to have Steve comfortable and not-naked, Bucky takes a last detour to the living room and retrieves Steve's remaining crutch. He enters the bathroom once again to find the blond waiting expectantly for him.

"Have fun poking around my stuff?" Steve asks.

Bucky sets the clothes down on the bench, and stands in front of the tub. "Yep. Jumped on your bed and rearranged your sock drawer. Ready to get out?"

Steve nods, swivelling his body in the bath to face the middle of the room. Bucky anchors his feet against the tub, taking a monkey grip to Steve's arms again. He counts to three, before using a considerable amount of effort to haul Steve up onto his right foot. Steve gives him a funny look when he's standing with one foot in and one foot out of the tub, and Bucky knows he's not going to be able to support Steve's full weight to get him to step out. Instead, he gets Steve to sit on the edge of the tub and swing both feet out to plant them on the mat. He stands, and Bucky immediately puts a large towel around Steve's shoulders, who wraps it around himself snugly. Steve smiles at him gratefully, and Bucky grins back.

Bucky helps Steve to sit back down on the toilet seat. Steve murmurs a thank you and stretches his injured foot out in front. There's a pause where Bucky decides if he even dares to question how Steve's going to remove his soaked strawberry briefs, when Steve saves him.

"I'll be okay to get dressed if you want to finish the coffee you promised?" Steve says, reaching out to squeeze Bucky's hand with his fingertips.

"You sure?" Bucky queries.

"I'm sitting down. How much trouble could I get into?" He says, reaching for the pile of clothes.

Bucky smirks. "Have you met you?"

Steve smiles winningly, until he sees the boxer shorts Bucky's brought in. They have a very nice drawing of Thor's hammer on them, but that's not the funny part.

"I haven't really worn these ones before... I'm not sure about the placement of Mjolnir," Steve says, frowning.

Bucky does his best to stifle a grin. "Not a fan of telling people the hammer is your penis?"

Steve cocks his head to the side. "I don't get it."

"You will," Bucky promises. "Call out if you get stuck, yeah?"

Steve shoos him out, and Bucky allows himself to be sent away.

He heads to the kitchen where Steve's overly-complicated coffee machine has been percolating away happily. By the time he's got enough coffee for two mugs, Steve is out of the bathroom. He looks as though he's headed to the kitchen on his crutches, but Bucky points to the sofa without even looking up.

"Okay, okay," Steve says. Picking his battles, he about-faces, and redirects towards the couch.

"Smart man," Bucky comments he adds some creamer to his coffee.

Steve eases himself down onto the sofa, and props his foot automatically onto the coffee table. "I know when I'm licked," he says, burrowing into the sofa cushions a little.

Bucky joins him, holding two mugs in one hand, and a box in the other. He puts one mug down on the table and hands Steve the other, handle facing out. Steve's large fingers gingerly go through, and he takes a sip. His eyes close again, and he smiles.

"Think you can do that one-handed?" Bucky asks, sitting down next to him.

"Mhm. Why?"

Bucky flips open the lid of Steve's amply-stocked first aid kit and rifles through it, finding a pair of rubber gloves to put on. "Your hand bandages are dirty. I'm going to redress them."

Steve's back is straight, and he holds out his left hand without any coaxing needed. "Good boy," Bucky teases, and Steve huffs out a chuckle in response.

The bandages are now off-white and torn from travel and the bath, and need to be changed. Even with Steve's accelerated ability to heal, his body still needs a hygienic environment to do so. Clean bandages are a must.

Also, it gives Bucky a little chance to check out Steve's injuries.

Steve is uncharacteristically passive as Bucky unwinds the bandage carefully. Beneath the length of material, there's a sterile pad covering his palm. Removing the soiled pad carefully, Bucky doesn't cringe or offer sympathy, just studies the injury carefully. It's ugly, with a deep groove going through his palm and large blisters up to his second knuckle. But it's not as bad as he expected it to be. In fact there's already much evidence of healing, with the edges of the abrasion already rounding off, not being as torn and jagged as they should be on an injury maybe eight hours old.

"How sore is it?" Bucky asks, turning to dig in the kit for some antiseptic cream.

"Steady throb, and the joints are stiff. Mostly..." Steve pauses, choosing his words, "The healing is often more uncomfortable than the injury. If I'm too still or my brain's unoccupied, I can... I can feel the muscles re-knit or my skin growing." Steve gets quiet, his eye twitching minutely. "I hate that part."

Bucky nods, and thinks maybe he understands why he walked in on Steve hopping around vacuuming.

"I'm guessing it's been irrigated thoroughly by cute Swiss nurses?"

Steve nods. "The redhead did the clean-up, and the blonde bandaged me."

Bucky shakes his head. "Oh, Steve. And here I was thinking you preferred brunettes."

"Well, there is this cute brunet doing the follow-up treatment," Steve drawls slowly, the smile evident in his voice, "Maybe you know who he is."

Bucky applies antiseptic cream to the lacerations. "Ugh, that guy? Bad attitude and real grumpy before eleven a.m. Stupid name, too. What is it... Bentley? Barkley?"

Steve bumps their knees together as Bucky begins carefully wrapping Steve's hand in fresh gauze. "We can't be talking about the same guy. Tall, broad, the most amazing smile. Always making me laugh, especially at myself, and the second-best medical treatment I've ever received in my life."

Bucky -- who'd been smiling steadily through the description -- cocks a brow. "Only second-best?"

Steve gives him a little smile. "Come on, you don't expect me to tell you you're better than my ma, do you?"

"Of course not!"

Steve grows quiet for a moment. Bucky hopes he's not getting despondent at the thought of his mother, but while there's a touch of melancholy in his expression, it's not strong enough to counteract a sweetness suddenly found there.

"But it's a very close second." Steve takes a deep breath. "She never coddled or babied me while patching me up. Never treated me like spun glass even though I think sometimes a stiff wind woulda knocked me over. She just... looked after me. You-- you're treating me like she would've."

Bucky is startled and surprisingly humbled at the comparison. He clears his throat and beckons Steve to switch. Steve puts down his coffee mug and offers his right hand.

"If I have to be ranked, I'm pleased to occupy the ranking between your esteemed mother, and some hot, Swiss nurses." He looks up at Steve. "They were hot, right?"

"Indubitably," Steve concurs.

Bucky finishes redressing Steve's right hand, as the subject changes to what they're going to eat. Their favourite Thai place is a little restaurant close to Bucky's place, but they won't deliver quite as far as Steve's apartment.

"Well, seeing as you don't have any actual food in this place, we could order and I could do a grocery shop before picking up the Thai," Bucky suggests, finally taking a sip of the coffee he brought over for himself.

"That's... not a bad idea," Steve says slowly, brow slightly furrowed.

"Don't go jumping for joy or anything," Bucky snarks, "I'm just trying to feed you."

Steve forcibly gets rid of the frown and points to his foot. "Jumping for joy; against doctor's orders," he replies with a small smile.

"Damn right," Bucky says. "I could pick up anything else you need while I'm out, too. You only have a mild concussion, right?" Steve nods, and Bucky continues. "Round trip would probably be about an hour, give or take. Ninety minutes at the most. I think you'd be okay for that length of time."

"Yeah, I should be," Steve replies, but the frown is back.

Bucky arches a brow, pushing up off the sofa with his elbow to look at Steve intently. "Steve? What's wrong?"

Steve scratches the side of his neck. "You'd pick up anything else I need?"

"Of course," Bucky says immediately. "Thinking of something in particular?"

"Some clothes? Maybe a toothbrush?"

"Mmm, easy enough." He begins to lever himself off the sofa. "What sort of clothes are you aft-- hey!" Bucky lets out a little exclamation, when Steve catches his hand and tugs him down to the seat again.

"Sorry," Steve grins a little sheepishly. "But you're misunderstanding me."

"Okay... Care to explain?" Bucky squeezes his fingertips gently.

Steve takes a deep breath. His chin drops down, but eyes don't leave Bucky's face. "The clothes and the toothbrush are for you," he says. "I... I thought maybe you could stay the night?"

Bucky's eyes widen, exhalations becoming a little shallow at the unexpected invitation. Steve's watching his face searchingly, still gently holding Bucky's hand. Before Bucky can gather sounds to form coherent sentences, Steve pre-empts him, continuing in a rush of words.

"I have the spare bedroom, and the bed's really quite comfortable. You can bring your work with you, or anything else you need? I won't get in the way of that if you're busy... and I'm not suggesting we-- that is..." Steve exhales sharply, fingers twitching in Bucky's grip. "I've missed you, and I'd really like your company."

It takes a few moments for Bucky to really process what Steve's asking. Steve looks a little stricken at the lack of reply, and objectively Bucky's sorry for that, but he's currently struck a little dumb, mouth moving but no real sound coming out.

"What do you think?" Steve asks hesitantly. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but--"

"This apartment's cat-proof, right?" Bucky interrupts. Steve's face turns almost instantly joyful, a smile tugging at his lips. "Nevermind," Bucky says wryly, a smile beginning to curve one corner of his mouth, "you're about to find out."

"You'll stay?" Steve probes uncertainly, and damn the man's need for clear, verbal reassurance.

"Not without my best girl, I'm not." He pokes Steve in the thigh gently.

"I'd never presume to think that," Steve says with a solemn nod. The serious expression in no way masks the twinkle in his blue eyes, however.

Twinkle? Ugh. Bucky's turning into a soft-touch.

Bucky clears his throat. "Okay, so... I'm starving. If you want to call the Thai place, I'll head off. Because the sooner I leave, the sooner I can come back."

Steve nods effusively, but when Bucky goes to stand again, he gets pulled down for a second time. "What gives, Rogers?" Bucky asks grumpily.

"You're not going to leave without a kiss, are you?" Steve asks, one hand coming up to thread itself in Bucky's hair.

He allows Steve to bring their lips together, melting almost immediately into the kiss, both arms hooking around Steve's shoulders. So far today they've shared a myriad small kisses and two incredibly significant ones; this kiss firmly makes it into the latter category.

Steve tastes like strong coffee, lips slightly dry but still so very soft. Bucky's eyelids flutter, making sure their mouths slot together just right, and pressing his tongue just that little bit deeper. With a muffled groan, Steve's fingers clench in his hair, before he pulls off Bucky's mouth with a hiss.

"Ow," he murmurs, wiggling the fingers of his injured hand.

"Serves you right, hair-puller," Bucky says, pressing his own kiss-bruised lips together and tracing random patterns on Steve's bicep. "Just you wait until I cut it."

"Not too short," Steve prompts, before looking embarrassed. "Your hair's real nice as it is."

Bucky presses a quick, firm kiss to Steve's lips. "We can discuss my style choices when we're eating pad thai and coconut rice." Taking Steve's phone from the coffee table, he presses it into the blond's hand, before rising. "Call. Order. I'll be back soon."

Steve looks up at him fondly. "My wallet's on the kitchen bench. Take some money out, yeah?"

Bucky looks offended. "Think I'm a scab, Rogers?"

"I plan on ordering a lot of Thai food. Also, groceries," he adds, and Bucky grudgingly admits, he's got a point. He wants to decently stock Steve's kitchen, and the guy eats a lot. A little extra money won't hurt."

Nodding in agreement, Bucky flicks a supremely lazy salute in Steve's direction. Moving to the kitchen, he lifts a few bills from Steve's wallet, before collecting his phone, car keys, and the spare that let him into the apartment in the first place. "Call me if you think of anything specific you want. Or if you start to feel unwell." Bucky squares his shoulders to Steve and fixes him with his most serious gaze. "If you move your ass off that sofa for any reason other than bathroom breaks, and if you fail to utilise crutches at any stage -- and don't be fooled; I will find out, so help me -- that's a paddlin'."

Steve grins and returns a sloppy salute. "I understood that reference."

"And yet you somehow forget to not salute NCOs." Bucky shakes his head fondly. He opens the door and begins backing out of it. "Your homework is to find and watch the space coyote episode of the Simpsons. Go!"

"You got it!" is the last thing he hears Steve say before he shuts the door.

Bucky takes a moment to lean back against Steve's door wearing the biggest fucking grin he's possibly ever had on his face, before pushing away from the wood.

He has a job to do.

Bucky's compiling mental lists as he heads in the direction of home. The traffic gods are somehow smiling on him once again; each time he pulls up at the lights they turn green. It takes him less than twenty minutes to get to his first stop.

At the grocery store, he grabs a cart and whips around the aisles like a pro. Because it's his local one, he knows exactly where everything is that he wants, and is able to cut down on a lot of time. Bucky doesn't care for cooking much. It's not that he can't do it, it's that he doesn't want to a lot of the time. But perhaps for Steve, he can make a bit of an exception.

Remembering what Steve had in his refrigerator and pantry, Bucky grabs a lot of staples, and throws them into the cart: bread, meat, pastry, milk, cheese, vegetables, flour and sugar... he's got a few ideas already about what he can make. Anything else can probably be Googled. Bucky also makes sure to pick up a roll of baking paper as some cookie dough. Because cookies are awesome.

He grabs a few comfort and snack foods too, as well as a box of Babushka's favourite treats and some kitty litter. Bucky has her trained well enough that she'll go wherever her litter box is, but it won't hurt to bribe her with treats in a new environment.

The last aisle he goes down has medical supplies. He doubts there's an over the counter painkiller that will provide any relief to Steve's souped-up body, but he does grab more antiseptic and fresh dressings. Finally, a colourful box catches his eye just before he leaves, and Bucky's laughing too much at it to leave it on the shelves. It definitely goes into the cart.

Bucky heads to the check-out with a half-full cart; anything he's forgotten can be picked up at a later stage, he just really wants to move on to his second destination asap.

His phone chimes just as he gets in his car.

Steve: The space coyote had a really cool voice.

Bucky: Look up Johnny Cash on Youtube.

Steve: Will do. After I watch the episode about Frank Grimes.

Bucky chuckles as he throws his phone on the passenger seat.

He makes excellent time to his apartment. Mindful he has perishables in the car, Bucky gives himself ten minutes to grab everything he might need for an overnight stay.

Opening his apartment door, Bucky immediately heads to his bedroom. He pulls a sports bag out of the bottom of his closet and throws some comfortable clothes to wear and some worn pajamas.

It occurs to him then, that Steve didn't necessarily specify how long he wanted Bucky to stay. That is, he only mentioned one night, but the guy is going to stay injured for more than twenty-four hours...

Bucky's happy to let Steve set the terms of how many nights he's inviting Bucky to stay at his home, but just in case, throws in a few extra pairs of underwear, socks, and more than one change of clothes. Toothbrush and some basic toiletries follow. His laptop and current files get thrown into an all-purpose hand trolley that he sometimes carts equipment to and from his sessions with.

Throughout the extremely fast packing process, Babushka follows Bucky around, weaving between his legs and sometimes almost tripping him up. Once she sights the bag on the bed, however, she leaps up and makes a fabric nest out of his clothes.

"Really?" Bucky says, "You gonna put hair all over my clothes, Bushka?" Babushka meows at him. He grins and shakes his head.

Last, but not least, he grabs Babushka's sleeping basket, her spare, clean litter tray, and a pet pack. She perks her ears up cutely and is just about to get up when Bucky swoops in and scoops her up.

The struggle is real, trying to get an obstinate kitten into a pet pack. She starts to worm around in his hands, flopping and pushing her stubborn little paws against his chest, yowling as though she's suffering the greatest betrayal and indignity at his hands.

He murmurs encouragement and ultimately gets her into the pack. Once there, she settles down immediately, blinking big green eyes. "I don't even know why you fight me," he mutters, "all you're going to do is fall asleep in there." Babushka just meows once at him.

"Stubborn. It's why you get along with Steve so much," he says as he secures the pack's fastenings. Once in safely, Bucky loads himself up with belongings, locks up, and heads to his car for the third and final stop.

Sitting down in the driver's seat once again, Bucky takes the opportunity to check in with Steve.

Bucky: How are you doing?

Steve: I've found more episodes of Kitchen Nightmares. Gordon Ramsay is teaching me new swear words.

Bucky: I'll bet. You ordered from Baan Thai, right? I'm heading there now.

Steve: Yes. I may've gone overboard on the samosas.

Bucky grins as he kicks over the engine. It takes just under fifteen minutes to the restaurant. He leaves a mewling Babushka in her pet pack in the back seat. "I'll be right back, Bushka," he consoles.

The owner's daughter is sitting at the front desk, doing what looks like homework. She looks up when he enters and smiles.

"Hello, Mister Bucky," she greets, standing up.

"Hi, Joan," Bucky smiles, "I'm here to pick up my order."

She takes a slip of paper from the front counter, and heads to the kitchen. Joan's gone for a minute, before she re-enters carrying an extremely full box.

Bucky steps forward to help so she doesn't over-balance, and looks inside. It is absolutely packed to the brim with food. Steve wasn't kidding when he said he'd order big, and Bucky's suddenly glad he wasn't too insistent not to take some extra money from him.

"You didn't call and order this time, Mister Bucky," Joan says conversationally.

Bucky sets the box down on the counter and grabs his wallet, handing over a lot of money. "No, my friend did."

"Mister Steve has a very nice voice," she says as she hands him change, and Bucky's not imagining the dusky rose tint to her cheeks. Because of course, Steve introduced himself by name over the phone.

Bucky gives her a little smile. "I think so too," he agrees. "He's not feeling so great right now, so I decided to pick up his favourite Thai food. He loves your dad's coconut rice."

"Oh. Oh!" Joan perks up. "I'll be right back."

"Joan--" Bucky starts, but she's already disappeared into the kitchen. A few moments pass before she returns, another container of the rice in her hands. "For Mister Steve," she says, the blush darkening as she adds it to his order.

Bucky knows her family, knows how giving gifts is a source of tremendous pride, and how insulted Joan -- and by extension, her father -- will be if it's knocked back. So instead of protesting, he thanks her profusely. There's not much change left from the money he handed over for the food, but enough to leave her a generous tip in the jar by the register before he exits.

Finally back in the car, Bucky digs out his phone.

Steve: God help me, but I think Gordon Ramsay is brilliant.

Bucky: What happened to the guy who says reality shows make him want to punch people?

Bucky: ETA 25 mins w/ food.

Steve: that guy's stuck on the sofa with a cast on his foot, waiting for his boyfriend to bring food home.

Bucky can't stop laughing as he peals away from the curb.

There are a few traffic snarls on the way back to Steve's, as it's creeping closer to rush hour, but he still makes decent time. By the time he's back at Steve's apartment, roughly eighty-two minutes has passed.

Not bad for a ninety minute estimate.

Bucky unloads Babushka's pet pack and the food, using the elevator this time to head straight to Steve's apartment.

When he opens the door, Steve is exactly where Bucky left him. Steve looks up to find Bucky scrutinising him carefully. Bucky's eyes drift to the bottle of water that wasn't there when he left, and he arches one brow in question. Immediately, Steve holds his hands up in surrender. "I used the crutches!" he exclaims.

Bucky harrumphs, but inside his head he's laughing his ass off. He thinks he just scared Captain America.

Mouth twitching in amusement, Bucky walks further into the apartment. He places the food on the coffee table, but still holds the pet pack. Steve puts his arms out to take Babushka straight away, but Bucky holds off. "She has to adjust to being in a new environment first," he explains.

Steve nods slowly. "What do you need to do?"

"Leave her in the spare room alone for about an hour, with her litter tray. She'll get used to the smells and the sounds of the place, and then she can come out and explore."

Bucky's done this before. He's introduced Babushka to his home, the office, and even the VA like this. Babushka is startlingly adaptable, so he doesn't envision any problems with introducing her to Steve's place as well.

If all goes well, she might spend more time here in the future.

Bucky sets her to the side until he can get the rest of her things from the car. Heading back out to the living room, he finds Steve rooting around in the box of Thai food, a samosa hanging out of his mouth. Caught, Steve looks up guiltily, and tries to chew the samosa as quickly as possible. Bucky waves away any half-formed apologies. "Eat. I'm going to go get the groceries."

"I can help--" Steve starts.

"How?" Bucky counters, and that shuts the guy up.

"I can hold the elevator button?" he suggests.

Bucky chuckles. "Don't worry, I've planned ahead," he says. "Eat your samosas, I'll be back in five."

With a spring in his step, Bucky heads back to his car. He loads up the groceries and Babushka's things into the wheeled trolley, slinging his sports bag across his body. Slowly but surely, he gets everything perfectly balanced enough to make one trip.

The first thing Bucky does when he gets back to Steve's apartment is get a kitty litter tray ready for Babushka. He places it in the corner of the spare bedroom, and scatters some treats around, talking to her the whole while in soothing tones. He opens up the pet pack, but doesn't try to grab her out. Instead, he leaves it to her to get out and explore on her own, quietly closing the door behind him.

"Babushka okay?" Steve asks as soon as Bucky returns to the living room.

"Yeah. She'll poke around in her own time and get comfortable," Bucky responds as he makes his way to his trolley packed with food, "When I hear her meow at the door, she's ready to come out."

Bucky goes to unpack the groceries.

"Aren't you coming to eat?" Steve asks with his mouth full, brows adorably going up in the middle.

"I will," Bucky says as he unpacks the groceries. "Just gotta put the perishables in the fridge. Don't want to be smelling spoiled meat later." He grins, and Steve nods.

It doesn't take long to get the refrigerator and freezer items packed away. He leaves the rest of the groceries, grabs some napkins, silverware, and a couple of plates. Bucky heads back out to sit next to Steve, passing over a plate and fork.

Steve grins and takes the items with greasy fingers, leaning over to kiss Bucky on the mouth.

"You taste like samosas," Bucky teases, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

"In other words; delicious," Steve answers with a grin, as he digs through the box for food. "Traditionally, a kiss tasting of samosa means 'I missed you'," he adds, giving Bucky a sidelong glance.

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he really can't help the spark of warmth that unfurls somewhere deep in his chest. Instead, he too goes digging for Thai food.

The meal is tasty, the company pleasant. Bucky hasn't eaten since just after Sam woke him up, and Steve apparently hasn't eaten since he got discharged from hospital, hence the disgusting amounts of food needed.

Bucky doesn't think he'll get tired of the happy noises Steve makes when he eats coconut rice. Steve catches him looking a few times, but never seems self-conscious. He just quirks his eyebrows and licks away the grains of rice stuck to his lips.

Steve nods towards Bucky's pile of things after he's made a major dent into the boxed take-out. "What did you bring with you?" he asks between mouthfuls.

"Cat bed for Babushka and some food and treats -- though I expect her to join me and go through with her nightly attempt on my life by asphyxiation at some stage -- some clothes, and a little bit of work from the office.

Steve stops eating. "I didn't really think about me interrupting your work time. I'm sorry."

Bucky waves away the concern. "I've been working from home the last few days, and already done a lot. It's a 'just in case' move. Besides, I've earned a break, don't you think?"

Steve nods effusively, shovelling some more pad thai into his mouth.

It shouldn't be cute, it should be disgusting.

But here we are.

Bucky turns the TV back on as they finish eating. Somehow, between the pad thai and the penang curry, Bucky's kicked off his shoes and stretched his legs out on the sofa until his feet end up in Steve's lap.

Steve doesn't seem to mind.

And that's something that Bucky finds himself thinking about as he chews slowly. He can't remember the last time he felt so at ease with one person. Of course he likes most of his co-workers, and relaxes around his friends, but the extent to which he has come to unwind when in Steve's presence is quite huge. Bucky definitely hasn't felt like this since before his time with the Rangers.

It's daunting, but also nice.

Bucky keeps his ear angled to the spare room. Sure enough, a little while after they finish eating, there's a soft, scuffling sound at the door. Bucky gets up from the sofa and pads over to the bedroom. He crouches down and gently opens the door.

Babushka is on the other side, looking slightly miffed, but otherwise quite normal.

Steve's head pokes up off the back of the couch and observes, just eyes and scruffy blond hair.

Babushka squeezes her lithe little body next to Bucky, who puts his hand on her back.

"You'd make him really happy if you went over there, you know," Bucky comments in a soft voice. He's fairly certain Steve's hearing isn't fully healed enough to make out his words.

Babushka, being the miniature queen she is, does a circuit of the living room first, checking out any good hidey holes and eyeing up the curtains as potential enemies until she rounds the sofa to see Steve.

Bucky has to keep from laughing when her cool, aloof cat-ness suddenly disappears and she once again turns into the biggest dork of all time.

"Bushka!" Steve exclaims happily as she bounds forward, leaping up on to the cushion next to him.

She strains to reach into his large hands to be petted, and Bucky knows he's now lost her for the rest of the afternoon. Because if there's one thing about Steve, it's that he's devoted to petting Babushka as much as she deems necessary.

She always deems it necessary.

Bucky observes them for a few moments, trying in vain to keep a grumpy expression, and failing miserably.

"Stupid loveable boyfriend," he mutters.

"What was that?" Steve asks, unable to tear his gaze away from the small calico.

"I said 'do you want more coffee'?" Bucky raises his voice.

"Please," Steve says.

Bucky collects their mugs for a caffeine refill, and Steve puts forth his desire to watch something light and uncomplicated. Bucky knows just the thing.

"I got croup when I was nine, and missed a week of school," Bucky tells Steve. "Uncommon to get it at that age, but my ma was terrified I'd give it to my baby sisters, so I spent the week at my gran's apartment. She loved old musicals, and I kinda like them, too. She put Singin' in the Rain on for me on the first day, and I made her put it on every day for the rest of the week. You shoulda heard me try and sing along with the little seal bark I had going on."

Steve laughs softly at Bucky's admission. "You think I'll like it?"

"I really do," Bucky answers. He finds Singin' in the Rain and plays it. Steve is instantly drawn in, even moreso when they both realise that, while made in 1952, it's set in the 20's when Steve was only a little boy.

"I remember the marquee at the local theatre when The Jazz Singer was released," Steve murmurs at one point, and Bucky finds that fascinating.

Bucky likes to cast sidelong glances at Steve as they watch, seeing him light up at being presented with a world that seems a little more familiar to him than the one he lives in.

They both get engrossed in the movie. Bucky kicks his feet up and crosses his ankles on the coffee table, and Steve compulsively pets Babushka, eyes glued to the screen. Over the course of the movie, Steve sinks back into the cushions, then slips down to the side to lean against Bucky's arm. His legs go up to rest along the sofa, cast on the armrest. In this position, Steve ends up resting his head on a pillow, against Bucky's thigh. Bucky finds himself sometimes absently running his fingers through his boyfriend's hair.

Eventually, as the music swells and the credits begin to roll, Bucky stretches. He looks down to Steve to ask if he needs anything, and has to bite his lip savagely.

Steve is asleep on the pillow in his lap, lips parted as he breathes. His arm is curled loosely in front of him, and Babushka has nestled herself in the crook of his elbow.

Bucky leans forward towards the coffee table ever so carefully to pick up his phone. Babushka opens one eye at the movement, but she's feeling far too content and comfortable to be bothered moving from her position.

He snaps a quick photo, and grins at the result, before taking a look at the time.

With care, he gently extricates himself out from underneath Steve's head, who barely stirs. Bucky brushes a hand gently over Steve's forehead, smiling as the crease there smooths out, before heading over to the belongings he brought from home.

Bucky quietly takes his duffel, files and computer into the spare room and puts them on the pale blue comforter, before sitting on the bed. He bounces a little on the mattress. It's comfortable, and he should sleep the night. Bucky's never been particularly fussy about where he sleeps, but depending on the mattress, how he sleeps can range from comfortably for nine hours, to wretchedly for three.

With a sigh, he flops back to lie on the mattress, interlacing his fingers across his belly. It's the first time he's really been alone to consider the situation he's found himself in. When running errands, his brain was only focused on the tasks at hand in the shortest time possible.

Now with the quiet, he has leave to think about what's happened since he woke up. From text alerts sending him into a blind panic, to becoming Steve's caregiver while he heals, and defining their current relationship as 'boyfriends'... it's been a very eventful day.

And it's not over yet.

He takes himself back out to the living room. The non-perishable groceries and left-over Thai join the rest in the kitchen, and Bucky ponders something to eat. He's not particularly hungry after their enormous lunch, but Steve probably will be when he wakes.

Bucky looks over at Steve still sleeping on the couch, and gets derailed by food thoughts at the distracting image.

Babushka has left the crook of Steve's arm to nestle between his shoulderblades, the tiny calico only emphasising the broadness of Steve's shoulders. For his part, Steve's eyes are closed, dark crescents on pale skin, and his breathing is even. He deserves a relaxing nap. He deserves a lot more than that, Bucky thinks, but a relaxing nap is what Bucky can give him now, so he'll do it.

He shakes himself out of Steve-watching, and goes back to the food predicament.

Left-overs are okay, but they're still good for another day, and two meals of Thai might be a little much.

A sudden thought occurs, and Bucky lights up, knowing already he got the right ingredients. He raids the bought groceries -- as well as Steve's cupboards -- before playing a game of 'where's the saucepan' in the kitchen drawers.

He must be horribly in like with Steve to cook voluntarily.

Bucky glances up to take in the sight of the flattened tuft of blond hair resting on the couch cushion.

Yeah, terribly, horribly in like with him.

And for that reason and that reason alone, Bucky's decided to make his grandma's mac and cheese.

Bucky generally finds cooking a chore. He does enough to keep his body alive, but it's usually pretty simple fare, with the occasional cooking or baking experiment. He loves eating, don't get him wrong, but time spent cooking is time he'd rather spend doing almost anything else.

Here at Steve's place, however, doing it for someone else rather than for himself, Bucky finds the activity oddly soothing.

While the pasta is boiling and after the flour mixture is prepared, Bucky finds himself over at Steve's record player. He puts on an album of the Count Basie Orchestra nice and low for some white noise in the background.

Steve stirs, but doesn't wake.

Nodding his head in time with the music, Bucky goes back to the kitchen. The pasta is ready to come off the stove, and it's time for the cheese sauce to go on.

Stirring the mixture with a wooden spoon, Bucky pokes at the cheese as it melts. A delightful smell starts to fill the kitchen, and despite his thoughts to the contrary, his mouth starts to water a little. It's been ages since he's made this, mainly because it's a comfort food and he never wants it to lose its inherent powers of awesome when he eats it. He smiles, hoping Steve will like it as much as he does.

He's just getting to the point where the sauce is done and it's ready to go over when he feels someone approaching him from behind. He starts to tense automatically, but a subtle clearing of the throat gives him instant recognition of the approaching presence as Steve. Bucky's not quite sure how he knows exactly... even if Steve hadn'tve cleared his throat, it's a combination of the smell of the shampoo Bucky used in his hair, and the weight of his tread -- slightly off due to his injury -- also the fact that he hears Babuska meow at his feet and rub against his leg. She wouldn't be walking beside just anyone...

A chin rests on his shoulder, one arm going around his waist. "You're cooking things," Steve marvels. "You're in my kitchen and you're cooking things."

"I'd be more offended at the surprise in your voice, except that it's totally warranted," Bucky replies, inclining his head a few degrees to the left so it touches Steve's. Steve turns to kiss his cheek.

"But it's so weird. You barely cook for yourself, and yet here you are. It's like I'm having a wonderful dream, except I'm awake," Steve mumbles against his skin.

"Aaaand now I'm starting to get insulted," Bucky returns with a smirk.

"Don't be insulted," Steve nuzzles, "no matter what it ends up tasting like, I'll still eat it."

If Steve weren't balancing on one foot, a crutch perched under his left arm, Bucky would give him such a shove. "Gee thanks, pal. I'll have you know many people have eaten my cooking and gone on to live healthy, normal lives."

"Many people?" Steve queries.

"Okay, four. Four people have lived. I don't just cook for anyone, you know," Bucky grouses, playing up imaginary hurt feelings.

"And I feel very honoured," Steve reassures, managing to dial his sarcasm down somewhat. He kisses Bucky on the cheek again and stands up straight. "What are you making?"

"My grandma's mac and cheese," Bucky answers. "It's pretty awesome. I know you ate not that long ago, but I figured you'd still probably be hungry when you woke up."

In response to that, Steve's stomach gurgles. He gives Bucky an almost bashful smile. "You thought right."

Bucky finishes up the mac and cheese and dishes it out, while Steve grabs some water bottles from the fridge. He hobbles back to the couch with one crutch under his arm.

Before rejoining Steve on the couch, Bucky takes a minute to make sure Babushka has her dinner, putting out a little bowl of kibble and tinned food for her, which she takes to immediately.

He also turns up the sound on the record player; it makes for pleasant background noise while they eat. Steve looks to Bucky and gives him a smile that lights a spark in Bucky's chest all the way across the room.

The rest of the evening passes in quiet, comfortable fashion. They have dinner together on the couch, Bucky's legs crossed on the cushions, one knee pressing into the meat of Steve's thigh. Steve pauses from time to time to give him macaroni and cheese flavoured kisses, which aren't as disgusting as he might've imagined.

Steve wants to take a break from movies and TV, and mentions to Bucky he has a box of games that were given to him after he was revived. Bucky goes rooting around in the spare bedroom closet for them. His searching turns up a cardboard box that has a pretty familiar-looking selection of card and board games. There's a regular deck of cards, as well as UNO deck, Monopoly, Trivial Pursuit... all pretty common household games. He takes the box back into the living room, sitting on the sofa.

Bucky snorts as he holds up a familiar colourful box. "Twister is definitely going to have to wait," he says before putting it to the side.

Retrieving a regular deck of cards and making sure their plates are safely put to the side, Bucky and Steve play a few rousing hands of Gin Rummy. It's fun and relaxing, and it gets Steve laughing, and that's never not a good thing.

The laughter quickly changes to disbelieving curses when Steve gets violently introduced to the cruelty of the 'draw 4' card in UNO. He ends up casting dispersions upon Bucky's parentage while Bucky laughs his head off.

"This is shit. I'm not sure why we're dating in this particular moment," Steve mutters as he picks up four cards from the deck.

Bucky gives him a saccharine-sweet grin. "Watch your fucking language, Cap," he says, which only makes Steve lose the little composure he had, and start laughing once again.

When Bucky catches Steve muffle his third yawn in the middle of a game of Go Fish, he puts his cards face-down on the coffee table. "Hey," he says softly, "You've earned an early night if you want to take it."

Steve looks as though he's set to put up a token protest, but another huge yawn overtakes his face. "Okay," he says sleepily, rubbing his eye.

Bucky stands up and collects their dinner bowls; he really should've rinsed them immediately, the cheese has congealed down the bottom and now they're going to have to be scrubbed. But that's a problem for Future-Bucky. Present-Bucky puts them in the sink with a bit of water to soak, resolving to look at them tomorrow.

"Would you mind if I had a quick shower?" Bucky asks. "Feeling a little funky from running around doing all those errands."

"Of course not, Buck. You know where everything is," Steve says.

"Thanks. I won't be long." Bucky trusts Steve to be able to stay out of trouble for ten minutes in his own apartment.

The hot shower is soothing. In fact, the only bad part about it is letting his mind stray to remember that Steve was bathing exactly where he's standing mere hours ago. These are not relaxing thoughts conducive to winding down. Bucky deliberately shelves those thoughts, and goes back to the process of bathing.

Bucky gives his hair a quick wash with the same shampoo and conditioner he used on Steve, and dries off, changing into a pair of sweats and a comfortably worn-in college tee.

He leaves the bathroom, drying his hair, to find the living room deserted, all lights off. It's still early, not even nine p.m, but Bucky's suddenly aware of how tired he is. After the pressure of the last few days, combined with running errands and looking after Steve, not to mention the physical and emotional peaks and troughs of the day, Bucky's pretty wiped out.

He walks to Steve's bedroom door and stops. His boyfriend -- and ain't that a thought that makes him smile -- is lying on his mattress. The comforter is folded down, but the sheet is still pulled up. He's propped up with some pillows, his StarkPad and Babushka cradled in his lap. Bucky continues to dry his hair and watches Steve quietly, taking in the cute moment with a small smile.

Bucky eventually knocks on the doorframe softly, and either Steve's too engrossed in what he's doing, or maybe Bucky didn't knock loud enough, because there's no response. Using a closed fist rather than a knuckle, Bucky knocks a bit louder. When Steve looks up with a big smile, Bucky's breath catches in his throat a little.

"Hey," Steve says, tapering down to a little grin. "I'm tired but I'm not ready to sleep yet."

Bucky leans against the doorframe. "That's okay. Getting into bed is at least a step in the right direction."

Steve stares at him for a beat. "So... you want to hang out with me for a bit longer? You know, if you're not too tired, that is."

Bucky only hesitates a moment before he pushes himself away from the doorframe. He hangs his damp towel on the door handle and heads in. Steve shuffles to one side to allow Bucky comfortable room next to him. Crawling onto Steve's bed is a little daunting, but no less daunting than having to bathe him, so Bucky can pony up and deal.

Babushka seems happy to see her human and immediately shifts her allegiances to Bucky, nestling in his lap. Steve looks wounded, but Bucky rolls his eyes. "You start feeding her and changing her litter tray, and she'll prefer you more, too."

He notices that Steve's ditched the shorts for a pair of soft-looking pajama pants. "Hey, you got changed," Bucky remarks.

"I've been dressing myself for a few years now, Buck," Steve replies.

Bucky's suddenly reminded of Steve's Mjolnir boxer shorts. "You watching anything in particular?" he asks.

"Not really. Have something in mind?"

Bucky grins. "Yeah. I'm about to enlighten you to my comments about your boxer shorts from before," he says as pulls up Doctor Horrible's Sing-along Blog on the StarkPad. They settle back and begin to watch.

Steve's engrossed in the story, fingers clenching around the tablet at key moments. As the show progresses, their heads draw closer and closer together, and their bodies slide down from sitting upright against the bedhead, to lie prone on the mattress.

Bucky's starting to nod off at the end, jolted awake by Steve's little gasp at the end. "Y'okay, buddy?" Bucky asks, speech a touch slurred with sleep.

"I... uh. I'm not sure I'm meant to feel that much for the villain," Steve says, sounding eminently conflicted.

Bucky relaxes back down onto the pillow. "The hero was a big blowhard, though. So. Y'know. Forgiven."

"I think I need to see something happy now," Steve says. He chooses another video and they keep watching. After being startled a little more awake, Bucky watches Steve's Youtube selections with detached interest. One of Steve's hands holds up the StarkPad, the other traces patterns over the back of Bucky's right hand where it lies between them on the mattress.

Bucky feels the gentle rub of Steve's bandages tickling the back of his hand. The contact is soothing, and he starts to crash hardcore from his very tiring day. Steve's even breathing combined with Babushka's purring both conspire against him to make his eyelids heavy. He tries to fight it, but it's ridiculously difficult.

Bucky hits the point where he's self-aware enough to know he's becoming too tired to move. He should get up and go to the spare room, and he should do it now. But he tells himself he'll still be okay to go in five minutes. He's just going to rest his eyes and listen to the murmur of the StarkPad for a tiny bit longer. It'll be fine.

The last thing he remembers is Steve's hand brushing lightly across his shoulder, and his body is too heavy to move.

***

Bucky wakes to the sound of a muffled choking. His eyes snap open, and he pushes off the mattress in a vague panic. Nothing looks familiar, the bed feels wrong, there's too much light--

The idea that he is somewhere familiar -- even if total recall is tough upon just waking up -- and that it's somewhere safe, occurs to him, and Bucky latches onto that feeling and tries to get his eyes to work.

Eventually, the room comes into focus, and Bucky recognises his surroundings.

Steve's bedroom. He's in Steve's bedroom and it's daylight. He has a vague recollection of watching things and feeling tired, but doesn't remember much past that point.

The choking noise is still going on. Bucky flicks his eyes towards Steve and finds him struggling with Babushka lying across his face. A tiny kitten shouldn't be causing Captain America so much trouble, but Steve's movements are sloppy and most likely, sleep-addled as well.

Bucky should help. He really should. But he's exhausted and it's funny, so does the only other available option. He starts chuckling.

Steve finally pushes Babushka off his face at the sound, spitting out a little hair as he does. Babushka, mortally offended, dashes off to go sulk in her cat basket.

The 'sucked lemon' expression Steve has going makes Bucky laugh more, throat husky from sleep. Now that his location and situation have been sorted, Bucky settles back down on the mattress, facing Steve. He's still tired as fuck and not about to go anywhere.

"Not so cute now, is it," he mumbles, words slightly muffled into the sheet.

"Go back to sleep, smart-ass," Steve comments, still wearing a comically indignant expression, hair completely flat on one side.

"Yessir," Bucky slurs, falling back into slumber, the soft trace of fingers against the back of his hand ushering him there faster.

Chapter Text

The One As The Caregiver

(Location: Steve's Apartment)

Bucky sleeps for another hour or so before he fully wakes up. After removing Babushka's little body from his face, Steve drifts off again and is still sleeping when Bucky slips off the bed. Giving one last glance towards his sleeping boyfriend, Bucky backs out of the room and half-closes the door.

He walks out rubbing his face, only to be stopped by Babushka giving him a death glare from her basket just outside the spare bedroom door.

"Don't look at me like that," Bucky chides, "if you hadn't tried to suffocate him, you'd still be in there."

He detours to the main bathroom to relieve himself, wash his face, and brush his teeth. After a jaw-splitting yawn, he shuffles into the kitchen. Bucky looks into the sink and sees mac and cheese congealed in bowls and instantly regrets the laziness of Past-Bucky. He scours out the dishes, before ferreting around for breakfast.

It's where Steve finds him half an hour later, when the smell of bacon and pancakes wafts through his apartment. Steve hobbles out with his crutches, hair sticking up in every direction, eyes heavily-lidded and looking stupidly attractive.

"Mornin'," Bucky says, flipping a pancake onto the finished pile.

"G'morning," Steve yawns widely. "Am I still dreaming? You're in the kitchen again."

"Ha-fucking-ha," Bucky says. "Starting the salty talk early this morning, are you?"

Steve grins. "Need any help?"

"Na, just finishing. Park on the sofa, I'll be there in a minute." Steve nods and takes himself to the sofa. Babushka follows him, and he spends the remainder of Bucky's breakfast prep time telling her she's a very pretty cat, and stroking her ears back.

"Keep that up and her head'll get big," Bucky mutters under his breath as he juggles plates, "she already doesn't want you to treat her any differently than you would the Queen."

"She is a queen," Steve responds from the sofa, and it takes Bucky a moment to grasp the significance. He pauses midway through pouring some coffee, and turns around.

"You heard me. I wasn't even speaking loud," Bucky states.

Steve gives him a little smile. "Eardrums all good. No more talking about me under your breath anymore."

Bucky picks up two mugs and walks into the living room, placing them on the coffee table. "Well that takes the fun out of everything," he says with fake annoyance, stealing a swift kiss before going back to retrieve the rest of breakfast.

Or it would be a swift kiss, if Steve didn't catch him by the shoulders and make it longer. Babushka mewls, upset at losing Steve's attention.

Bucky sets out plates onto the coffee table in a deliberate fashion, and he and Steve enjoy breakfast and watch Cartoon Network. It's relaxing, until Steve goes for the bacon.

He stretches out, fingertips not quite making the plate.

"Can't... reach... bacon," he grunts, looking at Bucky helplessly.

"Oh Steve, honey, I can't understand you," Bucky says in commiseration as he chews on his own strip of bacon. "Sam didn't say the blast affected your speech, too."

Steve glares at him and reaches out again, just missing. "Pass me the bacon, Bucky, or so help me, God, I will get up and get it myself."

Bucky arches one eyebrow and points at Steve's crutches, laying down beside his side of the couch. "You move your patriotic ass off that couch without a crutch and so help me, God, I will end you."

Steve narrows his eyes, and Bucky can see him calculating. It's times like this he remembers Steve is a brilliant tactician, and he starts to worry. Instead of reaching for either the bacon or the crutches, Steve crowds in on Bucky, looming over him.

"End me in your Ranger panties, and we'll talk," he says, voice dipping into a gravelly register.

"First of all," Bucky says as Steve's lips graze his mouth, smeared in bacon grease, "they're Ranger shorts--"

Steve interrupts him with a series of lingering kisses, which continue until he moves awkwardly and his cast catches on the edge of the sofa. His unexpected hiss of pain into Bucky's mouth kind of spoils the moment.

Bucky pushes him gently away, helping to rearrange Steve into a sitting position, and depositing the plate of bacon in his lap. "Stupid sexy Steve," he mutters in disgust.

"I understood that reference," Steve sing-songs, using a fork to stab at the crispy bacon.

After breakfast, with the knowledge that Steve's eardrums have healed, Bucky turns his attention to the blond's hands, unravelling the slightly soiled bandages.

True to Steve's word, whilst still injured, they are a damned sight better than even yesterday. New pink layers of skin stretch across his palms, with the blisters having all but disappeared. Bucky runs a careful finger close to the injury and Steve's fingers twitch, though it seems more a ticklish reaction than a painful one.

"How do they feel?" he asks quietly.

"Itchy," Steve murmurs, flexing his fingers.

"Joints?"

"Dull ache, not as sore."

Bucky murmurs in approval. "I'll dress them again, but this might be the last time. Until that skin is fully healed, however, you should probably keep them in a sterile environment."

"I await my nurse's pleasure," Steve answers. Bucky grins and shakes his head a little. His attitude is a marked return to a happier and healthier Steve, in Bucky's limited experience.

Even if he is use this new upswing to sass Bucky incessantly.

Bucky reaches to the side of the coffee table where the first aid kit was stowed yesterday, muttering under his breath, knowing full well Steve can make out every single word. He throws in some really good swears for effect.

"I didn't know that was a cuss word nowadays, Buck," Steve says with surprise.

"I aim to amaze," Bucky says dryly, wrapping Steve's right hand carefully. "What's your usual rate of healing, anyway?"

Steve shrugs. "It varies dependant on the injury? Cuts and bruises go the fastest, then sprains. Minor breaks and fractures take longer, major bone-breaks and organs the most time."

Bucky sits back on his haunches. "Cuts heal the quickest? That's a shame."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Odd statement. Why?"

"I may've wanted to put some very special band aids on you, but if you're going to heal so fast--"

"I still have cuts," Steve butts in quickly, and it's all Bucky can do not to start laughing at the huge dork. Steve pulls down the collar of his shirt. The nasty bruise with a cut at the centre of it from his collarbone yesterday, while fading to an ugly yellow, is still there.

Bucky smiles slower than molasses. "Okay. You wait there." He unfurls from the sofa and stacks their plates up to take away, partly to be tidy, partly to build anticipation. Dishes in the sink, Bucky heads into the spare bedroom and grabs the little blue box he bought yesterday.

Steve is waiting impatiently when Bucky comes back, hands folded in front of him. "You should probably take your shirt off," Bucky suggests. Oddly enough, that very scenario had Bucky hacking up a lung yesterday. Today, he can deal with it. Provided Steve keeps the rest of his clothes on.

He's far from a prude, they're just not there yet. The operative word here being 'yet'.

Steve pulls his tee off from the back, straight off his head. Unable to turn properly to face Bucky properly with his cast, Bucky makes the decision to brace himself over Steve's lap, straddling his thighs. Bucky makes sure to rest his weight at the far end, closer to Steve's knees.

Exhaling sharply, Steve looks up at him with his own brand of shy anticipation, resting his hands gently on the sides of Bucky's thighs. "The injury inspection isn't over yet, Nurse Barnes says so," Bucky announces, and Steve's eyes glitter at the 'nurse' comment.

This is gonna be good.

He proceeds to run his fingers through Steve's hair, even though there's no injuries there. It causes Steve's eyes to flutter shut. From there, his hands gently make their way to Steve's face. While there's still a little bruising, all cuts seem to have at least sealed. He gently peels the now unneeded butterfly bandage from Steve's brow.

Finally, he gets to the abrasions still littering Steve's torso. There are still some there, enough to warrant a few of his band aids. Grinning, Bucky opens the packet and chooses one.

Before he has the chance to put the band aid on, Steve stops the progress of his hands. "Aren't you supposed to kiss it better, first?" Steve asks, and his tone drips with innocence.

Bucky arches one brow. Without tearing his eyes away from Steve, he kisses his index and middle finger, before pressing both digits deliberately to the skin of Steve's collarbone. Steve chuckles huskily, and Bucky sticks the band aid in place.

He continues the kiss-and-stick method over the worst scrapes left on Steve's torso. Bucky doesn't want Steve catching a glimpse of the band aids before he's finished, but that doesn't seem to be a problem, as Steve's eyes never leave Bucky's face.

Once he's deposited no less than five band aids around Steve's torso and arms, Bucky dusts his hands off and sits back. "You gonna check them out, or what?" Bucky prompts encouragingly.

Steve finally takes the opportunity to look down, and makes an incredulous noise. Bucky starts laughing and he won't stop.

A band aid with a cartoon version of Hulk is stuck to his arm. Black Widow is high up on his rib cage, Hawkeye on the side of his pectoral. And on the collar bone...

"... Is that Tony?" Steve asks, and Bucky doubles over.

Steve pushes Bucky off his lap, who falls to the side on the cushions, still laughing.

"Too bad you don't have scrapes... on your ass... he'd be perfect there..." Bucky bites out through laughing wheezes.

"Why do you say that, wiseguy?" Steve asks as he pulls his t-shirt back on.

"He's always on it, isn't he?" Bucky queries.

Bucky gets Steve's first eyeroll of the day. He's quite proud of that.

The morning continues in relaxing fashion. Bucky does the dishes and pulls out his files in preparation for the group he's taking out in the afternoon. Steve retrieves the book from his nightstand and does some reading. There are long stretches where neither of them speak to one another, the quiet is companionable and they find themselves orbiting the same space.

After having spent a fair bit of time on his own, Bucky is objectively surprised it takes so little effort to be around someone else and not feel claustrophobic. Steve doesn't make any demands on him, doesn't interrupt while Bucky's working. Bucky feels comfortable being in Steve's apartment, almost like he'd feel in his own.

Working intensely with people as he does, Bucky values his alone time as well. He gets a happy feeling in the quiet. He still has that feeling, even though Steve's in the room, too.

Mid-morning they come together again to have a drink and a snack, and something occurs to Bucky that he really should mention.

"Hey, about last night," he begins, and instantly has Steve's attention. "I'm sorry I crashed out on your bed, I left it a little too late to go to the spare room."

Steve cradles his coffee cup in his hands. "It wasn't a problem at all, Buck," he responds, before dropping his eyes. "In actual fact, you helped me out."

"Oh?" Bucky pushes himself up off the lounge in interest. "Howso?"

"Well, I told you how the healing process is uncomfortable, right?" Bucky nods, and Steve continues. "There were a few times I woke up last night with my foot hurting or hands aching. Usually I can't get back to sleep, but seeing you there distracted me. Sometimes I touched the back of your hand, or Bushka moved closer... and I had something-- someone else to focus on." He shrugs. "I was able to get back to sleep."

Bucky stifles a smile at the news. It's pretty cool to know that he can help Steve even if he's not actively doing anything.

"I'm guessing I don't get any extra pay if I'm working even while asleep?" Bucky queries with a smirk.

"A case could be made for over-time," Steve says gravely, "provided you're available for another shift or two?"

Bucky cocks his head to the side seriously, a small line forming between his brows. "You want me to stay again tonight?"

"If it's not impacting your schedule, or you don't have anywhere else to be." He shuffles towards Bucky on the couch and takes one hand in his own. "I know Sam told you I'm a terrible patient, and I am ordinarily. I can never find enough distractions to let my body relax and heal... but your company here is welcome without being intrusive, I'm resting a lot, and I like having you around." Steve gives him a little grin. "Plus your cat is really cute."

"And here I was thinking you were about to say I'm a fantastic kisser," Bucky snarks, not quite unable to hide his pleasure at Steve's words.

"There's that, too," Steve murmurs, leaning forward so Bucky can prove the statement. "So what do you say?" he asks, nuzzling against Bucky's cheek.

Bucky presses a kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth. "Lucky I brought more clothes just in case."

***

Steve's mood takes a definitive upswing after Bucky agrees to stay on, even though it was never really down. When Bucky is ready to leave for his kids in the early afternoon, Babushka starts to circle his legs.

He bends down to talk to her. "It's okay, Bushka. You keep Steve company and I'll be back soon." Scooping her up, Bucky deposits her in Steve's lap and bends down to give him a kiss. "Should be back around five or so. Might pick up something for dinner while I'm out."

"Sound good," Steve responds, cradling Babushka in his lap. "Take my spare key again? It'll make it easier."

Bucky gives a little grin. "Good idea." He ruffles Steve's hair. "Look after my best girl for me!"

Steve grins at him, and that's the last thing that Bucky sees before he slips through the door.

His group is one with some of his more interactive and fun young people. Not all of the kids he works with have major issues; some just need a bit of an escape from home and school to do something different, have a peer group to socialise with outside of that, have an adult to talk about things to that isn't necessarily a parent or a teacher.

Sometimes, some of his groups are just for fun.

But before the fun, he stops in at the office. Denise is there, doing some filing. When he walks in, she brightens and pulls him into a hug immediately.

"How are you doing, Bucky?" she asks sincerely, studying his face. Probably part of the trouble of working with a group of people specifically trained to read body language, it's hard to conceal things. Thankfully, however, Bucky has nothing to conceal.

"I'm a lot better, thanks," he gives her a little smile, her hand a squeeze.

"I wasn't sure if you were going to take your group today, but figured you'd have called if you weren't going to show up."

"Yeah, I'm ready. Just left some paperwork here I should take--" To Steve's place "--home."

He knows Denise heard his slight hesitation. She raises one eyebrow. "You not at home right now?"

Denise can sniff out a lie at thirty paces. On the flip side, Bucky is very good at lying, when it suits him. Trouble is, he doesn't want to lie to her.

"Not right now?" he says, squeezing the back of his neck. "Friend of mine got injured, needs a little help while he's recuperating. You know, changing bandages, cooking, that sort of thing."

"Cooking? You? Must be some friend."

"I'm going to start getting really shitty at the low opinion all my friends have of my food-making capability," Bucky snarks.

"Oh, I know you can do it, otherwise you wouldn't be alive. I just figured you'd prefer to... you know... do anything else rather than that."

"With that ability to read people," Bucky starts, deliberately playing up the awe, "you should be some kind of therapist, or counsellor, or something."

One thing about Denise Bucky likes so much, is that she takes exactly zero forms of bullshit. She slaps his arm. "You're not as funny as you think you are."

"I'm totally as funny as I think I am," Bucky grins back. "But getting back to the subject at hand--"

"Your cooking?" Denise queries.

"--My not being at home, Dee," he corrects pointedly. "I'm wondering how far my personal days right now are stretching?"

Denise raises an eyebrow. "You need more time to look after your friend?" Bucky nods, and his co-worker looks at him over her glasses. "He in the army, too?"

"He served, yeah," Bucky says, because it's not a lie. "Look, I've got all my files up to date, and I can still do my group sessions, I'm just wondering if I can beg off doing the office grind for another day or two?"

He knows Steve's healing well, and much faster than a regular person, but it'd be nice to have that bit of a buffer just in case he's needed.

Denise stays silent for a moment. "You've been pulling far longer hours than normal with the shut-down of the other district facility, and you went above and beyond for the O'Neal boy the other week..." She smiles, and Bucky gives her a hopeful eyebrow raise in return. "I think we can manage for a few more days without you."

Bucky breathes out a sigh of relief. "Thanks a lot, Dee. This is why you're my favourite." He gives her a hug, and she squeezes his ribs so hard they hurt.

"You give me a call if your situation changes, and I'll expect your email responses during business hours still. If you've got the time, maybe you can get a head start on your Fall/Winter program? Don't need to be in the office for that."

"No problem." He chucks his thumb towards the door. "I'd better head off, I don't want to be late."

"Tragedy. Have fun!"

Bucky heads out of the office with a spring in his step.

His group are meeting at the local park. Bucky finds a space on the street, and gets the soccer ball out of his trunk, as well as four brightly-coloured cones to act as the goal posts.

Most of his charges are already there, with Felicia's mom having stayed around until Bucky arrived. Bucky does a quick headcount, and finds his numbers are uneven because Dion is away visiting his sick grandma. It means Bucky will have to join one of the teams so nobody gets left out.

Both teams fight for Bucky, but he's got news for them; soccer's not actually one of his chosen sports. He's probably not going to be much benefit to the team that gets lumped with him.

It doesn't really matter, however, because it's fun, and that's the whole point. Sondra accidentally trips him at one stage, and you never quite know embarrassment until fifteen teenagers are laughing at you with your face in the dirt. It's a good thing that Bucky's quite adept at laughing at himself.

In the break, they sit in a rough circle and have a drink and something to eat. Felicia's mom left them with a cooler of cookies and fruit. Predictably, all the cookies go first, and Bucky's stuck with a banana.

"Mmm, potassium," he says as he eats it, making Jean snort cola through his nose.

Around four-thirty, various convoys of vehicles arrive with parents to pick up their kids. Those who don't get picked up are walking home, as they don't live far. There's a flurry of goodbyes, and a hug from Roberto, who, despite having a rough week, laughed a lot during the match. Bucky ruffles his hair and pats him on the back, promising to see him next week.

It's a good afternoon. The session leaves him energised, and the idea that he's going to spend a bit more time with Steve is even better. He stops off on the way back to Steve's apartment to pick up schwarma for them for dinner, feeling one big stint in the kitchen each day is more than enough.

The elevator just doesn't seem to ever want to take him up to Steve's floor fast enough, but it does eventually get him there. Bucky juggles his satchel and the food, digging out Steve's apartment key. He opens the door slowly, knowing sometimes his cat is a sneaky shit that likes to wait by doors to bolt out of them.

He finds Steve at his easel working furiously, crutches resting against the window. He appears to be devoting his energy to watching Babushka on the floor, rolling around with one of her tiny balls with bells in it. The sound of the door shutting, however, makes both man and cat look up. Steve gives him a beaming smile, Babushka meows and goes back to her ball.

"At least someone in this apartment is happy to see me," Bucky grumbles good-naturedly, dropping the food on the bench, and his satchel on the coat hook by the door.

"Have an eventful afternoon?" Steve asks, gesturing to Bucky's shirt. There's a grass stain on the front, and when Bucky runs his hands through his hair, he pulls out some twigs.

"Something like that," he smiles back. "I brought schwarma." He wanders further into the living room. "What have you been up to?"

"Just some character studies," Steve says, sitting back from the butcher's paper clamped to a large board. He beckons Bucky over, leaning back into him as Bucky moves to stand behind Steve, chin resting on his shoulder.

Bucky looks at his work and whistles appreciatively. He squeezes the blond's biceps "Steve, this is... wow."

Covering the page are character sketches of Babushka. He captures her personality perfectly in whatever pose she happens to be doing; lounging on the back of the sofa, chewing her paws, stalking a piece of string across the carpet... They're cute and funny and so very her.

They're also so very Steve.

"They've kept me occupied a lot during the afternoon. She sure as hell knows how to keep herself amused."

"I have chewed curtains that will attest to that fact," Bucky confirms. "Wanna eat?"

"Always," Steve says, grabbing his crutches.

Steve and Bucky eat their dinner while Bucky tells him stories of how spectacularly crappy he is at soccer. Steve informs him that Sam called to check on his well-being while Bucky was out.

When they're done with food, Bucky excuses himself to have a shower. Changing into comfortable clothes for the night, Bucky finally notices Steve's not wearing the same clothes he had on last night.

"I took myself to the bath while you were out," he says, showing Bucky his unbandaged hands. That pink new skin that had stood out so much in relief this morning, has faded and nearly blended into the skin around it now. Bucky examines both palms carefully, running one finger experimentally across the new flesh. Steve doesn't even flinch. "Speedy Gonzales," he murmurs in appreciation.

Saturday draws to a close sometime after reruns of I Love Lucy. They retreat to Steve's bedroom to hang out once again. Bucky chooses a movie to watch on the StarkPad and holds it, Steve alternately draws in a sketchbook and strokes Babushka, who lies between them.

When Bucky's eyes start to droop, he makes a clumsy move to relocate to the spare room again, but Steve stops him.

"If I wake up uncomfortable again..." he lets the phrase dangle, running one hand over the back of Bucky's. Bucky's reminded of what Steve said about resting more efficiently with him right there.

Bucky nods once. He's agreeable to any course of action where he a) makes Steve comfortable, and b) gets to sleep. "Okay," he says around a large yawn, "but if we've decided on this in advance, perhaps we can at least get under the covers this time? We're not heathens, Steve."

Steve gives a surprised laugh. "Deal," he says.

Bucky ends up falling asleep with his back to Steve to the sound of a pencil scratching on paper and the Starkpad, knuckles gently and rhythmically stroking his spine through his tee.

The One With The Surprise Interrogation (pt 3)

(Location: Steve's Apartment / Brooklyn café)

Sunday dawns with Bucky waking alone in Steve's bed, sheet tangled around his legs, the smell of coffee drifting through the apartment, and a noticeable absence of a certain face-loving kitten.

He woke up a few times during the night when Steve was restless, but they both seemed to fall back asleep fairly quickly with a murmured word and a few reassuring touches.

Bucky stretches out and scratches his ribcage. Steve's probably feeling better again to be up already, more like his usual wake-up time. But unfortunately, his usual wake-up time is Too Fucking Early O'Clock according to Bucky. One glance at the bedside lcd confirms this. Offering a muffled curse, he rolls over to mash his face into the pillow for a little longer.

He perseveres until the smell of coffee becomes entirely too alluring.

Bucky shuffles out of the bedroom, yawning and scrubbing a hand through his hair. Steve's in the kitchen, crutches leaning against the counter as he waits by the machine.

He looks up when Bucky enters, smiling. "Coffee?"

"Giver of life," Bucky croaks, making grabby hands.

As soon as the coffee finishes percolating, Steve hands him a mug. Silence is observed as each of them take the first sip of the day. As the caffeine begins making its way through his system, Bucky's thoughts sharpen and turn towards the day.

He decides Steve's been cooped up for long enough, and that they should head out for breakfast. Steve agrees wholeheartedly.

After raiding Steve's wardrobe to find pants he can wear that aren't sweat pants, Bucky throws on some jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt. He's glad he's got his car, because there's no way he's putting Steve on a subway with his bung foot. As it is, Steve has to push the passenger seat right back so he can stretch his legs out nicely.

Bucky drives them to a nice little breakfast nook they've walked past a few times, where Steve postulates that the only reason Bucky suggested they go out is that he didn't want to cook again.

Bucky sweetly tells him to 'Cram it, wise-ass'.

Breakfast is nice. It's good to be out and about together once again. The staff at the cafe recognise Steve but do their best to be cool about it, and give him extra hash browns. There's a point where another patron tries to take a sneaky photo of Steve from another booth, because Steve forgot his hat and sunglasses, but Bucky stares them down so hard they end up chickening out.

As they finish up, nearly the whole staff from the cafe assemble next to Steve and Bucky's table, the owner clearing his throat. They ask if they can have a photo with Steve to put up on Facebook.

Steve hesitates for a moment, and while he doesn't drop the polite smile he's wearing, there's something in the pull of the skin around his mouth, and a flicker in his eyes, that tells Bucky something vastly different. It must be unfair to get put on the spot like this all the time.

"Can you give us a second?" Bucky asks the group as Steve opens his mouth, presumably to say 'yes'. The employees mumble and shuffle and back away a conservative distance.

Steve looks at him quizzically. "What's up?"

"Do you mind having your photo taken with them?" Bucky asks, leaning forward in his seat and dropping his voice a little. "Because it's okay to say 'no'. You don't actually owe them anything."

A little crease appears on Steve's brow, and he pauses before he answers. "It's not the photo I mind so much," Steve says, "it's just where it goes that concerns me more."

Bucky nods. He is also eminently aware of how social media works. But he knows that Steve doesn't want to disappoint by denying them. Maybe Bucky can teach him something about setting terms for himself.

"Got it. I can handle this."

"Bucky--" Steve starts.

"Steve, let me be the bad guy for you. And by 'bad', I mean 'less good than you'. I have an idea."

Steve sits back silently. "Okay," he says, after a moment.

Bucky turns and gestures to the staff, who all shuffle over quickly.

"You guys can all have a photo together, but if it goes up on Facebook, he's not going to come back," Bucky states.

"What?" The boss -- Martin, his namebadge says -- asks, confused, looking towards Steve. "Was the food not good?"

"It's wonderful," Steve assures, "and I really like the service and the atmosphere here, too."

"Which would change significantly if people realise that Captain Rogers has come here," Bucky finishes.

Martin looks a little puzzled, but soon catches up. "You don't want to be bothered while you're out...?" He says slowly, and some of his staff murmur with realisation.

Steve nods and hitches one shoulder up, giving that 'aww shucks' All American boy routine a go, and it plays perfectly.

"It's great that you want a photo with him," Bucky interjects, and subsequently draws all the attention to himself, "and just the photo would be fine to display here somewhere. But if you put it on social media where anyone can see it, superfans and photographers will come and look for him here, and that nice atmosphere's gonna change pretty quick."

Bucky can see the cogs turn in Martin's head. "So you're not saying we can't put it up," he clarifies.

"Nope. Hell, I'll even take it for you. But you'd best shake his hand and say farewell now, if you're gonna."

"What are you, his agent or something?" Martin asks wryly.

With a perfectly straight face, Bucky answers gravely. "I have a vested interest in Captain Rogers not getting harassed when he goes out for something as simple as a meal."

Their waitress, a young woman by the name of Penelope, speaks up. "I don't care about it not going on Facebook," she says, "I'd much rather Captain Rogers comes back here if he likes it."

That seems to be the general consensus from the staff. The boss takes it all in, before agreeing. "What you're asking isn't unreasonable. I'd be honoured to have you frequent my establishment in peace if you like it here."

Steve's answering smile makes some of the staffs' knees go a little weak. "Well all right, then," Bucky replies cheerfully, slipping out of the booth and commandeering someone's phone. "You're gonna have to crowd around, he's not standing for this photo."

Just to be stubborn, Steve does, and is propped up under the arms by some of the staff. "I can stand," he says, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

Everyone grins huge, and Bucky takes a few photos. In true New York fashion, they're ignored by the other early morning patrons. Nobody seems to care about some guy with a busted foot getting photos with a bunch of kitchen staff and waiters.

Steve signs some autographs on napkins and menus afterwards, and shakes a few hands. When it's all done, he slips back into the booth, opposite a grinning Bucky.

"You were just kind of a badass then," Steve says admiringly.

"I'm used to giving people options and then acting like it was their idea when they choose the one I want."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," Steve smirks.

When it's time to pay, Bucky tells him to sit and heads to the register, where the owner is currently stationed. He flips open his wallet and starts to count bills out. "Just so you know," Bucky says conversationally, "I'll be watching your Facebook page. If you have a change of heart and put it up, I'll find out."

The man scrutinises Bucky warily. "You're not his PR agent, are you?"

"Nope."

"You Secret Service? Marine? SHIELD?"

"US Army," Bucky replies firmly, handing over money.

"Oh." The boss chews on his lip. "It won't go up, I promise." He pauses. "We'd like to thank you both for your service."

Bucky nods, and leaves a generous tip in the tip jar. Steve has seen that something nice is left for Penelope.

"Come on, Steve," Bucky says as he hands Steve his crutches. "Let's get outta here."

Steve isn't quite ready to go home just yet, so they end up finding one of the cinemas that has the big recliners to put your feet up in. With Bucky buying breakfast, Steve buys copious treats, and they pick a movie at random to watch.

It's really nice to do something super normal and date-like. Mindful that Steve's not wearing anything that conceals his identity, they have an unspoken agreement to keep public displays of affection down to a minimum, though Steve does take his hand in the darkness of the theatre.

After the movie, Bucky insists on taking Steve home to rest after a suitably eventful morning. To catch up on his work, Bucky spends the afternoon working on his Fall and Winter programs, while Steve draws in his sketchbook.

Bucky watches Steve draw out of the corner of his eye, and has a few ideas. He scribbles down some notes, to return to them at a later date.

Later on in the evening, when he's lying next to Steve on his bed, he catches Steve looking at him.

"What? Do I have toothpaste on my face?" Bucky asks.

"Nope," Steve smiles sleepily. "Just thinking. You were my nurse and PR man and bodyguard all rolled into one today. Is there anything you can't do?"

Bucky slides down so he's directly opposite Steve on the pillow. "I can't ride a unicycle," he offers around a yawn.

Steve's still chuckling as he nods off.

***

Monday dawns with Steve hopping -- literally -- out of bed early and Bucky cursing his name. It seems even Babushka doesn't care for Steve's early morning routine, choosing to curl up in the small of Bucky's back until he's finally ready to stir much later.

After coffee and breakfast and Steve spending a bit of time at his easel, Bucky decides to see how well he can remember how to make pirozhkis.

That's when the shit hits the fan.

Steve's sitting on the stool at the kitchen bench, chatting as Bucky folds pastry from his second batch -- the first being nearly done in the oven -- when there's a fierce thumping at his front door. Bucky looks immediately to Steve, who frowns.

"Expecting anyone violent?" Bucky asks in a whisper.

Steve shrugs. "HYDRA don't usually knock, so..."

"Rogers! If you don't answer this door in ten seconds, I'm breaking your lock." A firm female voice sounds through the wood.

Steve's face shows recognition, but not necessarily relief. "It's Natasha," he supplies, almost concerned.

"Wanna pretend you're not here?" Bucky jokes.

Steve shrugs, but the unmistakeable sound of a lock being picked draws both of their attention.

"Shit," Bucky mutters.

The door swings open and the Black Widow storms into Steve's apartment. For all her blowing in like a whirlwind, she makes sure to shut the door quietly behind her.

She makes eye contact with both Steve and Bucky before quickly casing the place.

"What are you doing here?" she asks Steve bluntly.

"I live here. Hi, Nat," Steve says with a little smile.

"Don't 'Hi, Nat' me. What's that still doing on your foot?" She points to the cast.

"Some medical professionals are saying now that's how you treat broken ankles," Bucky says sardonically. Almost immediately, he wishes he hadn't, because the Widow's piercing gaze affixes to him.

She stays silent for a moment. "You're the coffee date," she announces with confidence.

"You're the Black Widow," Bucky replies, holding his ground.

Bucky's scrutinised again, and it's scathing. She then promptly ignores him, turning back to Steve. "I was expecting you back at HQ yesterday, but nobody had seen you since you entered the country again."

"I talked to Sam on Saturday. And I'm taking a few extra days," Steve says, chin jutting out.

Even Bucky can tell Steve's not quite on the up-and-up. If he can tell, she certainly can.

"That's very unlike you, Rogers. You should've been at the hospital first thing yesterday getting the plaster removed."

Bucky can't believe what he's hearing. To him, it's pretty obvious. "Lady, he's got a broken ankle, not a stubbed toe. He kind of needs that."

All of a sudden, Bucky doesn't like the way the Widow is smirking at him. "Really." She throws her thumb towards Steve, who seems to be curving in on himself in the stool. Bucky blinks slowly at his posture. "Do you know how fast this one can heal broken bones?"

Bucky's jaw works, and he thinks back to when he asked Steve the question. "He said they take the longest to heal," Bucky responds, though his voice isn't as confident as it was a few moments ago. His eyes flick to Steve, who is staring at the redhead.

"Mhm. 'Longest'. Very vague." She flicks her hand dismissively in his direction, before turning to Steve. "Your last bad break took about sixty hours to heal, right?"

"Maybe? I don't remember," Steve mutters, "But this break was worse." Bucky still arches his eyebrows incredulously.

Bucky places a pirozhki onto the baking paper, wipes his hands off on a dishtowel and folds his arms. "So we're, what, ninety-six hours into your recovery?"

The Widow somehow disappears from his peripheral vision, because all Bucky is focused on is Steve. "I'm not certain I'm healed? But... probably, yeah."

Bucky tightens his jaw. On the one hand, Steve clearly wasn't into full-disclosure about his healing, and that's not cool. On the other hand, he's not a doctor and if the cast is still on, how is he to know whether it's healed or not?

Plus, they've gotten to spend some real quality time together over the last four days, and Bucky's felt it has been an important time in the development of their new relationship.

Steve looks towards the Widow. "Can you give us a minute, please?"

She shrugs and heads further into Steve's apartment.

Steve exhales, fingers interlaced in his lap. "I'm sorry I was vague on the healing time. I knew I was feeling better, but... Sam's always telling me that I'm never taking enough time to rest after I'm injured. And when you came over to help and stayed..." he sighs. "It felt so normal. I love spending time with you. I wasn't quite ready to let go of that just yet."

Bucky finds it really incredibly difficult to be mad at Steve for just wanting to be normal, and spend time with him.

They've talked a little about Geneva in the last few days. From what Steve has told him, it was as mentally exhausting as it was physically. Perhaps the extra healing time was moreso for that than anything else.

If anyone understands sometimes just putting your foot down and needing a mental heath day, it's Bucky.

He rubs his stubbled face and sighs. "For the record? You coulda come clean and still spent time with me. I wouldn't've been such an asshole about your crutches."

"I kind of liked when you were an asshole about the crutches," Steve grins, and Bucky shakes his head.

He walks around the bench to stand next to Steve, snagging the pinky of one hand with his fingers. "Anyone ever told you you're a glutton for punishment?"

"All the time," Steve responds.

Bucky runs a thumb across Steve's knuckles. "So you can really get the cast off?"

"Probably."

"We should probably look at doing that, then."

Their conversation is interrupted by the reappearance of the Widow.

"Who is this?" she asks, cradling Babushka in her arms. For her part, Babushka bats playfully at her fingers.

"A traitor," Bucky deadpans.

"That's Bucky's kitten, Babushka," Steve says, taking her out of the redhead's arms when she comes close enough.

She watches Steve coo at the little calico with a wary expression. "Cute name," she offers, and falls silent.

The oven timer goes off and Bucky spins around. He grabs the dishtowel and uses it to remove a tray of finished pirozhkis from the oven. Widow's eyes go wide when she catches sight of them. She stars at Bucky. "Are they what I think they are?"

Bucky looks down at them with a frown. "Depends. They're meant to be pirozhkis, but I don't know if I remembered them right." He sighs. "I really don't care for baking."

The Widow creeps closer to the bench and reaches out for the tray, giving Bucky a questioning glance. Bucky makes a 'go ahead' gesture with his hand. "They're hot," he warns.

She picks one up, tossing it from one hand to another, blowing on the little pastry as she does, before taking a bite off the edge. It's still hot to chew, and Bucky can tell, but she swallows anyway.

There's something that changes in her eyes, then. He doesn't know how the green can go from icy to thawed, but there you go.

"<They are very traditional>," she murmurs, and it takes Bucky a few moments for his brain to catch up to the fact that she spoke in Russian. His Russian is incredibly rusty, but it's there.

"<Thank you, lady>," he replies in turn, and the Widow's gaze snaps to him once again.

Steve watches their back and forth with fascination.

"You speak Russian," she asks, though it comes out more as a statement.

"Just conversational stuff," Bucky says. "The woman who taught me to make these also taught me a bit of Russian, too."

"Huh," she says, chewing on the rest of the pirozhki. Something in the stiff way she's been carrying herself in the apartment relaxes then. Bucky tentatively chalks that up to being a good thing.

"Nat," Steve begins, "I'm sorry I haven't been in, but I wasn't officially scheduled for anything for the next few days anyway."

"It's never stopped you before," she responds. "We're normally forcibly giving you time off."

Steve sits up straighter in his chair. "This time, you didn't have to."

Widow glances at Bucky before giving Steve a tiny Mona Lisa-esque smile. "I see."

Bucky finds a paper towel and wraps up a few of the pirozhkis as the redhead exchanges a few more words with Steve. When she turns to face him, he holds out the pastries.

She takes them slowly, as though she wouldn't be surprised if they exploded.

Sizing Bucky up once again with her eyes, she holds out her right hand. "Natasha Romanov," she says.

Bucky takes her hand with the same care she took the pirozhkis; as though it might explode. "James Barnes."

"I know," she gives him a ghost of a smile. "<Your baking is better than your accent>," she remarks.

"Rude, but okay," Bucky responds, surprising a little laugh out of Natasha.

She turns to Steve. "Well, I'll get going. I'm assuming you're in good hands to get to the hospital for the removal of your cast later today?"

"The best," Steve responds, and Bucky successfully stifles a grin.

"That is, if you're not too busy playing with kittens." Natasha looks into Steve's arms and strokes the soft fur between Babushka's ears. She purrs at the attention.

With a final farewell, Natasha heads towards the door. Once she goes, Bucky thinks he can start breathing again.

She reaches the door, hand on the knob and everything, but doesn't go. Instead, she turns around and points to Steve. Specifically, points to the band aid still stuck on him.

Her voice enters a very specific register of amusement. "Is that my face on your arm, Rogers?"

Chapter Text

The One With The Relationship Status

(Location: Brooklyn bar)

Bucky's decompressing after another big week of work out and about with some friends. Denise is there with her husband, Doug, and also Jarrod from his current office. But there are two extra people who make the get-together especially nice: Wendy and George. Wendy used to work with them in Brooklyn, but ended up transferring to a sister outreach up in the Bronx. George moved to the west coast and is back for a week visiting family. It's a little meet-up of their original team, and up until this point Bucky forgets how much he missed this particular mix of people.

They're the ones who first welcomed him back to gainful employment as a civilian, who didn't mind he could only work a few days a week, and not even full ones at that, while he was getting used to daily life without sand and Kevlar and automatic weapons.

These are the people -- along with his family -- who helped him feel like a man again, instead of just a soldier. They are very important to him, and never fail to make him smile. It's not often now that they all get the chance to catch up together, so they're making the most of their time.

Dinner at a nice restaurant was relaxing and so much fun they weren't quite ready to call it quits afterwards. So now they've hit a little bar for some drinks. Doug and George are having an intense side-conversation about real estate in Brooklyn, while Wendy regales the rest of them with the comedy of errors that was her boyfriend trying to surprise her with a birthday party last month.

Bucky grins at the story, and he can't help but think of Steve. His boyfriend.

It shouldn't still feel like a novelty, but it does. In the very best of ways.

Bucky hasn't gotten the chance to see Steve much since he got the cast off earlier in the week and they both went back to work -- Steve to the Tower, Bucky back to his office. They have, however, still been in constant contact.

And after the worry of the Geneva Incident with the intense caregiving period, it's nice to take a step back into his own space and be take time for himself, too. He had a crappy moment on Wednesday, but a call to Benjamin put him at ease, and he righted himself pretty quickly, all things considered.

Steve asked if Bucky wanted to go out tonight, but Bucky made an apology and explained the significance of the get-together tonight for him. Steve, ever the gentleman, was completely understanding and texted 'can I write you tomorrow?' He says it just to be ironic now, as more often than not, his texts end with 'I will call you tomorrow'. Like it's a promise -- or a threat.

The thing of it is, even if the gathering hadn't been an entirely significant one, he's pretty sure Steve would've been just as gracious.

Bucky wants to have a life outside his boyfriend's sphere of influence, and what's more, Steve wants him to have that, too. He doesn't horn in on every scrap of free time Steve has, either.

The feeling of independence is important to both of them, apparently.

Unexpectedly, a beer is placed in front of Bucky without him ordering it. Bucky sits back in surprise and looks up at the waiter. "I didn't order this." It's especially strange as he's been alternating between water and Coke all night.

The waiter gives a little grin and points out a pair of women sitting at a table not far away. One is decidedly more pink with embarrassment than the other and very determinedly not looking in Bucky's direction. "It's from over there."

A collective --but thankfully soft -- 'oooohh' goes up from Bucky's table and he wants to sink into the floorboards a little.

Jarrod pokes Bucky in the arm. "Still got it, Barnes," he says wistfully. "This never happens to me when I go out."

"That's because you dress like a hobo," Wendy puts in, and the table erupts in laughter.

Bucky looks at the beer and back to the girls, thinking fast. He doesn't want to send it back because that kind of rejection is really cruel, and it takes guts to be the brave one first up. However, he also knows if he accepts, he's giving the wrong impression about interest he is definitely not feeling.

It's a tightrope, but he thinks he knows what to do.

Bucky stands and dusts off his jeans. Picking up the beer, he tries not to make too much eye contact around the table. "I'll be back," he tells them firmly.

"Don't rush!" George says with a grin. The chorus of 'ooooohh' is a little louder when he walks to the table with the girls.

There is a flurry of heated whispering between the two women as he approaches, to drop into silence when he gets to the table. Bucky gives them a little smile. "Do I have you to thank for the drink?"

"Jennifer bought it for you," the less-embarrassed-looking blonde says immediately, shoving her brunette friend in the arm. Bucky looks her over. She's quite attractive, with medium length brown hair and brown eyes, long lashes and a creamy olive tone to her skin.

"You can sit if you want...?" Jennifer says, making eye contact with Bucky.

Bucky slides into the chair and puts his drink on the table. "Thanks for the beer," he says sincerely, tapping the glass. "I know this is sort of an awkward topic, but I wanted to let you know that I'm already seeing someone, if it's not too presumptuous to assume you bought it for me to get my number." He keeps his tone gentle. It's his work-voice, and he's glad that his current and former co-workers can't hear it, because they know it all too well.

Both women flag significantly at the knowledge, and Bucky does feel a little bad, but the truth is better than false hope. "But I'm really flattered by the drink, and don't want you to be out of pocket. Can I return the favour anyway?" He looks between the two women. "To you both?"

The blonde looks to her friend, who shrugs before nodding. "Why not," Jennifer says with a shrug, "I'll break even that way."

Bucky gives her a friendly smile and gestures for the waiter. He lets the girls order, and sips at the beer, waiting for the drinks to arrive. He's not overly fond of the taste of it, but he is known to have the very occasional alcoholic beverage.

They chat in the meantime. Jennifer works at a doctor's office, and her friend, Elyse, as a PA at a law firm. Jennifer is sweet, and once she gets over her nerves talking to Bucky and starts to relax, he converses with her very pleasantly.

Once the drinks arrive, Bucky chats for a few more minutes, before he makes to excuse himself.

Before he goes, Jennifer and Elyse both thank him for being so upfront and polite about his situation. Jennifer scribbles her number down on a cocktail napkin and gives it to him.

"I fully appreciate what you've said. But you seem really nice, and if you ever find yourself single again, maybe we could have dinner?"

Bucky takes the napkin and pockets it because it would be rude not to, but knows better than to actually confirm any kind of action on his part.

He might find himself single again, but he really doesn't want to be considering that prospect right now. Bucky knows he and Steve haven't been together long, and they might not stay together, but thinking of an end point right this second is a bit of a downer.

Also, he's not about to verbally make any indication that he will call this woman. Hope like that tends to screw up a person. Best to be honest.

Instead, he smiles and bids them farewell, walking back to his friends with a half-empty beer glass.

None of them hide the fact that they've been unabashedly watching him this entire time.

"And just what do you think you're doing back so soon?" Denise asks disapprovingly.

"I'm here to spend time with you guys, not pick up," Bucky says matter of factly.

"Bucky, we love you, but that's stupid. If you wanted to spend more time with those, frankly, hot women, nobody would mind," Wendy says.

"Except for me, because I'd probably ask you if her friend's single, and do you wanna double-date," Jarrod puts in.

"I am not doubling with you, Jarrod. Not until you stop wearing frayed denim cut offs." Bucky toys with his glass before picking it up. He pauses, and on the spur of the moment, decides to share with his friends. "Besides, I'm uh, seeing someone." Bucky gets the sentence out and swallows the last of his beer before the surprised gasps hit.

Sure enough, he's belted in the face, both barrels, with a flurry of questions from everyone, including the normally reticent Doug. He winces at the onslaught.

"Who are you dating?"

"How long has this been going on?"

"Is she-- I mean, are they hot?"

"How did you meet?"

"Why didn't you say so?"

Bucky holds his hands and the barrage slows to a halt. "It's pretty new. The opportunity to mention didn't really come up beforehand... so..."

"How new is 'new'?" Jarrod asks.

Bucky shrugs. "Couple of months, give or take?" The Greek chorus of voices starts up again, only to die down when Bucky blocks his ears with his fingers at the commotion. Once they've settled down, Bucky unblocks his ears. "Can we ask questions like adults now?"

"Okay... is this someone you just met, or someone you've known for a while?" Jarrod presses.

"I've known him for about..." Bucky counts backwards quickly, "maybe four months?"

The excited murmur changes tone with the extra information. He can see their faces burning with curiosity. These are people who care about him, who want happiness and good things to happen to him. And Bucky, in turn, wants to share his happiness with them.

But only to a point.

He leans forward at the table, and everyone automatically does the same. "I know you're not going to let me off the hook, so here's the deal," Bucky says, "next person to buy me a beer--" he winces and amends his words "--a better-tasting beer than that one, gets to ask the questions. However, the interrogation will last only as long as it takes me to drink said beer, and I can refuse to answer if it's too personal."

There's a flurry of activity and arguing, but ultimately Wendy comes out on top. She crows triumph and orders some kind of weird, hipster microbrew. He'll take her word for it, he knows shit-all about them. Bucky barely drinks on a regular day, but tonight is a special occasion, and he's a responsible adult, surrounded by friends he trusts.

There's nothing scarier than an interrogation by psyche majors, but Bucky can handle himself. He knows his body and his tells extremely well, and he's also comfortable enough with these people to tell them to get lost if they go somewhere he doesn't like. But he's reasonably sure it's not going to come to that.

Wendy, as it turns out, is a benevolent interrogator.

"I prefer the term 'interview', thank you," she corrects primly.

He knows her well -- Hell, contemplated asking her out once upon a time -- and she asks questions that Bucky can choose to expound upon if he likes. Also some left-of-centre stuff that's designed to startle answers out of him. Mostly it just makes him laugh.

"I'm wise to your tricks, Wendy. I have a psyche degree too, y'know."

"Can't blame a girl for trying."

Bucky gives them decent tidbits. He doesn't lie about anything, only omits details of a private or identity-confirming nature.

According to Bucky, his boyfriend is former Army now working for the government. They met on Tinder, and didn't actually meet in person for nearly two months. He keeps really fit, but he's not a gymbro-- despite Bucky mistaking him for one at the beginning. He initially comes across as sweet, but he's got a sarcastic streak a mile wide, and a wicked sense of humour. He's also a massive dork. As each tidbit of information is revealed, his friends smile and nod in approval. Bucky tries not to give too much away in his body language.

Jarrod demands to know if Bucky's mystery man is hotter than him.

"Yes, he is. Next question? I'm almost out of beer," Bucky threatens good-naturedly. He feels a warmth to his cheeks, perhaps coming from the fact he's been drinking it a little fast to shorten the question time.

Wendy asks if she can see a picture, and Bucky thinks on it. He shows them one of the very early pictures Steve sent to him from his early-morning runs. The group whistles at the long, muscular legs in sweats. George makes a joke of fanning himself. "Wow, I think I'm a little turned on."

Bucky grins and shrugs. He's got one mouthful of beer left. "Last one, friends. Make it good."

"Oh!" Wendy exclaims. "I didn't even think to ask... What's his name?"

Bucky blinks slowly, the smile on his face soft and happy. "Steve," he answers.

Denise's eyes light up. "Steve," she repeats. Bucky gives her a long look, quirking his brows. Denise doesn't say anything else, merely smiles and leans into her husband.

This is why Denise is his favourite.

Bucky drains the last of his beer and sets the glass on the table. "And the buzzer has sounded. The Q & A portion of the evening has ended."

A chorus of disappointment meets Bucky. "Cry more," he jeers, "your tears and recrimination only make me stronger and more powerful."

"Well, it's been very enlightening, but I'm rather disappointed you resorted to telling us in person the old-fashioned way. I get most of my news from Facebook," Jarrod remarks.

Bucky rolls his eyes. "You know I don't use Facebook very much."

"Facebook-official, or it didn't really happen," Wendy intones, and Jarrod hi-fives her.

"Come on, that's not even a real thing."

"It's on Urban Dictionary," Doug contributes.

"Et tu, Doug?" Bucky asks. "Why does anyone give a shit whether I'm single or not?"

"I'll admit, that there's a certain voyeuristic curiosity that comes with it," George starts, "and you'll always get the people who don't know you very well just being nosey. And you'll get your asshole friends -- and we all have a few -- making stupid comments. But you also get to let in your good friends and family on what's going on in your life, and they get to be happy for you."

"But there's always lots of problems if there's a breakup," Denise reminds, "because suddenly everyone on your feed knows. The algorithms don't allow you to filter that information. I can understand why people don't do it, it can be really intrusive and potentially damaging if you go through a traumatic breakup."

Bucky points to Denise. "Yes. That one. That's the bit I don't like."

"What does Steve think?" Wendy asks. "Maybe he's secretly pining about not being listed as your boyfie."

"I can't help but notice I have run out of beer, and you're still asking questions..." Bucky says, and George places his untouched glass in front of Bucky. Bucky looks at the new glass and feels a little dizzy. The fact that he rarely drinks is making what he has go straight to his head. He thanks George, but pushes the bottle away. Two is more than enough.

Denise wordlessly fills an empty glass with water and he gratefully takes that instead.

Denise. Still favourite.

"I'll give you a freebie and answer, just because I like you," Bucky says. "I highly doubt it. Steve actually hates Facebook passionately." He plays with a damp coaster, ripping the soggy edges off. "Doesn't even have an account."

There is a collective gasp from the table. "I think I'm gonna faint," Jarrod says.

"I ain't giving you CPR," Bucky tells him. "It's to do with his job. For security reasons he doesn't show his face in pictures where he can be identified. Also? He really hates how intrusive it is, and how people just feel the need to talk about everything they happen to be doing on it."

"That's good old Face-Stalk for you," Jarrod says. "My go-to platform when I want to find out when Rory last visited Walgreens for antacid."

They all burst out laughing after that, and the subject of Steve and Bucky and Facebook is dropped. It does, however, start a rollicking debate on social media and how it influences people's lives.

The rest of the evening is pleasant, filled with lots of laughs. When it's inching towards midnight, their conversation slowly starts drawing to a natural close. Jarrod wants to hit another nightspot, but he's summarily booed by his friends.

Bucky says his goodbyes to everyone with copious hugs and handshakes, and splits a cab with Denise and Doug. He's got a little bit of a headache from the beer, and doesn't feel like taking the subway.

But tomorrow is Saturday, and because one of the schools is having their annual carnival, the group has been postponed so all students can attend.

This means he has a Saturday free. Bliss.

Bucky and Denise keep chatting while the cab makes its way to Bucky's place first. Doug sits in the front seat and talks to the driver, because... that's what Doug does.

Denise pokes Bucky in the deltoid. "So... correct me if I'm wrong... but I spoke to Steve on the phone, right? The night of my anniversary?"

"Yeah," Bucky confirms, "that was him."

"He has a great voice," she says with a little smile.

Bucky chews on his bottom lip. "He does at that."

"So polite, though. I honestly thought he might've stopped himself from calling me 'ma'am'."

Bucky barks out a laugh. "That's... that definitely sounds like him. But then you get to know him and it's all stealing my cat's affections and ragging on my cooking."

He realises what he's said the moment it's out of his mouth -- stupid beer making him feel fuzzy -- and there's no chance that Denise didn't make the connection. It's so rare that Bucky cooks, it's an easy leap for someone like her to make.

Bucky stops offering information and sits quietly. He wonders if Denise will be annoyed at him for omitting that information.

"He that army buddy of yours that was laid up last week?" she queries.

"Yeah," Bucky admits. "Workplace injury, but he's all good now."

There's another pause, in which Bucky chews on his lower lip.

Eventually, Denise begins talking. "Since it's probably highly classified--" she starts.

"Level eighty-nine clearance required," Bucky informs her, tapping the side of his nose.

"--I'm going to imagine that he did himself this injury by slamming a photocopier lid on his hand, or being stabbed by a ballpoint pen."

Bucky laughs. "I'll have to tell him you said that."

Anyone else he didn't know as well might've made some sort of crack about playing hooky off work to visit the boyfriend for a dirty weekend, or other such nonsense -- and as much Bucky likes Jarrod, he'd definitely do that -- but Denise knows him better than that.

There's some very compelling reasons as to why Dee is his favourite work-human.

Bucky finds it's nice to be able to talk about Steve to someone else, and have his friend be happy for him.

The cab arrives at Bucky's apartment and he gets out. He passes some money to the driver as Denise sticks her head out of the window. "Well, this character must be okay if Babushka likes him." She pauses. "Maybe sometime when you're ready, I could meet him."

Bucky smiles softly and kisses Denise on the cheek. "Sounds like a plan."

He bids farewell to Doug, and heads inside.

Babushka is sleeping on her cat bed when he lets himself in, but soon gets up to circle around Bucky's legs as he enters the apartment.

Bucky is suddenly exhausted. Big week plus being social is hard. He's not a twenty-year-old idiot anymore.

Stripping off, Bucky does the bare minimum he needs to get ready for bed. His brain starts functioning on autopilot as he goes through his night-time routine. One of the last things he does is to pull up Facebook on his phone and really wonder what all the fuss is about.

Sometime after that, Bucky flicks a quick message to Steve, saying he's home and will call tomorrow, and passes out in an exhausted lump facedown on his pillow.

The One With The Surprise Interrogation (pt 4)

(Location: Bucky's apartment)

Bucky wakes up with a furry mouth and a furry face. "Bushka, no," he groans, pushing the kitten off his chest. He looks across to the clock, which is showing a little after ten a.m.

He stretches out and runs lazy hands through his hair. The taste in his mouth is pretty foul, and Bucky is reminded of one of reasons as to why he doesn't normally drink.

Bucky spends ten blissful minutes just lying in bed, slowly working himself awake before eventually rolling over and reaching for his phone.

Facebook has exploded with notifications. Bucky raises an eyebrow, and wonders if perhaps Wendy's uploaded and tagged him in some photos they took last night, and everyone's commenting on them.

"Stupid Facebook," he mutters, and decides to open the app to check out the damage.

It's worse than he thinks.

Yes, there are a few photos up, but the majority of the notifications seem to be coming from a post. Bucky taps the notification to read the text in question. He's still kind of sleepy, and so doesn't understand why he's seeing all sorts of congratulations and people asking questions, until he scrolls back up to the top.

"Oh, seriously," Bucky says, eyes growing wide.

Apparently, his 1am, slightly dizzy and overtired self took to Facebook.

James Barnes
9 hrs

Not going to change my relationship status or anything, because it's stupid. But I'm dating a really great guy and I'm happy. Consider yourself duly informed.

"Holy shit," Bucky breathes, rubbing his eyes. Nope, the status is still there.

As are the multitude of comments. He scans them briefly. They are a pretty usual mix of smartassery from his friends, congratulations, and people wanting to know who the lucky guy is.

As if I'm gonna answer anything, Bucky thinks. He pulls up the status to delete it, but hesitates. He sits on the 'are you sure you want to delete this post?' screen for a long while. Sure, it was a fucking dumb thing to do, but the fact of it is, he's not adverse to having people know he's taken, and the well wishes from his friends are nice.

In the end, he changes the privacy setting to just him, with a view to perhaps delete later. He also takes a screen shot of the post from his phone and sends it to Steve. Because Steve deserves to know Bucky's been an idiot.

Bucky: So I may've done something kind of stupid while incredibly overtired and under the influence of my friends. [attached image]

While he's in his messages, it occurs to Bucky he's got at least six unread messages between two of his three sisters.

Oh, shit.

Becca: Bucky wtf???? When did you get a boyfriend? Why do I have to find out through facebook?

Becca: you need to text me with photos and details immediately.

Becca: BUCKY WAKE UP. I COMMAND YOU.

Becca: That's it, I'm on my way over. You were warned.

Abi: Becca texted me that you have a boyfriend. I'm shocked and disgusted to find out from her. I thought I was your favourite.

Abi: Also congratulations, big brother :)

Bucky throws his phone to the side and begins a long and guttural sentence of inventive curse words. The unique situation he finds himself in with Steve has mucked up the natural order in which he'd normally break the news to his nearest and dearest.

Bucky sighs. This is not how he pictured his morning going.

His phone starts ringing and Bucky flicks it a pensive glance, checking the caller ID. It's Steve.

Bucky pauses for a microsecond before he connects the call. "Hey, Steve," he says cheerfully, "I'm an idiot."

"Sometimes," Steve confirms with amusement. "So I'm a 'great guy', huh?"

"If you were really a great guy, you wouldn't have agreed so quickly that I was an idiot."

"I don't lie, Bucky," Steve says in his Captain America tone of voice.

"You embellish the shit outta stuff, though," Bucky counters. "Like when you told me about the time you punched a tank during WWII."

The line goes very quiet. "I uh... did punch a tank," he says softly.

Bucky rolls over to lie face down on his bed, mashing it against the mattress. "I think we should properly revisit the definition of 'idiot', and which one of us is one," Bucky says, voice muffled by his bed.

Steve chuckles. "Not my finest moment, but I got the tank to stop, at least."

Bucky shifts his face to the side so he's no longer muffled, and taps the button that puts the phone on speaker. He chuckles, but the laugh devolves into a deep, world-weary sigh.

"I'm gathering you had a good night with your friends, anyway?" Steve queries.

Bucky gives a little smile. "Yeah, nice catching up and lots of laughs. Food was great, I had a couple of drinks but stopped when they made me feel a little shitty. Caught a cab home."

"Nice," Steve says, and he sounds a little wistful. "Anything interesting happen?"

Bucky rolls onto his back, drumming his fingers on his stomach. "Hmmm... Jarrod laughed so hard at one of Wendy's stories he nearly choked on a peanut?"

Steve's warm chuckle down the phone makes Bucky smile. "Nice," he repeats.

"Oh, and a girl tried to pick me up by buying me a beer. I didn't want to embarrass her by rejecting, so I bought her a drink in return, and told her I was taken. That's sort of what started the boyfriend talk with my friends, which has led to social media regret." He pauses. "It goes without saying that the Facebook thing was an accident, and I didn't mean to type it. If it makes any difference, I've hidden the post now."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. Bucky's about to ask Steve if he's still there -- maybe the line dropped out -- when he speaks. "When you say you didn't mean it, do you mean the sentiment, or the posting?"

Steve's question is quite carefully worded, and Bucky takes a moment to muddle out what he's being asked. Ohhh.

"I meant the sentiment -- you make me very happy -- I just didn't mean to broadcast it to my friends and family via social media at 1am. Also, I know how you feel about Facebook."

Steve pauses before he answers, and when he does, Bucky can hear the sunshine grin in his voice. "Well, that's good. And it's okay, it's not like you mentioned me by name or anything."

"Still, I didn't mean to announce it quite like that," Bucky apologises. "And speaking of family, I'm fielding angry texts from my sisters about not knowing about you."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Steve says.

"It's no big deal. I think Becks is just mad I haven't mentioned anything about you to her."

"Would you normally have by this stage?" he queries.

Bucky rubs one eye tiredly. "Yeah... me and my sisters have a good relationship. We usually share this stuff. One-off dates, not so much, but anything remotely consistent and we usually share. So I can go overprotective brother on them, or they can hassle me about 'not forgetting the romance' or some shit."

Steve is silent once again on the other end of the phone for a few moments. He knows everything they've been doing so far has kept their relationship low-key. Not 'dirty little secret' low-key, more 'away from harsh scrutiny'. As much as he loves his family, scrutiny is something they excel at, especially when it involves Bucky or his sisters.

"Steve?" Bucky asks. "It's... it's okay. I can deflect them for a while longer, even though they are all masters of guilt and harassment. I blame myself; I taught them too well."

"The thing of it is..." Steve starts hesitantly, "if you would ordinarily be talking about me to them... I want you to. I want us to be normal, you know? That includes being introduced to your family at some stage. That is, if. If you wanted me to meet them."

Bucky spends Steve's stuttering sentence allowing a smile to grow exponentially on his face. "Are you kidding, of course I want to talk about you, and of course I want you to meet them. I just--" he breathes out a jet of air sharply, "They mean well, but they might come on a little strong. I don't want to spook you."

"I can safely say I think I can handle it," Steve promises.

"I'm just not sure I can," Bucky jokes half-heartedly. "We've not really talked about the privacy issue in explicit terms, but I know not having strangers in our business is important to you." He exhales slowly. "Okay so... family introductions TBA, but let me break the news to them before a first meeting. I don't want Abi posting about you on Twitter before I have time to mention about discretion."

"Sounds like a plan," Steve says.

Bucky's doorbell rings, and he levers himself off the bed with a groan. "Someone's at my door, is it you?" he asks as he flicks his legs off the side of the mattress.

"Sadly not! I'm finishing that painting I was telling you about while the light is nice."

"Damn, I'd better put on some pants, then."

"... You wearing Ranger panties again?"

"Shorts, they're sh-- ah, forget it." Bucky keeps the phone in the crook of his shoulder as he pulls some sweats on. "We still on for later?"

"Mhm!" Steve answers cheerfully. "Don't indecently expose anyone!

"Bye, you incredible dweeb," Bucky says, before hanging up the phone. He heads out to his living room, Babushka circling at his feet as he checks the peephole.

"Shit," he mutters, before unlocking the deadbolt and turning the key to open the door. "I thought you were kidding!"

Rebecca Barnes-Proctor is outside his door, her nine-month old daughter Isobel tucked in under her chin. "Bucky, you got some 'splainin' to do," she tells him before entering his apartment.

"Come in, Rebecca, lovely to see you," he says sarcastically.

"I'm going to need coffee and for you to take Isobel for a minute," she says, thrusting the little blonde girl at him before disappearing into the bathroom.

Bucky rolls his eyes and looks down at the baby in his arms. "Hi, Izzy, how are you?" he asks softly, and receives some excitable baby gibberish in return. "That's what I thought."

He puts her over his shoulder and walks into the kitchen. The coffee maker starts up and he finds a packet of rusk sticks in his pantry. "You still teething, cutie? Doesn't even matter if you aren't, rusks are awesome, aren't they?"

Isobel certainly agrees, because she starts making grabby hands for them as soon as she spies the packet.

Rebecca comes out of the bathroom and heads straight to the kitchen. "Coffee?" she asks.

"Percolating," Bucky replies, gently bouncing Isobel.

"I'll finish it, you go sit down and think up a decent excuse as to why you didn't tell me anything."

Bucky sighs deeply and trudges to the sofa. He loves his family, he loves his sisters especially, but that doesn't mean they don't sometimes drive him up the goddamn wall. Closeness sometimes breeds incredible invasiveness.

He gently shoos Babushka away from the sofa, who stalks off in a huff. "I just did you a favour, Bushka," Bucky says as he sits down. Isobel isn't that happy at not being able to grab the kitten and nearly drops her rusk in an attempt anyway. Isobel looks on the verge of tears that the kitten has escaped her grasp, but Bucky bundles her up and starts bouncing her on his knee.

Rebecca enters the living room with two mugs, and places one on the coffee table. "There's cat hair on the sofa. It's not good for Isobel," she says.

"I love Isobel, but she doesn't live here. Babushka does. If I'd had more warning, maybe I could've gotten the lint brush out," Bucky replies. He tries to keep the pissiness out of his voice, but Bucky won't have his younger sister turn up with very little warning and tell him what to do in his own apartment.

Rebecca gives him a scathing look like she might snap back, but then backs down. "So, tell me about the guy you're dating," she says evenly, changing the subject in lieu of an apology.

"What do you want to know?" Bucky asks, helping Isobel with her rusk.

"Anything at this point," she fires back. "What's his name? How old is he? What does he do? Where did you meet? How long have you known him? How long have you been dating?"

Bucky exhales slowly. "His name is Steve. He's thirty-one, and works for the government."

"What, like a public servant? Or the FBI or something?"

"Yeah, the second one."

"Huh," Rebecca says, taking a sip of her coffee. "Secret stuff?"

"A lot of what he does is classified," Bucky hedges, "he doesn't talk about it a lot."

"Bucky..." Rebecca gets that annoying warning tone, "How do you know he's not just making it up? Where did you meet him, anyway?"

"Tinder," Bucky responds to a further groan.

"Buck! I thought you got off that!"

"Well, I'm off it now," Bucky snaps back.

"I reiterate -- how do you know he's telling the truth? People lie through their teeth on that all the time, and most people only use it for hook-ups."

"That's a pretty big generalisation. I wasn't using it for hook-ups."

"Ah, but you did sometimes just hook up with people on it, right?"

Bucky is silent for a while before looking down at Isobel. She stares up at him with big, sleepy eyes. "I don't feel comfortable having this conversation in front of Izzy."

Rebecca rolls her eyes at him. "Fine. I'm putting her down for a nap on your bed. That okay?"

"Of course." Because it doesn't matter how snippy they are at one another, they love each other and he loves Isobel. Rebecca disappears for a couple of minutes and Bucky sips his coffee. He needs his sister to lay off the combative streak, and then he can actually talk to her about Steve.

When Rebecca comes back, mostly closing the door behind her so Babushka doesn't go and stir Isobel up, she seems a little calmer.

They drink coffee silently for a few moments, a little tension in the air.

"So you did use it to hook up sometimes," she continues, and Bucky rolls his eyes. Because of course that's the first thing she comes out with again.

"I sometimes got together with people that I never called again, but that was by our mutual agreement at the time, and I never went into a date with the intention of that happening. For fuck's sake, Becca, if I wanted a hook-up I could just walk into a bar; I don't need an app to help me."

She pauses for a while, scrutinising him deeply. "So how secret is his job, anyway? Do you get to know anything at all?"

Bucky counts it as a win she's dropped the one night stand angle. He could tell her that he and Steve haven't actually... well... but Bucky's not going to talk to his little sister about his sex life unless one of them is under threat of death for him to do so. Because gross.

"In a way, yes? He gets actively deployed to some pretty serious incidents, but he's got a lot of training and experience, and a really good team." He pauses. "In some ways, it's similar to what I used to do with the Rangers. Remember you would know vaguely what I did but I couldn't give you details."

"It sounds like he's in the military."

Bucky shrugs. "He used to be an officer in the Army. This isn't Army work, but it is..." he tries to think of the right words, "definitely a tactical position."

"It sounds fishy," Rebecca says, screwing up her nose, and Bucky's had enough.

"Why are you busting my balls about this so much? I thought you'd be happy for me! You normally are, or at least pretend to be until you meet my partner and make judgments."

A flicker of hurt crosses Rebecca's face. "I'm busting your balls because I thought we were close," she says.

"We are close," Bucky argues, "why the hell are you getting upset?"

"Because I've never had to find out something so personal about you over the internet first," she says, and Bucky winces.

Because, ow.

Her shitty attitude and sniping makes so much sense, and Bucky feels bad deep down in the pit of his stomach.

He and his sisters are close. Despite the three, five and six year age gaps between him and his siblings, they've always had a warm rapport. Bucky missed them terribly when he was overseas, and they were the best thing about coming home. One of the reasons he finally decided to quit the Army was Rebecca was pregnant with her first child, and he wanted to be there for his baby sister, and his unborn niece or nephew (Turns out it was a nephew: Robert, Isobel's older brother).

He didn't want to be 'that man' who showed up every nine months or so for a few weeks to give presents, and who the kids had to be coaxed to give a hug to because they didn't know him.

He's always shared with the girls, and they with him. Bucky's worked out many a problem with people he's seeing while having a deep and meaningful chat with Rebecca, or had to play protective big brother and provide tissues and ice cream for his sisters' during break ups. He's given the shovel talk to more than one suitor over the years.

And yeah, if it had been anyone else, after the first couple of weeks he probably would've taken Rebecca out to lunch and casually dropped the info about dating someone to her. They would've looked at photos, she would've asked her questions, and that would've been it.

It's just this situation is so... unique. He's never dated anyone remotely noteworthy before. And Steve really just wants to be normal.

But... as Rebecca's made a point out of... telling her is normal.

Bucky sighs, shoulders slumping, and puts his coffee mug down.

"I didn't mean to put that on Facebook, I got home from going out with the work crew -- Wendy and George are in town, by the way -- and it got me thinking about telling people, and..." Bucky shakes his head. "I don't even remember doing it, I was that tired, but I was thinking it was time to share my news."

Rebecca is set to look hurt again, but Bucky takes her shoulders in his hands gently. "But you -- you and Abi and Gracie -- you're the first people I ever want to share good stuff with. I was already planning on telling you. Hell, we only really decided on the 'boyfriend' title last week, and we've been dating for about two months.

"The Facebook thing came out of two beers and being way overtired. I didn't think you'd appreciate texts at one a.m. telling you I'm happy dating someone."

His sister gives him a penetrating look, and while he's an accomplished liar when needs be, Rebecca has become annoyingly adept at sniffing out a rat.

Rebecca eventually sighs. "Okay, I believe you. But... why have you waited so long, anyway? Two months is more time than you would normally wait to tell me something like this."

Bucky scratches the back of his neck. "I know, I know... I haven't had a proper girlfriend or boyfriend since I left the Army, and I just wanted to wait a bit and feel it out. Also... Steve's job makes it a little hard to share. It even took two months from the time we started talking to the time we met. It can keep him really busy."

"Did he ask you not to tell us?" she queries suspiciously.

"No! No, nothing like that. Apart from me being an exhausted dick on Facebook last night, I haven't mentioned him to anyone, really. Last night was the first time. I talked to him earlier today, and he wants to meet you in the future. It's just that... Shit," Bucky shifts on the sofa cushion, tapping his closed fist against his lips, "I don't know how to say it without sounding weird and secretive." Bucky stops and takes a breath to collect his thoughts. "His job can be dangerous, and sometimes high profile. I trust you but I needed to make sure you'd be able to be discreet, for his sake."

Rebecca pauses for a long moment. "Is he in Special Forces where his face gets blurred out of photographs, or something? How the hell was he on Tinder, then? If you posted a picture of him on Facebook, the terrorists would know where to find him?"

Bucky snorts out a laugh. "Firstly, he didn't have his face in any of the Tinder pics, I didn't see him properly until I met him in person. And it's a little melodramatic, but in a way, yeah, he has to maintain some privacy."

His sister fixes him with a piercing glance. "Are you safe, Bucky?"

"Now that's a dumb question to ask a Ranger."

"You forever like to remind me you're an ex-Ranger. My question still stands."

"Yeah, I'm safe," Bucky promises, reaching out to touch her knee. "And he's one of the best people I've ever met."

Rebecca's eyebrows climb. "Really? High praise, seeing as you know me."

"I'm so sorry I ever taught you sass," Bucky bemoans, a smile twitching the corner of his lips.

Appeased that she hasn't been deliberately shunned from the loop, Rebecca sits back a little. "So... tell me about him. Not what he does, him. What's his deal? You got a picture?"

Bucky sidesteps the picture query for the moment. "He's tall and really fit, but loves junk food and eats like a horse. He's talented at art -- so talented, Becks -- but he joined the Army when he was young and got deployed." Bucky taps his finger against his lips. "He's addicted to coffee, treats Babushka like a mini-queen, is inherently sarcastic, but never cruel, so dedicated to his job and puts himself on the line for others all the time..."

"Stop talking about yourself, you narcissist, and start discussing Steve," Rebecca smirks, and Bucky pokes her in the arm.

"Don't be a brat."

"Excuse me, I am a twenty-nine year old mother of two--"

"--And my little sister, and a goddamn brat," Bucky finishes cheerfully.

"Also that," Rebecca admits. "So, to recap, known Steve for four months, dating for two, boyfriends for a week... that about sum it up?"

Bucky picks his coffee mug back up. "That's it," he confirms. "He's been away a few times for work in that time, so there have been some gaps."

"And how's that going?" Rebecca asks curiously. "I know you'd be exclusive, but is he?"

"Yeah he is, and... it's really good," Bucky admits. "We've spent a lot of time just kicking back in each other's company, but also gone out and done the clichéd date thing, too. It's not like we live in each other's pockets, either. I still like my alone time, and he needs it, too. Also, our schedules don't always match up."

"How do you go with his job?" she asks gently. "I mean, if what you say is true, and it's dangerous... how are you coping with that? Do you ever find it triggering?"

Bucky exhales slowly. "It's not been an issue a whole lot yet. But when I say he's highly skilled, the situations he's dealing with... nobody else is better qualified to deal with it than he is. If he weren't... a lot of people would die, Becks."

Babushka appears out of nowhere at Bucky's ankle and he picks her up with one hand. She settles in his lap, keeping one eye open on Rebecca, purring like a little outboard motor.

"He's that good, huh?" she asks.

"He really is," Bucky responds quietly. "And I'm doing okay. There was a thing recently... he got sent away and ended up getting a little hurt. He's fine now, but I couldn't speak to him at the time and didn't know what had happened. He's since given me a number I can call, and I'm on a special list so I can always get information about him if he's away." Rebecca nods in what Bucky thinks is approval, so he continues.

"Plus, I haven't found anything triggering so far. Even if... I still keep in touch with Benjamin, anyway."

Rebecca continues to take in the information. "Okay," she says. "Seems like Steve is pretty great. What's his family like?"

Bucky's lips pull tight. "He's an only child, and his parents have both passed. No other relatives, so it's just him."

Rebecca frowns. "Oh, that sounds lonely."

"Yeah, but..." Bucky can't help the smile that blooms on his face. "I swear he's the biggest dork, you'd really like him."

"You still haven't shown me a picture," she reminds him. "Is he cute?"

Bucky exhales slowly. Now is as good a time as any. "You have no idea how cute he actually is," Bucky says, reaching for his phone on the coffee table.

He pulls up his phone's gallery, and one of the first pictures he comes across is Steve asleep on the sofa with Babushka sitting on him. It's quite ridiculously adorable.

"You're nervous," Rebecca observes.

"A little," Bucky admits, handing her his phone.

She takes it, but doesn't drop her eye contact with Bucky immediately. "So... this Steve have a last name?"

"Yeah," Bucky says as Rebecca looks down at the screen. "Rogers."

Rebecca half-smiles as she studies the photo. "What, his parents WWII buffs or something? Steve Rogers is--"

She snaps her head towards him so quickly, Bucky's afraid she's got whiplash. "Steve Rogers," Rebecca hisses, eyes wide. She looks back down at the photo and then up at Bucky.

"This. This. This is Captain America."

"Yeah," Bucky says simply. Rebecca's breathing heavily. "You're... you're not gonna hyperventilate or something, are you?"

"It's Photoshopped. It has to be. Or you got it off the internet or something."

Bucky points down to the kitten in his lap. "It's her, Becca."

"But. But that's not your sofa," she reasons. Bucky can see she's really having trouble with this.

"It was taken at his place."

"How have you been to Captain America's apartment?" she asks.

He arches one eyebrow sardonically. "You heard the part about me dating him, right?" Despite the smarmy answer, Bucky understands Rebecca's histrionics. Hell, he had a moment of vertigo the first time he met Steve, too.

"Bucky. Bucky." Rebecca starts smacking him on the arm, the smacks getting harder the more she does it. "Bucky."

Babushka gets upset with Bucky getting jostled and leaps of his lap, hissing. "Please don't upset my cat, Becca. Steve likes her."

Rebecca stares at him incredulously. "I'm calling bullshit on this, Bucky. You can't be dating Captain America."

Bucky gives a little sigh. "You're right, I'm not." He takes his phone back and flicks a few photos back, showing her again. The picture on screen is Steve stuffing a hot dog in his face in Central park.

He swipes again. The next photo is of Steve at his easel, backlit by the window his apartment, looking thoughtful. His left leg with the cast is straight out to the side and Babushka bats at it playfully.

He swipes one more time. It's a selfie of Bucky and Steve after the Coney Island date. Bucky is facepalming while Steve is next to him wearing that god-awful cowboy hat, laughing. "I'm not dating Captain America, Becca," he reiterates softly, "I'm dating Steve Rogers."

Rebecca stares down at the photo quietly, before looking up at Bucky. He's not sure whether she's about to laugh or burst into tears, or start pummelling him again. "Steve Rogers is your boyfriend?" she asks in a surprisingly small voice.

"Apparently he's not put off by my late starts and my binge-watching tv habits."

"It's a miracle... oh my God, Bucky." She punches him once again in the arm for good measure, a solid hit. Bucky regrets ever showing her how to punch. It fucking hurts.

"Becca will you stop hitting me."

"This is why you didn't tell me."

Bucky rubs his arm. He might even bruise. Stupid strong sister. "Yeah. It wasn't because I didn't want to... it's not like he's a random, y'know? When was the last time you heard anything about Captain America on TV that wasn't related to the Avengers?"

"I-- huh. I can't remember," Rebecca says.

"That's because he tries to keep his nose out of the press, but it's not easy. We go to a cafe and the wait staff wants to put his photo on Facebook to draw in customers, or people are trying to take sneaky pics of him for Twitter. He's a public figure, but... if our faces are going to be splashed all over social media -- and let's be honest, it's only a matter of time -- I don't want it to be because one of my sisters--"

"Abi," Rebecca supplies.

"Yeah, Abi... because she posted something which brings a whole lot of media scrutiny down not only on him, but on us, too."

"I see," Rebecca says slowly.

Bucky sighs again. "I want to do right by the both of you. I want my family to know, but I also don't want to expose this to the press prematurely. Or you, for that matter."

"Speak for yourself, I've always fancied appearing on TMZ," she says, brushing her hair dramatically off her shoulder.

Bucky grins a little and shakes his head, before it fades to a more serious expression. "You're the first person I've told that it's Steve. Even if you hadn't come barging over here like a crazy person, I still would've told you first."

Rebecca's face softens a little. "So Capt-- I mean... Steve wants to meet me, huh?" she gives Bucky a shit-eating grin, and he rolls his eyes heavenwards.

"Apparently you're important to me, or some bullshit like that," Bucky replies.

Rebecca sits back in the sofa. "We should probably do something that gets Steve meeting everyone at once, so nobody can cry foul that they met him first."

"Okay, but wait a second, he said wants to meet but I don't think he meant straight awa--"

"Dinner at Mom and Dad's," Rebecca interrupts as though she doesn't even hear him. "It's perfect."

Bucky sighs. It's a lost cause already. "Immediate family only," he amends quickly, and Rebecca nods. "Aunt Joyce has a mouth on her, everyone from Brooklyn to Queens'll know it's Steve if she's invited. And I don't want anyone to get a shock, I'm gonna break the news beforehand."

"Is that a good idea? You know Abi is terrible at keeping secrets... It might just be better to confiscate her phone and spring it on her."

Bucky rubs his face vigorously for a second. "I-- I don't know. Gimme a chance to make up my mind?" He runs his hands through his hair, giving a tug when he gets to the ends. "Maybe I can just tell them that I'm dating someone well-known so that's why it's been hush-hush, and introduce them at dinner?"

"That might work." Rebecca perks up. "Can I be around when you tell Gracie, though? She'll be back from Chicago next week, and is just going to die."

"I feel like Gracie only did Modern History in high school so she could moon over pictures of Steve in her text books... am I remembering that right?"

"Yes!" Rebecca answers gleefully.

Bucky shakes his head. "How could I have forgotten that... she's gonna kill me."

"For defiling her teenage crush? Yes, yes she is."

"She's going to take back the award for 'Bestest Big Brother' she made for me in the fourth grade, isn't she?"

"Yes, yes she is."

"Well, shit."

Bucky's not really worried. Gracie will get over it, and provided Abi's phone is confiscated before any meeting takes place, photos won't end up on the internet. Rebecca's husband, Nick, is like a brother, and Bobby's too young to know what's going on. Provided Bucky can just prep everybody... it might all turn out okay.

The thought that he might get to take his and Steve's relationship to a new place where they can be a couple in front of his family, where he gets to show those he loves that he's pretty damned happy with his life choices so far... he's excited.

Nervous as hell, too, but still excited.

His family can be hard work, but when it comes down to it, he wouldn't trade them for anyone else's.

Quite suddenly, he reaches forward and wraps Rebecca in a hug. "Thanks, Becks. You're the best little sister ever."

Rebecca's arms go around him to squeeze him tight, her face pressed against his neck. "I'd be more flattered, save that I know you tell Abi and Gracie the exact same thing."

"Can't help it if all my little sisters are the best, can I? Good genes."

Rebecca laughs and Bucky lets her go, a little reluctantly. "Promise you'll go easy on him? He's never had siblings, he's in for a rude shock."

"I will try... but it might be hard. If nothing else, I have to share embarrassing stories about you from our childhood."

"Becca..." Bucky warns.

Bucky's phone starts ringing again, and he arches one eyebrow. When he looks at the caller ID, he bites his lip.

"It's Mom," he says in a hushed whisper. "Why would she be calling me? She never does at this time of day."

Rebecca pauses. "You have Aunt Joyce on Facebook, right?"

Bucky looks down at the phone with dawning horror. "Oh, shit. I wasn't ready."

Rebecca pats him on the shoulder, commiserating. "Get ready, big bro."

Bucky winces and connects the call. "Hey, Ma," he says, bracing for impact."

"Hello, James, I've just had the most interesting phone call from your father's sister--"

Bucky sighs softly, and throws a pillow at Rebecca's laughing face.

He hates Facebook.

Chapter Text

The One With The Many Firsts

(Location: Bucky's Apartment)

Bucky only gets to catch up with Steve a couple of times early in the week before Captain America's presence is requested in DC at the Swiss Embassy. For 'exemplary and heroic actions in Geneva, serving the UN and the Swiss people', according to the official paperwork. Bucky can't stop grinning at Steve's vaguely embarrassed face as Steve told him.

There will be an official ceremony, where Steve and Sam -- acting as representatives of SHIELD -- will be presented with commendations for the team. Not to mention the charity gala ball, meeting with the Swiss Ambassador to the USA one-on-one, as well as some other international dignitaries whose delegates were saved by the Avengers.

Somehow Tony and Natasha manage to be busy enough to avoid the pomp and circumstance, and Steve's ire is quietly hilarious.

So Steve and Sam travel to DC to be acclaimed internationally for their courageous efforts, and Bucky stays at home and takes stupid videos of his cat.

Oh, and he works.

Bucky catches the ceremony highlights and the occasional news report on TV or web article about the various events. He can't help a big grin when he sees Steve and Sam in uniform being presented with awards by the Swiss Ambassador. Sam is absolutely beaming, Steve is wearing his 'serious polite interest' face, and Bucky finds it absolutely hilarious that he knows exactly how to recognise that.

Steve also looks incredibly hot in his uniform.

The good thing about this particular trip is that while it's mostly work for Steve, it's not a mission. The risk of being shot at is minimal, however, the risk of Steve being driven to extreme boredom by some of the official functions is high, if the texts Bucky gets are anything to go by.

Steve: The Romanian Ambassador is falling asleep during the speeches. His aide is trying to wake him up on the sly.

Steve: I want to be the Romanian Ambassador.

Bucky: Fucking rude to be texting under the table, Steve.

Bucky: Pay attention, there'll be a quiz later.

Steve: Quill at the ready.

Steve gives a brilliant speech, and Bucky's glad Steve isn't there to see how much he grins at the TV, because it's rather embarrassing.

The charity gala also gets a bit of play on the networks, but most of Bucky's information about that comes from Steve's firsthand accounts.

Steve: I feel like I should've taken up Pepper on her offer to teach me how to dance.

Bucky: Shit, Steve. What if you have to dance and seduce the French Ambassador's daughter in the name of World Peace and maintaining healthy international relations?

Steve: Then we're all going to Hell in a handbasket.

Bucky does get a text from an unknown number with an attached image. It turns out to be a selfie of Sam, Steve in the background on the dance floor. He's dancing with some dignitary, and even from the tiny image, Bucky can make out the redness of Steve's cheeks.

Bucky: Thank you, Sam-ta, that's all I wanted for Christmas!

Sam: He is beauty, he is grace.

Bucky: He punches Hitler in the face.

A short time later, texts from Steve resume.

Steve: What did he send you. I need to know how badly to ruin his chances with one of the attractive Secret Service Agents.

Bucky: Quit being paranoid and get your ass back out on that floor.

Steve: Oh God, he sent you dancing photos?

Steve: I am going to devise a suitably embarrassing punishment for him.

Steve: I wish you were here.

Bucky pauses, shaking his head a little. It takes him a moment to compose his thoughts.

Bucky: I do look pretty dashing in a tux, not gonna lie :)

Steve: Of that I have absolutely no doubt.

After the official things, Steve and Sam spend the rest of the week in DC. Sam visits his old VA and some friends he left behind, Steve spends a bit of time at the SHIELD DC headquarters running some training exercises with groups of new agents. They stay in contact via text and phonecalls, and it reminds Bucky a lot of their first weeks getting to know one another.

Back in Brooklyn, Bucky's week plods along. He completely finishes his Fall and Winter program schedules and sends them to the office. Technically, whatever he organises is fine, but they have a practice in the office to have at least one other colleague look over it just as personal insurance that nothing's been missed.

Of course, Bucky's chosen colleague is Denise.

With everything squared away, and his Saturday group session done and dusted, Bucky drives home whistling a peppy tune. Not only is he finished for a couple of days, but Steve's due back from DC sometime today.

Bucky's phone chimes, and he opens a text from his mom.

Mom: What does your friend like to eat? I'm thinking of a lamb roast and vegetables, potato bake etc. Would that do?

Bucky: Sounds great. And it wouldn't be the worse idea if we had a second roast, or something? He eats a lot :)

Mom: Okay, I'll pick up some beef as well. Love you xo

Bucky's also spent a lot of the week messaging back and forth with his sisters -- mostly Rebecca -- and his mom. With Grace coming back from her Chicago trip, he got around to telling the rest of the involved parties about his news, using the words 'well-known person' to describe Steve and the reasons why nothing had been mentioned previously.

Bucky is the one to bring the idea of dinner to the rest of his family, which is a good move. Coming from him and not Rebecca, it sounds more pro-active on his part. Meanwhile Rebecca is happy to sit back and not take credit for the idea, so it doesn't sound like Bucky was crow-barred into the meeting.

It allays any suspicious feelings about him not sharing prior to this, while upping the curiosity factor. Many guesses had been made as to who Bucky's boyfriend might be; none correct.

And provided Steve keeps to schedule and does arrive back from DC today, family dinner is scheduled for early Sunday evening.

The low-level butterflies return to his stomach as he thinks about the dinner. Bucky licks his dry lips and does his best to be zen. It's going to happen sooner or later, he'd rather rip it off like a Band-Aid and get it over and done with now.

The parking angels are on Bucky's side, as he gets a spot on the curb only a few doors down from his building. He hasn't heard from Steve in a few hours, which means the man in question is probably on the way back already. Bucky checks his phone. There are no new messages updating him on Steve's ETA, but the last one was a selfie of Steve on the way to the airport, thumbs up. He takes a moment to look at it, and it makes him grin like an idiot.

Bucky takes the elevator to his apartment, willing the numbers to speed up. As he unlocks the door, he's thinking about all the things he might be able to get done before Steve contacts him and--

The door opens to reveal Steve Rogers sitting on his couch, eating a bowl of cereal.

Steve looks up and beams a smile at him, immediately putting the bowl down on Bucky's coffee table.

He rises straight away, running his hands absently over jeansclad thighs. "Hey, Buck," Steve greets and a spark of warmth unfurls deep in Bucky's chest.

"Hey," Bucky greets, closing the door behind him.

Babushka mewls but Bucky's more interested in the way Steve closes the gap between them and folds him up in a huge hug. Bucky hasn't even gotten his messenger bag off his body, but he doesn't even care. Steve's hugs are the best. He wraps his arms in kind around the blond's massive shoulders.

Bucky rubs his cheek against Steve's, bringing their mouths closer together until they're kissing.

It's a great kiss. Really great. Bucky wonders if his body is actually made of memory foam, because it does this ridiculous thing where it molds itself to Steve, and Steve just wraps around him. He rubs Steve's back, but ends up moving his hands to cradle Steve's face. This causes the blond to make little happy noises into Bucky's mouth, which is frankly a huge turn-on.

Large hands wrap around his waist and bring them closer together, and Steve steps one foot out slightly so Bucky's thighs slot next to his and they're pressed very close together from lips to knees. One of Bucky's hands slips down to cup the side of Steve's neck as those damned fucking beautiful lips keep pressing at his mouth and--

Bucky feels Babushka's claws through his pantleg. He hisses and breaks the kiss, glaring down at her. Large, green eyes look up at him innocently. For all that he loves her, she has succeeded in breaking the very nice moment they were having.

"I think she missed you, too," Steve says, hiding a breathless smile in the crook of Bucky's neck.

"Yeah, the difference being I saw her four hours ago," Bucky grumbles, breathing a little heavier than normal.

Steve presses a feather-light kiss to the juncture of Bucky's neck and shoulder before standing straight again. "I hope you don't mind, I used your key. The flight left earlier than scheduled."

"Of course not. You know you can make yourself at home," Bucky says, finding Steve's hands before gently encouraging his boyfriend to let him go. Once free, Bucky puts down his bag and removes his shoes, kicking them to the side.

They exchanged apartment keys after Steve got his cast off. Well aware that he hasn't been dating Steve long, it was an interesting decision for them to make. Bucky fully acknowledges that in another relationship he would definitely consider their short acquaintance and dating history to be far too early to exchange keys... but Steve's sort of a special case, and they've made an exception.

If you can't trust Captain America not to abuse the privilege, who can you trust?

On the flip side, Bucky can only guess at the digging Natasha has done into his record, so he knows should he use the key for anything nefarious, he's bound to be paid a visit by a very scary redhead. Given being out in public is sometimes touch-and-go, the keys seemed to make sense, allowing them to enjoy convenient privacy.

Steve takes Bucky's hand and leads him back to the sofa, where they sit together. "Have you been waiting long?" Bucky asks.

"Twenty minutes? I came here straight from the tower."

"Oh. Sam drop you off?" Bucky folds one leg on the couch cushion underneath his other.

"Rode my bike over," Steve says, and Bucky admits to glazing over a little. It certainly explains his boots-jeans-tee-leather jacket ensemble. Bucky has an inherent love for the idea of Steve riding a motorcycle and the subsequent fashion choices it leads to.

"Nice. Are you doing anything for the rest of the night?"

"Whatever you want to do," Steve replies, making an expansive gesture, and Bucky grins.

"Good answer." He rubs his thumb absently over Steve's knuckles. "Well, if you're still on for the family dinner tomorrow--" he looks to Steve, who confirms with a nod, "--maybe we can do something low key and relaxing tonight? Takeout and watching TV or something."

Steve exhales happily. "Sounds great."

Bucky chews on his lip as he contemplates his next words. Because he knows he wants to spend time with Steve over the next little bit, partly out of necessity. He's going to have to prep Steve a little on his family first, but he's also going to have to not have mild anxiety about his loved ones meeting Steve (and subsequently losing their minds).

"So uh, the movies might run late," Bucky starts, and Steve watches him with patient, blue eyes.

"They might," he confirms.

"If they do. And if you're too tired to go home, you could always crash here. If you felt like it." Bucky arches his eyebrows curiously, unsure of what Steve's response might be.

"Sounds excellent," he says. "On the sofa, or...?"

"Pffft, sofa. I'll have you know that despite rumours to the contrary I don't hog the covers, I just believe that your side doesn't need them as much as mine does. The mattress gets cold, Steve. Have some compassion."

"I will watch for cold mattresses and distribute quilt accordingly," he says. "Also, thank you. I'd love to stay." He leans in and gives Bucky a sweet kiss on the lips, which turns into another series of lingering kisses.

Steve eventually breaks the kiss, but doesn't move his mouth away from Bucky's lips. He stays in direct proximity, sensitive skin still touching. Bucky flicks his eyes open for a moment to see that Steve still has his shut.

After a moment, Steve nuzzles the side of Bucky's face, making a noise deep in his throat that Bucky reads as happy. "If that's going to happen, do you mind if I duck home and grab a few things? I haven't been there since Monday, and I wanted to come here first."

"If you need to," Bucky murmurs back, voice oddly rough. "You know you can borrow stuff from me, though."

"I know," Steve responds. "But I should check the place out. Also I'll need clothes to wear to dinner."

Bucky kisses Steve again, because damn he's right there, before pushing his shoulders away reluctantly. "Think you'll be long?"

Steve drops his chin but doesn't break eye contact with him. The result is an oddly endearing but profoundly suspicious expression. "What?" Bucky asks, raising a brow.

"I actually thought... maybe you want to come with me? On my bike."

Bucky wets his lips and presses them together. He's never been on a motorcycle before, and has never really had the desire to, either.

Until Steve made it look so damned alluring.

He squeezes the back of his neck and bites his lip nervously, and Steve frowns. "You don't have to if you don't want to? I just thought it might be fun, and we could spend more time together. We can take your car if you'd prefer, or you can just relax here while I make the trip, I know you only just got home."

"Man, if you backpedalled any harder you'd probably reverse the rotation of the Earth," Bucky comments in amusement and Steve pulls a face at him. "Truth is... I'd like to. But I've never driven on a motorbike before."

"Technically I'd be the one driving--" Steve begins with a faint smile, and Bucky slaps his shoulder.

"Such a fucking punk, you know what I mean" he bites, before becoming a little serious. "Is it safe?"

"It's as safe as any mode of transportation," Steve says, which doesn't fill Bucky with a whole lot of confidence, "but trust me when I say I've been riding for a while. I'm pretty good."

"Wouldn't I need a helmet or something?"

"You can wear mine there. I have a spare at home we can bring back."

And what's life without a little risk, he supposes. "Okay," he says. "Take me on your sexy death-trap."

"Sexy, huh?" Steve says with a shit-eating grin, rising from the sofa. He holds out a hand to Bucky to help him up.

"Shut it," Bucky says, picking up his keys.

"Wait, you're not dressed for a bike," Steve says, and Bucky stops.

"I can't wear this?" he gestures down to his cargos, t shirt and sneakers, and Steve shakes his head.

"You're not surrounded by metal, so you have to wear clothes that are safer." He gestures to Bucky's bedroom. "May I?"

Bucky shrugs. "Sure," he says, and Steve disappears into it. Bucky follows at a leisurely pace. "If you pull out the suit I wore for my senior prom, that's pretty safe. Lord knows I didn't get laid in it."

He finds Steve rifling through his wardrobe, on a mission. "You're a little bit of an asshole," he says, pushing through the coat hangers of clothes.

"I think you'll find you like me anyway," Bucky says with a reasonable amount of confidence.

Steve pulls out a pair of heavier jeans, one of Bucky's leather jackets, and after a poke at the bottom of the wardrobe, a pair of leather boots.

A little crease appears between Bucky's brows. "I know it's starting to cool down a bit, but isn't that going to be a little hot?"

"It will be warm," Steve admits, "but just in case something happens, you need to be protected."

Bucky looks at Steve's outfit, and realises Steve has picked out something incredibly similar to what he's currently wearing. Well, that makes him feel a little better. "Okay, expert," he says. "I'll get changed."

Steve grins and kisses him on the cheek as he leaves the bedroom to allow Bucky privacy to change. It is a little warm to get into the thicker clothes, but it's still not as uncomfortable as wearing ninety pounds of body armour and weapons in the middle of summer in the desert; he thinks he'll be okay.

When he steps out of his bedroom, he finds Steve hanging out by the door, absently brushing some dust from his helmet.

"If I don't look hot, I'm not going," Bucky says, drawing Steve's attention.

The blond looks up, and Bucky nearly cracks at the way Steve's eyes widen with pleasure, then carefully look him up and down. He walks over to Bucky slowly and takes the zip of the jacket, which is currently only fastened at the bottom. He very deliberately pulls it up, sealing the jacket to the base of Bucky's throat.

He then bridges the gap between them and kisses Bucky soundly on the mouth.

If Steve doesn't stop kissing him like this, he's not going to want to go anywhere.

Steve's hands travel, one to cup his jaw, the other around his waist. "Definitely not your prom suit," he says, and Bucky's insides get lit on fire. Bucky lays one hand over the top of the one Steve has spread over his cheek, then turns and kisses Steve's slightly rough palm. Steve hitches a little breath as he does so.

"We should probably get moving," Bucky croaks, shifting his legs so he's not pressed entirely against Steve. Because Steve's tone is not in any way conducive to getting anything done ever.

Steve gives him the gentlest peck on the lips and passes him the helmet. Bucky makes sure Babushka doesn't try and sneak out while they leave, and they head down to Steve's bike.

Apparently neighbours haven't complained about the old but incredibly well-reconditioned cruiser that occasionally gets stowed in the alley a few doors up from Bucky.

Steve flips up the kickstand and turns it around to wheel it out onto the curb. Bucky stands and looks at the vehicle with a frown.

How the fucking hell is he meant to balance on this thing?

Not being shy, he asks Steve that in those exact terms.

Steve gives him a little smile, and pops out two little pegs on either side of the back wheels. "These are your footpegs, you rest your feet on there. The easiest way to get on is to lift your right leg up and over and slide onto the seat, then put your feet up." Steve demonstrates. "When you get off you do the same thing, just in reverse, and make sure you don't touch the tailpipe, it'll be hot."

He pats the seat at the front. "I'll be here, so once you're sitting, put your hands around my hips."

"Okay," Bucky's brow furrows as he listens, trying to take it all in.

Steve zips up his own jacket as he talks. "When you're on, we turn by leaning. Just keep an eye on our direction of travel; if we're going to be turning right, look over my right shoulder. If we go left, look over my left. Basically, just keep your body in line with mine at all times.

"If you ever need me to stop, or are having trouble with something, tap me on the centre of my back and I'll find somewhere to pull over."

He dismounts smoothly and runs his thumb over the frown lines on Bucky's forehead. "We'll go around the block first. If you don't like it, I'll drive your car. Is that okay?"

Bucky exhales and nods. "Yeah, it's okay."

He takes the helmet from Bucky's hands and secures it to his head properly, making sure the visor is down. "Gotta protect that pretty head," he says. Bucky rolls his eyes only to realise Steve can't see him with the visor down.

"I'll get on first, you slide behind me." Steve mounts the bike before looking over his left shoulder at Bucky. "Come on up," he says with a little grin, and the whole scene is far too sexy. It at least takes the sting out of Bucky's worry about the bike. Now he's just worried it's going to be awkward if he finds the trip too interesting.

Bucky mounts the back seat and grips Steve's hips. He looks down to make sure both feet are placed correctly on the foot pegs.

"You ready to go?" Steve asks, and one hand comes up to give Steve the thumbs up. Steve brushes that hand and then presses it back down to his waist. "Let's give it a try."

Bucky's unprepared for the unique feeling of the bike's engine starting up between his legs. He startles for a moment, thighs gripping the chassis and fingers clenching in Steve's jacket. Steve pats his hand, checks his mirrors, and slowly edges out into the street.

Bucky finds himself plastered to Steve's back. Even though they're not in the grasp of Fall yet, when travelling at speed with no metal box around them, it gets decidedly chilly.

It's completely bizarre to be travelling out of the safety of a car, but Bucky definitely finds it exhilarating. He remembers what Steve says about the turns, and is on the lookout for each one.

They do a full circuit around the block and get back to the set of traffic lights that will take them beyond Bucky's block. Steve stops and balances against the ground, giving a little look over his shoulder. "Want to keep going?"

Bucky nods, gives a thumbs up. Steve returns the gesture with a bright smile, the light goes green, and they head off.

Bucky knows Steve told him to hold around the hips, but it just doesn't quite feel safe enough. He ends up wrapping his arms entirely around Steve's waist, trusting that if that's more than he should be doing, Steve will correct.

It's fine, though. Bucky feels a little safer pressed closer to Steve. He can see why people find motorcycles exhilarating, but can also definitely see why they're a bit daunting.

Sometimes when they stop at traffic lights, Steve will trace the back of his hand, and Bucky's not sure how he knows, but it seems to be a questioning touch. Bucky responds with a squeeze, and all is well.

Also when they stop, sometimes someone walking down the street will recognise Steve -- obviously without his helmet -- and either do a double-take or wave excitedly to him. The best one is pulling up next to a station wagon to see a couple of little kids in the back seat. They see Steve and kind of lose it, shouting to their parents and waving manically at him. Both Steve and Bucky wave until the light turns green and they have to head off. Bucky can feel Steve chuckle through his jacket at the encounter.

It takes about twenty minutes to get to Steve's apartment block. It's just fancy enough that it has an underground parking lot in the basement, which is handy for Steve. They drive down the ramp and Steve uses his security keycard to open the door.

Finally, they make it to his parking space and Steve pulls in. He settles his feet on the ground and kills the engine. Then and only then do Bucky's boots slip off the footpegs and onto the concrete.

He reluctantly lets go of Steve and reaches up to unbuckle the helmet. Bucky pulls it off and ruffles his flattened hair. But all he has to do is look up and give a chuckle at Steve's windswept style.

Steve has turned a little to give him a look that is unmistakeably fond. "What?" Bucky says. "My helmet hair doing it for you?"

"Is it ever," Steve replies immediately, twisting his torso and bringing up a hand to cup the side of Bucky's face. Bucky leans into the kiss automatically and damned if it isn't stupid-hot and stupid-romantic. If someone took a photo of them right now, it'd probably do really well as the cover to a queer Harlequin romance-type novel.

Steve breaks the kiss, but doesn't move away. "You have to slide off first so I can. And remember to watch the tailpipe," he instructs softly.

"You got it, Cap," Bucky grins. He slides to the left, right leg going up and over like he's dismounting a horse. Steve also dismounts and puts down the kickstand. Slipping his hand into Bucky's, they make their way to the elevator and up to Steve's floor.

The apartment has a staleness to the air, seeing as it hasn't been opened in a good five days, so Bucky opens a window to let some fresh air in while Steve makes himself busy in the bedroom, packing some clothes.

He checks the fridge to see if there are any perishable items in there. There's a few tomatoes in a bowl that are on the turn, so Bucky throws them away. He putters around for a long while, longer than what he'd expect to have to, before curiosity gets the better of him and he approaches Steve's bedroom.

Bucky knocks on the doorframe politely. "Hey, you need a hand with something?"

Steve has multiple sets of clothes in piles on his bed, and he's poring over them. There are the makings of at least four different outfits there.

"I need to choose what I'm going to wear to dinner," he says without looking away from the bed.

There's a note of strain in Steve's voice, and Bucky chuckles. "You don't have to stress about it. Honestly, jeans and a nice shirt would probably do it."

Steve is aghast. "Not on the first meeting! I have to make a good impression." He gravitates towards the most formal outfit on the bed, a charcoal suit and tie.

Bucky rolls his eyes because only Steve would think that Captain America wouldn't make a good enough first impression.

But as he has so fondly been reminding Becca of this week, Captain America is always Steve Rogers, but Steve Rogers isn't always Captain America.

And Steve Rogers is currently having perfectly normal anxiety about what to wear to meet his boyfriend's parents. It's actually pretty cute, seeing the concern written on his face. He cares about making a good impression on Bucky's loved ones, and it's terribly endearing.

Bucky pushes himself away from the doorframe and enters Steve's bedroom properly. "Suit and tie the sort of thing you'd 'meet the parents' in in the Great Depression?" he gently teases.

Steve pauses, chewing on his bottom lip. "I ah... I wouldn't know."

They're quiet as Bucky considers Steve's answer. If he's never had the whole 'meet the parents' experience before, that adds a whole new layer of pressure on him. It's got to be hard to do something for the first time when all of his purely theoretical experience is giving him information that's seventy-odd years out of date.

"Can I help, then?" Bucky asks.

Steve lifts an arm up in response and Bucky automatically goes to stand under it. The arm curls around his shoulders, and Steve rests his cheek against the side of Bucky's head, sighing.

Poor guy is genuinely bothered by this. Bucky rubs his palm absently against Steve's back.

He points to one outfit. "Okay, first? Nix the suit. It's dinner at my folks' house."

"But-"

"If it were a nice restaurant or a formal occasion, sure. Important event? Yeah. But this is just a home dinner."

Steve shakes his head. "Your generation has a skewed perspective as what counts as important," he gives a little sass back, but capitulates immediately.

Bucky points to another, a very nice but well-worn in leather jacket, with a plain t shirt and pressed jeans, similar to what he currently wears. "This is a great outfit, but that combination is probably one for another time? Not the first meeting." He gives Steve a gentle pinch on the side. "Also jeans don't have creases."

Steve nudges Bucky with his nose. "So noted."

"This one," Bucky points to a jacket where the arms are a slightly different colour to the main body. "Ditch it. You'll look like a college frat-bro. Maybe even burn it."

"You have strong feelings about that jacket," Steve observes.

"Maybe I do," Bucky counters, turning his attention to the last outfit.

Black tapered trousers with a black belt, a blue and white small-checked shirt and a blue sweater over the top. Smart-looking, but not too formal.

"This one, I think," Bucky says. Looks good, comfortable, nice without being too stiff."

Steve sighs. "I don't know. It still didn't feel like 'enough'. Don't I need a jacket?"

Bucky arches a brow. "Want a second opinion?"

Steve pauses only a moment. "Sure. Who'd you have in mind?"

Bucky retrieves his phone from his pocket and takes a photo. He attaches it to a message and types furiously.

Bucky: Steve stressed over what to wear to dinner, worried it's not formal enough. What do you think? [attached image]

"Who'd you text?" Steve asks.

Bucky holds one finger up. "Wait for it." Steve's frown doesn't leave his brow until Bucky gives him a crooked, charming smile.

His phone chimes a few moments later. Opening the message up, he grins.

Becca: Good choice! If he's worried about not being formal, add a tie and it's still fine!

Becca: also, how is he real. OMG, Bucky.

"Becca says add a tie if you're worried about it not being formal enough," he says.

Steve steps over to the bed and pulls the tie from the suit, placing it with his shirt. Those huge shoulders relax and he breathes a sigh of relief. "Okay. Okay, that's good."

Bucky: Thanks li'l sis. Meanwhile, I have no friggin' clue.

Steve gathers the rest of his things and puts them in a bag. He laments that his clothes are going to get crushed, but Bucky tells him they can make use of the iron at his apartment.

Making sure the door is locked and secure as they exit, they make their way back down to the basement parking lot.

Steve finds his spare helmet to let Bucky use, which is a black shiny thing with three vertical red stripes painted right down the centre. He also straps the bag securely to the back of his cycle with bungee cord.

Now Bucky knows what to expect from the ride, he's able to enjoy it a little more. He's still hyper-aware of everything around him, but less nervous. Maybe because of that, it seems as though the journey takes a much shorter time, much to Bucky's disappointment. And although he feels a little more confident second time around, it still doesn't stop him from pressing flush against Steve for the return journey.

Steve parks his motorcycle back in the alley, and they take the two helmets and Steve's bag up to Bucky's apartment.

Babushka ignores them when they arrive, so put out by being left alone. This lasts about as long as it takes for Steve to sit on the sofa. She gets over her snobbery fairly quickly and leaps onto his lap to be petted and doted upon.

It's nice to be home again, and it's nice to have Steve in that space as well. They take turns in the shower and get into comfortable clothes. Bucky introduces Steve to the TV series Black Books. He regrets it once Steve starts drawing similarities to Bucky and the main character on their similar reactions to being woken up. But it's fun to see Steve laugh, and he keeps watching episode after episode well into the afternoon.

Somehow, as they're lounging on the sofa at opposite ends, Bucky's legs make it up onto the cushions, feet practically in his boyfriend's lap. Steve rests his hand on Bucky's calf through his flannel pants and absently begins massaging it. Bucky sinks a little further into the cushions with a satisfied sigh.

When he looks up, however, Steve has a little frown. Bucky digs his toes into Steve's thigh. "You're either worried the pizza isn't going to get here in time before your stomach implodes, or you're thinking about tomorrow."

Steve gives him a little smile and squeezes his calf muscle. "Can't it be both?"

Bucky looks at the time on his phone. "Well, the pizza should be here any minute, and I can give you a little background on my family so you know who's who and not stepping in there blind. Sound okay?"

Steve cocks an eyebrow. "What, like a mission briefing?"

"I don't want you to think you're having to do work, but... would that association make it easier for you to process the info?"

Steve thinks on it as the doorbell rings. Bucky levers himself up off the sofa and walks to the door, grabbing his wallet along the way. The pizza delivery kid is looking bored outside the door, which Bucky only opens part of the way. It's wide enough to not look intentionally blocked, but narrow enough to not allow a view of the sofa.

Bucky has a brief chat with the kid who delivers four pizzas in exchange for some cash and a decent tip for his timely arrival. Bucky takes the pizza in his arms and shuts the door with his foot.

"I think so," Steve says, answering the question when the apartment is closed once again. "And it won't feel like work. First of all, I never get to attend briefings in my pajamas and bare feet, they're normally a little more formal," Steve begins. Bucky smirks as he hands the pizzas over to Steve, before going to the kitchen and getting some plates and napkins. "Secondly, you're way cuter than the people who usually brief me. So there's that."

Bucky flops down on the sofa next to Steve and hands him a plate, although Steve has already opened a box and started biting into one of the slices. "I'm glad you think so."

"It's true," Steve insists around a mouthful of pizza. "I've never fantasised about kissing the Director."

Bucky takes a bite out of his slice of pizza to cover the fact that Steve just admitted to fantasising about him and he wants to grin like a dope. Totally not a bad thing.

So they sit and informally discuss the dynamics of Bucky's family, running over any points that would be good to know.

George Barnes: Engineer, dry sense of humour, getting his fifteen year AA chip in November. Has strange fascination with The History Channel and -- much to Bucky's disgust -- Ancient Aliens.

Winifred Barnes: Middle school teacher going on twenty-two years. There's not a line from a kid she hasn't heard and debunked (likely where Bucky gets his excellent kid bedside-manner from). Avid contributor to school community and neighbourhood, usually in the form of baking. Proud mother, ecstatic grandmother.

Rebecca Barnes Proctor: Loud, sweet, honest, well-read. Copy editor for a publishing company on maternity leave, but just starting at work again part-time. Married to Nick Proctor for five years. Mother of two; Robert (3) and Isobel (9 mths). Wins award for 'Most Likely to Play Devil's Advocate'.

Nick Proctor: A year older than Bucky. Used to be pretty quiet, but joining the Barnes clan changed that somewhat. General Manager of Sales at the publishing company Rebecca works at, which is where they met. Football fan, doting dad, kind of like the brother Bucky never had. Made Bucky a groomsman at the wedding, and also planned it especially during one of his furloughs so he wouldn't miss out on his sister getting married.

Abigail Barnes: Stylish, well-spoken, tech-head. Very media-savvy, goes well with her job as social media guru for a clothing company. Always has her phone attached, but also always makes a concerted effort to ditch it at family gatherings. Amateur photographer in her spare time, has a strange affinity for hair metal bands of the 80's. Wins award for 'Most Likely to Quote You on Twitter'.

Grace Barnes: Passionate, educated. Walks off the beaten track, prefers flattering clothing styles from the 40s, 50s and 60s. Doing her PhD in History with a focus on twentieth century women's contributions. Wins the award for 'Most Likely to Bring Out Bucky's Protective Streak'.

Steve listens to everything as he eats his pizza, taking each scrap of information in, storing it away carefully. Bucky goes to a shelf and brings over a photo frame of them all from just under two years ago. Isobel wasn't born, Robert was only a baby, and Bucky's hair was longer. Steve takes the frame carefully and studies the picture.

When he looks at Grace his eyes widen a little. He wears a complicated expression for a moment before it smooths away. Steve looks to Bucky and knows Bucky saw his face. It's a testament to how well they know each other. Bucky can tell if Steve's holding something back, so often, Steve doesn't bother.

"Grace... she's wearing her hair like Peg-- like Agent Carter used to."

"I know who Peggy Carter is," Bucky smiles kindly as he looks down at the photo.

It's true. Gracie's whole style evolved from her teen crush on Steve from the newsreels, and her ninth grade history class. Her feelings about him led her to delving into research about Steve, and all those associated with him, which included one Peggy Carter, as she was the only woman who had any sort of less-than-vague link to him.

"Oh," Steve says, and the frown is back.

Bucky sits down on the sofa closer to Steve, but doesn't reach out to touch him. "Gracie ended up doing a fair bit of research into Peggy Carter, her life and her impact over time... It led her to wanting to do a doctorate on more influential twentieth century women, particularly those making inroads in more male-dominated fields. There's apparently this whole unit on Peggy Carter but it still has a lot of research gaps and wow, I'm just realising how weird this must sound to you right now."

Steve gives him a faint smile. "A little bit, yeah."

Bucky chews on his bottom lip. "Look, I'm going to level with you. Gracie's going to ask you stuff, or at least try, especially considering her PhD. I love her, but I don't want her putting you in an awkward position, or making you feel like you have to answer questions you really don't want to."

Steve exhales audibly. "I can answer questions."

Bucky shakes his head emphatically. "This isn't a Captain America interview, this my family meeting my boyfriend, Steve. I kinda wouldn't expect my boyfriend to have to field questions from said family about a--" Bucky pauses, unsure of how to describe Peggy Carter, before settling on something that seems accurate to his limited knowledge on the facts, "--a prior sweetheart. It's a bit tacky, and I certainly wouldn't be doing it if our positions were reversed."

Steve's eyes drop, but the frown turns speculative, as though he's considering Bucky's words. "That's... that's a good point, actually," he admits.

"I'm full of them," Bucky confides. He takes the opportunity to put his hand over Steve's, curling fingers gently around his knuckles. "Look, I'm not going to tell you to not answer questions, because you're a grown-ass man and can do what you want. All I'm saying is that you don't have to. If you're asked something that you think is more a Captain America question than a Steve Rogers question, don't feel obligated to reply. I will back your play one hundred per cent."

"Do you think if I answered questions I'd be helping her with her doctorate?"

Bucky bites his bottom lip. Grace would flip out at the chance to interview Steve and get information directly from him. But there's a catch, there always is.  

"I'm not going to lie," Bucky says slowly, "you probably would be. But that's not the take-away from this meeting. She's not here because she's doing a PhD, she's here because she's my baby sister and I want her to meet my boyfriend, Steve." Bucky squeezes Steve's hand, only to have the gesture returned immediately.

"I don't know much, but it's clear to me that Peggy Carter is a subject of... some sensitivity to you. If -- and it is an if -- you agree to help her at some future stage, it'll be because you want to, and you've set down guidelines with her as a researcher first. Not just getting railroaded with questions in front of everyone because you think you have to, and that it's just part of the whole experience. It's not."

Steve gives him a tremulous smile, and Bucky is encouraged to continue. "I know my family. If you set your boundaries early, there's no room for misunderstanding. They will respect them, and it'll happen from day one."

Steve sits back a little, without dropping Bucky's hand. It takes a moment for him to digest the information. He nods his head shallowly, the gears still clearly turning. Eventually, he looks up to meet Bucky's eyes.

"Was that your work voice, Buck?" he asks.

"Damnit, you know I think it was," Bucky sighs.

Steve gives a little grin and impulsively leans forward to pull Bucky into a hug over the plates and pizza boxes. Bucky wraps his arms tightly around Steve.

"Thank you." His voice is muffled against Bucky's shoulder. "I already feel better with you on my six."

"I won't be the only one. Becca is going to help, too. I've been discussing various scenarios with her during the week."

Steve pulls back a little. "Oh?" he queries with a curious smile.

Bucky nods gravely. "I am prepared to distract them and have her smuggle you out the back door if it gets too intense."

"Are you expecting the need for an evac?" Steve asks, arching one brow.

"Not unless they start showing you my baby pictures. But it doesn't hurt to be prepared."

Steve grins. "But maybe I want them to show me your baby pi--" and is cut off when a pillow flies at his face. After a brief commotion, they settle back down to eat more pizza. The rest of dinner passes by comfortably as they continue to watch Black Books.

In between, Steve keeps Bucky entertained with amusing anecdotes from the DC trip. He talks a little about how the SHIELD offices are different in DC than they are in New York, how the attitude and dress code are slightly altered given the proximity to Capitol Hill. He tells them that the recruits he met for training are pretty green, but they're a good bunch. He talks about how he and Sam both stopped by Sam's old VA branch and met some returned veterans.

Bucky nods, and pokes his feet into Steve's lap, having slipped down the cushions once again.

"I visited my former counsellor," he remarks, wiping greasy fingers on a napkin. "After the Battle of New York, I needed to do something -- be somewhere -- different from New York and just... take everything in."

"Yeah, space aliens, huh? Who knew?"

"Your dad, apparently," Steve quips gently, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

Bucky can blithely say it now, but he has to admit, it was pretty fucking unbelievable to be deployed in the Middle East and hear intel about portals opening up above Midtown and spewing out an alien army. He -- along with quite a few other Rangers -- were ready to demand to be shipped home immediately to help. Turns out further reports came through about a group of heroes, including a recently found Captain America, formed up to send the aliens packing.

"I couldn't believe it at first," Bucky admits. "I was in Iraq, and wanted to come home straight away."

Steve nods. "I was only a month out of World War II, as well," he adds gravely.

Bucky winces. The culture shock and mental and emotional whiplash would've been off the scale. Steve isn't perfect, Bucky knows that objectively. His counsellor-brain tells him there are issues there, but he tries his best to not view Steve with his work-goggles. It's just a little amazing to Bucky how well-adjusted Steve is, all things considered, and how honest he's trying to be.

"So I moved to DC," Steve continues, "and the new scenery was helpful. So much had changed in New York since I'd been gone... it was nice to be somewhere I wasn't expecting to have stayed the same."

"And you met Sam there, right?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah," Steve answers, and he gives a little grin. "It was still something of a novelty to meet new people and not feel like a fish out of water, but when we started getting friendly, Sam suggested a counsellor other than him so I could keep things separate."

"That's good," Bucky nods. "You don't have a conflict of interests, then."

"That's what he said. I can have a friend and not feel like he's psychoanalysing me, or something. So he introduced me to Lauren, and she was pretty great."

"Do you keep in touch with her, or anyone else from DC?"

Steve's lips purse. "A few people... I try and get here to visit on the regular." He pauses, but it's a strange silence this time. Bucky watches him carefully. It's very much like Steve is having an internal debate as to whether to continue or not.

"Peggy--" Steve stops, wetting his lips. "Peggy Carter lives there. In an... what do they call them now? Aged care facility?" Bucky nods wordlessly. "I visit her when I can. Dropped in this time, too."

Bucky has to school the surprise away from his face. As a counsellor -- or a boyfriend -- he has really no idea what to ask first. "How is she doing?" is the first thing that pops to mind.

"She's okay. Very frail. Has--" Steve blinks rapidly, but gets himself under control, "has trouble remembering things. But she knows who I am." That final part is said with such frail triumph, Bucky wants to enfold Steve in a hug.

Bucky can't even imagine what it must be like to go from saying goodbye to someone at the age of twenty-four, and seeing them again as an elderly woman, only barely any time has passed for you. For someone who cares as deeply as Bucky has come to know that Steve does, it would be so difficult to try and comprehend.

He shifts around so he's lying the same way as Steve, half-on his chest. Bucky can feel the steady thump of Steve's heart beneath his shirt. "I didn't know she lived in DC," Bucky admits. He doesn't want to make the more stark admission that he didn't know she was still alive. She'd have to be in her nineties now.

"Her great-niece works for the SHIELD offices in DC. I think she likes to be near Sharon, they're very close."

Bucky lays his head down against Steve's shoulder, his face nearly pressing against the soft skin of Steve's neck, breath ghosting across his collarbones. "It's good she has family close by," Bucky murmurs, and Steve grunts in agreement.

Steve has Bucky's hand in a grip that is just north of tight, but Bucky will be damned if he's going to show any sign of discomfort.

"I'm sorry if it's weird," Steve apologises, only to squirm when Bucky snorts right next to his neck.

"Why the fuck are you apologising, Steve? You haven't done anything wrong."

"I know that, objectively. But the... situation, can sometimes get me a little down, and then with the information about your sister, I--

Bucky's eyes are drawn immediately to his family photo, to Grace in her pincurled waves. He pushes himself up off Steve's chest immediately. "Oh, shit. Steve. The thing with Gracie--"

Steve grips his shoulders. "--is fine," he finishes firmly. "I'm going to be fine. Visits with Peggy always... they leave me a little melancholy, but it's okay. Your sister looking like someone out of the forties or asking me a question about her isn't going to send me flying over the cuckoo's nest or whatever you might be thinking."

Bucky looks at Steve seriously. "I know it's a cosmetic thing only, but I can ask Grace not to dress like that if it's a problem. It's not like she does it all the time, anyway. And she would do it, if I asked."

Steve laughs softly, and cards his fingers through Bucky's hair. "I'm not going to get your sister to change her clothes because it might offend my 'delicate sensibilities'."

Bucky tucks his face against Steve's neck again, and Steve wraps big arms around him. "It's not about offending you, per se, it's about making sure you're not uncomfortable when meeting my family. I know you're anxious about it, I am, too."

"Really? You're being remarkably calm about it all."

"Ahh, but that's because I know one thing they don't."

Bucky can feel Steve's expression change. "And what's that?"

"I already know Steve Rogers is fantastic. Them actually liking you is pretty much a foregone conclusion."

Steve huffs out a chuckle that Bucky can feel right through his enormous chest. "I'm glad I inspire that level of confidence."

Bucky wants to say something vaguely smartass-y to that ludicrous line, but doesn't. Instead, he presses a series of tender kisses down the line of Steve's jaw.

Steve holds Bucky and stays very still under Bucky's ministrations. Bucky actually thinks Steve might be dozing under the attention until he hears his name.

"Buck?" Steve asks quietly.

"Mhm?" Bucky answers, his nose brushing the beautiful angle of Steve's jaw. Steve's muscles contract under his body for a moment, giving away tension.

"I'm going to talk to you about Peggy. At some stage, but not now. It's not really the right time."

Bucky stops his kisses, and curls one arm up and around to cradle the back of Steve's neck. "Whenever you're ready, I will be, too."

Bucky hopes he's ready, when that time comes. He thinks he will be.

They trade soft kisses for a while, turning Black Books back on for some background noise. It's nice and grounding, and Bucky feels his own subtly buried tension about tomorrow begin to bleed out.

His phone chimes plaintively, and Bucky reaches across Steve to his coffee table and checks it out.

Becca: Wardrobe crisis averted, hopefully! Everyone will be ready for five, although there's a chance Abi could be slightly late as she's got a work thing on early afternoon. I have also been seeing Steve on the news all week because of DC, which is so weird. How are you doing?

Bucky looks to Steve, who is half-watching the TV, half-playing with Babushka as he dangles his fingers off the edge of the sofa. The last thing he feels like doing right now is typing, so he answers in the form of a photograph.

He holds the phone up and away from them both and flips the screen. The frame includes his head and shoulders, longer lengths of his hair splayed out over Steve's t shirt-clad chest. That chest is in pretty full view, as well as his shoulders and one bicep. Steve's visible in profile at the top of frame, but the image is pretty dark as the sun's gone down but Bucky hasn't turned on any additional lights. It makes for a dark and gritty picture.

Bucky: Doing ok [attached image]

Almost immediately he sends the message, his phone buzzes to life, Rebecca's name on the caller ID. Steve looks at it before his eyes go to Bucky.

Bucky studies the screen before swiping the red phone icon, ignoring the call. He immediately opens up his messages again, muttering curses that he has to use both hands, and types out a message.

Bucky: Not a good time for a call. Will see you tomorrow, Becs.

Becca: Okay, Bucky. See you tomorrow xo

Bucky: xo

"Didn't answer?" Steve asks softly.

Bucky drops his phone back onto the coffee table. "We've been speaking non-stop all week, and I'm seeing her tomorrow. Short of a medical emergency or international incident, conversation can wait."

"Not in the mood for talking?" Steve asks, and there is a little tease in his voice.

Bucky props himself up a little on Steve's chest, fingers going into Steve's hair. "Not with my sister," he says with conviction, before kissing him decisively.

Eventually, Babushka trying to steal bits of pepperoni stuck to the pizza boxes disturbs Bucky enough to get him to get up off the couch. He and Steve both clean up the dishes and the empty pizza boxes before meandering into Bucky's bedroom.

Unlike Steve, Bucky has a TV in his bedroom, so it adds some nice distraction to changing locations. Bucky makes sure Babushka has water and some kibble overnight while Steve uses the bathroom. When it's Bucky's turn, he comes back to find Steve sitting on one side of his bed, propped back against the headboard. He has his sketchbook in his hand and seems to be doodling the actors off the movie he's watching.

Bucky putters around, putting his phone on charge and turning the main light off in favour of his bedside lamp. He grabs the remote and flicks on the timer, because waking up with the TV blaring at 4am tends to set him on edge.

Steve flicks him a quick glance as he sits down and pulls the sheet and thin blanket away to slip underneath it. "No Ranger panties tonight?" he asks bemusedly.

"I don't wear shorts to bed in Fall, Steve."

"Pity," is all Steve offers, subtly shuffling closer to the centre of the bed once Bucky's in.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair and yawns. "You going to get under the covers, or is this some kind of weird 'eternal vigilance' thing?"

Steve rolls his eyes, but takes the cue. He drops his sketchbook and pencil to the floor beside the bed and does a complicated move where he lifts up the covers while still technically being on them, and burrows into them.

Steve looks unsure as to what to do next, but Bucky moves closer and nuzzles his cheek. Cheek nuzzling leads to lip nuzzling which leads to kissing and Steve rolling on his side and slowly hitching one leg up over Bucky's knees.

It's warm and it's tingly and Bucky has Steve's face cradled in his palms and they are just about flush against one another.

Steve rolls Bucky onto his back, pressing into his hip. Bucky stifles a noise when Steve's slightly stubbly chin brushes against the sensitive skin of his neck.

"I like this," he murmurs into the hollow of Bucky's throat.

"Me too," Bucky says, linking the fingers on one hand with Steve's. There are some higher brain functions still working, the ones that aren't getting completely snowballed by the feeling of Steve's body pressed against his, and they're furiously mentally cataloguing the contents of Bucky's bedside drawer, and his medicine cabinet. He's not completely unprepared should things escalate, but nor does he really have much in the way of supplies that are close by.

The bathroom. The bathroom is the closest reserve and that is too far away to be convenient.

Bucky shifts his hips, pushing them against Steve's leg and the accompanying jolt of friction gets him gasping. Steve takes Bucky's open mouth, breathing into it almost, kissing long and deep.

One of Steve's hands comes to rest on his hip, at the waistband of his flannel pants where it stops, and Bucky's brain -- in between flashes of pleasure -- remembers all the things that can be done with very little preparation. Bucky's hand moves around Steve's hip to rest on the swell of his ass. He's just about to move it lower when Steve goes completely still, lips freezing at the corner of his mouth.

"Steve?" Bucky asks, not a fan of how gravelly his voice sounds.

Steve pulls away enough so Bucky can see him. "What if your father doesn't like me?"

It's like someone dumping an ice-cold bucket of water in his lap. Bucky goes very still for a moment, before giving a rueful little chuckle and pressing a close-mouthed kiss to Steve's lips. He very gently pushes Steve from on top of him to the side, but not breaking physical contact.

Tonight is not the night for progression if Steve can interrupt their extremely hot makeout session with worries about meeting the family. The little frown is back on Steve's forehead, accompanied by an upturn of both brows. Bucky runs a hand through Steve's hair, fingers skating over the shell of his ear softly.

Bucky arranges Steve so they're holding hands facing one another, legs tangled. Other more excitable parts of their bodies are observing a conservative distance away from each other right now. Bucky sighs a little.

"Be yourself, and my dad is going to think you're great," Bucky assures him.

Steve's eyes close. "I've done more nerve-wracking things, but this is getting to me a little for some reason."

"It's understandable. New territory, unfamiliar grounds. But trust me when I say that my family are old hands at meeting the kids' partners. There can be a bit of a hazing ritual but... it comes from love. And a twisted sense of humour. You'll be okay."

Steve traces patterns on the back of one of Bucky's hands. "I know how important your family is, and I feel like maybe keeping the information from them will put them off-side? Like when Rebecca found out you hadn't told her when you normally would've."

Bucky shakes his head emphatically. "If there's any blowback from that at all, it'll be directed at me, not you. And when they meet you, I think they'll understand. It's nothing to be overly concerned about.

"If anything, some of our most memorable and fun dinners as a family have come from the 'meet the parents' situation. You got nothing to worry about. If anything, I'm the tough nut in the family to break, and you did okay with me."

Steve's eyebrows arch. "Tell me?"

Bucky thinks for a minute before he starts smiling wickedly. He tucks himself into Steve a little more thoroughly. "Okay, so back when Nick and Becca were first dating... they had this stupid fight. Nick was a bonehead, and he makes Becca cry. She comes to me a mess, and we spend a lot of time talking about it. He was an idiot, but it wasn't all his fault, y'know?

"They did end up sorting it out, but what Becca doesn't know is that I turned up at his apartment while she was sleeping on my bed. I was on my first furlough away from the Army, and was going to be deployed again. He answers his door and the very first words I ever speak to him are telling him that if he ever makes my sister cry like that again, I will break both of his legs. Had just the right amount of crazy to be believable.

"Short time after that was the official 'meet the parents' dinner. Keep in mind, this is meant to be our very first meeting. I sit across from him and spend most of dinner deliberately snapping breadsticks in half and making scary, unblinking eye contact. He was weirded out at first, but then he starts grabbing them and snapping them, too. My mom gets annoyed for us breaking and not eating half of them, but it soon escalates into a competition of who can snap more at once."

Steve's grin has been increasing in size as the story continues. "We still do it, every dinner, in fact. Mom hates it but she never tries to stop us. She just calls it 'that Bucky and Nick thing', and has plenty of breadsticks on hand."

"And who's broken the most at once?"

"I hold the record with four. My mom makes a mean breadstick. Nick did five a while back, but turns out he cheated by pre-notching some of them with his knife. Didn't count."

"Does anyone know why you do it?" Steve asks.

"Not unless Nick's told them. Which I kinda doubt, given the origins. It's now in Barnes family folklore as this weird ritual Nick and I have, and the rest of the family are still trying to figure out why." Bucky turns serious eyes onto Steve. "Now that I've told you, you are sworn to secrecy. If Becca finds out I threatened Nick with bodily harm, she's likely to want payback. Despite circumstances. You're now in the circle of trust."

"I doubt she'll be able to break my legs," Steve says as he tucks his cheek next to Bucky's. It's intimate, but innocent compared to ten minutes ago.

"Says you. All she needs is an open elevator shaft and you're being cut out of your clothes to flash nurses your strawberry jockeys."

Steve's laugh reverberates through the bedroom warmly. "Tell me another?" he asks.

Bucky grins and tells Steve more stories about ridiculous family dinners until they're both too tired to keep their eyes open anymore.

Chapter Text

The One Where Steve Meets The Family

(Location: Bucky's Apartment / Barnes family residence)

The morning of the Sunday Steve is set to meet Bucky's family starts with Bucky cursing when Steve stirs before eight.

Bucky blinks his eyes open blearily to find him the bigger spoon, an arm thrown across Steve's waist haphazardly. Babushka has inserted herself between Steve's shoulder blades and Bucky's face. One green eye is open, staring at him like it's his fault one of her bookends is moving.

"Steve," Bucky mumbles, "what are you doing." It's not a question, it's a statement. A statement to someone clearly insane.

Steve turns over to face Bucky, and he looks so bright-eyed, Bucky squints. It's actually insulting how awake he looks. "How are you fucking awake right now."

Laughing softly, Steve pushes a lock of hair from Bucky's forehead. "Good morning to you, too."

"That's definitely not what I said," Bucky grumbles, letting his eyes slip shut again, fingers flexing in Steve's shirt around his waist.

"My life is enriched for seeing how grumpy you are in the mornings. You're like a little kid. It makes me feel better about everything," Steve comments jovially, hand resting on Bucky's bicep gently.

"I'm a fucking badass," Bucky yawns, which kind of ruins the effect, making Steve chuckle.

Bucky opens his eyes just as Steve goes to lean across and give him a kiss, but Babushka is still between them, and she takes offence at any and all affection not meant for her. She stands, effectively putting her skinny body right between their faces. Steve's nose hits her fur with surprise, and Bucky starts laughing helplessly.

"That was unexpected," Steve remarks, running a large hand over Babushka, who slinks under his touch triumphantly.

"The competition for your affection is real," Bucky says, rubbing his eyes, "it's one I'm not sure I'm gonna win."

Steve gets out from underneath the covers, but crawls over to Bucky's other side, lying just about on top of him.

"You're heavy," Bucky complains, pushing at Steve fitfully. There's a smile in his voice, however, and Steve bridges the gap between their mouths for a sweet kiss.

"I think you have an edge. You're a better kisser, but don't tell Bushka."

Bucky cranes up to touch their lips again, before he pulls away, nose scrunched up. "Your morning breath tastes like freedom."

Steve snorts rudely, before pushing himself up and off the bed. "Asshole."

Bucky grins and burrows into the covers more. "And bald eagles."

"I haven't eaten one of those in weeks," he responds. Steve touches Bucky's arm, switching subjects. "Can I make us some breakfast?"

"Knock yourself out. I have... uh..." he waves his hand vaguely, "food. In fridge. And pantry."

Steve laughs again softly. "I'll make do. You sleep for a while longer."

Bucky's eyes flutter shut. "That is an excellent idea, Steven. I think I will."

He feels a soft press of lips to his forehead, which is quite nice, but Bucky really is too tired to respond.

He ends up dozing for another twenty minutes or so, but it's a little futile. Still, it's nice to not have to get up straight away.

Eventually, Bucky rolls out of bed giving a jaw-creaking yawn and a large stretch. Babushka looks at him lazily from the centre of the bed.

"If I gotta do it, you gotta do it," Bucky says, and scoops her up. She mewls, and squirms around a little until she finds a comfortable position in the crook of his elbow.

Bucky shuffles out to his living room before heading towards the kitchen.

Steve is at his stove, stirring a wooden spoon in a saucepan, and Bucky sometimes forgets that Steve is more attractive than most actors he sees on the screen nowadays.

And he's here, in Bucky's kitchen. Barefoot, bed hair, soft, slept-in clothes, cooking.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Steve looks up from the stove and gives him a sweet smile. Bucky swallows the lump in his throat.

"What're you making?" he asks, scratching Babushka behind the ears.

"Porridge," Steve answers. "I found oats in the pantry."

Bucky wanders over and looks in the saucepan. "And yet, here in America, we call that 'oatmeal'."

"Hush, you. My mom was born in Ireland, we ate 'porridge'."

Bucky puts Babushka down on the floor and sidles up to Steve, slipping an arm around his waist. "Gonna trade the star for a shamrock and become 'Captain Ireland'?"

Steve chuckles and leans into Bucky a little. "It's a great idea, but I just can't pull off green, and my Gaelic accent is terrible."

Bucky watches Steve stir for a little longer, before heading to the cupboard and grabbing a few bowls. Steve turns the heat down on the stove and beckons Bucky over, and scoops out a nice amount into each one. "Do you have any brown sugar?" he asks.

Placing the bowls on his counter, Bucky frowns. "Actually... I think I do." He moves to the pantry and starts rifling around. "Becca came over and made this thing a while back and-- well, it was a disaster, but some of the ingredients are still here and-- yes!" He crows triumphantly, and pulls out a half-folded bag.

Steve takes a spoon out of the drawer and opens up the bag, wearing a content little smile. He sprinkles a few heaped teaspoons of sugar on the oatmeal, then gives it a splash of milk before mixing it up.

Bucky looks at the bowl. It certainly appears nice enough, but pretty plain all things considered. "You don't add any fruit or honey or anything?"

"Nope," Steve says. "If you want some, I saw some blueberries in your icebox?"

Bucky does the same as Steve, and sprinkles sugar on his oatmeal. They move to the couch, where Steve actually sits crosslegged on the cushion. The first bite has him closing his eyes and smiling.

Bucky gives a little shrug and takes a bite as well. It's not bad at all. Not fancy, by any means, but tasty. It's a decent breakfast.

The best part about it is how much Steve seems to enjoy it. He savours each and every spoonful.

"I wouldn'tve picked you for an oatmeal kind of guy," Bucky says, drawing Steve out of his blissful little bubble.

Steve stays quiet for a few moments, looking down into the bowl. "When I was growing up," he begins, "we didn't have a lot of money. Living hand to mouth most of the time. Oats were cheap and filling. Sometimes, it was the only meal we had apart from dinner."

Bucky pauses. "So what you're saying is you don't recommend the Great Depression diet plan."

Steve quirks a little smile. "The caloric intake is shitty, but mom always made sure I had enough." They spend the rest of the meal in companionable silence, eating and occasionally glancing up at one another, trading smiles. Steve scrapes his bowl clean.

Bucky clears the empty bowls away once they finish eating, insisting because Steve made breakfast. Bucky would happily stay in pajamas all day, but decides to get dressed to encourage productivity.

Around mid-morning, Steve puts on his cap and sunglasses. Bucky finds something similar, and they head out. Walking Steve to a local little market, they pick up some groceries for Bucky's apartment, as well as some things to take to the Barnes' house.

They discuss that while a bottle of wine might be a traditional gift, given Bucky's dad's situation, a more appropriate choice would be dessert. So Bucky picks out a mixed tray of freshly-baked muffins and donuts, while Steve gets talking to a lovely elderly vendor and decides to buy a beautiful bouquet for Bucky's mom. Because he's Steve, and of course Steve would take flowers. Winifred's going to expire from happiness.

Bucky has to pull him away, the vendor is so taken by the blond's charm, but that's hardly a surprise... she even adds some additional blooms to the mix, making it extra large. He gives her a beaming 'thank you' smile, then turns it on Bucky. Bucky's knees may wobble for a second, but that's purely speculation. It could be uneven pavement.

Oh, he's sooooo in like with Steve.

They buy some coffee on the way back. Their arms are full of bags and cups, so it's not like they can hold hands, but their shoulders brush together every second or third step, and the contact is nice.

Back at Bucky's apartment, Steve irons his clothes and has a shower, while Bucky digs in his closet for an appropriate outfit. He's not quite as stressed as Steve, but it does bear some thinking about; he wants to wear something that will not make Steve feel like he's under or overdressed.

He ends up choosing a plain, white tee underneath a dark blue cardigan, with white jeans and black worn-in boots to round out the ensemble. It complements Steve's clothes without being identical.

When the afternoon starts wearing on, it's Bucky turn to have a shower and get dressed. Steve's full of nervous energy, and Bucky does his best to find ways to keep him calm. Whether it's unleashing upon him the power of a Babushka who is ready to do just about anything for catnip, or giving him an impromptu neck massage for tense muscles. Focusing on Steve has the added side effect of giving him something to channel his own nervousness into.

Steve knows what he's doing, and he seems to appreciate it. Gradually the slightly manic energy he's giving off dissipates. When he sees Bucky dressed up, the anxiety nearly fully melts away to be replaced by pleasure. He strides to Bucky straight away and envelops him in a warm hug.

"You look amazing," he says, muffled against Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky snorts a laugh. "Like anyone's going to be paying any attention to me tonight," he jokes and chases a kiss. Steve's shaved, but Bucky's left his weekend stubble in place, and he rubs it against Steve's cheek.

"I like it," Steve rumbles his agreement, running a thumb down the rough surface of Bucky's cheek. He pulls back from Bucky to hold him by the shoulders at arm's length.

"You should definitely dress up more often," he says.

"I would if you ever took me anywhere nice," Bucky grins facetiously.

"Maybe we should," Steve ponders quietly, thoughtfulness taking over his face.

Bucky pauses before pressing a kiss to Steve's lips. "Don't have to think about that now." He rests his forehead against Steve's. "We should to get going."

"Okay," Steve agrees, taking Bucky's hands in his.

Making sure Babushka is set for food and water for the evening, they gather up the flowers and baked goods and make for Bucky's car.

The Barnes' don't live too far away, maybe half an hour with traffic. Steve goes over some facts aloud about each member of the family to make sure he remembers who's who and who does what, and Bucky does his best to be supportive. Secretly he's dying inside because it's ridiculously cute that Steve's on this memorisation kick.

Bucky points out the house as they drive by, looking for a place to park. Bucky finds that his sisters have left him a space by the side of the house, and they've parked on the street. That is probably Rebecca's doing, and he smiles and inwardly thanks his sister's practicality.

He pulls up on the asphalt next to the home, behind his parents' car and puts the brake on. Steve is looking up at the house warily. Slapping his thigh reassuringly, Bucky opens the door. "Come on, Rogers," he says with a little more enthusiasm than he's feeling. Steve's renewed nerves are bleeding out onto him.

It's really fine, though. He's brought people home to meet his parents before and felt the same kind of jitters. It's just Steve's identity that has added the curious element to this, and the desire for normality over treating him like a celebrity.

Bucky sits up straight, shoulders back, confident just of his jaw, and looks to Steve.

Steve huffs out a breath. "Yeah, okay," he says, flicking a glance to Bucky. Bucky's not sure if it's subconscious or intentional, but when Steve sees Bucky's more self-assured posture, he moves to mimic it immediately, straightening his back, and giving a little smile.

Bucky touches Steve's hand and pulls out his phone before he actually exits the car.

Bucky: We parked next to the house, about to come up if someone doesn't get cold feet.

Becca: Nick and I are right by the door, everyone else is in the sitting room. Tell Steve I'll protect him.

Bucky: lol

"What are you smiling about?" Steve asks, the corner of his lip curving up.

Bucky shows him the phone, and Steve lets out a little chuckle. "I don't have cold feet, by the way," he insists.

"So get out of my car."

Just to be stubborn, Steve exits. They gather up the dessert box in its bag and the flowers and head to the front of the house.

It's nice being back in his childhood home again; Bucky's parents bought it when he was a toddler, before Rebecca was born. A colonial style house with a circular foyer and bay windows up to the second level. It was cosy as the Barnes clan moved from three to six, and back down to three: but Bucky was deployed on and off for eight years, Rebecca went and got married, and Abigail found her own place... Now it's back to George, Winifred and Grace, with Grace probably set to find her own apartment in the next twelve months.

Steve has the flowers and Bucky has the bag of donuts. He slips his left hand into Steve's right as they climb the stairs of the stoop to get to the front door. Bucky knocks gently and gives Steve's hand a reassuring squeeze. Steve glances at him with a faint smile and squeezes back.

The door opens carefully to reveal Rebecca. She looks from Steve to Bucky, then back to Steve. Her face goes from a carefully-schooled surprise to wide-eyed and grinning. She doesn't miss their clasped hands, but Bucky wouldn't expect her to.

"Come on in," she says as she opens the door wider, the glee barely contained in her voice.

"Hey, Becs," Bucky says as he lets Steve's hand go so he can lean in and give her a hug. She returns the embrace but her eyes are clearly still on the tall blond. They part and Bucky comes back to Steve's side, pressing against the length of his arm.

Rebecca looks at Steve and pauses a second, a large grin on her face. "Well, I'll be damned. After everything I still had a bit of a question mark but... here you are."

Steve drops Bucky's hand and holds it out to her. "Nice to meet you, Rebecca. I've heard a lot about you."

"Oh, no. I'm a hugger," Rebecca says, sounding more like a threat than a statement.

"She is, you know," another voice pipes in. Nick is standing behind Rebecca with a wry smile, as Rebecca pulls Steve's huge shoulders down into a hug. Steve looks surprised, but not uncomfortable. Yet. Bucky places his free hand on the small of Steve's back as he's subjected to the focused attention from his sister.

"Hey, Nick," Bucky greets. Nick moves past Rebecca to take the bag of desserts, and pull Bucky into a light one-armed hug.

Nick doesn't look surprised to see Steve, so Rebecca probably at least forewarned him. But truth be told, he's so laid-back that if he hadn't been warned, Steve wouldn'tve probably warranted more than an eyebrow raise.

Nick introduces himself to Steve and shakes his hand, before retreating to put the food in the kitchen. Bucky breathes out a sigh of relief. First round of introductions, and so far so good.

"Everyone's here," Rebecca tells them. "Abi wasn't late, she got in about ten minutes ago."

"Good, that's good," Bucky says. He wants everyone to meet Steve at the same time; it'll just be easier in the long run.

"Rebecca? Was that the door?" Winifred Barnes' voice drifts into the entry.

Rebecca exchanges a look with Bucky before she answers. "Yes, mom. Bucky and Steve are here."

"Oh, good! Come into the sitting room, we're having some finger food."

Bucky looks to Steve and takes his hand again. "Come on. They won't bite." Steve interlaces their fingers and is the first one to step forward. Out of the entry and down the hall a short way, to turn left into the sitting room.

There's quiet conversation going on between his parents and sisters, mostly centred around fussing over his niece and nephew, but everything stops when they round the corner, Rebecca and Nick on their flanks.

Everyone turns to look as they enter, but it takes a few seconds for Steve's presence to sink in.

"Hi everyone," Bucky decides to lead off. "This is Steve."

Steve smiles. "Hello," he says almost shyly, his hands occupied with Bucky's hand and the large bunch of flowers.

There's silence, before one of Bucky's sisters breaks it.

"Holy shit," says Abigail.

"Language, Abigail Louise," Winifred Barnes scolds, pointing to Robert, who is playing with his favourite truck.

"Sorry, sorry. But..." she looks to Steve and flails her arm in his general direction, an incredulous look on her face. "I stand by my statement."

His mom is the first one to break out of the stupor. She rises and smooths her skirt down in the front, bypassing the coffee table on her journey to stand in front of them. Her smile is wide, hands warm.

"James, so good to see you," she says, leaning in to kiss Bucky's cheek. She looks to Steve expectantly.

"These are for you, Mrs Barnes," he says, holding out the beautiful bouquet to her.

She fusses over them. "Oh, they're lovely." Reaching forward, she touches her lips to Steve's cheek, and he has to bend over a considerable way to make the contact. "Thank you, Steve, but please, call me Winnie."

A slight blush touches Steve's cheeks and Bucky has to bite his lip savagely. Nobody has ever gotten the 'call me Winnie' treatment within seconds of being met. Nobody. Not even golden boy Nick.

Nick obviously notices this, and pokes Bucky sharply in the back. Bucky subtly flips him off.

"I don't think I'm quite ready for that yet, Mrs Barnes," Steve answers.

"Quite right, Winnie. Let the man be respectful," Bucky's dad says, coming to stand in front of them. "George Barnes."

Steve looks as nervous as Bucky's ever seen him as he sticks out his hand. "Mr Barnes."

"Captain Rogers," Mr Barnes replies with a firm handshake, and it's like the collective breath that the room has been holding is exhaled sharply. Bucky observes Grace take a step closer to Abigail and puts her hand on the inside of Abigail's elbow, before he looks to Steve.

An awkward expression flits across Steve's face briefly before he answers. "Please, it's just 'Steve'," he insists.

Bucky's dad's lips twitch in amusement. "All right, Steve."

Steve smiles in appreciation, but he hears a little squeak, presumably from Grace's direction. Bucky watches Grace tug on Abigail's arm roughly, whispering heatedly into her ear.

Bucky was hoping not to address it like this, but it seems it's probably better coming sooner rather than later. He takes Steve's hand and addresses everyone.

"So... elephant in the room... Steve's Captain America." He feels four pairs of eyes trained upon him, and runs his free hand through his hair. "But he's also Steve Rogers, and Steve happens to be my boyfriend.

"We haven't been shy about dating, but we're not exactly broadcasting it on all frequencies, either. Makes it a little tough getting to know someone when you have media dogs breathing down your neck... We've not been seeing each other for a real long time, but I wanted to share with you all, and for some stupid reason he expressed interest in meeting the lunatics I'm fortunate enough to call my family." Steve squeezes Bucky's hand, and Bucky looks to him and gives a little smile.

He sighs before continuing. "I know it's big news to be told, and it might take a little while to sink in, but we'd both really appreciate you tryi--"

"Buckeeeeeeeeeee--oooff!" a tiny body propels into Bucky's legs, interrupting him, and he looks down. It's Robert, face pressed into his knees.

Bucky leans down to pick him up automatically. "Heeyy, champion. What're you doing?"

"Bucky truck," he tells Bucky seriously, waving his red and blue truck in Bucky's face, nearly taking out his nose.

"That's awesome, Bobby. I'm going to play trucks with you real soon, okay?"

"Bucky truck now," Bobby insists. Bucky laughs and tickles his belly, while Steve looks on, fascinated. He catches Steve's eye, and taps Bobby on the shoulder.

"Hey, Bobby. This is my friend, Steve. Wanna say hello?"

Bobby looks him up and down, before going a little shy and putting his head on Bucky's shoulder. "H'lo," he says.

Steve gives a little wave of his hand. "Hi, Bobby," he says softly.

Rebecca takes him from Bucky's arms. "Hey cutie, let's get you some crackers." She looks to Steve. "He'll be crawling all over you in no time."

"I don't know if that's a good thing or not," Steve responds warily.

"Well, it's great for him, you're built like a jungle gym," Nick puts in. He's scooped up Isobel from somewhere. Bucky grabs her straight away and she reacts by wrapping tiny chubby arms around his neck and planting a drooling kiss on his cheek.

And in an instant Bucky remembers that this is exactly why he finished his tours in the army.

Bucky laughs and Steve watches, his eyes wide and face a little dorky.

"Steve, this is Isobel. Unfortunate people would give her the nickname of 'Bella', but cool ones would call her 'Izzy'."

"Why not Bella?" Steve asks curiously.

"Because Bucky thinks it's gauche to have so many 'B' nicknames in the family," Abigail comments, stepping forward, numbering things off on her fingers. "Bucky, Becca, Bobby and Bella? It's just too much for him. He's breaking the streak."

Steve gives a little smile. "Sounds just like him to be contrary like that." Bucky rolls his eyes and Abigail laughs delightedly and puts out her hand.

"Abigail Barnes, and I can't believe I'm meeting you."

"I can't believe I'm meeting the famous Abi," Steve counters. "Your photographs are really beautiful, and your taste in music is... interesting." Abigail blushes and Bucky can see her just folding to Steve's charms effortlessly. Any tension Bucky was feeling at their first interaction dissipates immediately.

"Oh, Poison and Bon Jovi are where it's at, Steve, make no mistake," she says brightly, taking his elbow and leading him further into the room. Steve looks to Bucky for help but Bucky's hands are full with Isobel. Bucky gives a little shrug and mouths 'you're fine' as Steve gets kindly manhandled.

Nick takes Isobel back so he can face his parents. George and Winifred both look at him, surprised.

"James," his mom begins in an impressed voice, "I'm-- I don't know what to say."

"I know it's a bit of a surprise--" Bucky begins.

"I can see why you've not been as... forthcoming," his father interrupts. "He's not a regular person."

And something in the way that his dad says that rubs him the wrong way.

"That's just it, dad, he is. He's not a soldier all the time, you know? He's also a pretty ordinary guy underneath it." Bucky squeezes the back of his neck. "Steve's not here to be treated like a hero, he's here to be treated like my boyfriend." He pauses, looking from one parent to another. "I'm not saying it's not a little weird, but do you think maybe you could try and treat him normally? We'd both really appreciate it."

George looks at him shrewdly. "So that means I get to give him the shovel talk, right?" he asks and Bucky rolls his eyes.

"Must you?"

"You're my only son," George says with mock seriousness. "It is my duty and privilege."

"If you scare him off I'm not going to be happy. He's kinda nice."

"Your father will do no such thing," Winifred scolds, and she isn't kidding around, so George puts his hands up in surrender.

"Speaking of which..." Bucky looks past his parents to where Abigail is still standing with Steve locked in her arm, talking to Grace. "I might have to go rescue him."

"Leave that to me," Winifred says, turning to the girls. "We're going to sit down to dinner, now. Abigail, Grace, James, please come help me in the kitchen."

"Why doesn't Becca have to help?" Bucky grouses in mock-seriousness.

"She has tiny children to get into high chairs, would you rather do that?"

"Yes," Bucky says immediately.

"Too bad," his mom counters, pushing him towards the kitchen. "Go."

He looks to Steve with an apologetic shrug, leaving him to be ushered to the dining room by his brother-in-law and father.

His mom has prepared a feast, and seems to have taken his suggestion of a second roast to heart. There is plenty of roast meat, vegetables, and he thinks he even sees a pumpkin pie in the oven.

Abigail comes up beside him as he's getting a tray of roast sweet potato. "Oh my god, Bucky," she says.

"Surprise?" he says with a shrug.

"I can't believe... you... Steve Rogers. Captain America. He's only in the Top 5 Bachelors in the USA."

"Really? Top 5?"

"According to People Magazine. And Buzzfeed."

"Pfft, Buzzfeed."

She turns to Grace, who is staring down at a tray of roast chicken. "Can you believe it, Gracie?"

Grace looks up and gives Bucky a complicated expression. "I'm still taking it in," she says, her voice a forced calm. Bucky internally winces. Big brother klaxons are going off in his head that something's wrong.

Winifred and Abigail exit the kitchen with plates and trays laden with food, leaving him and Grace alone in the kitchen.

Just as he's about to ask her if anything's wrong, she looks up at him with dark brows in a frown. "Can I talk to you?" she asks, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Of course," he says. They go back into the sitting room, where Grace takes up the spot she was in when he and Steve entered the room.

Her back is to him. She cuts a beautiful figure in the blue and black fifties style A-line dress, her hair gently curled. It's not too Peggy Carter-esque, of which he's mildly relieved, but it definitely hearkens back to a mid-century style.

"He told me I looked very pretty, and that he liked my dress," Grace offers first, and Bucky can't help but smile.

"That sounds like Steve," Bucky says. "All complimentary and shit."

"I'm struggling to process why you didn't tell me." She turns to face him suddenly, her expression aggrieved.

"I didn't actually tell anyone. It was a bit of an unbelievable thing, y'know? Also... early days... I didn't want to jump the gun."

"You know what I've been working on, and you didn't tell me you knew Captain America," she says, her cheeks flushed.

Bucky rears back a fraction. In a way, he was expecting something like this, but it's still hard to see his sister upset. "So... you're not in fact upset I didn't tell you I had a boyfriend, but that I didn't tell you who he was?" he clarifies, and Grace nods sharply. Bucky stands up a little straighter. "To be fair, half the time I've known him, I didn't know he was Captain America. We met online and I didn't find out until I met him in person."

Grace pushes on. "And when you found out you didn't say anything."

"No, I didn't. And I stand by that decision."

"Bucky, for crying out loud. I've been researching him since I was fourteen and been studying Peggy Carter since I was sixteen. You know my doctorate hinges on her. So many of her peers are either gone or unavailable for firsthand comment, and I've tried to get in touch with them. Hell, there's no way I can speak to the real Peggy Carter, and Steve Rogers is one of the only current first-hand sources out there. About six months ago I put in a request to interview him along with another thirteen academics and I got a nice letter back saying my request was denied. Now you just breeze in here with him and I- I--"

Grace seems to run out of breath, and she slumps forward, hair covering her face.

Bucky hears her laboured breathing. She's worked herself up into quite the frenzy.

"Gracie," he asks softly, "why are you mad at me?"

"Because you could've helped. You could've... I don't know, asked him or something." She sounds betrayed, and as much as Bucky feels guilt from his brotherly nature, her anger is still misplaced.

Bucky exhales a sharp breath. "If you can believe it, I forgot a little when I first met him that your PhD was partially tied up in him." Grace shifts from one foot to the other, arms wrapped around her body. "Once I did remember..." Bucky runs a hand through his hair. "Our relationship is still pretty new. How do you think it'd make me sound if I asked him to be interviewed by my sister a couple of weeks into knowing him?"

Grace gives him a pinched look. "Pretty bad, I guess," she admits.

"And not necessarily engendering trust," he says. "Captain America happens to be a guy by the name of Steve Rogers. He is... an incredible spaz. Relentlessly funny, hugely sarcastic, intensely private. I think..." and Bucky wonders if he's overstepping slightly, but he has to make Grace understand, "I think he has trouble rehashing some of his memories from WWII. If you've been in combat, no matter the period of time, or how long ago, you have issues. Lord knows I do."

"You mean PTSD," she guesses, more subdued than before. He can see the gears turn in her head. She's familiar with Steve's history, any claims of such a diagnosis have never been confirmed, but then again, Steve doesn't really give any interviews or talk about this stuff. Bucky wouldn't share his speculations at all if he didn't think Grace could show discretion.

"For the record, I'm his boyfriend, not his counsellor," Bucky says, but pauses deliberately, "but given that he doesn't do many interviews, it's not right for me to use my relationship to push one on him. He might do it out of some sort of obligation to me, and that's taking advantage."

"You're using your work-voice on me," Grace says, a waver in her voice.

"Maybe I need to for a second." He moves forward to hold her by the shoulders. "I love you so much, Gracie, but it's not fair of you to have expected me to do this."

Once Gracie starts sniffling in earnest, he pulls her in for a hug. "I know he's important to you, but he's important to me, too. It might not have escaped your notice but... I kinda like him."

"I noticed," she assures, muffled into his shoulder, and then sighs. "I'm sorry, Buck," she hiccups, "my research has been stressful and I've been applying for this new grant, and looking for an apartment closer to the University and--"

"It's okay, honey, I understand." Bucky kisses the top of her head. "If Captain America is part of your stress at the moment, you're in luck, because he's not here. Steve my boyfriend is, and I'd love for you to get to know him. I have it on good authority he's partial to cute, dark-haired Barneses."

Grace snorts out a laugh and pushes away from him. "You're making my makeup run," she tells him.

"You're smearing mascara on my cardigan and I'm gonna tell mom," he counters.

"Suck it up, princess," she says, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

There's a gentle knock on the doorframe, and Bucky and Grace both look up to see Steve standing there, one hand awkwardly in his pocket. "Your mom sent me to ask if everything was okay," he says, taking a small step into the room.

Gracie dabs her eye again and gives Steve a tremulous smile. "We're fine." She turns to Bucky. I'm going to touch up my makeup and I'll see you at the table in a few minutes, okay?"

Bucky nods and kisses her cheek. She exits the room and nods shyly to Steve on the way through. Steve's eyes snap from Grace to Bucky straight away, and he walks over. Bucky sighs.

Steve slips his arms around Bucky's waist and pulls him close. Bucky rests against Steve's chest.

"Are you all right?" he asks sincerely.

"Yeah... Gracie is under a lot of stress at the moment and it kind of boiled over with you as the catalyst--" Bucky is quick to continue as Steve stiffens "--but I think everything's going to be okay. She... she's overwhelmed that you're here."

"Her PhD?" Steve queries.

"Yeah, but don't worry. She's not going to start grilling you."

Steve exhales softly. "You know I'd like to help. But... it's a daunting prospect."

"I know. But maybe concentrate on being Steve around her, and she'll understand that what she's doing and why you're here are two separate things. I think she's halfway there."

"I'd like to think I'm Steve most of the time, but I know what you mean. And I'll try," Steve promises.

Bucky kisses him sweetly. Because he's Steve and because he's awesome. "Don't even worry about that now. All you have to do in this instant is eat my mom's cooking and make your yummy food faces. She'll love that shit."

A voice calls out from the dining room. "James! Steve! Are you ready to eat?"

Steve's stomach grumbles and Bucky laughs softly. He takes Steve's hand. "Coming, mom!"

***

The evening progresses thusly:

The breadsticks make an appearance during the appetisers, and suddenly the air is charged with tension. Nick and Bucky always sit directly opposite one another for maximum intimidation. Winifred has long since given up fighting the boys' strange rituals and places a large basket of breadsticks between them and walks away, refusing to acknowledge the part she is playing in their shenanigans.

As casual conversation continues, Nick squints at Bucky and snaps three sticks nominally easily. Bucky snorts his disdain and with a little effort, breaks four at once.

Steve, in his own, unassuming way, scoops up six and effortlessly snaps them in his large hands. He draws instant scorn.

"Unfair!" Nick utters with disgust.

"Disqualified," Bucky decrees, snatching one of the broken breadsticks and sticking it in his mouth mutinously. "You can't play with us."

"Wow, Mean Girls much, Bucky?" Abigail remarks. The rest of the table gives them the same looks of long-suffering confusion, only amplified because Steve has somehow, in one visit, joined the madness.

Steve just grins and chews on the other half of Bucky's breadstick. Bucky squeezes Steve's thigh under the table.

Robert, having already been served a little bowl of spaghetti, becomes agitated that he's not currently the centre of attention at dinner. With a flourish, he flips his bowl onto the table, giggling as everyone gasps when tomato sauce splatters.

It's not too bad, all things considered. Steve gets a few droplets on his sweater, but it's a little watered down and wipes off easily. The hardest part is not laughing as Rebecca scolds Robert for being silly.

Unfortunately, the mission is a failure. Bucky has to turn away and press his face into Steve's arm so his chuckles are muffled. Rebecca glares at him and Nick gives him a decent kick under the table. Steve pats his arm and says 'There, there,' in a deadpan voice which only makes him laugh more.

Winifred and Rebecca bring the dishes out for dinner, and Bucky doesn't think he's ever seen Steve's eyes go so wide. It's hearty stick-to-your-ribs food and there's a lot of it, which is just as well, because Steve begins packing it away in earnest. George is suitably impressed and Winifred practically glows every time Steve gives her that hopeful look and asks if he can have some more.

The yummy faces are a definite hit.

Before the meal is even finished, Steve has a standing invitation to come over and eat anytime with or without Bucky -- Bucky's not sure how to feel about that one -- and he's practically been ordered to attend Thanksgiving. That holiday would be a wholly different experience with way more family, but by the way Steve's eyes light up, Bucky thinks it might be on the cards.

Complimenting Mrs Barnes' cooking turns into everyone having a good-natured rag on Bucky about preparing food for himself, and he ends up having to defend his own ability to feed and keep himself -- and Steve -- alive.

"Well, James, if you're not making sure Steve has enough to eat, he'll simply have to come around more often," Winifred proclaims.

"You've got a little something on your face there, Buck," Rebecca says, pointing to Bucky's face, and he wipes it.

"Oh? What is it?"

"It's red, and white, and kind of looks like a bullseye," she grins.

Bucky stops wiping immediately and rolls his eyes while the rest of his family titters. Steve's taken to eating his sweet potato mash with his fork in one hand, so the other ends up finding one of Bucky's hands under the table and squeezing it. He looks over to Steve, who is giving him a warm smile.

It's Rebecca's turn to cringe. "Oh, that's so disgustingly cute I want to look away."

Bucky shrugs. "Not the first time we've made someone look like they've drunk sour milk, probably won't be the last."

Bucky's comment prompts demands for elaboration, which leads Steve excitedly telling the story of the rude carnie at Coney Island to the family on one of their first fully-public dates.

"--so he's standing there, holding the rifle and says 'I was meant to shoot at what I wanted to win, right, fella?'". The enthusiasm in which Steve relays the story, coupled with Bucky's fairly accurate impersonations of the carnie, have his family in stitches. Even Isobel lets out a peal of laughter, though she has absolutely no idea what's so funny. They take to alternating in their delight, which only seems to spur on the good humour."

"--And nearly every single spot on the hatband had a perfect hole through the centre--"

"--Well, one didn't, but the sight was bent as shi-- er, anything--"

"--But it was amazing though. They were maybe a bit over the size of a quarter, and he nailed every one--"

"--the look on his face when you called me 'Sergeant', though. I thought he was going to wet himself."

Bucky's dad starts wheezing he's laughing so hard, and Winifred actually thumps him on the back a few times. "My boy doesn't miss," George states, wiping at his eyes, and Bucky is simultaneously pleased and embarrassed at the naked pride in his father's voice.

The feeling only intensifies when Steve looks at him admiringly like he's the best fucking thing since sliced bread and responds immediately with a "No, sir, he certainly does not." Bucky kind of wants to sink underneath the table. He also wants to kiss Steve senseless, but not in front of his family.

His tension is broken suitably when Abigail stands to clear her plate away. "It's officially getting too mushy in here. I need pie."

A chorus demanding pie goes up, and Bucky's mom and Grace head to the kitchen, returning momentarily with a freshly-baked pie. The eight adults and two children make short work of it, and Winifred laments that she only made the one, until Bucky reminds her that he and Steve brought muffins and donuts.

The family decide to move their socialising back into the sitting room, but not before the many dirty plates are collected. Steve offers to wash up, but is summarily shooed away from the kitchen by every single Barnes.

Somehow, Bucky gets roped into it, his protests about dishpan hands falling on deaf ears. In reality, he doesn't want to necessarily abandon Steve completely to his family. Rebecca volunteers to give him a hand, and alleviates his worries when they're alone in the kitchen.

"I wouldn't worry, Nick's out there. He'll help Steve if needs be," she assures, turning on the coffee maker before moving to the basin. Bucky arches a curious brow. Rebecca gives a little smile. "I may've discussed this with him. I know it's probably not easy for him to do the 'meet the family' thing in the twenty-first century."

Bucky bumps shoulders with her at the sink. "Thanks, Becca. Truth be told... he's never done it before."

Rebecca's eyes widen. "Really? Not even--?" Bucky shakes his head. "Wow," she comments, "you wouldn't know it. He has everyone eating out of his hand."

"That's Steve for you. Could charm the birds out of the trees with his 'aww shucks' routine," Bucky grins. He concentrates on scrubbing one particular plate. "How do you think it's going so far?"

"Really good, Buck. I wasn't sure what it would be like to meet him, but he's just so... nice," Rebecca responds. "And I don't mean like a twenty-first century 'nice' guy... He's got a really sincere quality about him, like he's not trying to be charming on purpose, he just is."

"That's... pretty much it in a nutshell," Bucky says. "And when he doesn't want to be nice, he's this sarcastic little shit that is absolutely hilarious." The comment prompts a laugh out of Rebecca.

"I never would've thought... I can't wait to meet that Steve," she says.

Bucky blinks slowly at that. It's silly, but he'd not considered that this might be the start of Steve interacting more often with his family. He can't say he minds. "It's entertaining, not gonna lie," Bucky says, remembering to answer Rebecca.

"I look forward to it." She pauses for a moment. "You two look really good together," she observes, looking at Bucky askance.

Bucky stares into the dishwater, the beginnings of a cheeky smile on his face. "Yeah, he scrubs up okay for an older guy, I guess."

"So... have you saluted the little Captain yet?" she asks innocently.

Bucky inexplicably starts coughing. "I can't stress to you enough," he chokes out when he can breathe, "how much I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Such a prude," Rebecca says, throwing the dish towel at his face, which he catches deftly. Thankfully, Rebecca only brings up that topic to get a rise out of him. That done, they can change the subject back to safer topics and chatter on casually until the dishes are done. Rebecca's still drying, but she sends Bucky out to check on everything.

He finds Steve sitting on the floor with Robert and Nick, where Bobby is teaching him how to play 'trucks'. 'Trucks' is an incredibly cerebral game, in which the protagonists wheel the truck around and make driving sounds, with the occasional skid or horn effect. Sufficed to say, Steve picks it up fairly quickly.

Steve looks up when Bucky re-enters the room, and his face lights up. Bucky can't help but return the smile. It gets broader when Robert tugs on Steve's pantleg and demands his attention. "Steeb play truck," he insists. Steve apologises profusely and refocuses on the game.

"The coffee maker is done," Bucky announces, "who wants what?"

Various family members call out their requests, but Winifred ushers Bucky to sit down. He's apparently done his quota of jobs for the evening and has earned a free pass for the rest of the night.

Instead of joining Steve, however, he goes to sit with his dad by the hearth. While he and Rebecca were doing the dishes, Abigail brought out the muffins and donuts. George sits with a little plate, making short work of a very tasty-looking chocolate chip muffin.

Bucky sits opposite his dad, stretching his legs a little out in front of him. The box of donuts is on the sidetable, and he picks out one, taking a large bite out of it. Winifred appears out of nowhere and thrusts a plate underneath the food, gently scolding him.

George chuckles. "I could've told you that would happen."

"She's got sonar for food being eaten without a plate, I swear," Bucky says as he licks the glaze off his fingers.

"You get these from the markets near you?" George asks.

"Yeah. Steve and I went this morning to pick up some stuff." Bucky can't help a grin at the memory. "The little old lady florist there added at least an extra six big roses to mom's bouquet because he gave her the time of day."

"Did she recognise him, or...?"

Bucky chews on his donut. "I'm not sure... I don't think so? He was just being sweet to her and asking questions. She gave him extra flowers."

George nods absently. "So you met him online?"

"Yeah, pretty ridiculous, huh?" Bucky's dad goes on the internet, but it's mostly to look up second hand stuff on Craigslist, or watch old movies on Youtube. He wouldn't know the details of Tinder, and Bucky's not about to fill him in. George knows it's the internet, and that's enough.

"Quite. I watch reports on Sixty Minutes all the time about people being duped out of their savings by people they meet on dating websites."

Bucky laughs. "I'm not a fifty-year old divorcee with a Nigerian prince offering to marry her."

"Not that you've told me," George responds dryly.

"Well, I feel like you'd know by now," Bucky replies.

Winifred chooses that moment to bring both her husband and son a mug full of steaming coffee each. Both Barnes men pause their conversation to take a sip. It slightly burns the roof of Bucky's mouth, but he doesn't care. It's good.

"How does one break the news that you're a National Icon?" George muses.

"If he'd told me before we met... I honestly probably would've written him off as a crackpot. But I met him after we'd been in touch for two months. You know, texting, phone calls, talking about life stuff, so by the time I did meet him..." Bucky shrugs. "Yeah, I was thrown off for a bit, but the man 'Steve' I'd been talking to was already more real than this guy from the Avengers and that I only know from the media and history books."

"That's all well and good," George continues, "but there must've been some haziness with his job. He clearly wasn't truthful."

Bucky cocks his head to the side, capitulating. "I admit, there were some things omitted from our conversations, but he said straight up his job was confidential and there were security issues. I get that, y'know? The details were sketchy but there's not been one shred of an actual lie that I can determine."

George sips at his coffee, nodding slowly. "So the operation in Geneva," he begins again, and Bucky sits to attention, "did he actually get hurt?"

Bucky clears his throat. "Yeah. Not bad for him, but still needed a little time to recuperate."

"How did you handle it?" his dad asks softly.

He shifts awkwardly in the chair for a moment. "I get it now. Why you and mom hated watching the news while I was deployed." He rubs a thumb over the rim of his mug. "It's a pretty dreadful feeling of helplessness."

"I wish you didn't know what that was like, son."

Bucky takes a sip from his coffee, and looks over to where Steve is standing up and dusting off his slacks. Steve turns and looks at him, a smile blossoming over his features. "So far, it's worth it," Bucky says, shifting minutely over on the loveseat.

Steve strides over to stand by the sofa. "May I join you?" he asks politely, gesturing to the empty space next to Bucky.

"Don't think my other boyfriend is coming, so... sure, why not?" Bucky replies.

The loveseat isn't overly large, so when Steve sits, his thigh is pressed flush against Bucky's, and Bucky has to stifle the laugh at Steve's little glance towards George. It's as though he's gauging whether their level of proximity is appropriate. George merely smiles.

"Your other boyfriend didn't even call and apologise for not showing up? Atrocious manners. You should dump him," Steve replies.

Bucky grins and puts one hand on Steve's thigh, leaning in. "Maybe I will."

He plants a fleeting kiss on Steve's lips, to watch his boyfriend's cheeks turn a ridiculous shade of pink. "Oh God, Steve, you'd think I just felt you up, or something," Bucky grins.

"Let the man alone, James," George lightly scolds, "I know what he means." George turns to Steve. "When I was courting James' mother, we used to say 'goodnight' to each other on her front porch. We were young and it would sometimes get a little..." he pauses, and Bucky prays he doesn't go into too much detail. "Involved," he decides.

"Dad--" Bucky warns.

George ignores his son. "One night we took too long, and Winnie's father comes out to find us necking by the mailbox. He nearly ran me off with a shotgun."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Bucky wonders aloud, and Steve bumps their shoulders together.

"It means that I'm not going to have a meltdown if you kiss my son in front of me, Steve," George says.

Steve looks poleaxed for a second, before a small, infinitely sweet smile graces his features. "Thank you, sir. It's... well, it is still taking a little to get used to."

Winifred appears out of nowhere with a mug of coffee for Steve. He beams up at her and takes the mug in both hands. "Thank you, Mrs Barnes."

She glows, and Bucky wants to roll his eyes except he doesn't because his mother looks ecstatic.

"So, Steve," George says, bringing both Bucky and Steve's attention back to him, "How is SHIELD different from the Army?"

Steve's face does the frowny thing where he's considering his answer thoroughly. "In some ways, they're quite similar. There's still ranks and a chain of command, and all the different divisions... but in other ways, it's quite different. SHIELD tends to work a lot more covertly than anything I was used to previously." He drums his fingers against the mug. "There was a certain... simplicity to the Army with regards to mission objectives, wins and losses, that I don't find in great supply nowadays."

George looks taken aback and a little impressed at the answer. Bucky knows what that feels like; Steve is usually honest in a way that comes as quite a surprise to twenty-first century folk, himself included.

George starts asking Steve questions about SHIELD, and to his credit, he asks things that aren't requiring Steve to answer with classified information.

It's interesting from Bucky's perspective, as he gets to hear Steve talk about things that he personally hasn't gotten around to finding out yet; Steve discusses how many countries he's seen, how much down time he gets, whether he prefers being stationed in New York or DC, what prompted him to join SHIELD.

This leads to Steve asking questions about George's profession, and they get into quite an intense discussion about engineering and what the vocation means to him.

He's heard a lot of his dad's stories before, and he needs to go to the bathroom, so Bucky excuses himself with a squeeze of Steve's shoulder and a nod to his dad. Steve gives a cursory glance up, but otherwise seems embroiled in the conversation.

When Bucky comes back from the bathroom, he's waylaid by Abigail.

"Hey, Abi. How's your weekend been?" He asks, slinging an arm around her shoulders. Abigail pulls it around her more firmly, tugging on his hand.

"It's been nice... I went to the Park and took some shots with my new macro lens and-- I can't believe you just sidetracked me. Bucky."

Bucky laughs. "What? Sidetracked you from what?"

Abigail nods her head towards Steve, who's still listening intently to their dad. She shakes her head. "I don't know how you did it. How did you snag that specimen?"

"By being my normal, charming self, of course."

"Bullshit," she counters, "you're kind of an asshole."

"I've got a secret to tell you," Bucky says, leaning in close to Abigail's ear, "so is he." He gestures to Steve.

Abigail shakes her head profusely. "I refuse to believe it. He is sunshine and goodwill and America."

"And a smartass. You know on one of our first dates he tried to convince me he'd gone back in time?"

Abigail snorts out a laugh. "He did not."

"He did. And it's not like dating someone where you know they're bullshitting. He can be a goddamn superhero. I didn't know if he was joking or not."

She laughs again, slinging an arm around his waist. They both watch Steve and George chat, who've now been joined by Winifred. She sits on the loveseat next to Steve, and he turns his body a little so he's facing them both.

Bucky tears his eyes away to find Grace, who seems to be helping Rebecca and Nick pack up the kids' toys. "Is Gracie doing okay, d'you think?" Bucky asks quietly.

"She's had a tough week, this came as a bit of a surprise," Abigail says in a similarly quiet voice. "Becca is talking to her, though. I think she'll come good."

"I hope so," Bucky mutters.

"Bucky," Rebecca calls out, and Bucky raises his eyebrows, "can you put Izzy's stroller in the trunk? We have to get the kids home soon."

Bucky sighs dramatically and Abigail gives him a push towards their sister. "I feel like this is the exact reason you have a husband," he says.

Nick's expression is bland. "In the uncle handbook. Not my problem if you didn't read it."

Bucky collapses Isobel's stroller expertly and both he and Nick take out a large diaper bag, a box of toys, the stroller and a container or two of leftovers.

He catches Nick giving him a sideways glance as they load things into his car on the street.

"What?" Bucky asks.

Nick smirks. "Nothing. Just--" he chuckles and slaps Bucky on the back. "Not bad, bro."

Bucky grins. "Thanks, man."

It's as much as Nick would ever say, so it's nice some things are just normal.

When Bucky re-enters the house, he finds Rebecca giving Steve a one-armed hug as she holds a sleeping Isobel. They exchange a few quiet words, before she does the rounds of saying goodbye to everyone else. Nick shakes Steve's hand, saying goodbye to all the in-laws before picking up a fidgety, almost-asleep Robert from the couch.

Bucky goes to see them off at the door. Rebecca gives him a kiss on the cheek.

"All things considered, I think that went remarkably well," she grins.

"Well, nobody crash-tackled him or fainted? I count it as a win."

Rebecca laughs lightly, before squeezing his hand. "Way to go, big brother. I like him."

"As if you wouldn't," he teases.

Rebecca gets an oddly serious look to her face. "Hey, he could be Captain America or a substitute gym teacher from Queens. As long as he keeps making you smile like that; I like him."

He can't see it, but he can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. "Wow, that's embarrassing," he admits.

"It's the truth," she says brightly, spinning on her heels. Winifred comes out as Bucky is waving them off.

"Are you and Steve going to stay for a little longer?" she asks, linking her arm with his.

"I think so. But we're both working tomorrow so maybe no more than an hour."

They re-enter the house and Winifred closes the door behind them. Making their way back into the sitting room, she clears her throat dramatically. It's amazing how five sets of eyes snap to her immediately.

"Would anyone else like another round of coffee and donuts?"

The affirmative consensus is vocal, and so Winifred heads back into the kitchen, this time with Abigail as her assistant. George excuses himself, so Steve's left in the room with Bucky and Grace.

Grace stands awkwardly, unsure of what to do with herself, and Bucky hates seeing that indecision in his normally confident sister, in her own home, no less.