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Bucky locked up the restaurant hours later than normal. There was a mix-up with a meat delivery, and it took ages to sort out. He finally had everything inventoried and could call it a night. As he flicked off the lights in the empty kitchen, he ignored the fact that he would be back in less than five hours—four o'clock on the dot—-to prepare for the morning rush.
He didn't mind, though. Some people hated their jobs, but he was lucky enough to do something that he loved. He owned a restaurant called The Barnes housed in an up-and-coming neighborhood in Brooklyn. Surrounded by indie coffeehouses on one corner and cluttered bookstores on the other, it wasn't a place that was too fancy or too important. But he loved it. Trudging into work in the wee hours of the morning wasn't a chore for him. He bounced out of bed even when the only thing up that early in the city was him and the garbage trucks.
Despite the success of the past three years, he knew The Barnes might close one day. Restaurants closed all the time, especially in a city like this one. For now The Barnes was his life. He never tired of reading his name on the door. Or writing specials on the folding chalkboard that greeted people on the way inside. He never regretted how much sacrifice it took to make The Barnes special.
As he exited the back door and stepped into the deserted alley that ran behind the restaurant, a nagging moment of self-doubt formed in his head.
Am I happy? Don't be an ass, of course you are. The Barnes is a success. People stand outside, rain or shine, for Sunday brunch. It's everything you wanted.
It was true though. The daily grind left parts of his life neglected. And nights huddled over his MacBook writing recipes were losing their excitement. Good thing Sam worked with him otherwise his friendships would've fallen to the wayside right beside his love life.
"Sam, I'm just closing up. Are you there?" He shifted the phone from his ear, tilting his head to hold the device against his shoulder.
It was dark outside.
Quiet.
Eerie.
With his attention on Sam reprimanding him for being at The Barnes late again, Bucky missed the street light on the nearest corner blinking on and off in a warning.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm going home—"
He patted his pant pockets then his jacket. He struggled to find the key in his hands and when he did he exclaimed 'Aha!' and pushed it into the lock. Apologizing to Sam, even though he knew he wasn't sorry, he told his friend goodbye, promised to go home on time tomorrow, and hung up his phone.
As he stepped off the curb, adjusting the leather strap of his bag over his head onto his shoulder, a high-pitched noise rang out into the air. The shrill screech made Bucky cover his ears, head spinning on a swivel, searching for the source.
He turned, and the blinding white headlights surrounded him. Followed by thick smoky plumes, skidding tires, and the scrape of metal on metal. Everything propelling forward, coming straight for him in slow-motion.
I'm about to die, this is it, I'm not gonna make it, he thought, as the vicious crash came hurling towards where he stood motionless on the sidewalk.
He thought about how easily life could end: in the span of two seconds. He thought about how Sam would mourn for him, blame himself for letting Bucky work so late at night. He hoped Sam would know it wasn't his fault.
His feet felt glued to the sidewalk as though he trudged through quicksand. The world caught up to real-time, and he attempted to run out of harm's way. Even as he moved he knew he was going to die. His body tensed bracing for the impact, for the pain—
"I got you," a voice behind him said out of nowhere. Then he flew, feet lifting from the ground, wind whipping in his face, the world tilting topsy turvy around him.
In crazed thought, Bucky wondered if he was dead. Flying seemed like something dead people would be able to do.
"Come in, I'm off my target!" The voice spoke again, cutting through the air.
Bucky's eyes fluttered open, and okay, this wasn't flying. He was on the back of a motorcycle, clinging to a man who was driving erratically. They weaved in and out of streets and turns in quick— almost impossible— precision. They were going so fast that Bucky thought he was about to puke, his stomach rolling into knots.
"Tony, I need you to head back around the rear. Reinforcements are coming up the backside of the landing zone. I have a civilian, and there's a ton of debris…I need to make a detour," the man said.
"Shit. Shit. I can't believe that just happened." The wind sucked up the sound of Bucky's voice and he doubted the man heard him.
He squeezed his eyes closed again as they zoomed across an intersection blinking nothing but red lights. The tires screeched as they took a sharp turn at the next block, nearly colliding into a building and parked cars and newspaper bins. On the next street, scattered screams filled the air. Bucky glanced behind them, hair lashing against his face.
That was when he saw it.
Gulping, his eyes went huge and round as he saw—he wasn't even sure what the hell that was. But the creature had teeth and limbs and it was bigger. So much bigger than them. It was glorious in a horrible way, a crown of golden feathers surrounding its dragon-like head. Its taloned feet and hands sported yellow claws and onyx scales. The sight left him mesmerized until he shook his head. He slapped the man on the shoulder to get his attention.
"Pal! Hey pal! You might wanna step on the gas. Oh shiiiiit—"
They did a one-eighty in the middle of the intersection and started booking it straight back at the creature smashing up the street. They were going too fast. The seat between his legs vibrated dangerously beneath him. The engine whined from overexertion. Around him, exhaust fumes and smoke filled the air with stench, causing his nostrils to burn. Booms like thunder rumbled and glass shattered. He had never been in a war zone, but he imagined this was close.
He was afraid, more terrified than he'd ever been in his life. Even more terrified than the day The Barnes opened and he knew success or failure depended on him. He didn't know what the fuck that creature was, or why it was hurting people. He didn't know who this man was, and it scared him that instead of away, the man was driving back to danger. The man didn't seem nervous at all. No panic or anything. Fantastic, he thought, a fucking madman rescued me.
"This is the wrong way! Pull over! Do you hear me? STOP!"
The man stoked the engine, accelerating. "Hang on, okay? Jump when I jump!"
"What?!"
"Ten seconds!" he hollered back.
The creature was only a few yards away, stomping everything in its path. Tossing cars. Roaring. If they didn't turn back, Bucky was certain they'd be pancakes on the pavement. He latched onto the man's back, squeezing his arms around like he never intended to let go. He laid his head down, looking away, unsure if the wild heartbeat he heard was his own or the man's.
The engine squealed as the bike lurched one last time. He let loose an involuntary scream as the man released the handle bars, but he jumped. When he felt the seat give away between his legs, he jumped. The bike still zig-zagged forward, crashing.
They ducked into an alley at the split-second the creature bumbled past them, vanishing from its sight-line. The man dragged Bucky through the gap between the two buildings. It was a minuscule two feet wide, and he didn't understand how the man even spotted it among all the smoky atmosphere.
The air in his lungs burned as he tried to catch his breath, chest heaving up and down in unsettled wheezes. He couldn't move, and he pressed against the man and the wall at his back.
By some miracle, he was alive.
Slumping his head backward, he sighed as his pulse calmed, beat by beat. The rumble and roar of the creature waned after a few minutes, leaving them in near silence. Only sirens and car alarms echoed in the distance now.
Bucky finally lifted his head up. "Damn, I wasn't expecting to live through that…" he said.
The man shifted against him, wincing. They stood close, nose to nose, sandwiched between two grimy brick walls. Each sharp breath the man took was warm against his cheek. A mounted wall light above them illuminated enough of his face to reveal his injuries.
"You're bleeding…"
Reaching between their chest, Bucky touched the trickling bruise blooming along the man's hairline. His rescuer jerked his head at the contact, his entire body stilling, either from pain or surprise.
He had no medical training except for a CPR class taken during high school and no first aid supplies. The most he could do was pull a method from his mother's bag of tricks and kiss the wound better. Sticky blood on his fingertips indicated a hospital would be better equipped than his mouth. Though a kiss wouldn't have been a chore. The man had a noticeably attractive set of deep blue eyes that resembled ripe fresh blueberries.
Attractive eyes that studied him in a stare.
Under the man's close gaze, he itched to do a smell-check under his arms. After such a long shift, the questionable smell of old grease and flour had permeated his clothes. He was sweaty too, but still. They just lived through some shit together. Seeing the man bleeding, Bucky was real again too, alive.
He moved his hand away, and the man only blinked back, eyelashes shuttering closed then open again in a silent beat.
"—Cap? Cap! Come in, Steve. What the hell just happened? I lost your location. Where are you?"
Was that a radio? In confusion Bucky looked around until the man—Steve—lifted his hand to press a finger to his ear, still watching Bucky carefully, as the transmission cut off.
"Natasha, I'm here. I'm…just…" Steve shut his eyes. "Give me coordinates. I'll come to you."
At that, Steve moved squeezing himself back through the tight alley entrance onto the sidewalk. Bucky followed him, and once they were out, he finally took a good look at his rescuer. His mouth fell wide open as he stumbled back a step.
It was only then that he realized he should've recognized his situation: the violence, the enormous creature chasing them, the man who clearly wasn't as freaked out by everything. But between the not dying and the acrobatic motorcycle ride he hadn't noticed what was so obvious now.
Bucky wasn't exactly a history junkie, but everyone in the country knew Steve Rogers. He was a national hero. He was in goddamn wars. He had an exhibit in the Smithsonian. He was the leader of the Avengers. How did he miss the fact that the madman rescuing him was Captain fucking America?
"You are actually bigger than you look on TV. Taller," he said.
Without response, Steve reached down to retrieve an object from the ground, and for God's sake it was the shield.
"Are you okay?" Steve asked, gaze scanning over Bucky for injuries.
The head bruise wasn't even the only thing bleeding on Steve, but he still checked Bucky, from head to toe with unhurried eyes. He glanced away to the ground for a beat then back up again.
"Don't worry, it's not headed back this way. There's a hospital up that street. Five blocks," he added.
"Are you sure you don't need a hospital?" Bucky gestured at the wound on Steve's head. He had also suffered a blow to the leg given his pants were slashed along his thigh. "You might wanna sit down."
Steve swiped at his face without the level of attention he'd just paid to Bucky's injuries. "I'll be fine," he said then added, turning away, "I've gotta go."
"Wait!" Bucky fished around in the outer compartment of his bag that was still hooked over his shoulder. Quickly, he found the item he wanted. "You might need this."
Steve took the chocolate-flavored energy bar fumbling it over in his hand then looked up. "Thanks?"
Bucky gave a half-shrug. "This seems like the kind of situation that might make a guy hungry. It's all I have," he said.
Clamping his lips together a moment, Steve nodded. "You're probably right."
He managed a step in Steve's direction, holding out his hand to prove he wasn't completely inept. "I'm Bucky. Would it be weird if I asked for your autograph? Er, for my friend. It would be for my friend."
Steve released a slow grin that Bucky realized he'd held back a second ago. "I don't exactly have a pen."
"Right. Makes sense."
"Okay…Bucky, nice to meet you. I wish under better circumstances." His gaze drifted skyward, eyes narrowing. There was a green light radiating down from the stars.
One look at the tinted sky made every hair on Bucky's arms perk to attention. He eyed the distance between him and the store across the street as it was the closest option for shelter. Reading his mind, Steve said, "Please, if you aren't going to the hospital. Find somewhere safe to be until this is over."
Steve walked backwards several steps down the sidewalk with his eyes still on Bucky. Then he gave an authoritative nod just before he turned and ran. He disappeared so fast into the night that Bucky lost him in seconds.
"You met Captain America?"
"I didn't meet Captain America. He rescued me from death. He's amazing, Sam. Exactly like you'd expect. And you know, I got to ride on his motorcycle."
Bucky had been amusing himself all morning teasing Sam about his already infamous encounter with a superhero. Not dying put you in a chipper mood. After returning home, he made a vow on his knees in his bathroom. He would start appreciating the little things. Work less. Find someone to love him. Get married. Make babies. Grow old with said person and then die at the old age of a hundred and eleven. Then, he had a big laugh about the whole episode, realizing that this Captain America thing was going to be his brand new party story. How many people could say Captain America rescued them? Among his circle of friends, not many.
He had his hands in a bucket of flour and butter crumblinh the mixture into tiny pebbles before he added milk. The morning breakfast rush was insane this morning. They had run out of most of the food in a quarter of the time. Even though he didn't usually work in the kitchen, Sam was standing over the grill furiously flipping pancakes to help them catch up.
Apparently the attack the city had lived through last night made everyone crave breakfast. He wasn't complaining. The Barnes was doing twice the amount of business than normal.
"He's a national hero. How did you not recognize Steve Rogers?" asked Sam.
"It wasn't my fault. How often do you expect to be rescued by an Avenger?"
"You know he isn't just some—"
"Oh, man. Here we go." Bucky gave Sam a smirk. He dumped his mixture out onto the counter. Then made quick work of the dough, shaping it into a round circle, patting it a couple of times, then grabbed his biscuit cutter.
"Shut up. He may be old-fashioned, but I like the guy. I think he's cool…"
Sam was adorably defiant about his Captain America obsession. In fact, he obsessed over all these Avenger types, while Bucky's appreciation had always been more about aesthetics than admiration. They all wore very tight pants, and he was into that.
"…and he's a good guy. A great guy," continued Sam.
"A great guy? What does that even mean? It’s not like you know him."
"It means Steve Rogers probably goes on dates with people and holds their hand all night. And I like that."
"Next time I go on a date I'm holding the guy's hand until it falls off. Will that make me Steve-Rogers good or just normal good?"
Sam snorted at him, flipping all the pancakes on the grill without even bothering to take up Bucky's comments with a rebuttal. They both knew a date wasn't in his future. Sam called The Barnes his excuse to work too much.
Though he had been giving that lifestyle choice significant thought this morning. Near death experiences warranted some life reflection, he thought, but nitpicking his every bad habit wasn't helpful either. Nevertheless, finding a better balance between The Barnes and his social life was the single vow he'd made last night. Breaking it in a day wouldn't be good karma.
Maybe a date was in his future.
As they continued to rib one another, the kitchen door swung open and Darcy waltzed in, smacking her gum, giving them both a dull grin. She wasn't a particularly good hostess, but no one around the place seemed to mind. She mostly had this job to pay her way through university—she was a straight-A biochem major. Bucky expected an invitation to her Noble Peace Prize ceremony for keeping her on the payroll. Plus, he had grown attached to her, no matter how often she mucked up the dining area.
"Somebody's out front for you," Darcy said, thumbing a gesture over shoulder. "Said he'd wait if you're busy. He's cute."
"Cute?"
Bucky looked down. Flour handprints and butter smudges covered his apron, but he made a move towards the door anyway. It was probably a customer wanting to know where their food was. They were so busy the wait had gotten extra long. He was in charge of the kitchen though, so any complaints were his problem. He smoothed the hair out of his face that had loosened from the neat bun he wore and shucked off his apron.
There were still people everywhere. Bucky hardly knew what to make of the sudden bump in business, but he suspected it had something to do with the rest of the block taking damage from what the local news kept calling a terrorist invasion. The Barnes was popular on most days, but it was standing room only this morning, and it was a Thursday on a workweek. He pushed his way through the throng of anxious customers over to the bakery, only to stop in his tracks when he discovered who was waiting for him there.
"No fucking way," Bucky said, staring at the guy who saved his life just last night. Steve Rogers.
Steve's eyebrows shot up as he said, "You've really got a mouth on you, don't ya?" But he was smiling.
"You're here…"
Bucky couldn't help the startled expression on his face. Hours ago Steve had been on the national news talking about yesterday's invasion and telling people not to panic. Now he was in his restaurant, looking normal wearing a navy jacket and khaki pants. The only reason his customers didn't notice was because who would ever expect Captain America to be here? He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him too, and Steve was standing two feet away from him.
"How are you here? I mean—were you looking for me?"
Steve stepped forward, eyes sweeping across the wall and the display case behind them. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. Which I can see that you are."
"I'm swell. Alive. You know."
Seriously, he couldn't believe Captain America bothered with things like this. He must rescue people all the time. He hadn't expected to ever see Steve again, and now that he was here he didn't know how to explain how grateful he was. If he tried, he didn't think he would ever shut up.
"You look very alive," Steve said.
"How did you even find me?"
"I remembered the way. I usually would never---"
"No fucking way!" Sam's voice interrupted a few seconds later, followed by a clatter of a pan hitting the floor that made both Bucky and Steve jump. "Oh my god!"
Scrubbing his hands down his apron a few times, Sam moved around the counter towards Steve, beaming the whole time.
"It's you! I wasn't sure if Bucky was yanking my chain," he said, not even waiting for permission to shake Steve's hand. "This is crazy. You have to sit down. Please. Let us feed you." He ushered Steve to a small empty table nearby without waiting for a yes.
Steve stayed for a while, longer than Bucky expected, sipping his coffee, reading the newspaper, and generally looking content. Even though he was stuck in the kitchen filling orders, Bucky found a few spare seconds to come back onto the house floor to check on things. He caught himself with his eyes on Steve. He wished it was less busy so that he could chat with Steve and thank him. All Bucky managed was a passing offer to refill Steve's coffee.
As the morning rush finally tapered off, he decided to head to the bakery to count the items that needed replenishing for the lunch hour. Coming out of the kitchen, Darcy caught him by the arm.
"That was Steve Rogers? He's taller than he looks on TV. Cute though, and he's about to leave. Go say bye." She shoved Bucky back through the hallway.
Shit. He didn't need to be told twice. He kicked himself for not remembering Steve sooner, at least to say goodbye like someone grateful for their life.
As he passed the dessert case he blindly reached inside and grabbed the first thing he touched as he bolted for the door. "Steve!" He called out as he came out onto the sidewalk, glancing both directions until he spotted him.
"You look like you have your hands full in there, so I didn't want to bother you. Thank you for breakfast. Everything was amazing," Steve said when he saw Bucky walking towards him.
He was busy unhooking his helmet from his motorcycle. The bike looked liked it’d been through a war, which Bucky guessed it had. Its paint was scratched, its seat twisted a little too far left.
"Here---" Bucky dumbly shoved the plastic container at Steve's chest, remembering to smile two seconds after Steve took it from him. He didn't know why he thought pie was enough repayment for someone saving his life, but it was too late, and all he had.
"I made it myself. It's coconut," he added.
He meant to say something better than that. Something like: Thank you for saving my life. You're a hero, Steve. Since I'm not dead, I promise not to take anything in my life for granted anymore. I'll try to walk little old ladies across the street. Never jaywalk. Always tip. Work less. But it was harder than it sounded to come up with a meaningful speech when faced with Captain America and his kind blue eyes.
Steve didn't seem to notice. "I can't say no to pie, can I?"
"You really shouldn't. I'm weird about food. Please eat it," Bucky said with a chuckle.
"Trust me, I will. Thanks." Steve placed the pie inside of the compartment on his seat.
Bucky lingered, watching. When Steve had his helmet on, kick-starting the engine of his bike, he realized he was acting like one of a slew of adoring fans that he imagined followed Steve around wherever he went. Just like Tony Stark. All the Avengers were rock stars and constant gossip fodder for the city's news cycle.
He glanced down, chiding himself. Steve must get this behavior all the time. He'd rescued him, but it was kind of his job. And if Bucky hadn't expected to see Steve again this morning, he certainly didn't think he'd ever see him again after this. Steve was just being Captain America. The perfect all-American hero. The type of guy who saved civilians from alien invasions and still made time to personally check up on them the next day.
A great guy, Sam's words from earlier echoed in his head.
He backed up, giving Steve enough space to pull away from the curb. "Thanks again. For what you did. What you do."
Steve nodded upon hearing the compliment. "Pleasure was mine. Bye, Bucky."
The engine revved a couple of times, sputtering as Steve pulled away. The bike was half way down the block when Steve glanced into the side mirror, catching Bucky's eye, and smiled. Their eyes meeting sent a thrill through him, spreading across his entire chest, and he couldn't explain why.
This had been a strange two days in his life. Nearly dying. The creature. Meeting Captain America. Feeding Captain America. He never imagined his rather normal life in Brooklyn would ever collide with superheroes, and he was sad that all the excitement was coming to an end.
It was only when Steve made a right turn and disappeared out of sight that Bucky finally went back inside.
"Your boy is coming in today."
It was several days later when Sam breezed into the kitchen carrying an armful of mail. He shuffled through the letters then looked up at Bucky.
"We need to fix anything special?"
Bucky was three-quarters through a bolognese sauce, chopping carrots and pancetta. He wasn't listening to Sam. He had sauce to make. Important sauce. Bolognese was always important.
"My what? What're you talkin' about?"
"Steve."
"Who?"
Bucky's brows furrowed into even more confusion, and that earned him an outright scoff and a dishtowel to the face. Sam shook his head as Bucky removed the rag.
"Captain America. Dude, you know it's amazing that this place hasn't fallen into chaos more often. I don't know what you pay attention to, but it's not the things you should."
"How do you—why is Steve coming here?"
The name hit Bucky in the stomach. A tiny excited flip flop. He scolded himself for getting excited by the idea that Steve Rogers was coming back to The Barnes. Steve had no reason to come here, and Bucky was skeptical that what Sam was telling him was even true.
With a shrug, Sam held out a paper to him. "Darce just took this to-go order. Cheeseburger, fries, and coconut pie. Don't get me wrong. I think you're a culinary genius, but a cheeseburger? Figured if the guy was coming all the way to Brooklyn for a burger, you were expecting him."
"Yeaaah. I really wasn't," Bucky said, taking the paper. He briefly smiled at the words "coconut pie" then moved over to the grill.
His bolognese could wait. He wanted to make this order himself.
"If he's coming back, maybe he's into you," Sam speculated, leaning against the prep station, crossing his arms over his chest.
Bucky made a face as he dropped a hamburger patty onto the heated surface, hearing the meat immediately sizzle away in a delicious hiss. "You're crazy," he said, then attempted to change the subject. "Did we ever hear back about that catering job at NYU?"
"No," Sam answered, but didn't let him off the hook. "Why else would he come back?"
Really? He's been talking my ear off about this catering job and now he's focusing. Sam had made it his mission to increase The Barnes' catering business using any means necessary. NYU was his alma mater, and normally he couldn't shut-up about the deal he was negotiating to handle the food for an upcoming technology summit there. Today he wanted to discuss Bucky's nonexistent chances with Steve Rogers.
He dropped two buns on the grill after swiping them with mayo. "Oh hell, I dunno. He's hungry? We serve food?"
"Of course, but remember how you said you wanna find a date?"
"Jesus, I didn't mean Captain America. I meant a normal guy."
Sam gestured at the air as though Steve were standing in front of him. "He's normal. And he's a good person. Remember? He saved you."
"I regret ever telling you this," Bucky muttered flipping over the patty with his spatula without eye contact.
Sam was supposed to hook him up with a guy from his gym or his barber shop. Not an Avenger for God's sake.
An hour later, Steve walked into The Barnes wearing a worn Mets cap pulled down low over his eyes and a brown leather jacket. It was past two o'clock, meaning the lunch rush had ended.
He had made certain to send Darcy on her break early and found himself manning the bakery all alone, wiping down the counter and the coffee machines, arranging and rearranging the blueberry muffins until Steve arrived. He figured that if Steve did show, he wanted to be around to say hello.
When Steve entered through the door, he took a fast peek at his reflection in the dessert case behind him, checking that he didn't look awful. His chin-length hair was combed and tucked neat behind each ear. He looked good, and he wasn't sure why that mattered but it did.
Holy shit, what if Sam's right? Is Steve Rogers here to ask me out? Do I say yes? No? He grabbed for Steve's order searching for something intelligent to say.
"Hi," was what he landed on. He plopped the food on the counter between them and leaned against it, smiling. "On the house."
"Are you sure?" Steve already had his wallet out and a debit card. Superheroes used debit cards. Weird.
"There's no way I'm charging you. You saved my life."
As far as Bucky was concerned, Steve could eat free at The Barnes for as long as the place was open. Free food was an easy but inadequate exchange.
"Well—" Steve glanced to his side and looked back at him. "I can't just take it and leave. You have time to eat?"
"Oh…"
The restaurant was empty except for a group of women who were already enjoying their salads. A brief respite between the lunch and dinner crowd.
Bucky definitely had time to eat. He also had several tasks on his docket to complete in the kitchen, and his bolognese was still bubbling away. Normally, he would've turned down the invitation, choosing work instead. But what could a few minutes hurt? Steve was too polite to turn down anyway.
He gathered himself and nodded. "I do. Go ahead, pick a table," he said.
Steve followed his directions, while Bucky tried to remember the last time he'd had a dinner date, which this wasn't, but if it were, did he even know how to act?
Taking off his apron, he took a fresh baguette, condiments, plates, two mugs, and a white ceramic carafe of hot coffee. He arranged everything on the table before he took the chair across from Steve, happy to be off his feet for the first time all day.
Steve took in the cluttered table and chuckled. "You do this a lot?" he asked, pulling out the containers of food from the to-go bag.
Fighting down thoughts of dates and interested admirers, Bucky tore off a hunk of the warm baguette with his fingers. The bread still steamed, and he blew on it first before slathering on blackberry jam.
"Do what?"
"This looks like the cover of a magazine."
He glanced over where Steve gestured with his fork, confused for a moment. But, at second glance, there was a certain pleasing arrangement to all the bowls and plates.
He smirked back at Steve and shrugged. "It's called presentation. How else do you think I get away with charging sixteen bucks for a cheeseburger?"
Steve whistled an impressed noise. "Sixteen bucks. I try so hard to never use the phrase 'in my day,' but—"
"In your day, burgers were a nickel?"
Steve snorted and took sip of the coffee Bucky had given him. "Something like that."
The idea that Steve Rogers was born almost a century ago wasn't something Bucky had ever considered. It was just a cool trivia fact that elementary kids learned on field trips.
"Is it weird? Living out of time?" he asked.
"It isn't always easy," Steve conceded. He picked up his hamburger and began to eat his lunch. He stopped, meeting Bucky's eyes. "Okay. Even in my day, I might've paid sixteen bucks for this. Mmm—"
Bucky leaned back in his chair, grinning to himself as this was a typical reaction to his dishes. He had an eye for interesting flavor combinations: classic, but with his own spin. If he didn't have confidence in what he put on the plate, he never would have made it this far.
Steve licked the corner of his mouth as though he didn't want to miss a single bite and something about that thrilled Bucky.
It hit him that he wanted Steve to like him. As a person. He had no misconceptions that he and Steve would start hanging out as friends, or that Sam was right and Steve was here to ask him out. But just this would be okay: Steve stopping by The Barnes every so often and getting to make him lunch. He would like that.
"You get around to Brooklyn often?" Bucky asked, trying to sound casual as he picked up his coffee. He paused mid-sip, the mug's rim perched on his bottom lip, mentally kicking himself.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Please don't think I'm hitting on you. Wait…maybe I am.
Would it be so bad? He wanted to put himself out there, right? Oh, who was he kidding? Putting himself out there was one thing. Going after a famous superhero was a fool's errand. Steve could date models or actors, other famous people. No, Bucky needed to aim his sights lower. His best option was still Sam. He had friends, and he'd offered to hook Bucky up with one of them all the time even before his near-death revelations.
Steve had polished off half his burger and he worked on a pile of parmesan fries. "Not as often as I'd like. I grew up around here, though."
"Yeah, I knew that."
Not only were The Avengers antics headline news most days, Steve Rogers was from Brooklyn. 1930s Brooklyn. But still. You could take a tour around these neighborhoods of all the graffiti tags and paintings of Steve on old buildings. If you didn't know Captain America was from this part of the city, you were blind.
"You did?"
Bucky chuckled. "You're kind of famous."
"I…yeah. I guess. I just do my job."
"You're good at it. I might be biased, though. I'm a huge fan of people that save my life…" Bucky sensed that he was close to waxing on and on about everything he liked about Steve.
"Whenever you're around this part of town, you should stop in." He picked up a plate and placed it by Steve's arm. Coconut pie, whipped sweet cream, and a fork. "Not to brag, but I make this pie every day."
Steve reached for the fork, burger in one hand, and immediately took a bite. Bucky's eyes lit up watching him. "You're not gonna be able to get rid of me," he said smiling. "I'll be back. That's for sure."
Bucky bit his lip. He knew Steve didn't mean anything by it, but he was still happy with the idea that Steve would be back again. They could have lunch. And the burger wasn't even the best thing on the menu. If Steve came back, he'd make him something wonderful. He liked the sound of that.
"Good," he said. "Good. I hope you do."
"I can't do this," Bucky whined into the phone, eyes darting over his shoulder back to the table where his date sat sipping a glass of ice water. He hid away before the man caught him. He was near the door of the men's restroom. Waiters passed him by carrying trays of steak and pasta alfredo that made his mouth water. Always a good sign.
Not that he was surprised. He'd selected this restaurant himself, and his taste was impeccable. Dinner wasn't the problem.
He lowered his voice, hissing into the phone. "You hooked me up with an accountant? Really? Have I ever expressed any interest in math? Do you not remember me flunking out of college?"
Because Bucky damn well remembered how much he hated his professors and their boring lectures. If he'd applied himself, sure, he could've done the work, but college was tedious and mind-numbing.
Sam scoffed. “And did you forget my miserable time in grad school? My only buddies besides you were in business school with me. I don't know what to tell you."
Damn it, Bucky knew that. How many boring functions had he attended with Sam where he was the only philistine in the room that not only hated college but dropped out? Was that why Brock was familiar to him? Did he meet him last year at some office Christmas party?
"We have nothing in common. I don't know what to say," Bucky insisted. "He works on Wall Street. I'm a chef."
"You're an executive chef and a successful businessman, Bucky," Sam said, his voice growing louder. "How many times have I told you that? Now you get back in there, and you charm Brock like I know you can. Pretend he's bacon if you need to think about something you like."
He did like bacon, he thought peering over his shoulder again at Brock, who glanced at his Rolex and rolled his eyes. Shit, he's gonna leave. I'm ruining this. First date in over a year, and I'm ruining it.
"How was the dinner crowd? Did you remember to check the temps on the freezer? It goes wonky sometimes. We need to think about—"
"Replacing it, I know. You're stalling. And it's rude to work while you're on a date."
"I'm not working. I'm just checking how things went."
He'd been anxious all evening about leaving Sam in charge of the kitchen, making lists in his head of things he forgot to do, wondering if he'd made enough marina sauce to get them through dinner. He knew Sam could handle the place for one night.
"Maybe you're stalling 'cos you're interested in someone else…"
"What?"
"Steve Rogers comes in enough, I could probably ask him out for you."
Bucky groaned, not this again. He straightened up from the wall. "Don't you dare, and can you drop this already? Look, I'm going back," he said, but didn't move.
"No guy needs that much bread. He just comes in to see you. Darcy agrees with me."
"She's fired." Bucky marched away from the bathroom, whispering viscously. "So are you."
"Uh huh. I'm your general manager, you can't fire me, dude. But I'm dropping it." Bucky could tell he was smirking. "You have fun."
Somehow feeling caught, he hung up the phone with an emphatic press of a button and sat down at the table. Steve Rogers has nothing to do with this, he thought, flinging out his cloth napkin and stuffing it in his lap.
Bucky flashed his best smile at his date. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Now where were we…"
A few days later, Steve returned to The Barnes. Usually he came in and out unnoticed, but today his luck ran out. Each time he showed up, no matter how the day was going, or how busy the restaurant was, Bucky's mood went into happiness overdrive.
Sam always dogged him for details of what he was now referring to as a courtship (apparently courtship worked best since Steve was an old-fashioned fella). He had also fished for details about Bucky's date even though he didn't plan to call that Brock guy again. There wasn't any spark there. Not enough to shirk on his responsibilities at The Barnes anyway.
Despite Sam's emphatic declarations, Bucky did think, it was possible he was friends with Captain America. A crazy idea in itself.
Steve was famous, and if people had recognized him before today, New Yorkers were decent about not harassing the celebrities. An adorable boy with mocha skin and plump cheeks, outfitted in a Captain America t-shirt and plastic toy shield, could not contain his shock, dismay, and glee when he saw Steve standing at the counter ordering cinnamon rolls.
A curious crowd gathered in minutes, whipping out cellphones and cameras, some even coming in from the sidewalk. Bucky, Darcy, and Sam had shuffled in from the kitchen, watching the scene unfold with matching grins.
"Well, where's your shield?" The boy held out his toy shield for Steve to see, as though he might offer it up if needed.
"Don't worry, it's safe."
The boy touched Steve's jacket. "Where's your uniform? Is it under this like Superman?" There was a tremendous amount of hope in the brown eyes peering up at Steve.
"I don't always need to wear it. But I can still do my job," Steve assured him.
After a moment of thinking, the boy got in one last question. "Can you pick me up?" A murmur of soft laughter broke out among the crowd, but Steve made a face as though the request was a tough one. He leaned down and hoisted the kid up one one shoulder with ease.
The previously hidden group of kids carrying Avengers gear and Black Widow dolls escaped through legs and around adults to the middle of the crowd. There was a chorus of "Me toos!" and "Pick me ups!" After a few seconds, Steve morphed into a tree of delighted children.
"My loins," Darcy said, clutching a hand over her heart. "And I don't even like kids. They judge."
"I'm angry about how cute I think this is," Bucky said.
"My favorite Avenger," was all Sam told them with a smug smile.
Darcy shrugged one shoulder. "Mine's Thor," she said.
"Thor?!" Sam and Bucky gawked at the same time. They trailed back into the kitchen, Darcy clamoring after them, asking, "What's wrong with Thor?"
Bucky was still chuckling about her taste in superheroes, peeling potatoes into the sink, when Sam showed up beside him with Steve in tow. Steve had never been in the kitchen. He wasn't allowed inside for health code reasons. Bucky glanced pointedly at Sam since he should've known better.
"I told him I wasn't sure I'd be able to pull you away from the potatoes," Sam explained. "You get super into them."
Steve stepped forward. "It was my fault. I just wanted to say goodbye."
Over Steve's shoulder, Sam mouthed back, he just wanted to say bye. He beamed until Steve checked to see what had Bucky's attention. He wiped the grin from his face. "I'll just—" He pointed to nothing. "Gotta do inventory."
There was no inventory. Bucky did inventory. He inwardly cheered for Sam to leave though; he couldn't embarrass him if he wasn't around.
Once they were alone, Steve scoped out the stainless steel shelves and the layout of the room. "I feel like Dorothy seeing behind the curtain. It smells incredible in here. I can see why you hate leaving."
The compliments made the tips of his ears turn warm. He had designed the kitchen himself practically. Everything was exactly where he wanted it; every inch of the place he knew inside and out, every cabinet, every container. Here, surrounded by his food, he was confident and happy.
He eyed Steve a beat too long then licked his lips. The image of Steve with those kids popped back into his head again.
"You were really great out there."
Steve tilted his head, brows knitting together.
Bucky clarified, "It must be something having little kids lookin' up to you."
"Yeah…it's nice to be reminded who you're protecting. Still strange though. All the people wanting to shake your hand or take your picture. I wish sometimes I could just be me again, you know?"
"Just Steve, you mean."
There was a stretch of silence before Steve answered, "Sometimes."
"And other times?"
"It's pretty cool. All the kids."
Bucky snickered, meeting Steve's eyes for a moment before he looked away and pointed to the pot over on the stove. "Minestrone? For the road?"
Steve laid a hand on Bucky's arm, his expression widening into a smile. "Oh god, I thought you'd never ask."
Bucky was sweeping the dining room, giving the place its monthly deep clean as scheduled. He brushed away the beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and grabbed his bottled water to take a few deep gulps as he surveyed his work.
He had done a good job, and he could head home. For the most part, he'd gotten better about too many late nights spent at The Barnes fussing over work. He and Sam had even gone to the movies last week, and out to dinner, during which he didn't cook a thing. Even though Sam kept telling him not to critique the food, and the whole dating thing hadn't exactly worked out, Bucky still thought he'd made progress.
With all his progress, he could afford to mop the floors, right?
He leaned the broom against the bakery counter and headed into the back to the storage room to grab a mop and a bucket. He was just shutting off the sink faucet when he heard a knock coming from the front of the restaurant.
"Sorry, we're closed," he called out, walking back to the dining area. He thought he'd turned on the closed sign, but maybe he had forgotten.
His footsteps came to a comedic halt when he saw Steve standing hunched outside, peering back at him through the glass door. He gathered himself together again then unbolted the lock.
"Steve. I'm sorry, we closed a half-hour ago," he said, but he knew he would fire back up the grill to make whatever Steve wanted. "Come in." He stepped back, pulling Steve with him through the door by his sleeve. "Are you hungry?"
Already his brain was tabulating everything he had prepared in the kitchen refrigerator that could be heated up. He was just like every grandmother around the world; he didn't allow many people out of his sight without handing them something to eat. He fed people. It was his thing. Even though Steve was two hundred and thirty pounds of super-muscle, he looked like he could use a few good meals. The guy probably didn't eat nearly enough vegetables or fresh pasta.
"I'm—" Steve glanced off toward the wall. He looked strange. The lines of his jaw stiff and tense. "I'm on assignment tomorrow. Out of the country. And I just didn't want…I needed somewhere to go."
Somewhere to go? Bucky blinked in confusion, mouth opening a beat behind, and Steve took his hesitation to continue.
"I know you don't know me that well. I just thought I'd see if you were available. Or something? Everyone else I know I work with and I could use a night off. I thought I could—"
Steve wasn't even finished talking before Bucky interrupted. Whatever he was about to ask, the answer was yes. "Yeah. Hell yeah. I live just around the corner. Gimme ten minutes, okay?"
Eyes shining back at Bucky, Steve released a huge breath, and he knew he'd said exactly the right thing.
His chest was light as he nodded, biting his lip. He snatched the broom from the counter and rushed everything back to the supply closet. Tossing the broom inside, he searched for his keys, bag, and jacket, not wanting to keep Steve waiting.
He had no idea what they'd do, but he expected it to be the highlight of his week. Just the prospect of hanging out with Steve in private, without the customers or his duties in the kitchen distracting him, made him impatient to leave. He couldn't help himself. Steve was interesting and nice, and he told himself it was okay to want to be his friend.
His eyes darted around the restaurant, conducting one last check that he'd turned everything off, then gestured for Steve to head outside first.
Forget the mopping duties. Cleaning could wait. Steve had a night off, and Bucky planned to show him a good time.
"This is terrible. You are terrible at this."
Bucky tried to stifle a round of giggles to little avail. He was on his second beer, and watching Steve try to crack eggs in a bowl with his superhero strength threatened to shoot all of it straight back up his nose.
"You save the world, you know that, right?"
"I save the world from HYDRA agents and creepy giant aliens. I've never made a frittata."
Steve gave the eggs a frustrated look as he tilted the glass bowl, attempting to fish out the tiny shards of white shell with his fingers. Bucky snorted, putting his beer down, and bumped Steve gently away with his elbow to take over. With ease, he demonstrated how to properly remove the eggshell using one of the half-cracked shells to scoop up the broken pieces from the bottom of the bowl. Once he finished, he gave Steve a triumphant grin and dumped all the pieces in the trash.
"Fine. Your superior cooking skills are duly noted," Steve remarked, rolling his eyes before picking up the whisk to scramble the eggs.
Bucky grinned as he picked up his cutting knife. He pointed the tip at Steve's head.
"I'm certain I'm better than you at a lot of things. I can already tell you're not nearly as cool as all that badass shit you pulled the night we met," he said.
He grabbed an onion from the basket he kept on the counter. As he diced the onion, the bacon, and several potatoes, he thought about how surreal this scene was. Cooking late night breakfast with Captain America? His life had officially drifted into this-can't-be-happening territory. Except it was happening.
The longer Steve was in his apartment, the more real he seemed, too. He was ridiculously normal. He made jokes, lame ones, but Bucky thought he was funny. He took his hat and jacket off when he entered the apartment, and Bucky was positive it was something close to that old-fashioned charm Sam liked to blabber on about all the time.
He seemed interested in Bucky's place too. Attentively browsing his bookshelves, thumbing the spines as he read the titles. Complimenting his furniture, too. He even asked where he could wash his hands once they decided he'd help cook dinner. All of this night-in business had to seem low-key compared to what Steve did on a regular basis, but he hadn't stopped smiling since they had arrived.
"You caught me. All the badass is mostly just the uniform." Steve let the whisk fall to the side of the bowl after he finished stirring. "How did you learn all of this, anyway? You don't seem like the type."
"I'm too handsome to work in a kitchen, right?" Bucky joked, still chopping through the potatoes as he talked. He often moved too fast with his knives. Quick precise cuts. It'd taken years of practice and bandaged fingers.
He shrugged at the question. "It was just something I fell into awhile back…" Knowing that wasn't entirely true, he hesitated for a second but then continued.
"Mostly because college didn't suit me. Thought I wanted to be a lawyer or something, but I didn't even finish junior year. When you have no money, you learn to cook and fast." He shrugged again. "I dunno. All my friends were getting their degrees and I was washing dishes just to make rent. I only asked to work the kitchen 'cos the fry cooks got paid more. I guess it worked out. People keep coming back to eat."
"Bucky, I'd say it more than worked out. You're extremely talented. That pie you gave me was the best I'd ever tasted. Honestly," Steve said, then a beat later. "And the waffles."
"The waffles, huh?"
"The waffles," Steve agreed, smiling.
Bucky shifted the hand he was using to chop to his face, wiping the back of his wrist against his mouth to keep Steve from seeing him grin.
He didn't need anyone to tell him he was a talented chef. The Barnes was often featured on those top ten hidden gems of Brooklyn lists the Times always ran. They called his spin on American comfort food something to indulge in, not simply eat. He usually had a line out the door on Sunday mornings when all the young hipsters in the neighborhood came around for brunch, begging for his sugared pecan waffles and pumpkin butter and rosemary fried chicken. However, something about Steve telling him the same thing rendered him breathless.
Sometimes he felt like the commoner among his friends. Darcy would be a famous scientist one day, presenting her research and experiments at universities all over the world. Sam worked at The Barnes too, but he also had other business ventures. Without them, Sam never would've had the clout with investors when they'd started The Barnes three years ago. All Bucky had was this: his kitchen, his food, The Barnes. At times, his work didn't seem like enough. Tonight, with Steve, for some reason, the dinner he made seemed undeniably special.
Steve watched enraptured by every move Bucky made around the kitchen, and he was merely making the easiest meal in his cooking arsenal: breakfast. After dropping a handful of onions in a heated pan of butter and oil, he snuck another glance at Steve with a curious wrinkle in his brow. Steve had a dishrag draped over his shoulder and he was studying him.
All of the sudden, the only thought in Bucky's head was Sam's continued insistence that Steve had feelings for him. He didn't believe someone as important as Steve could ever like him, but in the moment he allowed himself to accept it was true.
Steve was good-looking. Okay, shit. He was hot as hell. Handsome, tall, strong. His personality the perfect garnish to an already enticing dish. All Bucky could do in defense of himself was just to pretend that everything was fine. Fine that this gorgeous man was in his kitchen, complimenting his food, and drinking his beer. Truth was though, Bucky wanted to feed him and maybe even kiss him.
Someone couldn't just kiss Captain America, could they? He licked his lips, thinking—he definitely couldn't. Steve came over for a night off the job, not to be felt up.
Turning the knobs on the stove, he adjusted the flame beneath the burner to finishing sautéing the onions. He gestured with his head at the rest of the ingredients on the cutting board.
"Hey, dump those in too, and I need crème. It's in the fridge on the top shelf," he instructed, only to smile sheepishly afterwards. He was used to being in command in the kitchen. "Please."
Nodding, Steve used his hands like scoops to pick up the food and drop it in the pan. By then everything was sizzling, and the kitchen smelled thickly aromatic with warm butter and bacon. He stirred as Steve moved around him, close enough that Bucky felt Steve's hip brush against his jeans. The container of crème fraîche appeared on the counter.
"I've thought about hiring another sous-chef. Never thought to put Captain America to the test. If only you were wearing that uniform," Bucky said, ripping off the lid on the container.
Brushing his hands clean on his towel, Steve shook his head. "You only say that because you don't have to wear it all the time." He picked up the bowl of eggs and placed it closer to the stove. They stood practically shoulder to shoulder. "It's not as fun as it might look. You know? It gets sent to the cleaners a lot to get out blood stains…"
He sensed there was more left that Steve wanted to add so he just let his muscle memory take over as he combined the right amount of crème fraîche into the eggs, and then poured all the liquid in the pan. They were having a good time, and Bucky hadn't meant to touch on a sour subject with his uniform joke.
He grabbed one of the beer bottles from the case he'd taken out from the fridge. He popped open the cap and held it out to Steve.
"It's your day off, pal. You can complain about work all you'd like. Or we forget about all that. I'll let you pick something trashy to watch on TV, and I won't tell a soul about the mindless garbage Captain America likes to watch in his spare time."
"Promise? I've got a reputation to maintain."
"Scout's honor. Your secrets are safe with me."
Bucky was rewarded with a soft squeeze on the shoulder. Steve's hand lingered, warm against his skin even through his t-shirt. He met Steve's eyes and something inside his chest tingled until he finally looked away.
They finished up in the kitchen with idle conversation about Bucky's philosophy on frittatas ("It's gotta be close to a custard, not dry. If I teach you nothing else, Steve, just don't forget that. I swear to God it's important.") and about how he opened his restaurant ("Sam hounded investors until they finally just gave us money, I think to shut him up. Now I can't get him out of my kitchen.").
He slid the cast iron skillet in the oven while Steve poked around the cabinets for plates and silverware. Twenty minutes later Bucky flopped down on the floor in front of the couch. It had taken very little convincing for Steve to agree to eat their dinner stretched out in front of the TV with beer and sliced fruit.
While he ate, he glanced over at Steve, who was balancing his plate on top of his belly as he leaned his back against the leg of the sofa. The top three buttons of Steve's collared shirt were undone, revealing a stripe of tan muscular collarbone. His cheeks were still tinged pink from being in the heat of the kitchen. He cut a hunk of his frittata off with the side of his fork, eyes never leaving the TV.
Bucky could only stare, lips parting. Steve was truly something—something far beyond the persona from the press conferences and coverage in the papers.
They ate seconds helpings, until both of them were stuffed full of food and buzzed from the last round of beer. He expected Steve to head home, but he didn't. He climbed onto the couch after Bucky finally forced himself up from the floor, sinking into the couch cushions as though he never planned to move again. He stretched out his legs, their knees touching as he propped his feet up beside Bucky's on the coffee table.
"That's the best meal I've ever had, I think." Steve patted his stomach and gave Bucky a warm smile.
The look was sheer food coma bliss. Bucky lived for it.
He tapped Steve's foot with his own as he let his head drift to the side, resting his cheek on the cushion. "If that's the best meal you've ever had, I need to take you to better restaurants. There's a whole culinary world out there to be found in this city."
"Yeah, you're right. I'll have to get out more.”
Bucky gathered from the tone of his voice, and the thing with the uniform earlier, that Steve didn't do things like this that often. Why did someone who risked their life on a regular basis not have a place to go to relax? Or someone to call on a night like this?
"Hey—" He reached out and touched Steve on the hand. "Steve, you can always come here to my place and next time you do I'll cook you something way better than a frittata. I didn't expect company tonight or I would've bought like a—"
Before he could finish, Steve leaned forward in a slow, hazy drift towards Bucky's face.
Oh fuck, what's happening? He's gonna kiss me!
His words broke off, and his eyes widened then closed in anticipation. He'd been thinking about this since Steve stepped into his apartment. A kiss would be the perfect end to the night. He prepared himself for the taste of Steve's lips, but instead, he got the urgent sound of a phone buzzing on the table.
Good thing Bucky was skilled at ignoring things. Things such as cellphones. He reached out to put his hand on Steve's shoulder and grabbed nothing but air. His eyes opened to find Steve hunched over the coffee table.
"Damn," Steve swore and then answered the phone.
Bucky immediately wanted to choke whoever was on the other line.
"I'm secure. Go ahead with the message, Agent Hill….tonight?" Steve's eyebrows shot up. "The scouting for the mission has already been completed. Fury actually believes a few hours is going to make a difference? No, no, no. There's no problem. It's just…" Out of the corner of his eye, he regarded Bucky then sighed, rubbing his face. "It's fine. Assemble the rest of the team, and I'll be there in thirty minutes."
Halfway through the call, Bucky figured out where this was headed. By the time Steve hung up he had moved into the opposite corner of the couch, glaring daggers at the phone in Steve's hand. Whoever was on the other end had just prevented him from getting laid tonight. Well, that was definitely wishful thinking, but it had prevented him from a kiss.
"Thirty minutes?" Bucky asked brow raised.
Steve grimaced as he slipped the phone in his pant pocket. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I've got to go. It's work."
Bucky crossed his arms over his chest running his tongue along his back teeth as Steve stood up. "Jesus, and I can't even be pissed at you because I know you're headed off to do something heroic."
"Sorry. I'm really sorry. I want to stay. You have no idea how much."
He wasn't mad. Just disappointed. But how could he be disappointed that Steve was running out on their night to literally be a superhero? Maybe it was best Steve was leaving anyway. There was no need getting his hopes too far up.
"I'll call you. Tomorrow. I promise." He walked towards the front of the apartment, picking up his jacket on the way out. "Thank you for dinner. Bye, Bucky."
The door shut behind Steve with a firm slam, and Bucky slumped into the couch, releasing all the air out of his lungs. His body was still charged from being so close to Steve, and he probably needed a cold shower to deal with the remnants of that near-kiss. He heaved another sigh and rolled onto his feet, heading for his bathroom.
As he turned the shower on, stripping out of his clothes, he feared that he was doomed to replay the night's events forever. No matter what he told himself he feared his hopes were already a mile high. Steve said he would call him, and god, he wanted that. He wanted Sam to be right. He wanted a repeat of tonight's impromptu dinner. He wanted Steve.
He had made a vow to give romance more effort in his life, but Steve Rogers seemed like a terrible choice to fulfill that promise to himself. Extremely terrible. And yet, he couldn't help himself.
Until he returned, Bucky knew all he would be able to think about was how Captain America almost kissed him and it was probably the best thing to ever happen to him.
Tomorrow, though, quickly became two days, then three, until a week had passed. Then another and another. Now it had been a month.
Bucky would've thought that the entire night with Steve was his mind elaborately dreaming up ways to punish him if there hadn't been left over frittata in his fridge the next morning. He was desperately trying not to give a shit, but he cared that he hadn't heard from Steve.
No phone calls.
Nothing.
Zilch.
In the beginning, he'd tried to keep in mind the fact that Steve didn't have his cell phone number, but now he felt frustrated. Steve obviously knew where he worked; he could've looked up the restaurant number if he wanted to say hello. Or used his superhero resources to reach him. What it amounted to in the end was that Steve Rogers had just disappeared off the face of the planet.
The part nagging him most was not knowing what happened. He missed Steve, and he wanted to see him. Not even for just the whole kiss situation. He missed him coming around The Barnes. He missed their conversations. If Steve had decided he wasn't interested or worse, something happened to him, what could Bucky do? If Steve was in trouble or hurt or God only knows, there was nothing he could do. No one he could call. He just had to sit around and wait, checking the news for Avengers sightings like a stalker, hoping for updates. Mostly, though, he moped, which was how he'd spent a good chunk of his morning already. Moping.
Around three o'clock, he decided he couldn't continue worrying or he'd go crazy. He needed out of the apartment. For once this week, he wasn't taking an extra shift at The Barnes to make-up for the fact that he didn't know what to do with himself.
There was a market a few blocks from his apartment that sold local vegetables and good cheeses. He plotted out the skeleton of a recipe then headed out to the shops, picking up everything he needed—plus wine obviously. He had just returned, and was still organizing the food he'd purchased on his countertop when there was a loud knock on his door.
He thought it'd be Sam, come to check on him, or maybe Darcy with his favorite coffee. But when he answered, it turned out to be neither one. It was the last person Bucky expected.
It was Steve.
He gave no reaction to seeing Steve at his doorstep, despite for the past month, it being the only thing he wanted to happen. He thought his brain simply showed him Steve to soothe his fears.
"Bucky. Let me explain…"
Wilting against the doorframe, he released a loud breath. "Shit. I thought maybe you were—" He didn't finish his sentence because it didn't matter anymore. Steve was okay. He was fine.
He reached out to hug both arms around Steve's neck before he stopped himself. He leaned away, keeping his hands on Steve's shoulders, and glanced over him, checking that he wasn't hurt.
But Steve did look out of sorts. There was a shiny line of sweat across his hairline, and he leaned into Bucky's grip like he needed a second to catch his breath.
"Did you run here?"
"Please let me explain."
"You couldn't catch a cab?"
Steve must've run over straight from S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters which were all the way in Manhattan. On subway, that was at least an hour trip to Brooklyn this time of day, and on foot it was over fifteen miles. When Bucky took a second look, he was even wearing his Captain America get-up. Not the full uniform, but enough of it that he got the idea.
"I just—I was in debriefs for hours. I couldn't get here any quicker." Steve scrubbed a hand across his forehead then wiped the sweat on his pants.
"What're you talkin' about?"
"I wanted to call but—"
Bucky waved him off, tacking on a smile. "You don't have to say anything. It's whatever. It's not a big deal. Work comes first I'm big believer in that myself."
Steve swallowed. "I was gonna call. It's just—"
"Hey, Steve, come on. You had a thing, and your thing was probably way more important than—"
Steve crowded closer, wedging Bucky against the door, making direct eye contact. "It wasn't more important. I mean yes, it was important but—" He sighed. "My team had an assignment to transfer an artifact to a remote location. That incident, the night we met? I know you realize it wasn't terrorists. You saw the creature that was after us. Well, not after us. It was after this…doesn't matter what it was. It was a threat to everyone on Earth."
Bucky's mind went three directions at once. Swirling around thoughts of the creature from that crazy night and Steve's body so close, making his knees wobbly for a moment. Then latching onto Steve saying he'd wanted to call him. He'd gotten it in his head that Steve wasn't interested, but maybe that wasn't true...
"So you were in danger?" he asked, moving a hand along Steve's shoulder to touch the collar of his uniform.
Before he answered, he glanced at Bucky's hand. "It wasn't a normal assignment. Our transfer point was in Germany, but when we got there we realized it was all a set-up. And the only reason we made it out alive is Thor acted quickly. We got out, but we were stuck for a few days—"
"Stuck where exactly?"
"You ever heard of the City of Asgard?"
He had no clue what the hell Steve was talking about, and ordinarily he would've cared, but the question reminded him of those lectures back in college. Where all he saw was the professor's lips moving but nothing was getting through his brain. Except it wasn't the numbers causing him to zone out. This time Steve's mouth was distracting him.
He managed to respond. Barely. "Yeah, uh, no?"
"It's one of the nine worlds of the Asgardians."
Shaking his head, attempting to clear the fuzz, he tore his gaze away from Steve's lips and looked into his eyes. "I don't know what you're saying. Where were you?"
Steve heaved another sigh, shuffling his feet. "I didn't call you because I was stuck. On an alien planet."
"…that's, uh, a decent reason," Bucky said blinking.
Nodding, Steve looked away. "The worst part is being gone, for me it only felt like a few days. When I got back I realized it's been weeks. I can't imagine what you must have thought when you didn't hear from me."
There was no doubt that part of Bucky had felt silly that he'd had these feelings when it appeared that Steve didn't. Part of him thought he'd been crazy to think that Steve was ever interested in him. Now that Steve was back telling him it was all a mistake, telling him what he wanted so badly to hear in the first place, the only thing he wanted to do was keep Steve here.
"It's okay, but now that you're back…" Exhaling, he peered up at Steve. "Would you like to stay for dinner? I just got home from the store so there'll be food." Then jumped to add, "As a date. It would be a date. If you're interested."
Steve leaned back a few inches. "Are you sure?"
"Well...I mean you're the only Avenger here so I'm kinda settling for my number two fave, but otherwise, yeah, I'm serious."
A slow smile spread across Steve's face. "Two? I'm two? Who's one?"
"Black Widow." Obviously Black Widow. Who else?
Steve snorted as he passed into Bucky's apartment. He looked unreasonably good standing inside of it. "She would like you actually."
"Would she now? Maybe we can call her."
"I don't think so. But I'm definitely interested in what you said about dates…"
The date Bucky planned in his head never happened though. No matter how much he argued, Steve had kicked him out of the kitchen. His own kitchen. The one place in the world he knew better than the back of his hand.
He stood by the door, peeping around the corner like a freak, trying to see what the hell Steve was doing by the stove. It's not that he didn't trust Steve with the chicken. Okay, it was exactly that he didn't trust Steve with the chicken. He was a good superhero, defeated aliens and all that, but he couldn't even crack an egg and that chicken was free-range. Earlier, he'd spent fifteen minutes picking out an eggplant then mournfully watched Steve take a knife and practically massacre the poor thing.
When Steve turned his back, rummaging around the fridge, Bucky darted into the room unable to handle the torture any longer. He swiftly collected all the empty food wrappers and tossed them in the garbage, bewildered how Steve was able to think when his workspace was so dirty. He'd just gotten a spoon in the sauce simmering on the stove, dipping and tasting, when Steve caught him by the elbow.
"Out!" he pointed, manhandling Bucky back towards the door.
He caught a glimpse of the bottle in Steve's hands. "Is that cream? That's not on the recipe. Just lemme—" He protested but Steve was about a thousand times stronger than him. He was back in the hallway before he could get another word out.
"Relax. I've got it."
"Okay—" Bucky held both hands up. "I'm leaving." He turned halfway but couldn't resist. "Your sauce needs more salt."
"Go!"
He went, keeping out of the kitchen for the next hour until Steve called him to the table for dinner. Steve had found the plates and the silverware, arranging two place settings along with all the food he'd prepared. Surprisingly, there was an entire meal set out that looked pretty decent. Steve filled their plates and waited for him to sit.
Allowing someone else to serve him was a strange experience. Not a bad one. There was nothing else he enjoyed more than preparing food for other people, nurturing them with his own two hands. It touched him that Steve wanted to do the same.
Picking up his fork, he smiled then dug into the chicken Steve cooked. He chewed slowly, carefully, not to judge, but savoring the moment, the dinner, their date, everything. He looked at Steve sitting in the chair beside him and desperately wanted to kiss him.
"Well?" Steve asked, eyeing Bucky's mouth. "What's the verdict?"
He tasted the eggplant next then bobbed his head. "Not bad, not bad." He place a hand over Steve's, leaving it there, and said, "Thank you. It's perfect."
Steve squeezed back, not letting go.
After dinner, he talked Steve into indulging him for an episode or two of Chopped, where he ended up amused by Bucky's over-the-top explanations of why the ingredients in the baskets always worked. He was just getting into it when Steve told him to hang on a minute then dashed off for the kitchen. He returned with two small plates and two forks. Handing one to Bucky, he retook the spot beside him on the couch.
Bucky picked up the fork from his plate, frowning. "What's this?"
"Pie." Steve grinned. "Coconut. It's your favorite, isn't it?"
He blinked, his voice turning soft. "How'd you know that?"
"It's the only pie you make everyday. And—" Steve pointed the tines of his fork at the bookshelf in the corner. "You have like five books about coconut. It wasn't that hard to figure out."
He narrowed his eyes, but the pie was calling his name. He took a bite. It was amazing—creamy and sweet—maybe better than his own because Steve had made it for him.
"So you profiled me? Is that one of your superpowers too?"
"That. And photographic memory."
He snorted, but finished his pie. With dessert done, they cleaned all the dishes together then came back out to the living room. They talked for so long about so much that it escaped their attention that it was late until Steve yawned in the middle of one of Bucky's very important rants on rich people and quinoa. He glanced at the clock on the wall and it was one in the morning.
Bucky scooted up to the front of the couch. They were sitting close enough together that when Steve sat up, too, their knees touched.
"Do you want me to go?"
"Some of us non-hero folk work the early shift."
"Oh. Right." Steve nodded and rubbed his hands on his pants, making a move to stand up.
Bucky yanked the sleeve of Steve's shirt to stop him. "Unless…"
"Unless?"
He bit his lip first, but then he went for it. "Sam told me he thinks you might be old-fashioned."
When Bucky looked over, the quirk of Steve's lips indicated he was attempting not to laugh. "Old-fashioned?"
"You know, like if I asked you to stay here and maybe we…do stuff. You might get offended. Or something."
"What kind of stuff?"
Bucky shoved Steve in the arm with an affronted scoff, Steve toppled over needlessly, cackling as he went. "Now I want you to leave."
"I'm old, Bucky. Not a virgin."
Well. That answered that. He stared at Steve's mouth and asked, "How old exactly?"
"Ninety-eight. Depending on how you look at it."
"Hm. I guess I can honestly say you look good for your—"
He mumbled the rest of his sentence against Steve's bottom lip. The unexpected weight caused him to collapse into the couch sideways. The kiss was nothing like he expected. It was clumsy, and he had an elbow digging into his chest. Still, he thought it would be possible to get off from this. His lips, his hands, his entire chest buzzed from Steve's kiss.
Steve drew away, and Bucky stared at him a little dumb. He was so handsome and he thought about jumping on him, but he didn't. He waited.
He swallowed as Steve moved all the way over to him. He smelled so good, mouth-watering, with faint notes of cedar and cardamon. His skin shuddered as Steve touched his face, the warmth of his palms radiating against his jaw.
"I'm glad I'm here," Steve told him, the quiet tone of his voice giving his words a sudden intimacy.
"Yeah?" Bucky whispered back at him. He reached up for Steve's wrist.
"I really like you," Steve answered, then added, "On that mission, you were kinda all I could think about…"
If Steve aimed at seducing him, it was working. His gaze kept flicking between Steve's eyes and his mouth. Until finally Steve leaned all the way in brushing his top lip against Bucky's in the most frustrating featherlight touch.
It was amazing.
He didn't know what to do with Steve. He wanted to yank him by the collar and learn every inch of his mouth, taste the red wine and garlic still lingering on his tongue. He also wanted exactly this. For Steve to drive him crazy. He wanted the nibble against his lips and the hint of tongue and the flex of fingers against this scalp. When Bucky couldn't stand it any longer, he leaned closer, moving his hand to cradle the crown of Steve’s head and driving his lips apart.
Just as Bucky sank into Steve's arms completely, the cellphone on the table began to pulse against the coffee table. He didn't give the interruption any thought whatsoever, but Steve started to pull away.
"Mm—" He increased his grip, keeping Steve from moving, muttering at him in a husky voice, "No. Just let it ring. They'll call back later."
Steve complied, letting his hands drift and muss up the top of Bucky's hair, as their kiss deepened. It didn't last though. The phone rang again, more insistent this time.
"Shit!"
He wiggled out of Bucky's grasp enough to grab the phone from the table. Bucky about lost it. He lunged for the device before Steve could answer it, and they were grown men and much too big for that sort of thing. They landed on the floor in a heap with Bucky on top. He pinned Steve's wrist down, keeping the phone away.
"Don't you dare take this phone call."
"But—"
"It can wait."
"Something might—"
Bucky groaned and pressed his forehead against Steve's neck. He looked up. "It can wait. I swear the world will still be there," he said. "You're all I think about too. Please. Just stay."
His words froze Steve in his struggle, and a beat later Bucky was on his back with Steve's mouth hot against his jaw. The way he tossed Bucky around as though he was weightless made his breath stutter in his throat. He blindly pitched the phone away, sending it skidding far across the room even though it was still ringing. He moved his hands onto Steve's back letting his fingers glide over strong muscles.
They didn't go slow. It was a wordless decision they made in the middle of clutching each other and fumbling to undo zippers.
Bucky wanted to touch Steve all over, from top to bottom. Take him to his bedroom. Stretch out. Explore. His wood floors were hard and cold, but he couldn't stop. He wanted Steve too bad. By then Steve's hand was on him and teasing over his crotch while he pressed his tongue inside Bucky's mouth and tasted. His entire body shook, trembling from the overwhelming, heady feeling of Steve stroking his cock.
Shoving Steve's underwear away, he took his cock in his hands and jerked him off. They were breathing together, deep and rough, and it wasn't a race. But it felt like one. Top-down, a hundred miles an hour on nothing but open road.
Steve moaned at Bucky, his voice choked, "You gonna make me come."
In response, Bucky stroked his hand faster, quicker, relentless until Steve came heavy over his fist. He had never seen anything better in his life than Steve satisfied and shaking under his hands. Knowing that he'd done this. That he made Steve Rogers bite his lip so hard it turned colorless. It made his own dick throb with need, turning him on even more. After a few seconds, he whimpered reaching for Steve.
"Come on…" he breathed. "Don't leave me hanging."
"I've got you. I'm here."
He gasped as Steve's hand regained its rhythm. Long and smooth motions. Steve took his time. Teasing him with nimble fingers to make it good. He gripped Steve's arm with too much fingernail, groaning with every jerk.
Could he even bruise Steve? Was he vulnerable like that? Maybe Bucky would have time to test the theory. Maybe they'd do this again and again.
Steve shifted his weight to hold himself up on all fours. He licked his jaw and neck, trailing kisses against his collarbone and down the quivering muscles of his stomach where his t-shirt had ridden up his hips. Bucky groaned when lips grazed over his navel and down his groin, his breath going insane. He threaded his both hands through Steve’s hair, lifting his head, watching as Steve covered his cock with the heat of his mouth. Need surged through him as Steve sucked him off, his tongue swirling and lapping against him. The sight undid what little strength he had left.
He came hard enough that he forgot how to breathe or think for several seconds as his leg muscles contracted and strained. He let his head fall back and just panted open mouth until eventually he could swallow.
He licked his lips. It was over. It was over too fast.
Eventually, he moved to snatch a kiss from Steve's lips then another and another. Until they were making out again. They held each other, cupping each other faces, and it was a perfect moment. After glow and all that mushy stuff.
Completely relaxed, he laid back, moving his arms around Steve's shoulders, and dropped a gentle kiss on his cheek and just stayed.
Three hours later they were still in the exact same position. They hadn't slept, but they were in a quiet lull. Steve's fingers were gliding over Bucky's hand, threading and rethreading them together. They were whispering meaningless things and staring at each other. It was so ridiculous, but he was kind of loving every second.
He never wanted the moment to end. He wanted to live in it forever. And he was certain they would've done just that except the world had other plans. Instead of more sex, Bucky got something destructively massive crashing through his front door.
Seriously.
His front door flung off its hinges and landed on his coffee table with a loud smack. His expensive table from Pottery Barn was now nothing but a cloud of dust, smoking up from the floor. The curse words and panic on the tip of his tongue didn't even come out. He looked at Steve, and Steve looked at him. Neither of them could move before a series of inexplicable voices burst into the room.
"Stark, secure the back of the building. Thor, take the rear. Me and Bruce will—"
"Found him!"
That was Tony Stark. Bucky knew it was Tony Stark because a guy in an Iron Man suit had just walked around the couch and was now leering over him and Steve. Iron Man reached up to press a button on his mask and the visor opened, revealing a face Bucky had seen thousands of times on television and on those flashing billboards around the city.
"You're making me look good here, Cap. That's probably a record for a recon mission."
"Oh for Christ's sake." Clint Barton—better known as Hawkeye—had come up beside Tony and took one look, then immediately spun around. Bucky heard him on the radio. "Come in, Agent Hill. Yeah, we got Cap. Prepare his backup uniform…negative…he's made a mess of this one himself."
Now there were a bunch of them, a team of them, standing in Bucky's apartment. He closed his eyes and tried not to freak out. The Avengers were in his goddamn living room.
"Taking a page out of Stark's book, Steve? How unexpected."
Bucky waved from his position under Steve. It was Black Widow, how could he not wave? Natasha Romanoff just raised an eyebrow back at him in response.
"Uh, excuse me. That's happened once. And I maintain my phone was on vibrate."
"Twice," Thor interjected from somewhere Bucky couldn't see.
"Okay, twice."
Clint held up his hand. "Are we not counting Mumbai?"
"Well, I counted Mumbai. So three times." Tony looked back at Steve. "Sorry to interrupt this party, Cap, but we got a hot one that's talking about ending the world. It's always the end of the world, right? Anyway, we need you suited up. And in their defense, S.H.I.E.L.D. did call first."
By that time Bucky and Steve had pulled apart and adjusted themselves and their clothes so everything was at least covered up again. He felt much better now that he wasn't sitting semi-naked in front of the Earth's Mightiest Heroes. From beside him, Bucky could see a vaguely irritated expression on Steve's face.
"And we've established this isn't the first time one of us has been found indisposed. I don't see why you needed to bring the calvary," Steve told them.
Natasha shrugged at that, unruffled. "It was you, Steve. We lost track of you after debrief yesterday. And like Stark said, we called. If you're going to turn off your comm, in the future you might wanna let someone at S.H.I.E.L.D. know you're going dark. Otherwise, we're bringing the Big Guy."
Hulk huffed from behind her. It sounded accusing somehow.
The conversation carried on for a couple more minutes. Aside from Stark's witty observations, it all sounded urgent and confusing. More confusing even than that lesson Brock tried to give him about stock markets. He caught a few words here and there. Vortexes. Gamma rays. Cubes. His eyes darted to each of them. Thor—Hulk—Black Widow—Hawkeye—Iron Man—Captain America. And he suddenly felt small and unimportant. None of them asked who he was. None of them asked what Steve was doing in this tiny not-built-to-contain-Hulks apartment in Brooklyn. None of them cared that Bucky was even there.
Still hanging out.
Chilling.
In post-orgasmic bliss.
He realized that this merry band of heroes had stolen his companion's attention. He'd only had Steve for a few hours before the world came calling again. In his opinion, the universe just wasn't playing fair at this point to take his date away again so soon. He tugged on Steve's sleeve, holding him by the elbow and waiting for him to notice.
"Can I talk to you in the kitchen?" Bucky asked in a lowered voice.
Steve made a face like he had remembered a long lost thought. Then his eyes turned down with an apology. "Er—sure."
Standing required some further maneuvering of clothes and belts. The Avengers interrupted their very serious strategy meeting in the middle of his apartment to shuffle in all directions, averting their eyes to protect, Bucky was guessing, their captain's modesty. Except Stark. Stark was grinning as he watched Bucky and Steve make their way for the kitchen. Until Natasha smacked him and made him turn around too.
They huddled near the fridge, and even though the Avengers were clearly attempting to give them privacy, Bucky kept his voice at a hushed whisper. "There's a Hulk in my living room."
"I'm sorry. I always answer the phone. The team was concerned."
He pointed across the room. "I have no door. There's no door, Steve."
Steve grimaced obviously aware that this entire thing was a disaster. "Sorry. S.H.I.E.L.D. will fix it."
"S.H.I.E.L.D.…" Bucky rubbed a hand over his face. Of course. A highly secretive government slash military operation was going to come fix his front door. As if they had nothing better to do than to fix Captain America's romantic blunders. "Does this happen a lot?"
"Fury has a huge budget for reconstruction projects. It's not a problem."
"No. This?" He gestured back at the broken door, at the Avengers, and even at Steve. This.
"Well…" Steve glanced back at the team, at the door, and at himself. He sighed, shoulders sinking. "Yeah, Bucky. Yeah, it does. I'm—I'm Captain America."
It was a simple explanation. He was Captain America. He saved the world on a regular basis—by Bucky's calculations, about three times since he'd met him two months ago. Bucky got the impression that trouble followed Steve around like a dog on a leash, and being the good and noble guy that he was, Steve always darted off to fix it. No concern for his own needs, no hesitation, he just charged into the line of fire. Maybe Bucky should've been afraid about all of this, irritated at the least, that his time with Steve was getting broken up again. But he wasn't.
He just sighed, shaking his head. This is gonna be a huge pain in my ass. Fuck.
"Do you need to leave?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
"I'm really sorry, but yes."
"Where are you going?"
Steve glanced across the room, and Natasha turned around and shrugged back a silent answer. "Uh, that's classified. But you're not in danger."
"And I suppose you can't tell me how long?"
Steve put a hand on Bucky's shoulder. He was close and warm again, like he had been right before the Avengers busted up their cuddle fest. "I don't know that either. If you don't want to do this, you don't have to, I'll…understand it. You don't have to wait for me."
Somewhere in there was the unspoken understanding that getting involved with Steve, with an Avenger, would involve a tremendous amount of waiting around for them to get back from doing God only knows what.
Bucky didn't care.
"Oh you idiot. Shut up—" He grabbed the pad of Post-Its stuck to his fridge and scribbled down his phone number this time. He pressed it to Steve's chest with his hand. "In between killing bad guys or whatever, you call me. Try not to get yourself stranded on an alien planet again. When you come home, you come see me. Got it?"
Steve unstuck the paper from his shirt and looked at it. His eyes glazed over in emotion. "Got it," he said, nodding.
If anything, Bucky trusted Steve could follow a set of directions.
"Cap? Kiss this gentleman so we can go. Plane's waiting," Natasha called over.
Now all five of them were standing there with matching grins, watching this display of sappy confession and emotional goodbyes. He thought he saw the Hulk give Steve an enthusiastic thumbs up. It was disturbing.
The Avengers didn't matter though. Steve was leaving, and Bucky didn't hesitate. He took Steve by the neck, pulling him forward, and kissed the hell out of him. They each broke away breathless and dopey.
"Be safe.”
"I will, I promise."
Steve detangled his hands from around Bucky's waist, clearing his throat. He stepped back enough to look at the others. "Let's get a move on," he said. One by one, all of the team filed out of the apartment in a much calmer fashion than how they had barged into it.
"See ya around, handsome," Natasha told Bucky, her hips swishing as she sauntered out of the apartment. It made him blush like a fool, and Steve just barked out a laugh.
Following Steve to the door, Bucky couldn't help feeling sad that it could be days or even more until he saw Steve the next time, but he trusted that Steve would return as soon as he could. Then they could finish where they left off.
They stood at the door—or rather the empty place where his door once was—and Steve stepped forward again, leaning to kiss him on the temple. It was the smile that Steve gave him just as he was about to turn away and leave that prompted a sudden thought in Bucky's mind. He raced back into the kitchen and grabbed the container from the fridge with the leftovers from their dinner. He held out the food to Steve with a smirk.
"You know, just in case you get hungry…"
A few weeks later, Bucky found himself closing up The Barnes early. Five o'clock right before the dinner rush was set to hit. He hung a white sign on the door that read: Closed for Private Party.
Tonight wasn't a real party, just dinner, and he was the one hosting it. Well, him, Darcy, and Sam. His friends had been on his ass for weeks to meet his boyfriend Steve, even though they already knew Steve. Mostly, they wanted to meet his boyfriend's friends.
Steve inexplicably thought his suggestion was a good idea. And Bucky did too; he was just nervous to gather so many personalities in one room. The Barnes didn't seem big enough.
The three of them had spent several days arguing over food selection. Sam had voted filet mignon. Darcy said ravioli. Bucky had given up and just called Steve. As he'd hung up the phone, he made a confused face, telling his friends, "He said they all like Greek."
Sam and Darcy, both looked at each other, brows furrowing. "Greek?"
And that's how The Avengers got invited over for dinner. A Greek dinner. Sam, Darcy, and Bucky waited for them to show up, all of them anxious. At precisely seven-thirty, the team arrived.
Bucky had half-expected to see them in their uniforms, but that wasn't the case. They dressed up, sparkling and stylish. Natasha slithered past in a skintight black dress, and he laughed as Sam stared after her, drooling.
He elbowed Steve beside him. "I think you just got bumped down his list."
After all the introductions, Sam and Darcy helped Bucky retrieve the feast they'd prepared in the kitchen. Shaved lamb and chicken and beef platters. Tomatoes, feta, and cucumbers seasoned with dill. Tzatziki dips and fresh pita. Plus other dishes from The Barnes' regular menu. The only food the Avengers brought was dessert. Steve's coconut pie, of course. It was more than they actually needed, but not one person complained.
They all stuffed themselves.
At one point during the night, Bucky glanced at the people gathered around the dinner table. New friends and old friends. On one side of him, Darcy sat starstruck by Bruce Banner. She could hardly contain her need to pepper him with science questions. Though at times, she looked equally captivated with Thor's biceps.
On his other side, Sam and Tony continued to haggle out the details of the food for the NYU tech summit. It turned out Tony was on the planning committee, and Stark Industries was a lead sponsor. Sam must've known because he'd shown up to dinner with catering prices and sample menus. Ready to sing The Barnes' praises.
In the middle, Clint and Natasha were in a race to see which of them could try every dish on the table first. Their blissful expressions said they were both winning.
The table was the strangest ever assembled at The Barnes, of that Bucky was certain. He reached for Steve's hand squeezing gently then smiled as Steve threaded their fingers together.
"I told Fury we needed the night off for a team training exercise. This counts, right?"
"Oh, it counts."
He hoped tonight counted, and he hoped they'd all return. Just like he hoped Steve would too for a long time still.
Leaning against Steve, Bucky nuzzled a soft kiss against his ear. "By the way, we cooked. So tonight, the Avengers got dish duty."
