Situational Consequences

by RainyyClouds

Summary:

This is serious. I wanted to do this big crossover just purely out of my own pleasure, yet it does have a large backstory, which is soon to be seen. More information will be found within the notes.
Summary - A new clan of sorts has been sparking up within the territories of London, sharing similar ideas of HYDRA and connections to the effect of the Red Dragon. It was not considered an Avengers-level threat by most of the team, besides Natasha. With her stubbornness, she accidentally sets fire to a domino effect of events to happen within just a small flat in London.
Major spoilers for all 3 of the series'!
(My grammar and writing is better in the fic, I swear)
TLDR - Sherlock doesn't actually have the "International
reputation" that he believes he has.

Notes:

I have a couple of things I urge you to take into account when reading! Please read, it may help with some context clues.

- I have a very clear obsession (or fixation, depending on how you see it) with these fandoms, but my motivation and my devotion will fluctuate throughout the fic writing, which may eventually lead to slow posts, continuity errors, etc. As these things are never permanent, I can never promise this will go fluid, but I absolutely hate abandoning fics; I get the feeling, guys, so I'll never even attempt to abandon this fic. But, I can't guarantee how long it'd take for this to finish.

- this piece is technically just for my own enjoyment. I'll do things that may not suit others' ideas or opinions, and that's okay! I just like you to keep in mind this is just to satisfy what I personally like to write!

- I hate HATE mischaracterisation, yet, again, I can't guarantee it won't be bound to happen, and it wouldn't really be something I'd do purposefully, I always try my best to prevent it, but if you notice any traits that don't match a character, I urge you to inform me.

- this is a crack fic. No, I'm not okay.

- The funny thing is, I never watched series 4 of Sherlock; I know some details of the ending, yes, just not enough to incorporate it into the fic. Why haven't I seen it, you may ask? I've been suggested by peers not to, but one day, it may be something I'll come around to; it's just something I don't think I want to finish, just due to problems of series 4. Obviously, this would mean that series 4 isn't a thing in this fic, and I like to go further and say series 3 isn't, even with it being probably my favourite series, it doesn't fit the themes and situations I need for this, as much as I love Mary, she doesn't exactly fit into this fic, but I am planning to write a fic that actually surrounds her one day to make up for it!

- I'm an artist; I'd say I'm better at art than writing, which is surprising to say because I'm making this huge ass fic, but here we are. I might, if you're lucky, might sprinkle in an illustration from time to time.

- I'm British, Welsh, specifically. And I've never visited London. So with that, I may get some errors with things like facts wrong about countries, which is rare,, but hey hoe. And I will type with British English, fight me.

- I use semi colons and en/em dashes on the occasion! I do not at all support the usage of ai

And as always, have a fun time reading! I shall brainblast my brain to yours!!
And, if you're here from my Stucky fic... no, I didn't abandon it, but I've reached a block recently from it. It is something I'll come back to, don't worry. But it is not connected to this fic, apologies.

Chapter 1: Dullness and Fascination

Thump.

“...”

Then another, louder thump sounded.

“Sherlock.”

Thump.

“Sher- Godsake.”

The thumping continuously repeated as John forgo the repetition of the other's name. The thump was the only sound now that radiated in the otherwise quiet area, except for the occasional annoyed grunt that he made to try and make his growing irritancy obvious, not like Sherlock didn't already know that, but it was John's last indication of a light objection to Sherlock's tactics before he'd blow a gasket.

Thump.

“Sherlock! I can't believe I'm asking this; stop hitting your head against that damn painting; we need your intelligence preferably intact. And Mrs Hudson would absolutely ruin you if you damage it; it's expensive!” John finally snapped, he yelled, it was slightly suppressed so it wouldn't interrupt Mrs Hudson's daily nap; a nap that for some reason pursued during midday, yet, his anger was still present with how he held the look that would usually appear on his face during his episodes of fury, furrowed brows and a small ever so slightly downturned expression on his lips that would leave his smile– frown lines more visible, but that could be considered his usual resting face at this point, he has been more disgruntled lately, Sherlock could see the hidden itchiness of boredom in John, just like what he was feeling, but he knew he wouldn't admit that.

Sherlock paused,
“Is that what she told you? It's clearly a cheap print,” He stated quite plainly, yet his ‘matter of factly’ tone was still quite obviously intact as he inspected the painting up and down. He swiped a hand over the painting, “The material is very clearly paper used for printers.” He rubbed his thumb and index together, absently inspecting the dust that had layered on the painting after a few years.

“Oh- never mind the damn painting, you're clearly doing that for a reason. If you don't mind me asking, why are you exactly hitting your head against the wall? Are you just trying to purposely annoy me? See how long it takes for me to go mad? Not like you haven't done that before.”

“Bored!”

“Okay, you're just being daft now. Sherlock, we just had three big separate cases you could've taken–”

“Boring!”

“You wouldn't have found these boring before, why now?” John raised a brow in curiosity and then, afterwards, puffed air into his cheeks, hoping that it wouldn't be the answer he knew Sherlock might say.

“Well, they seem, well, quite… Dull to me, now. We've done so many cases, to the point I seem too exposed to ideas I would've found entertaining before. I've grown… accustomed to it, John. I need something new.” Sherlock's eyes scattered around the place, looking for words to try and describe the depths of the emptiness he was feeling from boredom, but he fell flat with that, which is rare; his words had always been fluid before now; ellipses, stutters, and silences in between words were not exactly common nor very used in his speech. John blew away the air that had accumulated inside his cheeks and looked down. It was now completely silent, which again was a thing that was also uncommon with Sherlock's continuous monologues and constant heavy chatter that seemed more directed to himself than to John. John, faced with Sherlock's inability to keep himself entertained, knowing that it could cause some… particularly dangerous situations, wouldn't want him causing the mysteries himself this time; he needed an idea, stat.

Then, as if a miracle had happened, an idea had indeed popped inside his averagely nimble head.

“Why don't you… Look for new cases, instead of just waiting for cases to show up at our doorstep?”

“I'm sorry to inform you, John, but that seems even more dull and uninteresting; I much prefer fate to find me; I like surprise mysteries to find us.”

“Well, you're not having any luck with that, it seems, and Sherlock, I don't think you're the kind of man to believe in fate anyway.”

Sherlock's mouth formed a straight line, and he started weighing his options. John, here, was, in fact, right to suggest this.
“But God, that does seem extremely obvious now, why haven't we ever thought about that before?” he then promptly said in reply, plopping himself onto the seat, legs on the arm of the chair.

John clicked his tongue. “Well, we never really think about how useful the Internet is these days, hey? I'm sure you'll find an even more ‘thrilling’ case this time, on Reddit or whatever,” John rolled his eyes, blinked, and swiftly got up and headed to the kitchen, leaving Sherlock to his own devices. Literally.
“Want a cuppa while I'm here?”

“No.”

“Sherlock.”

“No, thank you.”

Sherlock's gaze diverted towards the table, where the laptop would usually lie, noticing it had disappeared from its usual habitat; He called John with this realisation, “John, where is your laptop exactly?”

John swallowed thickly, sighed, and then replied with hesitancy, “I never actually ever get your refusal to use your own things… It's inside my closet upstairs.” Sherlock gave him raised brows, a look that told John to elaborate on why, “Well- uhm, I didn't want you to do anything rash on my computer when I'm away, so I put it away for safekeeping, I wouldn't want you downloading anything–”

“Me? Downloading? John, you know who's most likely to be downloading viruses or whatever graphic things people like to view these days. I am not dim.” He scoffed a little at his own words.

“Sherlock, get your mind out of the gutter.” he cleared his throat and avoided eye contact with the taller.

Sherlock started giggling like a teenager, “Oh, so I'm the one assuming now? You immediately thought I meant something sexual when I said graphic.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?–” He squinted as he spoke, trying to figure out if Sherlock was aiming to be satirical with his words, or if he actually believed it, as he sought, he figured he just shouldn't care as much as he does, “Right, anyway, just go grab it; I promise you that it's clear, Jesus.” He turned and then continued to close his eyes and lean his head on the kitchen cabinet, his stress and, again, annoyance evident.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say, my dear, dear John.”

And then he promptly just leapt from his place on the sofa chair and sprinted upstairs in search of John's laptop; soon, he had it in hand and was searching for new mysteries, puzzles and problems.

It was soon enough that he found something that did intrigue him; he found a post on the local Facebook group for their street; it was a grainy photo of a poster that was found on one of the lamp posts nearby that was taken by a disgruntled elderly lady.

Two men, looking for housing in London. Two gay men, specifically two men falsely posing as gay men, are they posing? He couldn't exactly tell… this is odd, for once in what felt like a billion years, at least to Sherlock.
He looked at how they were dressed in the zoomed-in image that was attached. A blonde man had his arm draped over a brunette's shoulder. The blonde's hair was relatively well-kept, well, somewhat; it could've been ruffled before the picture was taken. He sported an overly bright, wide smile that would give Sherlock a headache in real life, and what contrasted his smile was the plain grey shirt that he wore and denim jeans. Pretty basic and neutral, but what caught his attention was the large stature that the man held- both, both of the men held. They seemed way more jacked than any average man, and in their description of employment or hobbies, none of them had described working as trainers or that they go to the gym frequently.
Odd, again.
But what was even more peculiar was the brunette, his smile was less tainted with happiness, and he had faint dark circles around his eyes… His eyes. They held something deep; they felt comparable to the thousand-yard stare. He's served military time for sure, and some other trauma that has deeply ridden him. The blonde also had that particular glint in his eyes, they've both served. They've had to.
The brunette's hair was long but neatly cut to his shoulders and was brushed out. Not by himself, though; his clothes were scruffy, meaning the blonde did his hair for him. His hair was not ruffled, which could deduce he was not fond of being touched.

The more he stared at them, the more Sherlock would find curiosities, like how they seemed extremely old-fashioned even when paired with their queer nature. How their cheeks were subtly flushed would mean they're not used to this kind of romantic thing, which means they're faking the relationship, yet they yearn and long for each other. Oh, and also, their jeans were both cuffed, and based on stereotypes, they're both bisexual men. And the blonde wore a watch with a brown leather strap, which means he has a past of internalised homophobia, but those things are practically unrelated to what was the deeply bizarre thing.
The brunette wore full coverage biker gloves on each hand, which seemed weird when compared to the rest of his outfit, a blue unironed long-sleeved Henley with darker-coloured denim jeans. It was just out of place and covered his hands completely, and he did not seem to ride a motorbike frequently since they ran out of the country.
Hiding something, of course, but what exactly?

These two people, based on their looks alone, were a whole case in themselves.
A boring one.
…

The names put down were ‘Steve Walker’, and- he snorts at this; ‘Buckley Brown’. What a questionably stupid name to choose.
Sherlock finally decided to read the description without just skimming over a few details this time, it said;
“We're both from Maryland, America. We had come out as partners to our families in our secluded hometown, we were promptly shamed, and we no longer felt safe very suddenly, even in the town we had grown up in. We came up with the brisk idea to live in the UK out of emergency and had no time to save up nor pack up many essentials, only passports in hand. We desperately need a place to stay temporarily, so we can sort out some affairs, like jobs and try to access our funds. We have no money for hotels, but to gain money to go towards hotels, we'd be very grateful for. We are also open to any jobs, so we have some other descriptions below, such as—”
Sherlock started yawning before he could finish another sentence; all of those bleak words were just more sentences to prove how fake their identities were to him. He also did not bother looking into what happens in America these days, finding it more useless to care, and he also found the country useless in itself, so the only news about the USA he gets, is the rare offhand mention from his brother, one event he can remember at the top of his head was something to do with Mycroft and some affairs he had about ‘accords’ with some hero folk or whatever, he deemed that needless though as it was completely unrelated to these two men.
But then one phrase caught his eye right before he was about to close the page.

“Please consider your safety before accepting us into your homes. We've also seemingly been targeted by a gang once we were on the streets of London.”

How incredibly curious. A subtle warning? Why would the two be targeted? And why do they have this kind of duty to warn others of something, even in their supposed ‘Dire situation’.

Oh, this could be fun indeed.

“John! I believe we've found a case, I need you to call a number!” Sherlock called from the room, even from upstairs, John's sigh of grumpiness was still audible.

“Yeah, yeah. hold on.”

Chapter 2: Prologue #1 - Calculation and Reluctance

Notes:

Barks mischievously

Okay, Natasha, I need you to slow it down a little. Repeat what you said to me, again.” Bucky had his fingers clasped around his temples, eyes tightly shut, it was extremely early. He hadn’t gotten used to Natasha's rampant and compulsive mission ideas she made up on a whim yet, especially when it would happen when he couldn't even check the time to be mortified by how early he was getting up before Natasha was babbling her ear off next to his bedside table, already disabling his alarm clock in preparation. Whereas Steve had witnessed Natasha's antics since she was first given permission to make up team ideas independently, he was practically prepared and okay with this, at least when compared to Bucky and his reactions. Even with this, Natasha rarely does this.

“Oh, your ancient ass cannot be that slow, Bucky,” She chuckled as she spoke. “Remind me, how old are you?”

“110.”

“Never mind, maybe I'm in the wrong for abusing the elderly.”
Bucky's nose crinkled at that, and Steve had to lift his hand to cover his smirk and attempt to at least prevent a small snigger from leaving his lips. Humour in the compound has started to become millennial-like. Lately, they've all been ageing, and even with Bucky being the eldest besides Thor, he seems to be the only one who’s starting to realise this and has been cringing at every cheesy attempt at humour by everyone despite his age.
“Steve, you're 109. You cannot be laughing at this, too,” Natasha commented; she likes to treat them fairly, believing they're a package deal and should be equally picked on.

“Anyway, why isn't Fury doing the mission planning this time? Or literally anyone else, you rarely want to do this anyway and make Agent Hill do it,” Steve questioned, using his forearm to lean on the kitchen table, with Bucky awkwardly standing there beside him in just a shirt and boxers, unsure of what to do with himself flushed neck to face from embarrassment after not having a chance to change, or even put on his left arm for that matter.

“Because he doesn't believe this is as important as I think it should be. So, I'm using your guys’ break off for this, the handbook says I can't be wasting Avengers time while on duty, and because Fury would probably believe this would be a waste of our resources, I obviously can't use that time for the mission, but it doesn't say anything about off duty. Now I know your break is incredibly short, so I'll make up some story that you guys went together to go skiing and you got injured so you can't get back. Then Pepper would feel obligated to make Tony send some money over to cover hospital expenses, and voila, that's some more funds for the ‘trip’.” Natasha had to take a big breath after all of that. She's more enthusiastic about this than Bucky and Steve have ever seen her like, which is probably not a good thing. She then added after a small moment, “The Avengers should be cautious, we should've learnt that by now, but no, apparently.”

“Evil. And wow, thanks, Nat,” Steve replies quite monotonically, though a smirk couldn't help but appear back on his face at the sheer bizarreness of all of this.

“Right, but seriously, what is this mission plan of yours?” Bucky lifts a brow, he was currently busying himself with the hem of his shirt, tugging on it in boredom with his right hand, it was evident he desperately did not want to be there at that moment, he was always ancy during the morning out of tiredness, and Steve was always acutely aware of that, but all he did was pat Bucky on the back in a way to reassure him this time.

“I'm also going to be honest, Nat; I was a little distracted by something else when you were talking about the plans; it was all a blur; a repeat would be nice,” Steve also added.

“You remember that thing we were alerted of earlier this week about a group who were trying to be a copycat of Hydra?”
Steve nodded; Bucky just tilted his head to the side; he's always mentally absent during team discussions in the lounge, especially recently.
“Well, their name was something silly, I think Leviathan, ‘cause apparently, they couldn't be original– Anyway, after that discussion, everyone said it was going to fail miserably, and there's not any point in doing anything with it.”

“I'm guessing you looked into it anyway?” Bucky asked, rolling his eyes, already assuming the answer.

“Yep, turns out they're actually making rounds as a terrorist group in the UK. And I know you're going to ask ‘Oh so I'm only here because I dealt with Hydra first hand’, that's exactly why,” She cheekily replied, moving to crouch on the kitchen counter that she was sat upon, reaching for one of the cupboards for a cereal box, this made Steve wince.

“Natasha, seriously. Look, I barely know shit myself; I was sedated every time I was transported like you; I can't remember a lick of what they talked about; I'd only ever remember the actions they did to me and the actions they made me do to others. And anyway, if I have to do this, why can't I do it with Sam or anyone else? Why specifically him?” Bucky went to cross his arms to show his disappointment at this interaction but fell short of the motion when he realised he had no other arm to cross, so he had to awkwardly lay his hands back to his sides.

“Look, I know you two are going through a rough patch-”

“How did you–” Bucky started before being silenced with a glare for interrupting her.

“It's extremely obvious, and why ask that question anyway if you weren't having some kind of disagreement, anyway, I think it also goes beyond that with the fact you both haven't interacted once this conversation, which Bucky usually starts feeling out of place and is always just mentally absent in conversations for when this kind of thing happens, like how he is visibly acting now.” She gestured to Bucky, who had Steve nervously looking down in guilt. He hated seeing Bucky like that himself, but he was avoidant of those feelings. “Also, Steve just admitted he was distracted by something, which I’d say is quite rare for him unless there's something big on his mind. And the Sam question- it's quite stupid to ask that; Sam just became Captain America. Obviously, he's not available, and even if he were, I'd still choose Steve. He knows how to regulate you, Bucky, and this mission should be able to sort you two out pretty quickly…” There was an implication in those last words, but the two had no knowledge of such, as they hadn't been listening before, of course, so they took no notice.

Bucky swallowed thickly, thinking for a moment before he replied. “Are you saying I can't handle myself? Low blow, Natasha, I'm an independent person; I can ‘regulate’ myself; whatever you mean by that.” Bucky's face scrunched for a moment in his small show of anger, he only very recently had picked that tick up after he was released from Hydra bounds, something maybe similar to a nervous tick.

“Buck, c'mon now, y'know that's not what I meant by that. You still suffer panic attacks and nightmares, it'd be a nightmare in itself if you went by yourself, especially when back into contact with something extremely similar to Hydra. Also, no solo missions are allowed; only Peter and Sam are permitted for this month; we can't have you by yourself. And anyway, you're also one of the only Avengers who lack media relevance due to government protection; you're not very well known internationally.” Natasha's brows furrowed, expression now sorrow-filled, a look of pity that Bucky had always despised, which many had found cliché, yet he still couldn't help but hate it.
“Bucky, I meant no offence in my words.” She tilted her head, trying to get a better look at Bucky's expression.

“Oh, so now you think the handbook applies here?... It's… no, it's not going to happen, Natasha, not under the pretence that I'm still pathetic enough not to be left alone by myself. This is a simple task I can do, just looking into a group that's a sad attempt at being Hydra.” His eyes seem permanently planted to the ground, swaying a little in his place.

“Buck, there could be lives at stake,” Steve then said, finally attempting to speak to him directly, feeling a necessity for it. “It'd be better if we both went. You're taking a meaning out of nothing.”

“Out of nothing? Were you even listening to what she was saying? You never even listen to me anymore, I should expect it.” His tone was a little quieter than his usual one; he usually does that as a way to make sure he doesn't get too angry, but it comes across as more intimidating to other people like this. Steve winced once again at Bucky’s words; he had never quite liked verbal confrontation, especially with people close to him, which is why he used all his energy in physical fights.

“Ah, I see what you two are squabbling about, Bucky is not over you leaving…”

Steve bit his tongue, “Nat stop poking into it, you might just make it worse,” He tried, he was quiet for a moment before taking a deep breath, and then spoke up, “We had a very long talk over this, it had lasted hours, I apologised for what I've done wrong, supported him where I can. I just don't understand–” He made himself pause, not wanting to leave any insulting implications, but Bucky could always read the words on his face.

Bucky's nose scrunched up, “What, that you don't understand me, how I've been feeling? That's rare. Really, rare, Steve, that just doesn't happen. It's that you don't want to understand me, you avoid the thought of it purposely, you hate the sight of me hurt, I can tell, but you make it to where you are just ignorant of when I am hurt. One singular conversation doesn't fix everything, Steve! Every time I make an effort to bring it up, you ignore me, like how you've ignored the tension for the past week, a tension you caused!”
Bucky raised his voice, a thing that was now rare when he was faced with anger.

“Bucky, please, do we have to do this in front of Natasha?” Steve tried, he stuttered a little trying to get a few words out, but the question was the only one that came through, he was soft spoken, not wanting to trigger Bucky anymore than he already was.

“Well, she seems very keen on bringing this out of us, so yes, I guess we can give her the show she wanted, because I don't frankly care.” Natasha bit her lip and went to dig her hand into the cereal box she grabbed from the cabinet after their mention of her.

Then everyone seemed to slow, something that seemed a little odd by Bucky's previous combative words, a feeling of disgrace may have swept over Bucky for a moment, which made him hesitate with a pause which developed in the air, cooling an ignited fire. Steve swallowed and relaxed his neck so it'd hang down as his eyes planted to the ground, hints of shame in his eyes. Bucky exhaled and pushed through the excruciating silence that ran down everyone’s backs, a scarcity of sound in the atmosphere.

“Steve, y'know I don't blame you for leaving,”
He waited for a nod from Steve.
“It's just, you coming back for me made me feel like a joke, like you're here just because you pitied me and how I felt,” His voice was hoarse, and his tone unsettlingly monotone in a way, “And all you could reply with, was that I was your home. That's all we left off on, it never felt enough, and you avoided me. I just wanted you to communicate, and I resented the fact that you couldn't”

“It's all I needed to say… You ground me as much as I ground you–”

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the reason I need both of you in this case!” Natasha gleefully interjected, pressing her hands into a small joyful clap, “You're both as bad as each other, unstable and PTSD ridden, which means a well built up backstory, and with unknowing queer ties! Which makes you pass as a believable gay couple.” She seemed overly, creepily giddy by this, which irked both of the men.

“What! Nat?” The two had exclaimed, mouths slightly ajar from this shock of a set-up, which really seemed obvious now as they allowed themselves a second to think.

“We're– We're not even gay? And… And well why does this seem oddly homophobic? Seriously, why does it feel like that?” Bucky questioned, singular hand on hip as he leant his weight onto one leg, a similar pose Steve also liked to utilise.

Steve's eyes reverted back to normal after their previous wideness, the suddenness of the situation already wearing off on him, “I'm guessing this has somethin’ to do with the case details, Nat?”

Natasha nodded, bending her body over to the other side of the counter where she had earlier disorderly dumped the papers, as she struggled to reach them, Steve's gaze wandered over to the other's dishevelled form, but as his eyes reached Bucky's now solemn yet unbelievably serene face, tracing it like it he was a carved sculpture, Bucky's eyes seemed to have done the opposite of Steve's. Steel, cool, blue yet radiant eyes barely visible as they had averted away from Steve's shape and knowing glance. Steve sighed away his fear and stepped an inch or closer towards his side, he didn't want to let that previous conversation go to waste, especially when it was within Bucky's avid wishes to avoid such ignorance.

But, before Steve could leave, even the faintest tap on his shoulder, Natasha had started to sit upright, her cereal abandoned to the edge of the counter from her lap, papers now in hand. “Here we go…” Her finger moved along the text, skimming through the boring parts until she got to Steve and Bucky's profiles, which she then had ripped their part out haphazardly, promptly after finding them.
“Take this, read through.” She outstretched her hand, her eyes passing between the two sneakily like some odd feline, gauging their reactions already like she hadn't just given them it. She impatiently drummed her lap, waiting for them to finish reading soon after setting the other part of the disconnected paper aside.

“Natasha, are you high?” Bucky took a deep exhale, eventually being the first one to reply to… whatever this was. Natasha has never been this hyperactive before, so maybe his question was in fact genuine.

“Probably.” She shrugged her shoulders. “And, ah, before you say no. I booked the Quinjet, it's coming soon, I had to hack through it so Tony couldn't track it or even be notified, which is a thing you'd both understand is nothing easy. So I'm not wasting all that time and work effort for nothing to come out of it,” Her statement seemed a little mumbled, it was clear that she was in a disgruntled mood when she was doing that, but Steve and Bucky didn't seem to care, let alone notice, they were still stuck processing the information Natasha had given them.

“Fuckin’ Buckley Brown?” Bucky breathed out through his teeth, having the urge to screw the paper up, which had Steve chuckling a little at this.

“I got Steve Walker,” Steve could've sworn he heard Bucky practically gag at the last name, with this, Steve spoke up again, “Oh, c'mon, Buck, I thought you made up with him.”

“Oh, God, no.”

“Surprised you hadn’t said anything more about the queer part,” Natasha had felt the need to point out, arching an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, leaning back onto her palms, legs crossed, examining them by looking down her nose like she was looking down on peasants, which, really, is how she seemed to view them.

“...I mean, there isn't anything really to say. It's odd. But if you think it's good for the mission, then, what do I know?” It was clear that Steve was trying not to step on imaginary eggshells, in fear of offending Bucky again, which Bucky visibly rolled his eyes at.

“Since Steve is too afraid to object, I'll say somethin’. This is clearly a thing you are doing for your own kind of satisfaction. D'you get off to this?” Bucky tried, he seemed a little agitated as his body took in the impact of the early morning, he was never the early bird.

“Woah, woah, don't shame me for just trying to be the matchmaker here. You guys are so obvious, yet you're stubbornly oblivious, someone's gotta do something about it.” She smirks mischievously, reaching back over for the cereal box with a roll of the shoulders. “Anyway, this is getting a little too boring for my tastes. You're going in an hour, whether you like it or not–” She takes a second to hop off the counter, shifting to have her cereal tipped into her mouth, “–Of course. You got some time to prepare, I recommend just wearin’ some plain clothes. Bucky, I'm sorry to tell you, but you gotta shave that sexy stubble, and maybe manage that hair better. Thankfully, you don't have the worldwide recognition that Steve basically has.” She turns a little towards Steve, “And you, uh, I think I have some leftover bleach, maybe make your hair a little lighter, and don't shave your beard… mmm, that's about it, just hide in plain sight.” and she, just as quickly she urged them to get up, just up and leaves with a sway in her step, leaving Steve and Bucky dumbfounded and silent.

“I think that's the quickest mission discussion I ever had in my life,” Bucky says, finally breaking the small silence that had taken over.

“I'd rather go through a boring hours-long meeting than whatever this was if I'm going to be honest,” Steve retorts, almost clapping Bucky on the back before preventing himself.

“Yeah, ‘cause you're too scared to communicate with me, we do need to talk more on that, don't think you're getting away from it again that quickly,” Bucky calmly replies, his mouth now forming a line. “Well, anyway…”

There's another pause in the air as Bucky trails off into nothing, failing to pick up.

“Can't believe I kissed that woman before.”

“Can't believe I was in between that woman's thighs before.”

“Showoff,” Steve snickers while nudging Bucky away with his elbow, which Bucky flinches at.
Right. The touching. But it at least earned a laugh from him.

Notes:

I feel like I need to work on my pacing but pvoyiyvigivgvigvig sighhhhh. I shouldn't be taking it this seriously but I ammm

Notes:

This work is kinda beta read, kinda not. I make my friends read it, sometimes before or after I post. They really don't say anything to note like changes, except for the occasional friend. (Cough) Tam.
So, take that as you will. I dump a lot on people.