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Bucky Barnes was not having a good morning.
It had little to do with the lack of coffee in his apartment or the button that clattered noisily onto his hardwood floor when he put on his favorite jacket that morning, though both of these things were definitely contributing factors. No, the real reason for his disgruntled demeanor on this chilly October day was currently playing its last seconds on the screen of his iPhone.
The screen faded to black and then refreshed to a still shot of a man with blonde hair and a small, sad-looking smile; Steve Rogers, the alter ego of Captain America. In the middle of Rogers’s face was a symbol giving Bucky the option to replay the video; an option that he had no desire to choose. Above the video block was its title: Man Behind the Mask.
Bucky gritted his teeth, forcing himself to breathe in time with the sway of the cord to his earbuds which, in turn, moved to the beat of his footsteps as he trudged to the nearest Starbucks. He’d been looking forward to this interview for a month -- an entire fucking month -- and in the end, this was what he’d been given.
A clusterfuck. Start to finish, an absolute clusterfuck.
Rogers wasn’t the problem. He’d been gracious and patient, gamely answering every absurd question that was thrown his way. And that, really, was the crux of Bucky’s ire. The entire interview had been shockingly and overwhelmingly shallow. It was vain and trivial and nothing at all like an interview featuring a man of Steve’s background should be. Nothing like the interview he’d hoped for.
The problem, really, was that Captain Rogers did not give interviews. The man was as reclusive as a public figure masquerading as a star-spangled superhero could be.
Since he’d been taken out of the ice five years ago, Rogers had only allowed himself to be questioned during press conferences held in the aftermath of a global event involving the Avengers. He’d never agreed to an actual interview before and he’d certainly never allowed anyone to question him about himself rather than the latest catastrophe.
There was no explanation for why he decided to break his silent streak but break it, he did. Bucky had foolishly hoped that this would be the first of many. After the train wreck he just witnessed, though? Well. He had a very distinct feeling that somewhere, Steve Rogers was probably regretting his life choices. This was the first and it was also probably the last.
That was what upset Bucky the most. He’d never get another chance to hear Steve’s opinion on more than just this month’s celebrity gossip.
Needlessly to say, Bucky had lost all respect for a certain media outlet because of this mess. He was just beginning to contemplate the merits of tweeting nasty things to their official account when his phone rang, temporarily taking the decision away from him.
The first thing Bucky heard as the line connected was Sam Wilson’s laughter. There was no need to ask why.
“You seen it yet?” Sam asked gleefully. The grin in his voice was overwhelmingly smug and for good reason. After all, they both knew the answer to that question.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bucky said as he flung open the door to Starbucks.
The line, by some kind of miracle, wasn’t actually all that long and Bucky was happy to take his place behind just three other people. The man in front of him was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a dark baseball cap and a t-shirt that was far too tight, showing off defined muscles. He was hunched in on himself, as if trying to make himself smaller, more invisible, and Bucky spared a moment to feel sorry for the poor guy. Anyone that tall and that muscular was not going unnoticed, no matter how hard they tried.
In front of that man was another, sandy-haired man and a red-headed woman.
The redhead was much smaller than the surrounding people, dressed in dark, stylish clothing, but it was her posture that drew Bucky’s attention. She was rigid, alert, body coiled to strike at any moment. She tried very hard to blend in and seem normal, but to Bucky’s instincts, everything about her screamed dangerous. He felt immediately on edge, his metal arm whirring quietly as he clenched his gloved left hand into a fist.
Stuffing his hand into his pocket, he allowed his fingers to curl around the knife he had hidden there, and took in a slow, deep breath.
In, he thought and then exhaled. Out.
Just like his therapist taught him.
The sandy-haired man was behind her, wearing a pair of sunglasses. He kept looking back at the man in front of Bucky and grinning before leaning forward to talk to the redhead; the three of them must’ve known each other. This second man was, Bucky thought, deceptively carefree. Seemingly oblivious to his surroundings and relaxed, easy-going, but there was something about him - something that Bucky couldn’t quite name - that told him this man was formidable, too. Perhaps not quite as much as the redhead, but close.
“Come on, man.” Sam’s cajoling voice in his ear brought Bucky’s attention back to the matter at hand.
He didn’t completely forget about the redheaded woman or her deceptive companion but it was easier to breathe when there was something else to focus on.
“I’ve been waiting all morning to hear this rant,” Sam continued. “You gotta give me something.”
Bucky ducked his head, trying to keep quiet as he broke under Sam’s admittedly passive needling. It was very possible that he didn’t need much encouragement to deliver this particular rant.
“It’s just ridiculous,” he said. “This is Steve Rogers we’re talkin’ about here.”
The guy front of him suddenly tensed, his shirt pulling taut over his shoulders. If he wasn’t careful, they were soon going to have a half-naked man on their hands and that would definitely make it impossible to ignore him. His shirt had been too small to begin with but now it was practically painted on, showing every dip and curve of his back.
Bucky turned his head to the side, hoping to avoid disturbing the man further.
“He’s a fucking war hero,” he hissed, a touch quieter. “A war hero and these people can’t even give him the respect he deserves?”
“There it is,” Sam said approvingly. “Keep it coming, Barnes. C’mon now, confession is good for the soul.”
For some reason, Sam always took unholy delight in Bucky’s admiration and defense of Captain Rogers. Bucky had no idea why but he also wasn’t in the business of questioning it too much, either. No one else listened to his tirades.
“They asked him about his hair products,” he griped, rolling his shoulders to ease some of the tension building in his spine. Thinking about this was making him angry again. “And that was immediately followed by a question on how he stays slim enough to fit in the suit. Why would you ask him that? Do they not have any common sense? Do they think that maybe -- just maybe -- the serum helps with that? Or, gee, I don’t know. Saving the world on a regular basis? What, do they think fighting aliens doesn’t work up a sweat? Jesus fuckin’ Christ. What the hell is wrong with the future?”
“This isn’t the future,” Sam told him, annoyingly unruffled by the whole thing. The fucker. “It’s actually the present.”
“It’s the future to him,” Bucky insisted.
The line moved forward.
As he watched, the dangerous redhead stepped to the other end of the counter, awaiting her drink. She glanced around the store in feigned nonchalance but Bucky, watching her closely, saw the calculated scan and catalogue of every person in the room. She was not only tallying up a head count and memorizing faces in case it was needed in the future, she was also assessing threat levels. He could tell by the way her gaze easily slid over a few people but lingered on others, taking just a little longer to make a decision on them.
When her gaze fell on Bucky, the two of them stared at each other for several long, tense seconds. Her eyes narrowed and flicked down, unerringly finding where Bucky still had his hand in his pocket, clutching his knife. She was too good to miss the weapon. Slowly, her fingers curled, clenching into fists as she snapped back up to stare at him again.
She didn’t look at the man in front of Bucky but Bucky was aware that it was deliberate. She practically vibrated with the need to get between them and that meant that whoever she was, whoever he was, the shy man was hers to protect.
Telegraphing his movements so as not to alarm her, Bucky went against every instinct screaming inside of his head and let go of the knife, sliding his hand out of his pocket and letting it fall to his side. He flexed his fingers, showing her that there was nothing held in his hand. The last thing he needed was a fight to break loose in Starbucks over of a misunderstanding.
The woman loosened her fists but didn’t relax completely. They stared at each other for a few seconds longer and might have continued on the entire time Bucky was in line but then the sandy-haired man appeared by her side and bumped their shoulders together, demanding her attention. She gave it to him easily but she very pointedly did not turn her back on Bucky.
The man in front of Bucky moved forward and Bucky moved with him, looking away from the woman but still keeping her in his periphery. Both she and Bucky acted like nothing out of the ordinary was going on but he wondered if two people had ever been more aware of each other than they were just then.
Taking in a slow breath, he turned his attention back to his phone.
“We’re shallow as fuck,” he said to Sam and if Sam noticed the extended pause in his rant, he was kind enough not to say anything about it. He wondered if he should say something about this; wondered if Sam would tell him it was just paranoia. That he was reading too much into it. “Arguably the greatest strategist of the second world war and all they can ask him about is his workout routine? No one thought to pick his brain about Azzano? Or ask about how he came up with that thing that happened in --”
“The French Alps,” Sam interrupted. “Yes, James, I know.”
For the sake of their ongoing friendship, Bucky decidedly ignored his mocking tone. He let out a frustrated breath.
“Excuse me if I find his mind as attractive as his face,” he sniped because yes, Steve Rogers was certainly a man to behold. But fuck. Bucky didn’t admire him for his goddamn muscles. “Excuse me for even remembering he has a brain instead of assuming he’s just here for America to ogle.”
Sam snorted. “This is honestly adorable,” he said. “Keep this up and I’m throwing you a Cap-themed birthday.”
“Fuck you, Samuel,” Bucky said.
“That is not my name,” Sam shouted, suddenly angry. “That is not my fucking name, Barnes, and you know it!”
As Bucky laughed, basking in his revenge, the man in the tight shirt finally moved away from the register. The barista gave him a very bored look as he stepped forward, which Bucky decided to ignore in favor of placing his order. Cradling his phone between his cheek and shoulder, he fished into his back pocket for his wallet but he was stopped before he could pull out his credit card.
“It’s already been paid for,” the barista told him and then pointed toward where the redhead and her two companions were standing. Specifically, to the man in the tight shirt.
Now that they were facing each other, Bucky could see that his baseball cap had a Brooklyn Dodgers logo. It seemed like an odd choice until Bucky caught a good look at his face. Even shadowed under the cap and hidden behind thick-rimmed hipster glasses, it was far too easy to recognize that face.
Steve Rogers.
That was --
That was most definitely Steve Rogers -- aka, Captain fuckin’ America -- in semi-disguise, loitering just in front of the dangerous woman and her companion as he waited for his drink.
Steve Rogers paid for his drink. Steve Rogers heard what he said. Christ, that was embarrassing.
Steve Rogers was also currently smiling in his general direction, head ducked down bashfully. Bucky’s grip tightened on his phone and he was suddenly glad that he wasn’t holding it in his metal hand; he’d have crushed it otherwise.
In his ear, Sam said something that was no doubt a defamation of Bucky’s character. He honestly couldn’t say for sure; there was nothing to be heard over the blood rushing in his ears.
“I hate you and I’m never talking to you again,” he said automatically and perhaps a little childishly. Just before he hung up, he added, “Gotta go. Call you later.”
Thanking the barista, he stuffed his phone in his pocket as he walked over. The dangerous woman and her companion already have their drinks but they still hovered in the background, eyes on Steve’s broad form. When Bucky approached him, the woman tensed. He wondered if they were his bodyguards and then he wondered if this woman actually thought he was going to try to kill Captain America right there in Starbucks.
Talk about a shitty plan.
He wanted to reach back into his pocket and wrap his hand around his security blanket but that would’ve alarmed her enough to take action. He’d have to muscle through this until they left and if he was wrong -- if they were the danger - well. He still had enough skill that lack of easy access to his weapon wouldn’t be his downfall.
That decided, Bucky took the spot on Rogers’s far side, where his back was to the wall and the woman was in his direct line of sight, just behind the Captain’s shoulder. He didn’t immediately say anything, instead glancing behind the counter to watch their drinks being made. The silence lasted a full five seconds and in those awkward moments, Bucky was acutely aware of the space between them; how far apart and yet how close they were.
Finally, without looking over, he said, “I feel the need to apologize. And also, to say thank you.”
Next to him, Steve shifted just a little closer.
“I’ll take the latter,” he said quietly. “But I hope you don’t mean the former. It was...real nice, what you said. Thank you.”
Bucky plucked up the courage to look, finally, and immediately regretted this decision once he had.
For a single moment, he forgot all about the embarrassing, overheard phone call. He forgot the woman hovering so close to them, forgot who he was, who Steve was. He forgot about everything else in the entire world, until the only thing he knew was the attractive blush spreading across pale skin, growing darker by the second.
He let out a slow breath, blinking once, and then reality reasserted itself. Steve’s body was turned into him but he wasn’t looking Bucky in the face; instead, his gaze and the quietly please smile on those gorgeous lips were directed at the ground.
He’d known, of course, that Steve was a private man. There was a reason for his reclusive lifestyle, after all, one that went beyond the simple explanation of his being frozen for seventy years. Bucky would have never pegged him as shy, though, and oh, how wrong he’d been.
The truth of it was right in front of him, peeking at him cautiously from underneath long eyelashes. That look did complicated things to his pulse.
“I only deal in the truth,” Bucky said and he was embarrassed as hell, his own blush rising, when his voice came out hoarse. He swallowed roughly, trying to get a hold of himself. “No need to say thanks. Just tellin’ it like it is.”
“Well, if we’re dealing in that,” Steve paused, licking his lips. His gaze jumped to meet Bucky’s before he looked away again; too shy to keep eye contact and say what he wanted to say. Christ. “I find your defense of my capabilities...very attractive as well.”
It was honest, yes, but it also felt like a line. Bucky wondered if it was pathetic to hope it was a line.
He tilted his head, heart beating a little faster. “Captain Rogers,” he said seriously, swaying close so that no one else heard. The woman behind Steve was now practically vibrating but Bucky steadfastly ignored her. “Are you flirting with me?”
Steve’s reaction was as instantaneous as it was upsetting. He tensed, shrinking in on himself, shoulders drawn up around his ears in what Bucky could only assume was an defensive gesture. His blue eyes widened with panic, darting around the room to see if anyone else heard. He was a hunted animal that had only just remembered he was being hunted.
“Jesus,” Bucky blurted out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t --”
“No, no,” Steve interrupted, shaking his head. Slowly, very slowly, he relaxed again. His gaze returned to the floor, the flush rising in his cheeks again. With an awkward shrug, he whispered, “I -- I’m just still not used to -- I mean, sometimes it still takes me by surprise. People talking about it so openly.”
He smiled, small and self-deprecating, while shyly glancing over at Bucky again.
“But I was,” he said, even quieter still. “Or, I hope I was. I never -- I never got the chance to hone that skill.”
His tone was unsure but hopeful and it did things to Bucky; things he didn’t even think were possible anymore. Christ, but Steve Rogers was nothing like he imagined and it was amazing. So incredibly amazing.
“It’s definitely working,” Bucky said reassuringly, trying to find his footing again. “So I think you’re doin’ pretty good.”
Steve’s smile was a gradual process, overtaking his face inch by inch, but when it was there, it was breathtaking. A bright, hopeful, happy smile that warmed Bucky from the inside out. Helplessly, he smiled back.
The barista called Steve’s name just as he went to say something else and his expression falling, Steve reluctantly moved away from him towards the counter. With the barrier of his body gone, the dangerous woman and Bucky faced each other properly for the first time. Her expression hadn’t shifted at all but a fire burned in her eyes that told Bucky she was angry and it was unquestionably directed at him.
Quirking an eyebrow, Bucky grinned at her and crossed his arms to keep from shoving his hands in his pockets, where they both knew a knife was. If she even thought he was reaching for it now, there would definitely be a scene.
Steve turned around with not just his own drink but Bucky’s as well, his blush and smile still firmly in place. Did he even have a clue how devastating that was? Bucky thought not, otherwise he might’ve been more careful about subjecting the general population to it.
His gaze flickered to the woman and her companion and Steve stopped short, momentarily surprised. He looked as if he’d just remembered they were there. The woman tilted her head towards him and when she did, her expression visibly softened. Whoever they were to each other, there was definitely affection between them.
A woman like that didn’t go soft for just anyone.
His blush deepening, Steve stepped closer to Bucky and held out a cup. Their fingers brushed as Bucky took it from him and heat shot through him like a lightning bolt when he felt Steve’s caress across his knuckles. The touch lasted far longer than it should have.
Warningly, the woman said, “Steve.”
Steve let out a slow breath, disappointment flashing through his expression. He glanced at Bucky again, unsure and a little embarrassed, and Bucky would do just about anything to keep him from ever looking that way again.
“It was nice to meet you,” Steve said quietly.
Bucky smiled warmly at him. “You, too.”
He watched Steve walk away, joining his two companions and letting them lead him out the door. The woman put a hand on his back, frowning at him and saying something too quiet for Bucky to catch. Steve glanced over his shoulder, stealing one last glance at Bucky as he replied. Whatever he said, it made the woman look at him, too, but unlike Steve’s shy expression, she was outright glaring at him now. She didn’t stop until they were out of sight.
And that, he thought, was that.
Meeting Steve had been -- well, Bucky was a little infatuated with the man now, embarrassingly enough. But New York was a big place and a second chance encounter was so impossible, Bucky couldn’t even let himself hope for it. It was highly unlikely that they’d ever see each other again.
It wasn’t until he was at the VA, helping Sam set up for his first group meeting of the morning, that he thought otherwise.
Sam picked his coffee cup up off a stack of pamphlets, griping about Bucky’s complete disregard for -- well, Bucky never found out because he stopped mid-complaint.
“Man, are you serious?” Sam said, looking up at Bucky in disgust. “How the hell do you always manage this? You don’t even try.”
“The hell are you talkin’ about, Wilson?” Bucky asked, snatching the cup away from him.
The cup rotated in his hands and then Bucky saw what had Sam in a tizzy. A phone number, hastily crawled across the side of his cup in black marker and under it, the signature of a single letter: - S.
Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. Hell, it skipped several. He grinned, unable to stop himself even though he knew that Sam would rib him endlessly about it.
“Oh, that’s gross,” Sam said, never one to disappoint. His nose wrinkled. “Stop looking like that, it’s disturbing. What, did you meet the girl of your dreams?”
“Something like that,” Bucky told him absently, unable to look away from the scrawl.
The ribbing continued well on through the morning but he hardly cared.
Steve had given Bucky his number.