Chapter Text
Even though it’s nearly two o’clock in the morning when Steve finally climbs under his red, white, and blue bedspread, he still wakes up just after five a.m. There are no cameras in the suites— or so Tony tells him— but JARVIS is still tasked with monitoring the occupants of the Tower, so the A.I. knows Steve’s habits by now. The moment his pulse and respiration change, signaling he’s awake, the tint on the windows begins to lighten. The sky is a dusky blue, the sun just beginning to peak over the horizon with rosy tendrils.
Unlike most mornings, Steve lays in bed and stares at the ceiling. His mind is racing already, the thoughts starting where they left off when he fell sleep only a few hours ago.
He should have gone after Bucky. Or he thinks he should have. He definitely wanted to, but Steve isn’t really sure what’s going on between them, and this is not something he’s good at. He never courted anyone— even his wartime dalliance with Peggy was just that, a dalliance in between missions and blood and gunfire. They never even kissed, and God knows Steve wasn’t much of a catch before the serum.
On top of that, he doesn’t know if Bucky is definitely interested in men, and according to Sam, the Avengers’ accidental outing of Steve didn’t necessarily make Steve’s interest completely clear. He’s not sure what the best way to bring it up is, either, and that’s the foundation of all of his problems. Steve just doesn’t know what to do, and it was one thing to wake up and not be able to use a smartphone, but this is entirely different. He isn’t sure he can be taught any of this stuff.
Steve Rogers: capable of fending off invading aliens, but incapable of managing a possible love life.
He turns over and buries his face in the pillow, and even though he doesn’t fall back asleep, he doesn’t get out of bed until almost seven. Even then, he takes his time getting ready, hoping maybe he’ll have some amazing moment of enlightenment.
He doesn’t.
The Tower guests are already in the main dining hall and seated at a long table that’s piled high with waffles, bacon, eggs, fruit, toast, bagels, and random toppings. The excess of the twenty-first century still boggles his mind, but Steve’s stomach growls on cue.
“Good morning,” Natasha says when he enters the room. Clint and Sam mumble their own early-morning greetings, Pepper waves from her seat at the far end of the table, and Bucky offers a gentle smile, eyes locked onto Steve’s.
The butterflies in Steve’s stomach come alive and he has to force himself to smile back. “Morning.”
“What’re you in the mood for, Cap?” Tony asks as he waltzes in past Steve. “Sweet or savory?”
“You know I don’t like dessert for breakfast,” Steve says as he follows.
“That’s the most un-American thing you’ve ever said in my presence,” Clint gripes. “America is all about freedom, and freedom means eating a fuck ton of sugar for breakfast.”
“Hear, hear!” Tony yells and holds up a waffle.
Pepper doesn’t even look up from the tablet she’s reading on. “Tony, stop playing with your food.”
“Dictator Potts over here,” Tony mumbles, but he tosses the waffle on his plate and begins to load it with whipped cream and strawberries.
Steve goes to the coffee pot and pours himself a cup, very aware that Bucky has been watching him from beneath his lashes since Steve walked into the room. That means that at least Natasha’s noticed, and probably Clint, but no one says a thing. Steve sits near Pepper, which just happens to be closest to the healthy breakfast options. He piles a few scoops of scrambled eggs, four slices of whole grain toast, and several strips of bacon on his plate. The table is silent for a bit while everyone eats, and Steve is finishing his last piece of toast and doing his best not to glance at Bucky every few seconds when Sam breaks the silence.
“You heading back to DC with James and I, Steve?”
Steve looks up and yeah, he’s pretty sure Sam’s noticed to. “I can’t, unfortunately. I have a press event tomorrow morning in Time’s Square, so it’s easier for me to just stay in New York until it’s over.”
Tony hums his agreement. “You’re definitely right. It’s for the best. I dunno how Sam would fly both you and James back to DC with his wings—“
“I don’t even have the wings with me,” Sam interrupts with a roll of his eyes. “What is it with you and the pack, man? You gave it to me.”
“I need to know about this jet pack thing,” Bucky adds. “I mean, I saw Sam’s getup when he was deployed, but…” He holds up his arm and waggles the metal fingers, grinning. “I know how over the top Stark Industries goes. It’s probably better than with the Air Force or Army could provide.”
Bucky’s smile does things to Steve’s stomach. He grips his coffee cup more tightly, very aware that Natasha is watching him, unblinking.
Tony shoves a piece of waffle in his mouth and stands up. “Well, James, today’s your lucky day because I can show you. I have another one I’ve been working on.” He raises his fork in the air. “To the lab!”
Sam blinks. “You made another one? Another set of wings?”
Tony pins him with an innocently confused expression. “I mean, what happens if you break the one I gave you when we have the Avengers assemble? You need to have a backup so we can have backup.”
Bucky’s eyes widen, and he gasps before turning to look accusingly at Steve. “You told me he wasn’t an Avenger!”
Steve rolls his eyes. “He isn’t!”
“Don’t you remember Rule Number One?” Clint asks.
Bucky shrugs and pushes away from the table. “To the lab!” he repeats, fist-pumping the air, and follows Tony, who’s already walking out the door. He only glances back at Steve once, but it’s very obvious and Steve feels like his brain might fizzle out.
Sam stands up, disrupting his personal crisis. “Hell yeah.”
Clint sighs and stands, too. “Goddamnit, now I need to see this.”
Distracted, at least for the moment, Steve bites his lip to stop from laughing while Pepper just pinches the bridge of her nose and mutters, “It’s like I run a daycare for grown men who protect the country. What have I done with my life.”
The dinging room becomes strangely silent. Steve isn’t sure if Pepper senses it, because she excuses herself and clears out, citing Stark Industries business not long after, and then it’s just Steve and Natasha. Steve doesn’t need to look up to know she’s still watching him even though she’s pretending to play Candy Crush on her phone. He’s surprised it takes her the full five minutes it does for her to break the quiet.
“So,” she says. “You got in late last night.”
Steve settles his elbows on the tabletop and fixes her with his Disappointed American Hero look. “I expect this from Tony, but not from you.”
She leans back in her chair and holds up her hands defensively, but there’s a little smirk tilting up the corners of her lips. “Whoa, there, Cap. Just starting up a little bit of conversation.”
Steve huffs out a laugh. “Sure you are. You’re pretty bad at this for a spy.”
Natasha’s smirk turns into a full-out grin, and even though Steve isn’t attracted to her that way, his chest constricts. She doesn’t smile much— at least, not smiles that he thinks are 100% genuine— and it makes him happy to know he can not only cause it, but be a recipient, as well. It definitely widens the crack in his armor, and he finds himself talking without another prompt from her.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” he admits. “I’ve never, you know, dated.”
Her smile dims slightly as she tilts her head to the side. “This isn’t a tactical op, Steve.”
He sighs. “It feels like one. We just grabbed a bite to eat last night, and when we got back to the Tower, I didn’t know if I should go after him or not. I didn’t, but I’m still not sure if I made the right choice.”
Natasha studies him for a few moments, very obviously weighing her words before she speaks. It’s the same look Sam gave him last night, and Steve wants to reach across the table and shake her, to tell her he doesn’t need to be handled, but instead he sits there, lips pursed, and stares right back at her.
She surprises him, though, when she crosses her arms over her chest and bluntly states, “I’ve got this feeling that you tackle all of your relationships as Captain America and not as Steve Rogers.”
For a moment, he considers denying it, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to get Natasha to believe him. He reminds himself that he wanted the kid gloves to come off when he replies, “It’s kind of hard not to, considering that is who I am.”
Natasha raises a brow, looking for all intents and purposes like a cat that caught the cream. “No, it’s not who you are. It’s a part of you, a big part, but it doesn’t make up the whole of Steve Rogers. You were Steve long before you were Cap, and he’s the bones of the whole Star Spangled Hero operation you’ve got going on.”
Steve scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. “So people keep telling me.”
“Maybe you should start listening,” she offers. “You’re a real boy, Cap, even if the job keeps trying to tell you you’re still a puppet.”
“I get that reference,” Steve says dryly.
She chuckles, but her expression is softer than before. “You don’t need to plan it. Just do what your gut tells you and you’ll be fine.”
“You want me to trust my gut? That’s the best advice I can get from a secret assassin?” Steve teases.
Natasha just gives him a look. “I’ve seen your gut in action plenty of times. It’s usually right. There’s a reason everyone on your team is still alive.”
Steve grits his teeth and ducks his head. “It’s not the same.”
“Love and war, Steve.” She stands and gives a little stretch. “Come on, let’s go see if Clint’s managed to convince Tony and Sam to let him put on the pack.”
***
“That was awesome,” Bucky’s saying as Steve and Natasha walk into the lab.
It takes about a millisecond for Steve to see what he’s referring to.
Laying on top of one of Tony’s very pretty, red Ferraris is Clint. He looks a lot worse for wear than when he left the dining room about twenty minutes ago, and while Steve didn’t see the jetpack or the Ferrari before, he imagines they looked a lot better, too. The wings of the pack resemble gnarled braids of metal, and the pack itself smokes daintily, thin, dark plumes surrounding a groaning Clint. The roof of the car itself is caved in beneath the archer’s weight, and shards of glass from the windows and the windshield litter the the ground.
They all watch as one of Tony’s robots rolls over. It stops in front of the wrecked car, points a hose upwards, and blasts Clint with what Steve assumes is fire-extinguisher fluid. Clint doesn’t even flinch as he’s covered in white foam, just grunts and mutters, “fuck me.”
Sam and Bucky freeze for a few moments, eyes widening, and then they’re both doubled over laughing. Sam all but stumbles into Bucky, and Bucky throws his metal arm around Sam’s shoulders as he shakes, sharp, gasping breathes mingled with choked laughter. Steve’s sucks in a breath and holds it while he watches. It takes him a moment, but he thinks there’s something about Bucky that reminds him of Natasha. He’s jaded and puts up airs, so seeing him laugh with such abandon makes warmth curl through him because Steve gets the feeling this kind of happiness doesn’t burst from Bucky often.
Natasha nudges him a bit and Steve tears his eyes away, blush creeping up his neck.
“I’ve never been happier than I can’t get Dum-E to work properly,” Tony states, deadpan, as he surveys the damage, “because both that pack and that car are probably worth more than everything you own combined times a million.”
“You know his track record in the field and you let him put it on,” Natasha says. “You did this to yourself.”
“But he did it to my car,” Tony whines.
Bucky and Sam still hang on to each other, wiping tears from their eyes and huffing out wet breaths. Bucky’s hair is ruffled and positively sinful combined with his flushed face, so Steve is forced to busy himself by helping Natasha peel Clint off of the car and then peeling him out of the still smoking jetpack. Clint, to his merit, gives an ornate wave of his hand and bows once he’s done scooping the fire extinguisher foam off of his face.
“Encore,” Sam manages between choked laughs.
Natasha shoots him a glare.
Sam immediately straightens up and points to Bucky. “It was him. He said it.”
Bucky swallows his laugh but makes eye contact with Natasha all the same. “Ma’am.”
Steve has to turn away so he won’t laugh.
“Pepper wasn’t kidding,” Natasha mutters to herself, then raises her voice. “All right, boys, time to end the fun. This idiot and I have a plane to catch.”
Natasha helps a hobbling Clint out of the lab first, quietly admonishing him while he grins down at her, and Tony waves them all off as he programs some repairs for his car, so Steve follows Bucky and Sam out. The two of them walk ahead of him, shoulder to shoulder and heads bowed towards each other as they laugh. Steve feels a momentary pang of jealousy, but it’s ridiculous, so he stuffs it back down.
At the elevators, Sam glances over his shoulder. “When are you back in D.C?”
“Probably Wednesday.”
“Are we on for movie night Friday, then?”
“You bet,” Steve says. “Your turn to pick.”
Sam doesn’t do what he normally does when it’s his turn to pick— rub his hands together and grin like a madman. Instead, he gives Steve a meaningful look, eyes wide and glaring at him. He nods a few times, and Steve frowns, unsure of what it all means, until Sam directs his attention to Bucky, who isn’t paying attention, thank god. Steve almost laughs, but he swallows it and the embarrassment down.
“You’re, uh, welcome to tag along, Bucky,” he says. “If you’re not busy.”
Sam’s expression mellows just as Bucky turns around. He glances briefly at Sam before smiling at Steve. “Yeah, sure. I’m down.”
***
Bucky becomes a regular at movie night.
At first, Steve is nervous. He doesn’t know what to say or do, the tense current of attraction still at the forefront for him, but Bucky never seems flustered and never mentions the night of the gala. Steve wonders if he read Bucky all wrong, and he wonders so hard that he contemplates bringing it up himself— his gut keeps telling him to, and Natasha told him to listen to it—except he does like where things stand for the most part. While he wouldn’t be opposed to something more than friendship, he’s severely lacking in the friend department, and it’s nice to have someone besides Sam to relax with on a regular basis. Bucky, like Sam, offers him some semblance of normal, metal arm aside. He laughs easily and he critiques the Avengers’ group dynamic when he sees them on television like he’s critiquing a football game. There’s something charmingly casual about Bucky’s presence, and so much so that Steve has to remind himself time and time again that Bucky is still recovering despite everything. He doesn’t want to rock the boat or lose a friend, so he talks himself off the ledge and just lets it be.
Plus, it helps that they always hang out with Sam. Even though Bucky’s number is programmed into Steve’s phone and they occasionally send each other text messages, they don’t get together just the two of them.
That is, until a few months in when Sam’s name, number, and photo pop up on Steve’s Starkphone two hours before they’re supposed to watch Robocop so Steve can finally understand all of the jokes Tony shoots Bucky’s way.
Steve dusts charcoal on his pants and tears his eyes away from the vase still-life he set up before he picks up. “Rogers.”
“Hey, man,” Sam says by way of greeting. “Bad news. I don’t think I’m going to make it tonight. I’ve got a last minute meeting and it’s going to run the kind of late where it’s five o’clock right now and I’m about to get me another coffee.”
“Oh.” Steve feels sweat prickle the back of his neck. “Yeah, no problem.”
Sam is silent for several moments and then he huffs a laugh. “Steve, it’s going to be fine.”
Steve offers his most convincing, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, you do. Don’t give me that bullshit, and don’t cancel on him. Seriously, man, he still doesn’t get out much, and he loves movie night. Don’t cancel on him.”
Steve sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, then has to stop himself from cursing when he remembers he’s got charcoal all over his hands. “Yeah, okay.”
“Good man. Take one for the team. Take one for yourself, while you’re at it. Now, I’ve gotta chug this coffee and make like a leaf.”
Steve snorts. “I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”
“Nah, I think it is. I’ll text you later, Steve.”
The line goes dead, and Steve doesn’t even have time to set the phone down before it buzzes. He looks at the screen.
BUCKY: just got a text from sam. you still up for tonight? its cool if not.
Steve stares at the message for a full five minutes before he types back.
STEVE: 7pm still work?
BUCKY: yup. i’ll bring chinese.
STEVE: Sounds good. Egg rolls please!
BUCKY: so needy
Bucky shows up at seven o’clock on the dot with a bag of carry out and six-pack of beer he knows Steve likes even though Steve doesn’t feel the effects of it. He’s dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a grey zip-up over a white t-shirt, his long hair pulled back into a bun. The glove on his left hand is on. He offers a wide, close-lipped smile, cheeks dimpling, and walks into Steve’s apartment while Steve holds open the door. Bucky sets the food down on Steve’s coffee table and then immediately pulls off the glove. Neither of them say anything while they get set up and Bucky scrolls through the movie list on Steve’s fancy new smart TV.
“Are we still watching Robocop?”
Steve looks up as Bucky shrugs out of his hoodie. “I’m up for it if you are, but I’m the one who hasn’t seen it before.”
“The question is,” Bucky says as he leans back, “do you want to watch the amazingly awful 80’s original, or do you want to watch the marginally better remake that’s got better special effects?”
Steve taps his lips with his index finger. “That’s a great question.”
To his left, Bucky chuckles.
Steve turns towards him, nearly hitting Bucky’s knee with his own. “What’s funny?”
Bucky flashes him some teeth. “You always look like you use as much brainpower considering silly things as you do important things. You probably have this same expression during debriefs and shit.”
Steve runs a hand through his hair and laughs. “Yeah, I guess I can be overly serious sometimes. Natasha tells me I tackle civilian life like it’s a tactical op.”
Bucky shrugs and looks back at the television. He doesn’t seem tense, but there’s a gentleness to his tone that wasn’t there before. “Never said it was a bad thing, Cap.”
“Well, it is if you want me to make a decision sometime this century.”
“80’s original it is, then,” Bucky says with conviction.
“I trust your judgement.”
“My judgement, oh man— we’ll watch Judge Dredd next time.” He starts the movie.
Once the movie’s on, some of the tension melts away. They eat fried rice straight out of the containers, and Bucky bought Steve three orders of egg rolls, which Steve systematically polishes off while he tries not to think about the fact that Bucky already keeps his ridiculous metabolism in mind.
His phone rings about halfway through, and Steve groans as Bucky reaches for the remote to pause the film. Natasha’s name and number light up the screen.
“I’m really sorry,” Steve says. “No one calls this line unless they need something important except for Tony.”
Bucky scrunches up his face in a “no problem” expression and waves at him, so Steve picks up.
“Rogers.”
“Steve,” Natasha grits, the line crackling with static, “I hate to ruin movie night, but we need you now.”
“Status report,” he demands. Next to him, Bucky tenses.
“A lot of men with guns. Possibility of an explosive or two. They’ve got hovercrafts. We’re thinking Hydra, but it’s unclear at this point. Tony’s got a jet on the way to you now, ETA twelve minutes. Hope your neighbors don’t mind a little noise in the street.” She pauses. “We need to rethink this living in DC thing. I needed you twenty minutes ago.”
Guilt stabs at Steve; he pushes it aside. “Suiting up. I’ll be there soon.”
The line goes dead and Steve stands. He looks down at Bucky and tries to muster up a smile, but he doesn’t think he succeeds.
“I’m sorry, Buck, but I have to—“
“You don’t need to apologize to me. I’ll clean this up. Get ready, Cap.”
Steve nods stiffly and hurries to his room, barely through the door before he starts taking off his shift and unbuttoning his pants.
It takes him ten minutes to get the suit on over the thin bodysuit he wears beneath it, and when he walks back into the living room, shield already on his back, he fully expects Bucky to be gone. He isn’t, though. He sits on the arm of the couch, shoes on, and is scrolling through his phone. He looks up when Steve walks in.
“I mean, it’s not the booty-short look,” he says seriously, “but I think you pull it off.”
Steve laughs softly. “Thanks, I think.”
Bucky looks like he might say something else, but Steve’s phone goes off again. Steve tries to reel in his frustration, and the cough-laugh from Bucky makes him think he fails. This time, it is Tony, but he’s forced to pick up since he knows the Avengers have been assembled.
“Rogers.”
“Hey, Cap. Can’t talk long. I’m being shot at. But hey, do me a solid and bring Robocop with you.”
“What?” Steve hisses, and he chances a very brief look at Bucky, who’s watching him with raised brows. He turns away immediately and growls, “No. Why would I bring him towards trouble?”
A muted explosion sounds in the background and Tony grunts, like he’s just been hit. He sounds less amused when he speaks next. “He’s due to come in next week for maintenance. It just makes things easier, Steve. Bring him with you. He can stay cozy and safe in the Tower.”
“This is a horrible idea,” Steve snaps and ends the call.
He stays where he is for a few moments, the phone gripped in his hand so tightly he won’t be surprised if there are cracks in the screen when he finally lets go. The thought of bringing Bucky to the front lines makes him want to just ignore Tony, but he decides to leave it up to Bucky.
When he turns back around, Bucky’s watching him expectantly, his expression carefully blank.
“Tony wants me to bring you with,” Steve says tightly. “For early maintenance on the arm.”
Something shifts in Bucky’s expression. “And you don’t want me to tag along.”
“It’s dangerous,” Steve starts, but Bucky rolls his eyes.
“I can handle dangerous just fine, pal.”
“Except you shouldn’t have to on someone’s whim.” Steve grits his teeth. “This isn’t a game, Buck.”
“I don’t think it is,” Bucky says, and there’s steel in his voice now. “I understand war, Steve. I lived it for nearly a decade, and it took my arm away. It took a lot of me away. I’ve only just started to get any of it back. I will be okay, though. I can handle a few gunshots in the distance while I’m luxuriating it up in Stark’s penthouse.”
Steve ducks his head, breathing out of his nose because his throat feels so tight he can barely swallow his own spit.
“Steve.”
He looks up. Bucky’s six, maybe seven inches from him now. He reaches out with his right hand and gives Steve one, two gentle claps on the cheek, very buddy-like, but then something shifts in his expression yet again and he allows his fingers, warm and calloused, to curl around the curve of Steve’s face. The movement of his thumb is almost unnoticeable, but Steve can feel the barely-there caress against his cheekbone, and he watches, eyes wide and heart hammering like Mjolnir, as Bucky’s gaze studies the planes of his face, searching.
“It’ll be fine,” Bucky says gently. “They don’t think about it, do they? That you’ve lost people, too.”
Steve’s ears ring and he swallows the lump in his throat. “Buck.”
“You won’t lose me,” Bucky adds, and he punctuates it with a rakish grin.
Steve exhales raggedly through his mouth. Bucky takes another step forward, the toes of his sneakers pressed to Steve’s dark blue boots, and for a moment, Steve thinks Bucky’s going to lean forward and kiss him. His eyes are like storm clouds and his lips are still parted even as the smile slips away.
Steve doesn’t know if he’s furious or relieved when the stuttering hum of a jet engine punctuates the heavy silence between them and breaks whatever’s there. Bucky steps back, his hand falling away, and shoves both of them in the pockets of his hoodie. There’s a barely-there flush on his cheeks.
“Duty calls,” he says, raspy, and then heads for the door before Steve can respond.
Dogs bark and dozens of people from the neighborhood crowd around their front doors as Steve and Bucky climb into the jet parked neatly in the middle of the street. Steve offers a wave in the hopes that it will stave off some of the neighborhood backlash, but then they’re strapping in and taking back off.
The jet’s capability means the hour-long commercial flight to New York only takes about twenty minutes. Neither Steve nor Bucky say anything to each other the entirety of the time they’re in the air. Bucky doesn’t look at him, just stares at his feet and occasionally checks his phone, and Steve is wrapped up in the chatters on his comms since he was outfitted with an earpiece about thirty seconds into the flight. His team, not surprisingly, abuses their communication line like they always do.
The ride gets bumpy as they arrive in New York, but they land on top of Stark Tower without issue. Bucky is lead off of the jet with a few SHIELD agents surrounding him to make sure she he isn’t caught in any crossfire, which is completely possible since a few of the enemy agents have what look like hovercrafts. Steve regrets for the sixtieth time allowing Bucky to be pulled into this, even if he’s meant to stay on the sidelines.
Once Steve’s on roof and Bucky is being lead away, he surveys the city from his perch. There’s smoke billowing up in dark plumes from several buildings and a few cars that are definitely on fire, but nothing’s been blown up, from what he can tell. All of the buildings, even the ones that are smoking, are intact. Tony zooms by in the distance, a blur of red against the dark sky, and the Hulk roars. Steve pulls his cowl over his face.
“Steve.”
Steve glances over his shoulder, surprise to hear Bucky’s voice. He was sure he’d already been ushered inside, but there he is, surging forward even though two agents have iron grips on either of his shoulders.
“Give ‘em hell,” Bucky says and offers a salute before he’s pulled inside.
Steve can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, but the moment’s short. As the doors close behind Bucky and the agents, one of the enemy combatants zooms across the rooftop on his hovercraft. A few remaining SHIELD agents fire, and the distraction allows Steve to pulls his shield from his back and toss it. It hits the man in the throat as he nears Steve and he flies off of the craft, clutching at his crushed trachea. Steve sprints, catching his shield as it ricochets off of the jet just before he grabs a handlebar of the hovercraft, tugs it towards him, and hops on before the machine can turn upside down. It’s enough like his Harley that he manages to break before it flies off of the roof again.
“Cap just stole a hovercraft. Oh my god, JARVIS, tell me you recorded that,” Tony says in Steve’s ear.
“Let’s get to work,” Steve grouses.
“We’ve been working,” Clint says cheerfully. “You’re the one who needs to catch up.”
Steve huffs. “Just tell me how to work this thing.”
***
Steve is on the ground. Most of the people in a two mile radius have been evacuated, and the majority of the enemy hovercrafts have been torn out of the sky by Clint’s arrows, Iron Man’s repulsors, or the Hulk’s hands. There are still foot soldiers everywhere, though, crawling out of the woodwork like vermin. It leaves a bad taste in Steve’s mouth.
“This is a distraction,” he grits out when he meets up with Natasha. “It has to be. There’s no end game that I can make out, so what are we missing?”
“I agree.” Natasha runs a hand through her hair, pushing tangled, red locks away from her sweaty forehead. “Maybe we should—“
Her words end in a rattling inhale of breath as a bullet hits her square in the shoulder. She stumbles back and then manages a controlled fall to the concrete below. Steve is at her side within seconds, shield raised to protect them as he inspects the wound. Blood bubbles past her body suit and rolls down her chest in thick rivets. She grits her teeth against pain as Steve prods.
“Widow is down,” Steve states into the comms as he presses his hand to the would to staunch the bleeding. “Repeat, Widow is down. I need medical evac.”
“Steve,” Natasha hisses, and he looks up.
There are three men standing above them, armed to the teeth and pointing very large guns in their direction. Steve stays stock still, not wanting to provoke them into shooting before he can talk or strong-arm his way out of it. He’s not sure if either method would work. If they’d shown up minutes before, it wouldn’t have mattered that there were three versus two, but Steve and Natasha are at a disadvantage with their positioning and Natasha’s injury.
Not that it would stop either of them. Natasha shifts next to him, still pressed up against his side, and Steve quickly realizes she’s trying to very carefully reach for her side holster. Steve lowers the shield minutely to better block her body movements.
One of the men tenses. “Drop the shield, Captain.”
Before Steve can respond, each of the men crumples milliseconds after the other until they all lie dead, blood leaking steadily from wounds in their heads.
Steve and Natasha stare.
“Clint,” Natasha says slowly. “Was that you?”
“What?” the archer replies, confused. “No. What?”
Static hisses over the comms for a moment, and then there’s a beep, signaling someone joining the frequency.
“Barnes here.” He sounds grim and resigned, and it makes Steve’s heart break a little despite everything else going on. “They just got me fitted with an earpiece.”
“Why did you need one?” Natasha asks conversationally, leaning heavy against Steve. She’s got a hand pressed to her injury, the other still on her gun.
“There was an infiltration at the Tower. I’ve got six dead in what I assume is Stark’s server room by the looks of it and four more in the workshop.” Bucky pauses, and then adds, “And the three at your feet, Cap. Sorry I was late to the party.”
“What?” Steve says at the same time Tony demands, “In my server room? In my fucking lab? How?”
“A few of the SHIELD agents were playing both sides, I think.” Bucky sighs, some of the words muffled, like he’s rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not sure, though. It all happened fast. Good thing this arm can pop out of most restraints, huh? What’s it made of, anyway, Tony? Adamantiaum? They tried to shoot me and bullets just bounce the fuck off.”
“You made those shots?” Natasha sits up straighter with Steve’s help. She’s pale, but at least the bleeding’s started “We’re a mile from the Tower, James.”
“I was a sniper, guys,” Bucky states, almost sounding amused. “You do remember that, right? I know you all read my file.”
Natasha hums thoughtfully. “Clint, you’ve been deposed.”
“It was only a mile,” Clint grumbles. “And I was busy!”
“Focus,” Steve snaps, and the comms go quiet. He wants to address Bucky, to release some of the anger and guilt boiling over inside of him, but he can’t, not now. They still have a mission. “Tony, what are they after?”
“I don’t know, honestly,” Tony says. “I’ve got a few things cooking in the workshop right now—“ He stops abruptly. “Well, fuck.”
“What is it”
“I’ve been working with SHIELD on a project.”
The entire team groans.
“I know, I know. This is why I was hesitant in the first place.”
“What is it?” Steve asks. “That you’re working on.”
“An AI defense program. SHIELD doesn’t have any of the specs because of shit like this, but there’s enough information going through the grapevine, maybe some of the basics stored on their servers. Goddamnit. James, is JARVIS active in the tower?”
“No.”
Tony exhales loudly. “He’s still active with my HUD, so I’m not sure what’s going on. I’ll be at the Tower in five.”
“Pick up Widow on your way,” Steve says. “We’re at 7th and 31st.”
“On my way.”
***
Steve doesn’t see Bucky for another three hours while they finish rounding up the remaining enemy agents, and then they’re being debriefed in one of Stark Tower’s committee rooms. Tony refuses to allow any of the SHIELD operatives into the room except for Fury and Maria Hill, and he asks them not to speak until he can have JARVIS do a full scan of the tower. He’s twitchy and seething, and Steve wonders when he slept last, especially because he doubts Tony will get any sleep in the next forty-eight hours.
By the time the debrief actually starts, they’re all exhausted and Fury is something beyond angry, though not at the Avengers for once. Bucky sits on the other side of the table next to Natasha. He not only looks exhausted, but there’s a nasty bruise on his cheek, dried blood on his hairline, and more blood spattered across the back of his metal hand. Steve doesn’t think the blood on his hand is his.
The debrief lasts nearly two hours, and most of the team leaves around the time Tony and Fury are standing toe to toe and yelling at each other about accountability. Steve’s the first one out, but he waits outside the doors. Natasha and Clint appear first, Bruce dragging behind them, but they take one look at Steve’s face and continue down the hall towards the elevators without a word.
“Hey, guys,” Bucky calls as he crosses the threshold into the hall, then does a double take when he realizes Steve is leaning against he wall, arms crossed, waiting for him.
“You’re on your own, man,” Clint replies.
Bucky turns fully towards Steve. He’s hesitant, Steve can tell, but he still says, “Hey.”
Steve doesn’t reply. He grabs Bucky’s right hand and drags him towards the elevators.
The hall is empty, thankfully, the rest of the team already having gotten on, and he waits for the second set of doors to open, pulling Bucky in after him. He hits his floor and stares at the panel. It’s taking him more effort than he likes to control his breathing, but he’s afraid he’ll explode if he doesn’t maintain some semblance of stability.
“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, two steps behind him even though their hands are still joined. “Hey, listen—“
“Stop talking,” Steve says, his voice some strained combination of Captain America’s demand for respect and a wildness that makes his pitch rise on it’s own.
Bucky listens.
Steve’s suite may be exactly how he left it when he was here a few weeks ago— he can’t be sure, though, because he doesn’t turn on a light. Bucky closes the door behind them, still not speaking but not pulling his hand out of Steve’s, either. They stand there in the dark for what feels like an eternity before Bucky starts to fidget, his palm sweating against Steve’s.
“You could have died,” Steve murmurs finally. “You could have died, Buck.”
“I told you I can take care of myself,” Bucky says indignantly. “Also, I’m not dead. I’m right here, and I’m not some fragile—”
Steve turns around and pulls Bucky in at the same time. They bump chests and Bucky grunts, and then in three strides he has Bucky crowded against the closed door. Bucky inhales sharply and even though he can’t see him, Steve can hear him gulp. It stops him a few inches from Bucky’s mouth, close enough that he can feel the other man’s hot breath on his lips. Neither of them are clear headed right now, and in the elevator, Bucky looked like he was about to fall forward from exhaustion. Steve doesn’t think this is the right time, even though his mind is screaming for it. He shouldn’t—
“God, please don’t stop now,” Bucky rasps, his metal hand gripping Steve’s hip tightly.
Steve throws caution to the wind and kisses him.
Bucky makes a whining sound, high pitched and needy, in the back of his throat. Steve frames Bucky’s face with his hands, careful of the bruising, and presses forward until he and Bucky touch from clavicles to hips. Bucky tries to pull him closer by his tactical belt, his stubble grating against Steve’s cheek as he tilts his head and licks at his lips.
“You could have died,” Steve repeats again, breathless this time, and rests his forehead against Bucky’s.
“So could you.” Bucky’s arms wrap around his waist and he spreads his legs so Steve fits even more flawlessly against him. “I killed one of them with my fucking hand, but the rest were put down by SHEILD. I just wanted to find you, needed eyes on you, so I asked for a scope, and there you were with Nat bleeding and these guys ready to shoot you. They were going to shoot you.”
Steve shakes his head. “I signed up for it, but you didn’t,” he manages.
Bucky barks a very non-amused laugh. “Yeah, well, too fucking bad. I’m in it now, I guess.”
“No, Bucky, you don’t—”
Bucky tugs sharply on Steve’s waist, and Steve gasps at the pressure of Bucky’s groin against his own.
“If this is what I think it is, then yeah, I’m in.” Bucky leans his head back against the door, a gentle thud. “Please tell me this is what I think it is. If I’ve been pining for months and you’re just riding the last bits of adrenaline, I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself except die a slow, excruciating death.”
Steve chuckles. “It’s what you think it is.”
“I should let you know what you’re getting into, then,” Bucky says, and he nuzzles his nose against Steve’s jaw. “I still have nightmares. Sam calls me at all hours to make sure I’m eating and being human. I call Sam when he doesn’t call me because I hate being by myself but I hate going out. Sometimes I just watch Animal Planet all day.”
Steve full-on laughs now. “Are you sure you’re not describing me?”
“I’m serious, Steve,” Bucky says lowly.
“Me, too.”
“And the arm.”
“I don’t care about your arm.” Steve pulls Bucky’s metal hand to his lips and brushes them against the palm. Bucky gasps and Steve wishes he could see his face. “You’re amazing. All of it.”
Bucky’s laugh is breathless. “How are you even real.”
“Science,” Steve says, deadpan.
“Not this,” Bucky scoffs, splaying his free hand over Steve’s chest. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—I can’t wait to get you naked— but you’re just… you’re so…”
He trails off, but his lips find Steve’s again, and they kiss slowly, still pressed against the door, until a few bangs on the other side make Steve jump and Bucky slam the back of his head back in surprise. He hisses out a few curses.
“Steve,” Sam yells, “you son of a bitch, why do I have the damned wings if you’re not gonna call me and tell me you need help!”
“He has help!” Bucky snaps before Steve can quiet him.
Silence, and then, “Oh, shit, man. You finally did it! Good on you! Natasha won the bet, though. Damnit.” More silence. “Wait, help how? Did you suit up? Steve, did you let James suit up before me? Not cool, man! Not cool!”