Chapter Text
With it raining cats and dogs outside and a couple storm warnings sitting on the horizon, it’s no wonder the library is so slow today. The weather is usually a good indicator as to how busy they’ll be and today proves that point in the best kind of way because it gives Steve the chance to kick back with a couple books while Clint continues his rounds of “Hi, this is Clint from the Bed-Stuy Public Library” while asking people why the fuck they haven’t returned their books yet. Of course, Steve could help, but he’s apparently “less eloquent” than even Clint.
“That guy,” steams Clint with a low breath that betrays his hovering anger. “That guy just tried to fuckin’ tell me that, despite our records, he would, and I quote, ‘never in his life check out 50 Shades of Gray’, which means he’s a goddamn liar ‘cause he still has it ‘cause it’s in the system as late and it’s probably sticky as all hell right now and-“
“Oh look, Bucky’s here,” says Steve with a big fake grin because Clint needs to stop talking before he works himself up even more and says something even worse. “That means it’s lunch time! No more calls for you!”
“You should let me bring Lucky to work, Lucky would love to come to work,” Clint mumbles as he leans back in his chair and lays his arm dramatically across his eyes. “He’d be my therapy dog ‘cause I don’t like dealing with these assholes.”
“Nah, no need to bring ‘im out in this rain unless you gotta,” says Bucky as he drops a large pizza in front of Clint and a personal pan-size one closer to Steve. “ ‘sides, you need more than just a dog. You’d need like five sessions a week with the best therapist money can buy.”
Clint whines low and reaches out blindly for the pizza box that he knows is nearby. “They don’t pay me enough for that.” He’s grinning as he adds, “Bucky, buy me a therapist.”
With a roll of his eyes, Bucky opens up the large pizza box and offers a slice of whatever Rumlow fucked up today to Clint’s desperately pawing hand. “They don’t pay me enough for that,” he reiterates right back.
Steve lets them have their way, knowing those two could go on for hours about their lives’ woes. At some point it’ll probably turn into Bucky bitching about his arm while Clint whimpers about how awful his dad was to him. Both very serious topics, both turned into this sad pathetic festival of two grown men complaining loudly in the middle of a library.
It’s usually better to ignore them.
What’s a better way to ignore them than to help someone check out a book? Shoving part of the small pizza in his mouth (who would put apple slices on a pizza, for the love of God), Steve wipes his hands on his jeans (because he’s a professional at handling books and must have very clean hands) and looks up to see who was on the approach—
—only to see that it was none other than the resident not-quite-a-jackass college kid.
“Hey, Stevie,” says Tony with a grin, dropping some rental DVDs on the desk. He’s got an umbrella hooked on his belt, and he’s wearing a red rain jacket. He’s got some kind of helmet on his head, probably for a scooter of some kind if Steve had to guess.
“Please don’t call me that.” Steve starts to run the DVDs over the bar code scanner with the occasional glance up at Tony; he notices that Clint and Bucky have gone relatively quiet, both nursing their slices of pizza.
“Sorry, sorry.” His apology is quick, and his grin only falters for a second. Somehow, he looks shaken. Steve didn’t think he’d been that gruff? Maybe he had been?
And now Bucky, being the schmuck he is, decides to start up a conversation to make the quiet less unbearably awkward. “Is that Fight Club?”
Tony bangs a fist on the desk (Steve jumps slightly at the suddenness of it) and then goes, “Fuck yeah, it’s Fight Club.”
Through a mouthful of pizza, Clint comments, “There’s a comic about that, y’know.” He points with his slice towards the kids section and adds, “I think we have some of them over towards the graphic novels.”
“They’re onto the second run, I thought?” questions Bucky, who doesn’t have pizza in his mouth.
Muffled by cheese and crust, Clint asks, “Fuck, are they?”
Steve has to interfere: “Do you have your library card?”
Tony starts to pat his pockets and eventually produces the card while Clint and Bucky continue to chatter like children behind Steve. Steve takes the card and swipes it through the machine. An alert appears on the screen. “Your card apparently expired yesterday.”
“That…” He doesn’t even look annoyed. Not even distressed. His face reads something more along the lines of that this just seems to be his luck, that something bad should happen. “That sucks.”
“I can get you a new one if you’d like?” offers Steve with a raised brow as he hands the old card back to Tony. He’s not even sure why he hands it back, but it just feels right. “Doesn’t cost anything. You’ll just have to fill out a couple papers. Shouldn’t take long.”
Tony opens his mouth, and considering he’s the kind of guy who seems to like to hear himself talk, Steve’s surprised to hear no words come out for a moment. Instead, there’s a mildly frustrated sigh as he says, “Yeah, sure.”
“Honestly,” chimes Bucky from the background again like he needs to somehow be a part of whatever this is, “I think the DVDs are the best part of this godforsaken place.”
“Nah.” Clint finally talks without Steve worrying he might choke. “Internet here is pretty speedy.”
Tony takes the clipboard that Steve hands him with which to fill out his paperwork. “The company isn’t bad either,” mutters Tony as he clicks a pen exactly five times before going to town on the papers in what can only be described as chicken scratch as Steve watches him write.
“Hey, Bucky! We should go see if we have that Fight Club comic in the graphic novels!” Clint is upright instantly, wiping his hands all over his collared purple shirt to rid his palms of the pizza crumbs.
“That sounds like a great idea,” says Bucky with a grin that Steve can’t quite identify. “And we could check on Sam while we’re at it.”
And they’re gone, sidling into the aisle upon aisle of books, heading to what can only be seen as the great mysterious beyond of an unfathomable amount of books. And the graphic novels section is a hot mess, hasn’t been sorted for a while. Steve actually hopes that maybe Clint’ll take a few minutes to organize some of the books…
“I think this is all you’ll need?”
Steve snaps back to looking at Tony, who has a broad ass smile on his face, a grin that Steve has now seen a dozen times to the point where it feels as familiar and welcoming. But still just as awkward as the first time that Tony smiled at him. Actually, the first couple of times—
“Anything else?”
Tony’s voice brings him back again from being lost in what feels like a distant memory but was only a few weeks ago. “No, no,” affirms Steve after glancing over the form Tony’s just handed him. “Looks good.” All the lines on the form are filled out in a sort of scrawl that chicken scratch doesn’t even properly define. “I can have you a new card within the hour.”
“Does that mean I just have to hang out around here or…?”
“If you want.” Steve shrugs as he puts Tony’s information into the system, still standing while typing dutifully away. His brain is in autopilot with putting in the information. “Or I could get it to you next time you’re in if you don’t have time.”
There’s a pause. “I’ll be in town ‘cause I gotta run for a group meeting, but if it’s done fast enough, can you call me? I’ll just jump over here from the coffee place the next block over and grab it.”
Steve glances at the sheet with Tony’s information. His number is there. “Yeah, I can give you a call. Shouldn’t take that long.”
Tony grins and pulls his umbrella off his belt. “Awesome.” He backs away from the desk and starts to head for the door. “Thanks, Stevie!”
“Don’t call me that,” Steve says just loud enough that he knows Tony will hear. But he goes back to typing in Tony’s information for the validation process. When he finally gets a good look at the guy’s phone number, he sees a heart scribbled after it.
He conveniently forgets to call Tony.
“He hath returned from the den of the small lions!” cries Clint boisterously as Sam decides to emerge from the kiddie corner he’s constantly caged in. The library’s children’s section is constantly full of kids, even on days where the weather is nice when compared with yesterday’s disgusting rainstorms.
“Don’t say that too loudly,” says Sam gruffly. “They’ll start arguing over who gets to be Simba.”
“I see, uh, you caught a case of the Craft Herpes?” Clint loosely gestures to Sam, whose sparkling body resembles that of a gay stripper caught in the middle of a glitter shower. Except more clothed. (Not that Steve would know anything about that sort of thing.)
“Shut the frick frack snick snack up, Clint.” Sam picks up his water bottle that was left out at this desk rather than his own desk within the aforementioned kiddie corner. It’s sad when water is his sole escape route.
Clint snickers. “Such harsh words.”
With a roll of his eyes and a distasteful gesture (that’s carefully guarded so that the children can’t see) (probably?), Sam decides to take a long swig of water and utterly ignore the shit out of Clint. Ignoring Clint is not an uncommon practice at the library.
Steve, meanwhile, is quietly enjoying an anthology of suspenseful short stories, which he’s had tucked behind the desk for like a week or two now. He’s picked it up whenever this kind of lull occurs, the kind where no one is at the desk, Clint’s got someone else to harass, and there’s nothing to do that’s absolutely necessary.
“Have they called you a Sparkle Fairy yet?” asks Clint with a devilish grin, really waiting for Sam to rip into him.
But, being the bigger man, Sam decides that Clint is irrelevant and instead turns his attention to Steve. “So I heard you got a guy comin’ around for you?”
With a sigh, Steve has to put his book down but keeps his thumb wedged between the pages to keep his place marked. “He’s not coming around for me, he’s coming around for books. He’s doing research or something, probably.”
“Research in what?” asks Sam as he futilely tries to brush the glitter from his shirt even though everyone knows it’ll never come off and he’s going to have to burn that shirt by the end of the day so he doesn’t bring the glitter home to Riley.
Steve answers absentmindedly: “Nuclear physics.”
Clint clears his throat before asking, “Steve, what book was I reading yesterday?”
There’s a delay. Because Steve has no fucking idea.
“Case and point!” Clint kicks his feet up on the desk before pulling the library copy of Devil in the White City. “Because you recommended this to me.” Clint flips open to the page that he has dog-eared, a page that’s probably been dog-eared a dozen times before. “You can’t remember what you watched me read for the better half of yesterday but you can remember what you tried to help that guy find a couple of weeks ago.”
Sam coughs and tries to hide his grin.
“Fuck you,” says Steve quickly and quietly before ducking back into his own book to ignore those two pieces of shit.
Clint’s laugh is too loud, too much, but he knows he’s fucking right.
“He came around yesterday looking for you when he picked up his new library card. I told him Wednesdays are actually your one day off.” Sam takes another swig of water. “He looked disappointed. Even after Thor helped him out, and that’s sayin’ something.”
Steve still doesn’t look up.
“He never gets this moody when it’s the girls swooning over him,” murmurs Clint, knowing very well that Steve can hear him because Clint’s version of a murmur is him talking at a regular human volume. (His regular human volume is just below a shout. No one is sure how he got a job in a library.)
Sam laughs. Still, he doesn’t comment much further than that. He taps his water bottle on the desk twice and says, “Back into the lions’ den.” Steve hears his footsteps depart for the children’s section again.
“I hope the kids don’t murder him,” laughs Clint before he picks up his book once more.
Steve sighs and responds slowly, “I’ll check on him in an hour.”
For once, Natasha is sitting next to Steve in the spot where Clint usually is. She’s quietly just rolling bullets between her fingers. Apparently, it was a stressful morning shift at the shooting range because Bucky came by and decided to have fun with it since Natasha gave him a free year-long pass, which meant he occasionally decided to just shoot things. All morning. Recklessly.
All in all, she’s currently about ready to punch Barnes next time she sees him.
Which is convenient because he’s been gone for about twenty minutes with Clint while they went to go see whether David Sedaris was in Non-Fiction or Humor because Steve couldn’t remember where it was, just that they had like three of his books.
“I’m pretty sure Barnes knows I’m gunning for him,” says Tasha as she pops her bubblegum. “I’m gonna throttle him.”
“You could just shoot him?”
If Steve wasn’t already used to her laser-eyed glare, the kind of glare that could cut glass, he would’ve flinched and then probably melted into his seat and stained the fabric. Instead, he just looks away as she fiercely says, “Goddammit, Steve, do you want me to lose my license?”
Steve mumbles something about the fact that she already has at least twenty firearms in the apartment. It’s amazing Clint hasn’t accidentally shot himself with something. He’s astonishingly clumsy before his morning cup of coffee.
Still, she continues on to say, “Besides, the man is already missing his damn arm.”
He stands up because he feels like he’s got to get out of there before she ends up shooting him. And she doesn’t even have a gun on hand because no guns are allowed in the library, so.
“I’m not gonna be a bitch and take out his damn kidney or something with a bullet.”
“Keep an eye on the desk, please and thank you!” says Steve before he heads off, hoping he doesn’t come back to a dead body, which would be an entirely different situation compared to finding a body in the stacks because the stacks don’t have cameras. The front desk does and would totally show Natasha straight up murdering someone considering the mood she’s in.
Of course, maybe he’s just being dramatic.
Still, he meanders down the aisles, hoping that Clint and Bucky didn’t get lost back here somewhere. Despite the fact that Clint actually works in the library, he often gets lost and turned around; even more often than that, he ends up asleep with a book on his face in a chair somewhere. He doesn’t read as much as Steve does, and there’s a certain point at which Steve thinks there’s something wrong with a man in a library who doesn’t read enough, but that’s only because he’s lived with his nose in a book ever since his mom taught him how to read.
His mom. It’s been a while since he’s thought about her. She taught him how to read, made sure he knew the value of a good book: since he couldn’t afford a vacation full of adventure, he could stick his nose between some pages and find an adventure there. Living vicariously through fictional characters had turned into his lifestyle.
Luckily, it turned into him walking into a library a few too many times during regular working hours, and when he was checking out at the front desk, someone just so happened to mention that the library was hiring.
And now he’s here, walking through the stacks, trying to find his goddamn coworker who has apparently run off into the stacks with his best friend. He’s also got a cute guy coming around to see him. And everything is great right now.
Up until he cannot get the mental image out of his head of Clint having Bucky pinned up against a wall back in the Humor section. With Bucky’s legs around Clint’s waist and everything.
“Oh my God,” says Steve, which is apparently just loud enough for Clint to quickly remove his tongue from the depths of Bucky’s throat and whip his head around.
Immediately, Clint goes all owl-eyed and just mouths, “Shit.”
Bucky takes only a second longer to come around because he’s distracted with catching his breath and keeping his balance because his feet aren’t on the ground and he’s only got the one arm, but eventually he looks to Steve. Bucky doesn’t look half as panicked as Clint does right now. There’s drool at the corner of his mouth, and he’s grinning wildly, head back against the shelves.
No, there’s no way Steve can wipe what he’s just seen from his brain.
“Hey, Stevie. ‘bout time you found out.”
“This wasn’t the best way to find out,” reminds Clint a little sharply as he makes sure that Bucky’s stable as he climbs off of Clint. He’s still got his arm around Bucky’s waist as he addresses Steve with, “We were gonna tell you, we just didn’t know how yet.”
“I- I mean I’m happy for you guys,” Steve stammers out, running a hand through his hair while the other is shoved deep into his pocket. “Just why- why would you be doing it in the Humor sex- I mean, section?”
Bucky laughs, hard and loud. He leans on Clint more. “We were lookin’ for Sedaris.”
Clint is less than amused, looking almost disappointed in himself. “It seemed important at the moment. This doesn’t…. It’s not a normal thing. Normally we’re in the car or something. It’s not normally a work thing.”
Steve’s wondering how Clint fit the word normal into all of that so many times.
“I should get, uh, back to the desk.” Clint removes his arm from around Bucky’s waist, but Steve doesn’t fail to notice how his hand lingers for a second too long in the small of Bucky’s back. “Sorry for abandoning you up there, Steve.”
Pushing his glasses up his nose a little further, Steve goes, “Oh no, I wasn’t left alone at the desk for long. Natasha’s there.”
Bucky’s eyes go wide at that. “Shit.” Two seconds later it’s followed by, “Fuck shit.”
Luckily, Clint’s still there and it’s endearing for Steve to see him kiss Bucky’s cheek before saying, “Told you so.” And then he’s gone, jogging through the stacks so that an actual library employee is at the front desk to help people out with actual library stuff. And make more calls. He’s always got calls to make.
Staring after Clint, Bucky asks a little warily, “So how dead am I?”
“I mean, I don’t care that you and Clint are-“
“No, Stevie, I meant with Tasha. She’s gonna have my head on a goddamn pike as soon as I try to make a break for the damn doors.” He pinches at his temple with his hand. “I just wanted to blow off some steam, I didn’t think she’d be so mad?”
“Bucky, you apparently almost shot yourself, of course she’s going to be upset.”
“The key word there is almost,” Barnes reminds adamantly while staring at the spot where Clint disappeared. He seems hesitant to try to leave the Humor section right now, like his legs are glued to the floor but the glue isn’t quite dry.
“Hell, Buck, I’m upset with you.”
Now those brown eyes turn on Steve. “Aw, Stevie, no. Don’t be like that. No, don’t gimme the disappointed look. I fucked up, I get it, but c’mon, don’t be that way.” He’s practically pleading now. “I’ll behave at the range, no more shootin’ for show, I promise.”
Steve’s still not satisfied. He knows Bucky’ll go out and do it again in a month or two because he can’t help but be a little cocky. Guy loses an arm and suddenly thinks he’s invincible. Delivers pizzas and will knock down the door of anyone who doesn’t pay. He’s almost gotten arrested a few times. But maybe at least being disappointed in him a little bit will make him think twice. And Steve only has to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself for a couple months because his annual pass is about to expire soon, and Steve’s sure that Natasha won’t make that mistake again.
“Just don’t do it again,” pleads Steve as he clasps his hand on Bucky’s shoulder—the one that isn’t attached to an arm. “I know you think you’re top shit, but you don’t need to show off anymore. This isn’t the army. It’s New York.”
There’s a sigh as Bucky agrees reluctantly. “I know, I know.” He scratches at his stubble before looking back at where Clint disappeared. “Think he’ll defend me ‘gainst Nat?”
“I think he’s probably already negotiated with her not to bring it up.” Steve knows his roommates well enough to know that Clint and Natasha are wrapped around each other’s finger. And if Clint cares about Bucky as much as he seems to, he’ll keep Natasha off Barnes’ back, even if only because he also fears her wrath and doesn’t want that unleashed on anyone else. “If not, you’re on your own.”
“Fuck you, Rogers.”
Smile. “Hi, is there something I can help you with today?”
That’s the start of every interaction. Or almost every interaction. And with Steve manning the desk alone because apparently one of the toilets in the men’s room is clogged, he’s had to get up and help every single person who has come through the doors today. And he even has to do the welcome mantra, but for some reason, he always does it in the same intonation that Clint does when he greets people on the phone.
“Welcome to the Bed-Stuy Public Library!” That falls out of his mouth every time someone walks through the sliding doors. When the doors slide open and someone leaves, he has to say, “Thanks for coming!”
It’s exhausting. Clint has been gone most of the day trying to fix the toilet. Steve told him to take a walkie talkie just in case he needed emergency back up, and so Clint took the radio, that wasn’t the problem, but what was the problem was when Clint dropped it in the toilet.
All in all, it’s going to be a long day.
The line is three people deep, and Steve is running on auto-pilot. Scan the card, scan the books. Tell them the due date. Offer them a bag. If they want it, ask them politely to bring it back. If they don’t, thank them for stopping by the library. Tell them to have a good day.
He’s been told to fuck off twice, which has been wonderful.
As soon as he gets to the last person in line, he looks up and there’s Tony. “Hi.”
Steve doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he has to move his mouth from that smile to form the word “Hi” in response.
“Books to return,” Tony says, dumping a whole bag of them on the desk. A quick glance at the titles reminds Steve that this guy has STEM written all over him. “You never called about my card being done.” And he sounds a little wounded. “Came back the next day and you weren’t working. That’s when I checked all these out.” The last part sounds like it’s justifying everything somehow as he’s gesturing to the array of books. Added on sheepishly to the end is Tony saying, “Missed your face though.”
Steve is not blushing.
Where’s Clint when you need the guy to open his big fat mouth?
“Good to see you back,” is all Steve can manage. He wants to mention the drop box they have outside and the other one that’s just two feet away where books can be returned, but he can’t bring himself to do it because he really is happy that Tony came back around.
Until about two seconds later as he flips a book open to get to the front page for the bar code scanner and notices—
“Is… is this pen?” he asks with a horrified look at Tony.
“I just had to mark up a couple notes. I only wrote in it like twice.” He apologizes quickly. “I’m sorry, I just forgot that it wasn’t one of my personal books, you know?”
Steve’s gaping at the book. And at Tony. Who does look apologetic as hell. Almost afraid, even.
“I’ll buy the library a new copy if I have to,” assures Tony although his face is contorted into a wince. “Or just give you the money to buy you a new one, I’m not sure how this works.” He’s nervous on top of everything else.
Steve has to try to talk through gritted teeth. “It’s fine.” He tries his hardest to relax. He tries so hard. But eventually he just looks up at Tony and goes, “Can’t you just use pencil?”
“It’s not the same,” says Tony with a look that’s desperate for Steve to understand what he means by those four words. “Pencil doesn’t feel the same way on paper. It’s not as smooth and it could tear holes easier and—”
“I get it.” Steve does. He knows. He only writes in pen. But he never writes in books.
“I shouldn’t have even had a writing utensil near it,” says Tony like he’s apologizing again. “I’m just getting used to not being able to go out and buy a book anymore and whatnot. My dad just cut me off and readjusting has been weird and hard, not to mention awkward. Like every time I go to check out at places, my card’s declined. This is the first place that I don’t have to worry about that because it’s a library card and that’s… I dunno, this place is just really reassuring.”
Okay, maybe Steve judged this guy a little too quickly.
“It’s fine,” promises Steve, now really meaning it. He goes back to checking the books in, but now he looks up to Tony every few seconds because the man looks crushed in a way that Steve hasn’t seen him look before. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not even bad enough, I doubt anyone else will care if they check it out. Maybe your notes’ll even help someone.”
Tony laughs and it sounds a little choked. “I don’t know why they would. I doubt anyone even reads the quantum mechanics books here. The shelves looked like they hadn’t been touched in months before I started coming around.”
That last bit sticks in Steve’s head. When Tony started coming around. Because it was weird, he just popped up out of nowhere one day, had never stepped through the doors before. Steve doesn’t remember the first day Tony was ever here, he just remembers the time he fell asleep, and maybe it makes more sense now. Sleeping here.
Steve’s heart clenches. “Let me know if I’m overstepping my bounds here,” he starts slowly, “but is that why you were asleep here that one night? Because you, uh, were…?”
“No, no, not exactly.” Tony half-laughs. “I have somewhere to live, don’t worry about that. I’m shacking up with a friend for now until I can get myself back on my feet, but he had a girl over, so I figured it’d be good to stay here as long as I could.” He sounds okay now, not as distressed as he was a second ago. “It’s just… The walls are thin in shitty apartments.”
Steve knows. Steve knows all too well. (For a second, he wonders if the sounds from Clint’s room have ever been Bucky, but that’s a mental image he doesn’t want, no sir, no thanks.)
He finished off checking in the books and slides them onto the cart behind him, the cart of books that he’s going to put away after Clint eventually returns from Toilet Hell. Then he leans on the counter. “The pizza place next door stays open about three hours later than we do most days, so if you ever want to grab a book here and sit there, they’ll let you. And if they fuck up a pizza, you can usually get it pretty cheap. Ask for a guy named Bucky and you might even be able to get it free. Dunno if that helps you out, but I’ve been where you are and I know it’s hard.”
Somehow, it looks like Tony already knew that. “Thanks for the tip.” He winks.
Steve is definitely not blushing because of that stupid innuendo.
“If you have anymore tips, you still have my number, right?” asks Tony with a slight tilt of his head in a way that looks like a curious puppy. Also a tragic puppy.
He chews on his lip for a second. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll let you know if I can think of anything else.”
Tony seems pleased. “Really, thank you,” he says. And it’s like he wants to lean forward. He does for a nanosecond before moving back and towards the door. He almost stumbles over the next person in line, and Steve hadn’t even realized a line had formed; it’s already three people deep. “Hopefully I’ll hear from you soon!” he half-hollers as he’s halfway to the door.
Steve just nods and smiles in his direction before addressing the next person in line.
Smile. “Hi, is there something I can help you with today?”