Chapter Text
Shaw’s Bar - 18:43
The wave of warm air that greets them when they step into Shaw’s Bar is like running face-first into a fug of stale beer, grease, cheap aftershave and sweat - in Sam’s opinion. Bucky looks around and nods.
‘See, now this is a proper bar,’ he says.
Sam’s face screws up. ‘What do you know? Your idea of a bar is somewhere with sawdust on the floor.’
Bucky rolls his eyes. ‘I never went to a speakeasy, Sam - I’m not that old!’ Their feet stick to the floor, though. ‘And how is this any worse than that place you dragged me to in New Orleans?’
Sam stops. ‘Okay, that place is a jazz legend, this-’ He waves a hand.
‘This is an institution. Apparently,’ Bucky states flatly. ‘And it was your idea we come here.’
‘Yeah, well, whatever…’ Sam settles into a grumble and then gives Bucky an appraising look. ‘For someone who claims to have hung out in Harlem jazz bars back in the Thirties, you sure complain about standards of cleanliness.’
‘Clubs, Sam, jazz clubs. And they were nice places. And I was not complaining about the bar, I was pointing out that you were being pretty hypocritical.’
Dark eyes widen. ‘I am not a hypocrite!’
A sigh greets this. ‘I didn’t say you were a hypocrite, I said you were being hypocritical. There’s a difference.’
‘You know I hate it when you do that.’
‘I do know that, yes,’ Bucky confirms calmly.
Sam lets out a breath of laughter,’ claps him on the shoulder. ‘Okay, old man. First round’s on me.’
It’s Boyle who sees them first, his round face glowing pink with pleased surprise and he squeaks out a little startled, ‘Oh!’
‘Thought we’d stop by,’ Sam says. ‘Y’know, supporting local businesses.’
‘Oh, and there’s these,’ Bucky adds, gruff, delving into the satchel he’s carrying and eventually retrieving a bag filled with mopane worms. He holds it out to Boyle. It rotates slightly, the clear plastic catching the light. ‘Seeing as you can’t get ‘em.’ A hint of a shrug. ‘Figured I could drop some off for you now and then. And, y’know, if Nikolaj likes ‘em…’
Boyle takes the bag in both hands, breath hitching like he’s about to pass out. ‘Oh. My. God… They look so moist and so sticky, I just want to get my fingers right in there and-’
‘Okay, we’re gonna get some beers,’ Bucky says, clapping him on the shoulder and moving away, fast.
‘Put you off your worms?’ Sam asks, innocent, as they head towards the bar.
‘For life.’
‘Ain’t that a bummer.’
‘They’re a delicacy!’
Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago have already staked their places at the bar when the two Avengers slide onto two free bar-stools beside them. Jake splutters into his beer.
‘Captain Cool! I mean, Captain Samerica- Wilson! Captain America! Nailed it.’
Bucky stares at him for a moment. ‘Wow. That wasn’t awkward at all.’
Jake nods, words spilling out of his mouth. ‘That Wasn’t Awkward At All - title of your sex tape.’
Blue eyes narrow. ‘What?!’
Amy tries to punch his arm covertly, her cheeks flaming red. ‘I’m sorry - he’s been having a really hard time-’
‘A Really Hard Time - title of your sex tape.’
‘Jake!’
Jake buries his head in his arms, laying them on the bar’s scuffed and be-ringed surface. ‘I’m sorry!’
Amy aims a glare at the lowered head and then gives herself a little shake. Her eyes shine again. ‘It’s like a running joke - just ignore it. I can’t believe you’re here!’
‘We saw the flyers-’
‘Sam saw the flyers.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘I saw the flyers. Thought maybe an Avenger or two hanging out here might give your campaign a boost.’
Behind the bar Hank stares at both of them, mouth slack and his eyes weirdly round and glassy. He raises a hand, one finger pointing at Sam. You’re…’ At Bucky. ‘And you’re…’
‘Can we get two beers?’
Hank snaps his spine straight. ‘Sure. Of course. Anything. On the house!’
Sam waves his hands. ‘Thanks, but not on the house! Defeat the whole damn object,’ he adds under his breath.
Amy nods furiously. ‘It will make such a difference! I mean, I know this place isn’t fancy but-’ She looks around, at the stained carpet and the faded paint and the dartboard that’s missing some of its rings and smiles. ‘But it’s ours. It’s important.’
Two beers are delivered.
‘I get that,’ Sam says.
The door pushes open again and two young women pick their way in, looking around curiously. ‘I think this is what they call a dive bar,’ the brunette whispers loudly. This is met with a scowl.
‘Is just normal bar, Kate Bishop!’ Yelena shakes her hair away from her shoulders, adjusting her oversized baby-pink tote with care. Her fingernails have been painted the same shade. She rakes the bar’s clientele impatiently and then grins when she sees them.
‘Sam Wilson! Are you out on bail?’
He laughs, light, cheeks dimpling. ‘Still wasn’t arrested, Yelena.’
Just two of them but they manage to crowd around the two men; Yelena places her bag on the counter with a studied tenderness and then fixes Sam with her intent stare. ‘Kate Bishop knows name of good lawyer.’
Kate nods. ‘My mom’s lawyer. I mean, she still went to jail but that was totally on her, not because the lawyer’s bad.’
‘I don’t-’ Sam sighs. ‘Thanks. I’ll let you know.’
‘Yasha.’ She deposits a kiss on both Bucky’s cheeks and he gives her a quick, tight embrace.
Sam squints at them. ‘Yasha?’
‘It’s just a nickname,’ Bucky tells him over Yelena’s head.
‘How many nicknames you got, man?’
‘Your cat,’ Yelena says, sombre, her eyes holding Bucky’s. ‘She scratch.’ Behind her Kate nods, her blue eyes wide and very round.
He blinks, placing his beer bottle awkwardly back on the counter. ‘Oh- God, Lena, I’m so sorry.’
A hand is waved imperiously. ‘Now is no problem; I have conversation with her and we have reached understanding.’ She pulls open her bag and from the depths extracts an uncomplaining Alpine. ‘There now, милая, go to your papa.’
The cat dangles happily in Yelena’s careful grasp, blinking sleepily at Bucky who reaches for her automatically.
‘Hey, baby girl. What have you been doing, huh? I’ve been telling everyone what a good little kitty you are.’ Alpine clambers up his arm, settling around his shoulders and Bucky nuzzles his cheek against her white fur.
Kate gazes at the pair happily. ‘Oh, that is adorable.’
‘It is,’ Amy agrees, a little sigh that wins her a flash of reproach from her husband. She raises her eyebrows at him. ‘What?’
Sam hits the red button on his phone and grins. ‘That’s the money-shot, baby! Caught for po-ste-ri-ty.’
Bucky glances up at him, an attempt at fierceness that is utterly undone by his gentle caress of the feline head curled under his jaw. ‘You done?’
‘The White Wolf with his very own little White Panther?’ Sam’s gap-toothed smile grows wider. ‘That’s gotta be worth a few thousand likes at least.’ He turns to Jake. ‘Hey, you got a Twitter handle or something? I can share the picture with you.’
There’s a strange sucking sound as Jake pulls in a breath, his eyes wide and his mouth stretched out in a weirdly ecstatic smile. ‘Ohmigod, it’s all happening! I am going to be Captain America’s new second-best friend!’
‘Huh?’
‘Just let him have this,’ Bucky says quietly, scratching Alpine behind her ears. She purrs happily; he glances at the barman. ‘Hey, uh, can I get a saucer of milk over here?’
‘Sure. Of course. Anything. On the house!’ Hank repeats, his eyes still wearing that glassy look. He disappears.
‘Hashtags,’ Bucky says suddenly.
Sam looks up from his phone, startled. ‘What?’
‘Hashtags,’ he says again and draws vague cross-hatches in the air with the hand that isn’t stroking Alpine. ‘Y’know, for the save the bar campaign. They use them on social media,’ he adds helpfully.
‘I know what hashtags are,’ Sam says heavily. ‘I’m just surprised you do. You don’t even have social media.’
‘You don’t have to have it to know how it works.’ Bucky is placid, leaning back easily against the counter. ‘I don’t live under a rock.’
‘You could live-tweet this,’ Kate puts in. Hands shoved into the pockets of her dark coat, baggy sweats on underneath. The messy fringe tumbling into her eyes doesn’t quite hide the butterfly stitches on the fresh cut above one eye.
‘TikTok is better,’ Yelena declares. ‘We should make video of Yasha with his little kitty-cat. Could go viral.’
Kate gives two thumbs-up. Sam’s eyes gleam.
‘Yeah, let’s not do that,’ Bucky says.
‘Spoilsport,’ Sam grumbles.
Shaw’s Bar - 19:57
‘So, this has been quite the day, huh?’ Amy’s head tilts a little, regarding Jake with a tender affection and no little amusement.
‘It’s been so weird,’ he says, ‘and so cool.’
‘Yeah.’ She smiles at him, tucks her hair behind both ears and Jake feels his stomach flip slightly, a pleasant buzzing settling behind his ribcage.
‘So, you stopped freaking out thinking I’m gonna run off with Bucky Barnes?’
Jake winces, rolling his beer around his mouth; it forms a lump in his throat when he swallows and his eyes water. ‘That obvious, huh?’ Voice all croaky.
Amy laughs lightly, dark eyes deep and lustrous under the low lights in their little corner of the bar. ‘Just a bit.’ She holds up a hand, thumb and forefinger held millimetres apart. ‘Tiny bit.’
His head ducks and he clears his throat. ‘I mean… I wouldn’t blame you if you did. The guy is living history.’
‘He is,’ Amy agrees. ‘And so hot,’ she adds, a teasing lilt in her voice.
‘Oh my God, right?’ Jake spins on his bar stool. ‘Have you looked into his eyes? They are piercing, like he’s looking into your soul-’
‘Uh, Jake?’
‘Yeah, too much.’
She nods and then the tenderness creeps back into her face and she steps closer to him. ‘He might be all of those things but the one thing he isn’t is you… And he can still hear everything we’re saying.’
Jake turns again, following the direction of Amy’s gaze. Bucky meets his eyes and nods.
‘Yup,’ he calls over loudly. ‘You’re both really terrible at that.’
Shaw’s Bar - 20:22
Yelena pronounced the vodka served at the bar as appalling but it had not stopped her from drinking it. Kate had opted for a Charbonnay which, always optimistic and after having checked the spelling twice, she said sounded interesting. The first mouthful made her eyes smart and she wheezed slightly for a full thirty seconds. After that a sort of numbness set in, she said, which made the rest of it bearable.
There’s a normality to the rhythms here that Sam finds he’s easing into. Hanging out with superheroes, even in their downtime, always has a slight edge, all of the competing stories, the flexing - physical and metaphorical - that all adds up to something exhausting. There are still stories told here and there is a little sense of competition but there’s an underlying warmth to it. A group that has knitted together. It feels good.
He’s lost track of how many rounds in they are but he heads to the bar, hauls himself up onto a stool and nods pleasantly at Ray Holt who has been sitting quietly nursing a glass of red wine for most of the evening.
‘They’re a nice squad,’ Sam tells him.
‘Yes.’ A little tense. One hand grips the stem of the glass a little harder.
Sam holds up two fingers to Hank and two bottles of beer are promptly delivered. His eyes slip sideways and he clears his throat slightly. ‘Um, this is probably not the best time to bring this up, but-’
Holt pulls in a breath, his spine straightening.
‘We do a lot of work locally. It would be useful if we had, well, contacts on the force that we could rely on.’ Sam holds up a hand. ‘I don’t mean anything shady, just- If we needed to reach out to the NYPD it would help if we had people we knew we could trust. There’s probably official channels for this but I wanted to see if that was something that you would be open to first.’
His thumbnail flicks at the loose corner of the label on his beer bottle. Holt watches him for a moment, his throat bobbing.
‘That…’ He holds his head high. ‘That would be an acceptable arrangement.’
Sam suppresses a smile. ‘Cool. That’s great. I’ll see who we have to talk to and get it set up.’
‘Thank you.’ The words come out fast. Holt abandons his wine, turns on the stool to face Sam completely. ‘Not for that. What I mean is- That- That is what I should have said earlier. What I wanted to say. Thank you, for everything.’
Sam waves a hand, starts to shake his head. Holt continues before he can say anything: ‘You are an inspiration. To me. To the community. It means … a lot.’
The label is almost peeled off; Sam rolls the pieces between his fingers, studies the patchy bits of glue and left paper clinging to the green glass. ‘Thanks. That- That means a lot.’ He looks at Holt. ‘Especially from someone like you.’
The captain’s eyes widen a fraction. ‘I don’t-’
‘You must have had a lot to deal with, over the years,’ Sam says, soft. ‘People like you, like Colonel Rhodes, they made it that bit easier for people like me. I just hope I can make it that bit easier for the people coming up behind me.’
Holt nods slowly, ‘I understand that.’ A pause for a moment and they take their drinks. ‘But you still have a lot to carry.’
‘True.’ Sam studies the outdated flyers and adverts pinned up behind the bar and the flickering neon strip light for a popular brand of beer that he particularly dislikes. ‘But I don’t carry it alone. I couldn’t even if I wanted to - I’ve got a partner who’s the most stubborn human being on the planet and he’s walkin’ every step of the way with me.’
Bucky is listening studiously while Amy talks him through each page of her specially made, very detailed, binder on wall-planner design. Jake watches them, a goofy indulgent smile plastered across his face.
He looks at Holt again. ‘Everything’s easier with good people, right?’
Ray Holt takes in his squad and their assorted strays. Hitchcock and Scully already asleep, happily resting against each other; Diaz - more animated than he’s ever seen her, a miracle in itself - swapping stories with the Russian blonde while her girlfriend settles in with another bottle of Charbonnay; Terry’s face twisted in apprehension while Boyle holds up a plastic bag filled with … something.
They are strange people, he thinks. His people. And he loves them, all of them, so much.
Holt raises his drink. ‘To good people.’
Sam grins and touches his bottle against the glass. ‘To good people.’