Archive of Our Own

There are five things that in any permutation can make for a perfect Saturday morning, Bucky had discovered after trying more than a few on for size. First, a comfortable sleeping surface (amended from ‘bed’ after passing out in Steve’s arms on the couch more than once,) which precludes the second ingredient, which was invariably Steve. A more romantic person might say Steve was the only necessity for a perfect Saturday, but he and Bucky had woken up in some of the most uncomfortable climes in the world and being together did not realistically change how fucking miserable sleeping in a tree stand could make a man. Third, he liked a soft rain on the window, fourth, no phone alarm, and fifth, (he was only human,) just the vaguest, sleepiest promise of morning wood on whichever side of the bed it happened to manifest.

On this particular Saturday as he woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows, he was acutely aware he had achieved four out of five if he couldn't have rain. 

He ground his ass back against Steve, who groaned with sleep.

“Buck, ‘as not fair,” he grumbled, burying his face in Bucky’s shoulder and squeezing him tightly before releasing the stretch with a sleepy huff.

“Not my fault someone’s an early riser,” Bucky grinned, swiping a hand over his eyes with a leisurely yawn. Steve kissed the nape of his neck, breath warm on the wet mark he left behind.

“I must’ve been dreaming about something special,” Steve slurred, “like waffles.” Bucky chuckled low and dark, nuzzling back into Steve’s hold.

“You gotta earn ‘em.”

“Give a man a chance,” Steve growled, his hands tracing down Bucky and stopping with a painful, abrupt hiss when the doorbell shattered their sweet morning reveries. Bucky’s eyes flew open. “Ah, could be a package,” Steve mused.

“It’s Saturday. Only one package is acceptable on Saturday.” The doorbell rang again, three more times in rapid succession. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Must be important,” Steve sang with a shrug, a suggestive lilt coloring his tone. Bucky shook his head, anticipating the suggestion.

“I’m not getting out of bed. No way.”

“Well, I certainly can’t,” Steve pointed out. “I’m not greeting the neighbors at attention.”

“No. It’s probably just Sam or something.” Bucky sulked down further into the covers, imagining the ways he would pull that little shit apart for ruining a four-out-of-five Saturday.

“And what if he’s bleeding out on the front porch?” Steve said, a smile in his voice.

“Then he should’ve fucking texted first!” Bucky turned to look Steve in the face. “Just ignore it,” he pleaded, nosing into Steve’s jaw. The ringing continued. Steve looked him in the eyes.

“ Babe .” He didn’t need to ask with more than a shade of entreaty and Bucky roared as he launched from the bed. He jammed his feet into his bunny slippers to flop down the hall as he stalked to the front door.

“FINE! I’LL GET THE MOTHERFUCKING DOOR AND I SWEAR TO EVERY GOD IN THE FUCKING PANTHEON, WHOEVER MESSED UP MY FOUR OUT OF FIVE IS GOING TO TASTE THE INSIDE OF THEIR OWN SKULL AND THAT IS NOT---” When he flung open the door, two pairs of bright shining eyes looked up at him from what felt like shin-height and he stopped mid-sentence. Two Girl Scouts in full uniform stood on the welcome mat, one slightly taller, “KRITI” stitched lovingly onto her vest, her hand still poised above the doorbell. To their credit, neither flinched in the face of his very pure Saturday morning rage.

“Good morning!” Said the other girl cheerily, her dark pigtails bobbing their own punctuation. She smiled a mouth full of tin and held out a tiny hand. “I’m Laura. I just love your slippers! We were wondering---”

“No,” Bucky managed to growl before moving to close the door. A small, Sketcher-ed foot jammed in the opening.

“Please, sir,” Kriti said, meeting his eyes through the crack. “We just want you to be happy,” she said. Bucky held the door firmly.

“You’d make me happy by leaving us alone,” he clipped. Kriti’s big eyes did not break from his and he became uncomfortable.

“Please,” she repeated. Her eyes held him like a vise. She might start crying or she might rip his throat out. He didn’t know which would be worse and he took a step back unconsciously. “Nothing can make you happy like a peanut butter Tagalong, sir.”

“Please help us earn our badge, sir, please,” Laura begged, pushing the door back open. “Help us.” Bucky stood in the doorway, exposed and frozen in their gaze. His irritation was still simmering at the back of his neck but they were tossing such confusing signals that only one phrase caught his attention.

“Peanut butter?” He repeated dully. Kriti wasted no time shoving what looked like a cookie menu at him, hand-drawn pictures that had been colored brightly with marker and labelled with cute names like ‘Do-si-dos’ and ‘Savannah Smiles.’

“Oh, yes sir. We have two varieties of peanut cookies.”

“...I’m listening,” he replied, reluctant to waver but unable to ignore the grumble in his stomach at the thought. Kriti moved ever slightly closer.

“So you like nuts?” She asked. “We’ve got a peanut butter patty and a peanut butter sandwich that are absolutely delish.” Her partner quickly picked up the lede.

“You might even like the Samoa. It has a crunchy coconut that can be nutty,” Laura said, holding out a pen. “What kinds of cookies does your boyfriend like?” Bucky blinked.

“How’d you know I have a boyfriend?”

“Any guy’d be lucky to have you,” Kriti covered quickly with a saleswoman grin. “How many boxes can we put you two down for?”

“Hold on, hold on---” Bucky tried to wrap his head around the scenario but the pen was somehow in his hand.

“Do you like chocolate?” Laura asked. “I really do think the Samoas are going to be right up your alley, sir. Not to mention the Tagalongs are a chocolate peanut butter combo.”

“Can’t beat that combo,” Kriti agreed. “You’ll definitely want to get some of those.”

“Okay, call off the dogs a second,” Bucky cried, finally getting a word in, gesturing wildly with the forms that had been shoved in his hands. “What the hell is all this?” Kriti and Laura lifted their hands in some kind of salute and Bucky felt a cold reminder of other young girls, in a past life, who stared this intently and moved with similar practiced synchronicity. They didn’t sell cookies then but he would never have put it past them.

“We are scouts from troop #41078 and we are selling cookies in order to earn our entrepreneurship badge and support the community with the proceeds. This teaches us many skills.” Laura rattled. Kriti began counting on her fingers.

“Goal-setting---”

“Decision-making---”

“People skills---”

“Yeah, I know what a Girl Scout is, calm down, this is not new to me. You get a badge  for ruining my morning ?” Bucky found himself asking, squinting at the little patches on their uniforms worn proudly as war medals. Kriti pointed to an empty space on her beige vest, next to one with a little red emblem on it. “What’s that one with the fire for?” He asked. Kriti beamed.

“Safe fire-starting practices,” Laura answered him with a frown, looking down at the empty space on her own vest. “My dad won’t let me practice in the yard for that one.”

“Yeah, well that’s how your dad is going to get his garage burned down,” Bucky replied. “I gotta get back. Next door probably will buy from you---”

“You don’t look too busy for cookies and serving your community,” Kriti shrugged, her foot still firmly planted in the doorjamb. “We could just wait here on your porch, mister. While you go get your wallet.” Bucky was beginning to see who held the cards and moved off the offensive. He took a deep breath.

“Will a box of cookies let me go?” He asked.

“Well, gosh. You seem like a hungry guy. Five boxes ought to be enough to get us out of your hair,” Laura said brightly. Bucky gaped.

“ Five boxes? You’re out of your fuckin’ mind, Laura ,” Bucky said, turning to shut the door again.

“It would be a shame if we screamed so loud your boyfriend heard,” Kriti said quickly. Bucky froze, staring at her.

“Or earned that fire badge on your front lawn,” Laura added, sharing a dark look with her business partner. “Or got creative. Sometime. Maybe not today. Just whenever. After school,” she said with detached innocence, the intensity of the threat freezing the air in Bucky’s lungs.

“Sure,” Kriti added sweetly. “That would be the just thing to do, if a bad person wanted to be so hurtful as to slam a door in two little girls’ faces when all they were trying to do is raise money for a dog park and give him some cookies---”

“---delicious cookies---” Laura nodded sagely, returning Kriti’s patter like it was a camp clapping game.

“Yes, delicious cookies on a beautiful Saturday afternoon.”

“Him and his boyfriend.”

“Him and his handsome boyfriend who probably likes Trefoils.”

“He definitely does. I bet if you tried one you just couldn’t refuse,” Laura said, tilting her head so that her pigtails bobbed just so. Bucky finally squared up and put on the Wall of Murder posture. He hadn’t wanted to scare them at first but honestly this was getting out of hand.

“Are you threatening me?” He growled. Kriti folded her arms, order form in hand, and smiled benignly up at him without blinking, without even missing a beat.

“Only if it’s working,” she said, and she took off her backpack. "Is it?"

Bucky went for his wallet.

“You bought how many?”

“Coerced. I was coerced,” Bucky corrected, slamming an entire cookie into his face as he climbed back into bed. “You wern’t ferr, Schteve, you din’t see derr eyes! I hadda talk ‘em down to four outta fife,” He slurred through crumbs. Steve was beside himself giggling. “Yeah, keep laughin’, Rogers, I gave them your credit card number. Those little Red Room sprouts are probably halfway to Anchorage on your dime by now.”

“At long last, the Winter Soldier’s Achilles’ Heel comes to light at a whopping four foot two,” Steve grinned, reaching into a box. “Girl Scouts, huh?”

“Shut up and eat your damn cookie.”

“How’d you know I like Trefoils?” Steve asked. Bucky sighed.

“Lucky guess.”