Chapter Text
“Natasha,” Steve immediately chastised upon seeing another man sitting next to Sam.
Mystery Man was rather attractive with his dark brown hair, evidently substantial in length, pulled into a low bun at the nape of his neck, accented by striking grey blue eyes that seemed to reflect the complementary color of his shirt. But, that was beside the point.
“What did I say about setting me up on blind dates?”
So much for a pleasant weekly lunch with friends, Steve thought. This whole blind date idea of Nat’s was really getting old. The types of people Nat would set Steve up with were not his type - they’re all too full of themselves, too modern, too...much - so quite the opposite of Steve’s type.
“Oh, this isn’t-”
“At least you got the gender right this time,” Steve interrupted, not even wanting to hear whatever rationale she had for giving this one a chance. It was always the same spiel.
But, he was right about the whole gender thing. It took four failed dates with women before Steve formulated the courage to inform his redheaded friend about his sexuality despite her apparent nonchalance regarding the subject. Why didn’t you just say so sooner, Steve; then, I wouldn’t have wasted your time with vagina.
“This really is-”
“Hi,” Steve exaggeratedly said to Mystery Man with an extended hand, effectively surprising both the poor lad dragged into the scheme and Sam. “I’m Steve but you probably already know that. I apologize for any sort of pretense these two-” Steve blatantly pointed to both Sam and Nat “-may have given; but, I am not interested in any more blind dates.”
“Christ’s sake, Sam,” Mystery Man said after reluctantly shaking Steve’s hand, “I thought you said your friends were-” pausing, the man raised his right hand to apply the evidently appropriate air quote “-chill.”
“Steve,” Natasha softly spoke, sitting down after Steve less than gracefully plopped himself into the closest chair, shoving his face into the menu.
“What,” Steve spat, not even sounding remotely like a question.
“First, drop the attitude,” Nat chastised, dramatically removing her sunglasses before moving on, “second, I didn’t even know this fine gentleman was going to be here.”
Steve was suddenly glad for the ridiculously oversized menus as it adequately concealed his rapidly ascending flush. Tilting his head to his left, Steve widened his eyes toward Nat as if silently demanding confirmation.
“Yeah, uh,” Sam began prompting Steve to slowly lower his godsent laminated barrier, “he’s a friend of mine from the VA. I told him I was meeting some friends for lunch and asked if he wanted to join-”
“More like demanded,” Mystery Man corrected to which Steve shifted his gaze to the left, following the train of conversation, while refusing to lower his protective barrier lower than his eyes. “Since I supposedly need to, what did you say, Sam, ‘get out sometime and meet someone that ain’t me’?”
“See?”
Steve’s gaze continued left to witness Natasha’s infamous I-told-you-so smirk. He rolled his eyes because how the hell else was he supposed to rationally respond.
“Steve,” Nat soothingly began as if talking to a misbehaving toddler, “I think you owe someone an apology.”
“Oh, that’s really not-”
“Steve,” Nat interrupted Mystery Man’s adamant interjection with her own.
Reluctantly lowering his menu (speaking of, when would a waiter come relieve him of this torment), Steve pinched his lips closed as he inhaled sharply through his nose. “I’m sorry for assuming. I’m Steve.”
“So you said,” Mystery Man retorted with a ridiculously sinful smirk, “Bucky.”
“That’s your name?” Steve immediately snapped his mouth shut; evidently his brain-to-mouth filter is taking a well deserved vacation. Wonderful timing.
“Steve,” Nat and Sam simultaneously chastised.
“It’s a nickname,” Mystery Man - Bucky - elaborated. “My real name is James; but, if you call me that, I’m gonna call you Ma.”
“Bucky it is,” Steve nodded as he sent a silent prayer for his blush to join his brain-to-mouth filter on vacation.
And, of course, now the waitress decides to make her appearance. Couldn’t have been two minutes ago while Steve was desperately struggling behind his menu. Or five minutes ago when he originally set off the cascade of embarrassment. Or, hell, just 30 seconds ago when he inadvertently made fun of the man’s name! But, no. She decided to show up now. Now when Steve apparently forgot how to order a damn glass of water as evidenced by Sam’s and Nat’s feet finding his shins. Ouch.
“Oh, uh, water,” Steve responded to the unheard question, attempting to flash a smile to the poor girl that didn’t depict his irrational frustration toward her.
“So, Steve,” Bucky spoke, evidently having been told by Sam to make small talk. “What d’ya do?”
“Uh, I’m, uh,” Steve oh-so-eloquently began, “I’m an artist. I...draw.” Steve was certain he heard Natasha snort to his left. “How about yourself?”
“I’m trying to acclimate myself to society having gone through a traumatic life experience,” Bucky spitefully recited as if reading from a script while accepting his tea from the returned waitress, “it’s a full time gig.”
“At least you’re accepting that part now,” Sam mumbled to himself, ignoring the pointed glare Bucky shot him.
“Kinda hard to deny re-acclimation is necessary when you’re missing an arm,” Bucky retorted much to Nat and Steve’s confusion. Nat didn’t show it; Steve did.
“Are you all ready to order?”
“Yes,” all four practically yelled at the poor girl. Steve genuinely felt sorry for their attitudes. She would be getting a nice tip.
*** *** ***
“I’m an artist. I draw,” Natasha mimicked, “seriously, Steve?!”
“It’s not a lie, not completely.”
“It’s lying by omission.”
“Shove it, Romanoff,” Steve commanded without any heat. “I just don’t like everyone military suddenly treating me differently when they know my rank.”
“What, with reverence?”
“No, with hesitance,” Steve corrected, “like they have to edit or hide who they really are.”
“I don’t think you’re giving the man as much credit as he deserves.”
“Nat,” Steve warningly began, “why do I sense another blind date in the works?”
“Would it still be a blind date if you’ve already met the person before?”
“Nat.”
*** *** ***
“I think I definitely made an impression,” Bucky feigned self commendation. At least he gave half assed effort. Better than none.
“Yeah, not exactly the type of impression I meant…” Sam chastised.
“That Steve guy was a character, though.”
“Oh,” Sam suggestively inquired, raising an eyebrow as if begging for elaboration. After not receiving a response from Bucky, Sam continued with utter sarcasm, “well, I’m sure you definitely reeled the man in with your recitation of my PTSD brochure.”
*** *** ***
BUCKY: Hi, Sam gave me your number
BUCKY: I was told to text you
BUCKY: And I was supposed to leave that part out
STEVE: Who is this?
BUCKY: Oh, Bucky
BUCKY: Ya know, the one from the world’s most awkward lunch
STEVE: Thanks for the clarification. I was wondering which Bucky you were.
BUCKY: So the artist is a smartass…
STEVE: Creativity comes in all shapes and sizes.
BUCKY: That was lame
STEVE: I know. Nat told me to play nice; so, I’m trying.
BUCKY: Alright gramps
“What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”
Natasha chuckled as she recapped the text stream on Steve’s phone before typing with a devious smirk then passing the device back to it’s owner.
Reading the unsent text, Steve turned an impressive shade of beet red, “‘so wanna get in my pants?’” Furiously pressing the delete button repeatedly, Steve chastised the redhead, “you can’t just send that to people. That’s sexual harassment. Plus, I don’t even know if he swings that way,” added in a mumble.
“But, you are interested?”
Saved by the bell - really, the chirp of an incoming text - Steve rolled his eyes and glanced at his phone.
BUCKY: So you know about my nickname, how about yours...Cap?
STEVE: Only a few people call me that.
BUCKY: Kinda the point of a nickname, pal
“Seriously, Steve?” Natasha cocked her eyebrow up, not sparing any potential judgment, “just tell the man what you do.” Having received a silent glare from the beefy blond, Nat took her turn with the eye roll, “at least make normal conversation, Rogers.”
After a few moments of typing, deleting, retyping, deleting, having an epiphany, smiling, typing again, Steve sent a text.
STEVE: So, how is the weather?
Five miles away, Bucky’s phone made an obnoxious pinging noise indicative of a received message.
“Sam, I don’t think I can do this,” Bucky groaned as he tossed his phone to his friend as he walked into the kitchen to grab a beer. “At least not sober.”
*** *** ***
A week later, sprinting into the infirmary, Bucky located Sam conversing with a doctor in the hallway.
“Thanks, Doc,” Sam somberly spoke, “keep us posted.” After the doctor gave an affirmative response and walked into a room to Sam’s right, Bucky approached his friend.
“Car’s parked; how is she?”
“GSW to the stomach, severe blood loss; but, that’s not why the docs are concerned.” Sam shifted his feet, not taking his eyes off the patterned floor tile aside from an occasional glance to the door the white coat entered. “Fell three stories from the roof when she took the shot. Hit her head. Still waiting for her to regain consciousness.”
“Sam, I-”
“And Clint’s on a solo mission on who-knows-what continent and I’m the next emergency contact,” Sam added, holding his gaze at the door Bucky assumed Nat was behind.
A blunt thud prompted both men to shift their gaze to the window to the left of the door. A man stood in full tac gear, eyes shut, forehead evidently having dramatically made contact with the glass. Bucky presumed the man’s hair was blond; however, given the dried blood, soot, and shards of who knows what, it was hard to tell.
“And then there’s that,” Sam added, noting Bucky’s gaze.
“Is that..?”
“Steve,” Sam supplied, garnering the man’s attention.
“It was my fault-”
“Cap, you always blame yourself,” Sam donned his counselor voice as he continued. “From what I’ve heard you guys had bad intel. Too many assailants for just a two man recon mission.”
“Still,” Steve sourly countered, “Hydra’s always been generous with the traps. I shoulda marked it prior to going in. Especially knowing there was a chance Nikolov was there.”
“Demitri Nikolov?” Bucky raised his eyebrow as he focused on Steve, “I’m going out on a limb here and saying you lied about the whole artist thing.”
“Well, uh, I mean it wasn’t like entirely-” Sam shook his head at the sudden change of Steve’s persona.
“I’m gonna stop you there,” Bucky held up his right hand, effectively stopping Steve’s mumbling as he reached into his back pocket with his gloved left hand. “I haven’t been entirely honest with ya; but, if we’re gonna find this son of a bitch, we’ve gotta work on the honesty thing.”
“Buc-” Steve began but was cut off by a small photo shoved into his hands. While Steve didn’t readily identify any of the people given all means of recognition were concealed, he did identify their tactical gear accented with half face masks and goggles. “Spec Ops,” his mind supplied, “the 107th.”
“We liked to call ourselves the Howling Commandos,” Bucky shrugged as if the reveal was no big deal. Like disclosing confidential information to random men in hospital halls was a normal thing to do.
“You said you were in the Army,” Steve retorted, thinking back onto their seemingly endless conversations over the past week.
“I said military,” Buck corrected.
“You said you did time in Afghanistan. Or was it Iraq?”
“I said I’ve done time in the Middle East.”
“You said you were a POW.”
“True,” Bucky confirmed, nodding his head.
“And you know Dimitri Nikolov?”
“True,” Buck nodded his head once more. Wasn’t this Steve guy just full of questions.
“107th. POW. Hydra,” Steve rambled to himself, evidently slowly connecting the dots. “Sergeant James Barnes, you’re supposed to be dead.”
“The status of Sergeant Barnes is classified,” Bucky replied with a snarky smirk. Sam snorted.
“Sergeant,” Steve authoritatively began, taking one predatory step forward into Bucky’s personal space before he spoke through gritted teeth, “I am Captain Rogers of Strike Team Delta. I’m fairly certain I have the proper clearance to receive that information.”
Bucky had to stifle a smile as the sudden transformation from Steve to Captain Rogers was quite the sight. It gave him this flustered feeling deep down in his gut. A pleasant...fluster. Hmm, Bucky thought, let’s see where this will go.
“Where’d my artist go, Stevie?”
“Wha- that’s-,” Steve stammered, taking a slight step back and swallowing down an evident blush creeping into his cheeks.
His artist, Steve mulled over that thought over for a while. His? Steve knew where their texting conversations were going - definitely flirting, Nat said he was on the verge of sexting (whatever the hell that meant) - but that claim of possession was new. They hadn’t even gone on a date; but, they talked about it. Kind of…
“That’s not the way to talk to a superior officer,” Steve settled for, his voice coming out much more seductive than he anticipated. Primarily because he aimed for a seduction level of grandma’s-house while he managed to surprisingly achieve a solid come-home-with-me on a scale of grandma’s-house to laying-on-a-bed-in-nothing-but-a-bow-tie.
Bucky’s smirk, ready to provide a witty retort, quickly departed prompting Steve to become confused. However, what was more overpowering than the confusion was the sudden lightheadedness.
“Steve?”
Steve felt Sam’s grasp on his shoulder, steadying the pending sway, as he heard the man’s voice. Pressing his right palm against the wound on his stomach he was desperately trying to ignore, he felt warm moisture.
“Shit,” Steve mumbled upon seeing the vibrant red on his palm, “must’ve bled through another dressing.”
“What the hell?”
“Stabbed on the mi-”
“She’s stirring if one of you would like to come in before we do a few tests,” the doctor interrupted, peeking his head out of the door. “May help to have a familiar face when she fully wakes.”
The men looked between each other, giving occasional shrugs and nods in silent communication, ultimately deciding Sam would go inside.
“I’ll go get someone,” Buck spoke with a rare softness, “think you can stand, pal?”
“No doctors,” Steve demanded as his grip on Bucky’s arm solidified. The striking solidity of the prosthetic surprised Steve while the touch evidently surprised Bucky as well. “Just help me get into a vacant room. I can stitch it.”
“Like hell,” Bucky replied as he slipped his left arm under Steve, ignoring all protests, and made his way to the room next to Nat’s. “Please be empty,” Bucky mumbled as he all but kicked the door in. Fortunately they didn’t intrude on a patient’s privacy since the room was empty.
“I’m f’ling ima pissut onu,” Steve garbled.
“Either you’re about’ta fling piss at me or you feel like you’re gonna pass out on me,” Bucky deciphered as he sloughed Steve onto the vacant gerney. “Given our current situation, I’m goin’ with the latter.”
“Ngirk,” Steve replied.
“Did you just call me a jerk?” Bucky rummaged through the stocked cabinets, having to pick two locks to acquire all the proper supplies before dumping them on Steve’s legs and selecting the trauma shears. “Pal, we’re about’ta get real close here, if you’re gonna start calling me names, I’d prefer sweetheart,” he sarcastically concluded, pulling open the kevlar vest and various holster straps.
“Date...first…” Steve managed to slowly utter in response to Bucky cutting open his navy blue compression shirt from the waistband of his tac pants to his neck.
“We’ll work out the details later,” Bucky offered with a genuine smile. “Still allergic to penicillin and morphine?”
“Told ya...grew outta that,” Steve mumbled out nearly indiscernibly, trying not to laugh.
“Well, over the past few minutes, I’ve realized your texts over the past week haven’t exactly epitomized truth,” Bucky retorted without any heat, accenting his feigned frustration by jabbing a needle into Steve’s deltoid.
“Arghh jerk!”
Bucky administered the pre measured antibiotic followed by another jab and administration of an analgesic.
“Punk, you were stabbed in the gut, you can take a couple shots from an 18 gauge needle.” As Bucky prepped the wound and supplies for suturing the wound closed, he continued his rambling, “better than those 15 gauges in the field.”
“Gotta agree with that.”
“Hey, he can speak coherently now,” Bucky joyously spoke, evidently making jokes as he began the first stitch. “This isn’t gonna feel too great.”
Steve groaned, willing himself to grow some balls and deal with the pain as Bucky continued his chattering.
“Before you get all loopy,” Bucky inquired as he threaded another stitch, “can you tell me why you didn’t tell me what you really do for a livin’?”
Sighing through another stitch, Steve replied, “you’da treated me different, like your CO or somethin’.”
“Ha! Then you don’t know me, pal,” Bucky huffed out, tying off the surgical thread. “So, what d’ya say about goin’ after Dimitri Nikolov and killing the son of a bitch once and for all?”
“Sounds personal to you?”
“When I was captured, he was the one orchestrating all the experiments,” Bucky shrugged his left shoulder, purposefully drawing attention to his prosthesis. Steve nodded in solemn understanding.
“Well, my team’s practically out of commission,” Steve closed his eyes, allowing himself to easily relax under Bucky’s gentle touch as he covered the sealed wound with a new dressing. “Nat’s obviously out; Clint’s on a solo mission. So, it’d just be myself, Sam, and you.”
“And my team,” Bucky leaned over Steve’s stomach to tear the tape with his teeth. Steve would forever deny that gesture caused any lustful thoughts in his mind. Forever deny. His involuntary gasp was solely because of pain...of course. “Watch yourself, Captain,” Bucky drawled in a way that can only be described as seductive.
Steve shot Bucky a pointed look, trying to hide his own smirk, that signified he knew exactly what the brunette was insinuating.
“Anyway,” Bucky refocused, “there’s five of us; however, they’re all kind of under probation for another couple weeks.”
“Buck,” Steve chastised lightly before continuing, “what for?”
“Unsanctioned mission almost six months ago.” Bucky held out a hand, helping Steve sit up to a more comfortable position with his legs slung over the edge of the gurney, and continued once Steve gave a nod of inquiry. “They rescued me.”
After a couple seconds of deep thought, Steve turned to Buck, “when can they be ready?”
Bucky’s smirk came back in full force. “Soon as I tell ‘em why, they’ll be here be here before sundown.”
“I’ll get our tech guy tracking Nikolov down; as soon as we have location confirmation, wheels up.” Steve concluded.
Bucky raised an eyebrow and made a valiant effort of glancing down to Steve’s still exposed stomach, bandage visible, silently inquiring his ability to tromp into a battle with a fresh wound.
“Would that stop you?”
“Touche,” Bucky replied with a subtle nod. “When this guy’s dead, can you take me out on that date?”
“Well aren’t you the romantic,” Steve jabbed, rolling his eyes as Bucky simply smirked.
“So, is that a yes?”
“C’mere,” Steve murmured as he firmly grasped the front of Bucky’s shirt, guiding the brunette to stand between his legs before pulling him in for a kiss.
“From the looks of things, I assume my Captain’s not dyin’ in here.”
Bucky and Steve jumped apart upon hearing Sam’s voice. Steve turned an impressive shade of red as Bucky shot Sam a unamused look at having interrupted their moment.