Chapter Text
Bucky’s problem was that Steve Goddamn Rogers was goddamn perfect.
He was always impeccably dressed and wore his stupid glasses that made him look stupid handsome. And he clearly went to the gym every morning at, like, too goddamn early o’clock which Bucky didn’t think existed outside of movies but there he was with his chiseled jaw and trapezius muscles you’d need a Sherpa to help navigate. He was pleasant and patient and kind and professional and a really good artist.
And he was just perfect, ok, and it was a problem.
Bucky met Steve his very first day: in Boston and on the job in the new satellite office of S.S.R. Marketing. Bucky was a copywriter and Steve was a graphic designer. And for the past eight months, they had worked together pretty frequently and almost never spoke outside of professionally perky emails and stilted in-person conversation.
He wasn’t sure if it was because he was awkward (granted, he didn’t feel as awkward as he used to, far enough out from his tour that he felt reintegrated, most days), because Steve was awkward (he was so adorably awkward, holy shit), because his crush was obvious (status quo), or some combination of all three.
His computer pinged.
Hi Bucky,
Attached, please find an updated draft for the MIT campaign with the text you prepared. According to my meeting minutes, Natasha needs the final piece by 5pm. If you don’t have any last adjustments, I’ll pass it along to Natasha for approval.
Thanks!
Steve
The financial and insurance industries had been the bread and butter of S.S.R., but with the economic downturn in 2008, their Director, Nick, had gotten together his best and brightest and threw a Hail Mary pass into the education sector. Seven years later, they had added a dozen higher education institutions to their portfolio and S.S.R. Marketing had survived the recession.
MIT was their newest client; the current campaign only their second for the Institute. Highlighting the achievements of their most iconic female graduates, the goal was to attract more female applicants.
Women in STEM the campaign was called. Bucky’d even come up with some hashtags to use on social media: #Scifemmes #Technoloshe #fEmgineering #Mathermatics
Bucky thought he was pretty clever and he thought Steve’s artwork was pretty amazing.
Steve—
Looks great! I think we’re ready to go. Feel free to pass this along to Nat. Thanks!
BB
Three hours ahead of their deadline. This deserved a cup of coffee.
Barton had been there most recently if the coffee stains and light dusting of sugar on the counter in the communal kitchen were any indication. Bucky refilled the machine and leaned against the window to wait for it to brew.
January afternoons were cold enough that he could feel the chill seeping into his clothes through the window. The sun would be setting in an hour, maybe two. He watched people bundled and bustling below, hurrying through Faneuil Hall from one shop to another or ducking back into an office from Quincy Market, gloved hands clutching lunch.
By the time he poured his coffee and turned to go, it had started to snow.
“Ugh.” He muttered into his coffee mug.
And almost walked straight into Steve.
“Whoa! Hey. Sorry.” Steve smiled, hands up and ready to stabilize Bucky.
“Hssst – Sorry.” Bucky stumbled to avoid a head-on collision and spilled some coffee on his hand. He’d live.
“What’s so terrible?”
Bucky nodded to the window. “The snow.”
“Not a fan of the winter weather?”
“No.” He was tempted to ask if Steve was, but had a sense that the response would be enthusiastic and filled with fancy ski lodge names. He asked anyway. “You?”
Steve shook his head. “No. Hate it.” He shrugged, tossing Bucky a disarming smile that Steve clearly didn’t know was so disarming. “But I love Boston, so.”
And that was it. Bucky was a blank slate too busy trying to decide the name for the shade of blue of Steve’s eyes and he realized after a moment that he was staring, and then a moment later that Steve was staring back, so he mumbled a hasty goodbye and something about aloe and wasn’t sure he even took a breath until he was back in his office.
Fuck.
Steve Goddamn Rogers was a goddamn problem.
***
By the time five o’clock rolled around it had been snowing steadily and there were nearly six inches on the ground. He usually stayed a little later, not only to avoid traffic on the train and the roads, but because he needed to (and it meant he’d get more time to totally not stare at Steve when he passed by his desk for no real reason for the 10th time that day). He contemplated braving the evening rush because of the snow, but instead hunkered down to start working on the new campaign for Suffolk. And to answer a new email from Steve.
Bucky did not have a problem.
***
Bucky had a problem.
Six o’clock: board the train at Downtown Crossing. Listen to announcements about passengers not all being able to fit and to wait for the next train and apologies about the weather. The poor girl conducting the train sounded tired of people being rude.
Six forty-five: Four stops later and not only was Bucky getting intimately familiar with the back of some other guy’s head (a guy who needed to shower or get new shampoo), but the train was going out of service.
And they were all getting on buses.
They, and thousands of other people standing around JFK/UMass station in the snow. He could see five buses lined up, and a wall of people pushing forward as if they’d all somehow fit. He took a couple pictures and sent them to Becca with a caption: You might have been right about going back to to California instead.
Bucky sighed and turned around, pushing back through the mass of bodies into the station. No one was going anywhere anytime soon. He found a corner and sat down (he’d bleach the jeans later, he promised himself) and pulled out his phone again to snark-text with his sister (and brainstorm ideas for the branding meeting tomorrow with Tufts). He wasn’t much warmer, but it was dry. He’d wait.
He waited until ten thirty that night to board a bus (there were considerably fewer people and he managed to get a spot standing on the third bus in line) and didn’t step into his apartment in Quincy until almost one in the morning. There was a foot of snow on the ground by the time he shuffled through his door, freezing and hungry.
He’d get a couple hours of sleep and head into the office as early as he could, he decided as he scrubbed the chill from his skin in the shower. He could function for a day on a couple hours of sleep and tomorrow would be better, the MBTA would have cleared the train tracks.
***
Bucky didn’t care that he was snapping at everyone. The issue the night before, apparently, had been that it had snowed too fast to clear the tracks, and so the MBTA stopped service in order to clear the nine miles of track for the morning commute. The issue that morning was how cold it was – so cold that two trains had been rendered disabled.
He wasn’t at work until almost ten am. He’d left his apartment at seven in the morning after a mere three hours of sleep. Between the cold and only one cup of coffee in the three-hour commute to the office, Bucky wasn’t feeling particularly charitable. He was exhausted and refused to acknowledge the damp edges of his black slacks or the wrinkles on his button down. He’d given up and taken his tie off shortly after arriving at the office despite how rumpled it made him feel.
And there was a problem with his email client. IT was on their way (doubtful) and he really didn’t have time for it, seeing as they had a deadline for Suffolk the next day and so far his contact on the campus had been nothing short of infuriating and rejected all options he and Steve had passed along.
He went in search of coffee while he waited for IT and he was lucky enough to find a giant novelty mug (cat ears sticking out towards the top and the handle shaped like a tail) shoved way in the back of a top shelf in the kitchen cabinets. He cleaned it out and poured as much coffee in as would fit. Clint squawked at the pitiful amount of coffee left over.
“Aww, coffee. Dude, refill the brewer next time.”
Bucky turned to see Clint in the doorway to the break room. He knew he was being an ass, but he was too damn frustrated.
“Whoa. Wicked hat. What the fuck.”
Bucky forgot he hadn’t taken his hat off yet; he was still chilly and it was really warm. “It’s reindeer. Having sex.” He motioned towards the top of his head with one hand. “Nordic style. Obviously.”
“You mean Gayndeer. Those are dude reindeer. Reindeers. Whatever.”
“I don’t think reindeer care about that sort of shit.”
“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”
Bucky didn’t look back as he headed for his office. And he also didn’t hesitate to flip Clint off as he went. He only felt a little bad afterwards.
He was partway through proofing some updated copy when Daisy dropped in.
“So what happened?”
“Hell if I know. It just,” he gestured vaguely to his screen, “stopped working. I can’t get it to reconnect and I logged out and back in and everything.”
Daisy had the wherewithal to make a face that seemed to Bucky to mean the fix would be complicated and painful.
“Right. Ok. I’ll take a look. You just…do something else.”
Bucky settled on playing Candy Crush because everything he needed was on the computer Daisy had just sat herself in front of. When the same steps Bucky had tried didn’t work for her, she grumbled something indistinct and leaned closer to his screen.
***
“Did you get my ema—oh.” Ten minutes later and Steve was in his doorway and Daisy was still sitting at Bucky’s desk muttering about increasingly ridiculous reasons for Bucky’s email to be acting so uselessly.
“No.” Bucky hadn’t meant to sound so clipped.
“What happened?”
“No idea. Hopefully Johnson’s sorting that out now.” Bucky huffed.
Daisy tapped on Bucky’s keyboard. Some seriously awkward silence settling heavy in the room was his only response.
Bucky sighed, taking a moment to berate himself for being mean, and turned to face Steve. “Sorry. What’s up?”
“It’s Suffolk.”
Bucky groaned. He’d only been at work for two hours and already it was after twelve and a shitshow of a day.
“Come on. I think the conference room’s free. Let’s meet in there in the meantime.” Bucky scribbled his username and password for Daisy, grabbed paper and pen, and led the way.
“They’re happy with your copy this time.” Steve smiled. “But the graphic’s gotta change. And also they want to add something about their new scholarships.” He made air quotes. “Just a line or two.”
Bucky laughed humorlessly. “Right. Isn’t that how this whole nightmare started?”
Steve smiled, searching Bucky’s face for a moment.
“What?”
“You hungry?”
Bucky hadn’t had a chance to eat before he left for work and it wasn’t like they were serving food on the T. “Starving.”
Which is how he wound up sitting across from Steve in Faneuil Hall. They worked together a lot, but they hadn’t really gone for lunch just the two of them very much. There were usually a lot of awkward silences, stops and starts in the conversation. Which was ridiculous. Steve was super hot and probably knew how to talk to other people because of how often he got hit on. Bucky wasn’t unfortunate-looking, but he tended to spend a good amount of his time second-guessing himself. Still feeling a little like the new kid in class at the office wasn’t exactly helping, but that was less about his co-workers and more about Bucky.
“So, uh, rough night?” Steve was making a valiant effort of keeping his meatball sub from being too messy.
Bucky lifted one shoulder in a shrug as he picked at his stir-fry. “Sort of. The T was so delayed, I didn’t get home until almost one.”
“In the morning?”
A breath of a laugh escaped Bucky. “Yeah. So, sorry I snapped at you.”
“You were hangry. It’s okay.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Bucky motioned to his lunch. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until you said it.”
Steve smiled. “Someone’s gotta take care of you.” Steve paled. “I. I mean – I meant –”
Bucky tried not to blush and mostly managed. “I got – I know.” He flashed Steve a quick smile. Because he could flirt with anything as long as its name wasn’t Steve Effing Rogers, goddamnit, Barnes. “Thanks.”
This. This was the shit Bucky was talking about. He wasn’t sure if he was reading into it or if Steve was just good at putting his foot in his mouth or if they were both trying to (abysmally) flirt with one another.
“You, uh. You should try to leave earlier today, get home earlier maybe.”
“I just might.” Bucky shrugged. “Can’t hurt to try, anyway.”
Steve smiled again, more relaxed this time. He was right; Bucky should leave earlier, he’d get home before one in the morning and actually get some sleep.
***
Bucky wasn’t going to leave.
Between the news, weather (it was snowing again, what the fuck), and MBTA website, there were more delays than the day before and he was honestly too tired. He kept a change of clothes in his office for emergency meetings and so he figured he’d just suck it up for a night, get some real sleep, not have to feel disheveled the next day, and brave the commute home the following day instead.
“Aren’t you heading out soon?”
Bucky startled. He hadn’t realized Steve was still there. “Hey! Uhm, yeah. Soon.”
There was a little line between Steve’s brows. “I hope so, the weather’s getting worse. “
Bucky hoped he was smiling. “It’ll be ok. I’m letting the evening rush subside.”
Steve nodded. He didn’t look convinced, but wished Bucky a good evening and headed for the door.
***
Bucky was peering at his email at 9 am, his second cup of coffee in front of him. He’d gotten up around seven, changed, and stowed the sleeping bag he’d bought the night before in one of his empty file cabinets. He wasn’t in a position to afford a hotel, nor would the company pay for one. And a two to three hour commute each way everyday wasn’t something he was interested in. The floor wasn’t comfortable, but he was sure he’d get used to it. It’d only been one night. He’d adjust. And hopefully, no one would know he was sleeping there.
Hi Bucky, Steve, and Natasha,
MIT is having an event this spring and want us to do some more marketing for them. I’ve attached their notes for your review. Natasha wants to meet tomorrow to see what you’ve got as a first-pass. I’ll follow up with each of you individually to set a meeting time. Thanks!
Peter
Bucky sent along his availability to Peter and continued through his inbox. Spam, Suffolk, something from Lesley University, (S.S.R. was working on securing a contract with their Humanities department), and an email from Steve.
Bucky,
Not surprised MIT loved your Twitter tags! We make a great team J
Steve
Bucky smiled and fired off a quick response:
Steve,
Who said it was my tags and not your design? We’re nearly unstoppable.
BB
Before he could open the attachment from Lesley, Natasha appeared in his doorway with two paper bags from Flour.
“Did you bring me breakfast?” Bucky tried not to smile too wide.
“You and Steve. MIT is happy, so I’m happy.”
“MIT emailed us at like, ten last night about the current project and the next one.”
Natasha shrugged and handed him one of the bags. “They did. I was awake.”
Bucky accepted the paper bag and pulled out a breakfast sandwich and a sugar brioche bun. “Nat.”
“Your commute looked like hell; so a congratulatory and consolatory breakfast sandwich was in order. I have to keep morale up, after all.. And anyway, next meal is on you.”
“Deal.”
Natasha nodded, and headed for Steve’s office. Bucky dug into his breakfast gratefully.
Bucky’s computer pinged.
Too bad they didn’t let us share an office. Then we’d be completely unstoppable.
Steve
Bucky swallowed the bite of his sandwich hard. Since before Bucky joined S.S.R. Marketing, apparently, there had been rumblings of further expansion now that the company was back on more solid footing. He remembered well enough the conversation about whether to have him pack up the office he’d just moved into and share with Steve, or if Steve would move offices and share with Bucky. Ultimately, they hadn’t moved anywhere, and to his knowledge, any expansion conversations were on hold for Boston while headquarters launched an office in Los Angeles.
We’d get into far too much trouble if we shared an office, Bucky shot back.
He took a big sip of his coffee. It was hard to tell sometimes if Steve was flirting, or if it was just his brand of friendliness, or if Bucky was reading into everything just a little too much because of his giant crush on Steve. He’d always been good at over-analyzing.
That’s a bad thing? ;) Came Steve's all-too-quick response.
Oh Jesus. It wasn’t even nine thirty in the morning and Steve Rogers was giving him heart palpitations.
I can neither confirm nor deny anything, punk.
Bucky dove into his work, then, because he was not going to think about Steve and his maybe-flirty, maybe-not emails.
He was not.
But ok, maybe there was something there. He’d never heard Steve mention a boyfriend or a girlfriend, and Bucky was pretty sure the guy was single (somehow). He had no other reference point for interactions with Steve. He couldn’t very well snoop someone else’s emails with Steve to get a sense of whether this sort of flirting? teasing? – whatever was just Steve being Steve, or if it was something he did specifically with Bucky.
Bucky was supposed to be working. He navigated to his Google Play account and started his work playlist, before studiously ignoring his crush and getting to work.
***
“So how’s it going there?” Becca’s voice sounded down the line. Bucky leaned back in his chair, waiting for his soup to cool down enough to eat. It was after eight pm and he was the only one left in the office (he’d gone out to get dinner and brought himself back some cheddar broccoli soup for a snack and lunch the next day).
“Becks, it’s crazy. It hasn’t stopped snowing. They say there’s another storm coming and that’ll put us up somewhere around thirty, forty inches of snow. In like, two weeks.”
“Good god. How’s the commute going?”
“It’s not. I’ve been staying in my office overnight. Well, last night was the first night, tonight is night two. It took me three hours both ways the other day. I don’t have the time and energy for that.”
“Bucky! Isn’t there someone you could stay with or a hotel or something?”
“No, at least, not for long enough. The weather pattern the news lined up is crazy. It looks like it’s going to be a solid month of this.”
Becca paused for a couple moments. When she spoke again, Bucky could hear the sly smile in her voice. “What about Steve?”
“What? No. I – I do not know him well enough to ask that. Oh my god.”
“You’ve known him for like, eight months. You work with him the most. Also to hear you tell it, you flirt a bunch.”
“I think we flirt a bunch. Who knows if he’s just being friendly.”
“No way. He thinks you’re handsome. I bet he’d let you stay with him.”
“I don’t even know where he lives.”
“I bet he’d share his bed.”
Bucky’s personal email pinged and it was a YouTube link from Becca. To Brian McKnight’s Back At One.
“Oh my god. Rebecca. Why are you like this?” Bucky groaned.
“I’m trying to help! Also Brian McKnight is a classic. Anyway, are you comfortable there, at least? Eating?”
“I am. I’ll get used to the arrangement. It’s not forever anyway. Just…until this is over.”
“Yeah.”
“How’s Sam, you talk to him lately?"
“Mm. He’s just back from Greece. Work and vacation thing, I think? Something like that. I think he’s headed to Boston soon. Or, he’s supposed to be.”
“Doubtful. They’ve been cancelling so many flights. Someone from HQ was supposed to come by for the new quarter and they grounded her plane, and like, all the others headed this way.”
“Just stay warm and be safe, ok?”
“Yeah, Becks.”
“And find a way to snuggle with Steve.”
“Oh my god, I’m hanging up on you.”
He did, to the sound of her laughter.