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One day, Bucky strolls into the office where Sam is working -- fucking reports, man, they’re the bane of his existence -- and promptly plops an envelope on his desk.
“What,” Sam asks. Because of all the things Bucky’s sat on his desk, an envelope is new. Compared to a wicked-looking, serrated knife and a complete background check on Sam’s Mom’s new boss, it’s a nice change. He hopes.
“Look inside,” is all Bucky says.
“Are my fingers gonna get bitten off?” It’s a serious question.
Bucky rolls his eyes, infusing way too much sass into his, “no.” Then -- “It was one time, Sam, one time.”
“Enough to leave a lasting impression,” Sam snarks, cautiously reaching for the envelope. With a sigh, he takes the plunge, and pulls it open. Inside is a thin stack of pictures, glossy and obviously brand new. Sam glances up to Bucky, who shrugs. Ugh, he’s no help at all.
Sam slides the pictures out and immediately pauses.
It’s a black and white picture of Bucky. On either side of him are an older couple. The man has a cleft chin and light eyes -- blue, if Sam has to guess. The same shade as Bucky’s. The woman has dark hair and the same nose, the same eye shape. He turns it, hoping for some kind of writing on the back -- there, in Bucky’s swooping, half-cursive are the words, “Me (Bucky) with Grandma and Grandpa Barnes, 03/18”.
He flips it back around -- there’s Bucky, around a year old, a cowlick already forming on his too-big head. He was pouting, settled uncomfortably between his grandparents.
Bucky leans over his shoulder, affectionately placing a hand on his chest, arm tucked over Sam’s shoulder. “You should look at the next one,” he huffs, amused.
Sam smirks at him, gently setting the first picture on a rare empty space on his desk. Then he lays eyes on the next picture.
“Oh my god, look at your hair,” bursts out, unbidden. But really. It’s a damn bowl cut. “Oh my god. It’s hideous.”
From downstairs, Steve shouts, “What did we say about the ‘h’ word?”
“Have you seen this shit?” Sam feels that this is a good as time as any to use the ‘h’ word. And Steve lived through this haircut, Bucky’s like eleven in the picture, so Steve knows. It’s totally an ‘h’ word situation.
“What is it?”
“Bucky with a bowl cut!”
“What?” Natasha calls from the bedroom. A moment later, she steps into the office. Her hair is in rollers like a grandma and she’s wearing a towel. She’s beautiful. “Let me see.”
Sam holds up the picture; Bucky weakly protests, but he’s pressing a smile to Sam’s neck.
Natasha stares, for a long moment. She nods like she’s understood something particularly astute. Her eyes slide to Bucky, and back to awful picture. Finally, she asks, “What on Earth were you thinking, Yasha?”
“I wasn’t thinking anything -- my Ma chose that haircut, not me.”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure,” Sam teases. “And there won’t be any pictures of Steve with this shit?”
Bucky sighs, standing straight and rolling his eyes. “Maybe there will, maybe there won’t.”
Sam groans instantly. “Dammit, Bucky.”
Natasha turns on her heel and leaves. To Steve, she calls, “It’s hideous!”
“It’s not that -- “
“Oh yes it is,” Sam interrupts, vowing to himself to frame it and put it up somewhere. His guests need to see it. Steve needs to see it.
“Steve! Come up here!”
Bucky groans, teasingly trying to take the picture back.
“Nope,” Sam immediately denies, fighting off Bucky, “Nope, nope, nope. I’m gonna make sure everyone sees this -- “
“I didn’t show you this so you’d humiliate me!”
“Humiliate? Nah, I’m...sharing. You want me to share, right?” Sam asks, pushing his chair away from the desk to give Bucky a pout.
Steve knocks on the doorway, “You bein’ a bad influence in here, Buck?”
Bucky throws his hands up; Sam starts laughing and doesn’t stop as Bucky shouts, “Why does everyone think I’m the troublemaker in this relationship?”