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They’re standing outside the Wakandan palace, staring at the dome in the sky, and maybe it’s the new arm, maybe it’s the new lease on life, but Bucky’s feeling optimistic.
He turns to Sam and says:
“Hey, so. You still mad about that time I kicked you off a helicarrier?”
Sam gives Bucky the stink-eye from behind his goggles.
“No,” he says deadpan, turning around so fast that Bucky has to duck so he doesn’t get whacked by Sam’s wings. “I’m over it.”
Bucky watches the wings warily. “Yeah,” he says. “You do seem really...over it.”
Sam surveys Bucky coolly. “There’s a big nasty alien dude coming to earth to kill us all,” he says. “I guess I can forgive your brainwashed ass.” He frowns. “Bruised my ribs, though.”
“Oh, man,” Bucky says. “Well, I could kiss ‘em all better. If you wanted.” He hefts his gun against his shoulder and smiles winningly, which he personally thinks really helps his case.
Sam whirls again, this time in shock. Bucky stumbles back a step to avoid the wings.
“Did you just...wait. Wait.” Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. “I gotta break this down,” he says. He jabs a finger in the air. “First, you’re like four years too late, so thanks but no thanks.” He jabs another finger in the air. “Second, did you just--did you just hit on me?”
Bucky scratches his ear and looks away shiftily. “Maaay...be.”
“Dude.” Sam sounds equal parts incredulous and impressed. “You really think it’s the best time?”
“Is there ever a good time?” Bucky asks sagely.
Sam cocks an eyebrow. “Maybe not around an impending apocalypse,” he suggests.
Which, okay. Fair. Bucky just gives a shrug like, what are you gonna do?
Sam shakes his head again. “Man, you got balls of steel,” he says. “I don’t even like you.”
Bucky waggles his eyebrow. “You don’t even know me. If you knew me, you’d like me. Steve likes me.”
Sam blinks. “Steve has a death wish bigger than his pecs,” he says. “Steve is not the best judge of character.”
Which, again. Fair.
“He ain’t too bad,” Bucky says, trying to smile without exactly--leering. “He chose you, didn’t he?”
Sam snorts. “Nope,” he says. He tugs his goggles up over his head and looks Bucky in the eye. “ I chose him on account of how he was a sad, sad mess of a tall beefy white boy on the run from the government.” He drops his eyes, traveling a long and slow trail from Bucky’s head to his toes.
“Aw fuck,” he says unhappily. “It’s possible I got a type.”
Bucky brightens. “Oh, good,” he says. “I wasn’t sure, but--”
“You were flexing!” Sam says. “You were flexing while I was ranting, and that ain’t playing fair.”
Bucky preens, and not-so-subtly flexes once more.
“I hate you,” Sam says passionately, but the stink-eye is gone and in its place is a reluctantly appraising look.
“I don’t hate you,” Bucky says honestly. “I like you a lot. You watch Steve’s back and you make him laugh, and you fly real well.” It might be laying it on too thick to bat his eyelashes, Bucky decides, but he does sidle closer. “And I like your….” He looks at Sam’s sidearms, strapped around thick, ropey muscles. “Guns,” he finishes, and alright, maybe this time he does leer. Just a little.
Sam groans. “Where’d you learn to tell awful jokes?” he grouses, but he’s got a ghost of a flattered smile on his face.
“I was born with ‘em,” Bucky says solemnly. “This bone structure and my bad jokes. All I got going for me.”
Sam snorts, tugs his goggles back down. “Not all ,” he says grudgingly, and it’s as close to a compliment as Bucky’s going to get.
They stand in silence for a while, surveying the sky overhead, and Bucky can’t quite control the silly grin on his face. A sneaky look at Sam, and there’s still that lingering bit of a smile on his face, too.
“Probably it’s because you were a HYDRA assassin and all,” Sam says. “But I didn’t know you were funny.”
“Me neither,” Bucky says. He whirls his fingers around his temples. “Could be all that de-programming.”
Sam snorts. “What, you mean you were always a smartass and now you’re back to your natural state?”
Bucky gives a wink. “My natural state ain’t bad,” he suggests. Sam’s facepalms, but between the cracks of his fingers, there’s a little bit of a staring situation going on. Like maybe he’s….considering it.
Bucky flexes again, manfully, as he hoists his gun to his other shoulder.
“A hundred year old horndog with a big metal arm and bad timing,” Sam muses. “I gotta get back on OkCupid or something.”
Bucky knows about online dating because his time on the run was very educational, but he refuses to engage this line of thought. Instead, he sidles up to Sam and says:
“Would you go on a date with me, maybe? When this is all over?”
Sam’s whips around again, and this time one of his wings actually whacks Bucky to the ground.
“A date?” Sam asks, pulling his goggles off again. He stands there framed by the sun, tall and broad and solid, and there’s a blush spreading over his cheeks, endearing enough that Bucky accepts the hand that Sam offers to lift him back up. With only minimal grumbling.
Bucky squeezes Sam’s hand, warm and strong. “Yeah,” he says. “We can get dinner. I’ll cook. I make a mean spaghetti bolognese.”
(Well. Steve makes a mean spaghetti bolognese, but Bucky’s not above some petty bribery if needs must.)
Sam looks gobsmacked. “I...uh. I didn’t think you were talking about, y’know, dates. Or dating. Like...for real.”
Bucky frowns. “You thought I was hitting on you as a joke?”
Sam shifts. “No! Well. I dunno. You’ve been cooped up with goats for awhile. I’d get it if you were just bored. Or lookin’ to blow off steam.”
Bucky gives Sam an even stare. “There was this one goat that kept headbutting me and screaming at me unless I gave it attention. Sometimes it would run away and pick fights with other goats. I called it Steve.”
Sam lets out a bark of laughter before slapping his hand over his mouth and looking down at it, betrayed.
“The point is,” Bucky says, “I had plenty to keep me amused. You aren’t...an amusement. Or some random person for some random night.” He scratches his beard, uncomfortable. “You’re interesting. And like I said. I like you. I’ve liked you. Ever since you wouldn’t move the seat up in that damn Volkeswagon.”
Sam’s panic seems to recede a bit. His shoulders untense. “Yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Bucky confirms. This time his smile is less about wheedling his way into Sam’s heart (and/or pants) and more about...softness. Sincerity.
Sam passes a hand over the back of his neck. “Dunno what the world’s gonna be like when this is over, though,” he says carefully. “I mean, you’re crazy like a fox and I’m kinda into it, and maybe I could be into pasta and sweet nothings, but there’s this whole--” he motions around them, the dome and the soldiers and the general air of impending doom, “thing,” he finishes vaguely.
It’s more than Bucky expected, really. He bravely tamps down his disappointement and says:
“Well, let’s play it by ear.” He tilts his head. “I just didn’t wanna get into another epic superhero fight without you knowing that I think your ass is cute.”
Sam looks away, but Bucky’s can see his cheekbones in profile, and he knows a laugh when he sees one.
“Me, I’m not sure yet about your ass,” Sam says with a straight face when he turns back. “But you are, I guess. Cute, I mean.” He shakes his head. “Fine. Let’s play it by ear. We do this thing. We beat this dude. And then after, maybe we get some spaghetti.”
There is a streak of light that doesn’t bode well in the distance, and Sam’s face turns grim as he lowers his goggles once more.
“How about you earn a minute of my time for each alien monster thing that you bring down?”
Bucky’s lips curve into a smile, the deadly confident smile of a born sniper, more comfortable with a gun in hand than anytime else. He hopes Sam’s ready for a date night that’s like, a million minutes long.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I can work with that.”
There’s a pause, a shared, electric charge between them both, and then Rhodey’s voice in their ear:
“You two know your comms were on this entire time, right?”