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Bucky stood outside the cheery green and white door of the animal shelter and tried to will his hand to reach for the handle. This was a terrible idea. You need something to care about. Ashley - the therapist, not the be confused with Ashley the ex-therapist, or Ashley the cashier at the corner Starbucks with pretty eyes - probably meant a fish not a fucking dog. But Bucky found it hard to imagine caring about a fish, and he wasn't about to fail another therapy assignment after six shitty months of little progress. And apparently, his aloe plant wasn't good enough.
So he was going to adopt a dog. Lots of vets adopted dogs. They were supposed to be uplifting or some shit. He pushed the door open.
Behind the counter was a girl - almost as cheery looking as the door - who seemed far too young be guarding an entire building full of animals. To her credit, her smile barely wavered when Bucky shuffled up to the desk.
"I'd like to look at the dogs, please."
"Of course! Let me buzz you in. Gwen is our canine coordinator. She'll meet you back there and give you a run down on who we have right now and what the adoption process is like!"
"Thank you."
The dog room was loud.
Every dog seemed to be barking its head off and the room echoed, vibrating through Bucky's chest and down his arm in painful lines. He wandered the aisles, peering in all the cages, but even though some of the dogs were sweet-looking, none of them made him want to bend down and offer his hand to be sniffed.
A middle-aged woman with messy, straw-blonde hair tucked into a bun came around the corner and smiled at him. "I'm Gwen. Can I help you?"
Bucky nodded, and she gestured him out of the screaming dog room and into a quieter office.
"What are you looking for? Family pet, running companion, snuggler?"
"Uh…" Bucky twisted his hands together in his lap. Was this one of those cases when fudging the truth was the best approach? He opted for honesty. "I'm a veteran. Injured… sort of. My therapist said I needed something to take care of, something to engage with… I guess. She said she didn't often recommend pets, but in this case, she thought one might be a good idea for me."
"Oh ok." Gwen nodded and pulled a stack of files towards her. "That's fairly common. Are you intending to put the dog through service training of any sort - physical aid, PTSD? It'll help if we know what you need from them, as all the dogs have different capacities for training and support." She smiled encouragingly.
Bucky rolled Ashley's words through his mind again. I can give you a diagnosis with a name if you want one, but you don't seem like the kind of guy who cares much about labels. You want progress. "Not a service dog, no. Just a - a - friend…" he finished lamely, cheeks heating.
"Perfect. That opens up your options a bit. How much exercise are you able to give the dog?"
"Um. I'm not sure. How much do they need?"
Bucky and Gwen went back and forth through the adoption questions, her making notes as they went, dwindling the stack down to a few good matches. For the first time since Ashley's suggestion, Bucky thought that there was a chance the rescue would actually let him take a dog, bizarre as it seemed. He felt like he was getting all the questions wrong, but Gwen seemed encouraging and when they were done, there were three dogs left in her stack.
She took Bucky outside to a fenced square of rough grass and dandelions, then brought the dogs to him one at a time. The first was a seven year old german shepherd, bright and alert, who played fetch with him for a few minutes. The second was a four year old hound mix who seemed more interested in the way the fence smelled than in Bucky. And the third was a young collie/corgi cross with a goofy smile that drew Bucky down to the ground to let the pup crawl in his lap and roll around.
They were all sweet and fun and well-behaved, but… Gwen looked at him in question after the last and he shrugged. "Sorry… I just -" He sighed.
"I'm - hmm. I don't usually do this, but… have you thought about a cat instead?"
Gwen sent Bucky in to look at the cats alone.
This room was quieter, just the occasional meow, or a hiss if he walked too close to a cage with a shy one in it. There were some kittens and some adults cats, some sleeping and some playing, a few hiding in their litter pans, with large, lamp-like eyes turned on Bucky as he walked past.
At the end of the row, in the top strip of cages, was an all black cat with long fluffy hair and huge, startling green eyes. She looked contemplatively at Bucky, like she was considering his value, eyeing him up and down as she lay in a little meatloaf with her paws folded under. When Bucky paused and watched her for a moment, she untucked, stretched so tall her tail vibrated, turned around three times then chirped at him like a bird.
Bucky looked at the paper clipped to her cage. "Mouse? That's a seriously dumb name."
**
Bucky took Mouse home in a cardboard box with air holes four days later, once his application had gone through. As soon as he opened the box, she popped out and sauntered across his living room like she owned the place.
Over the next two weeks, Mouse set down the ground rules. Wet food was to be administered whenever she asked, the back of Bucky's armchair was hers and hers alone, and closing the bathroom door at all, for any reason, was no longer acceptable.
An unexpected benefit was that Mouse chose Bucky's chest as her overnight sleeping place of preference. It forced Bucky to sleep on his back, which his physiotherapist was always trying to get him to do without much success. As soon as he fell asleep, he'd roll onto his side and compress the nerves in his bad shoulder, waking up to shooting pains down an arm that wasn't real anymore. But Mouse pinned him on his back like a purring, furry paperweight and the difference was noticeable almost immediately.
The less desirable demand Mouse inflicted on Bucky was that she would not be chained to his apartment. She cried at the window, for hours, until he relented and opened it. He followed her, at first, as she plucked her dainty way up the fire escape to the roof and sprawled in a sunbeam, occasionally chirping at the pigeons that flapped that high. It freaked Bucky out a bit, letting her out, but her old home must have done the same because she moved with confidence on the metal stairs, and she was always back in time for dinner.
And then, one day, she wasn't.
Bucky rattled the can of wet food and shook the bag of kibble, hanging his head out of the window, but she was nowhere to be seen. "Mouse!" he tried then snapped his mouth shut and jerked back into his window, realizing how idiotic it was to be screaming rodents out of his window. She had to be up on the roof, he told himself, not willing to entertain the possibility that something had happened to her. He dug his boots out of the pile by the front door and pulled them on, meaning to climb up to the roof and find her, but as he stomped back over to the window, Mouse came trotting through it with a purrrup, rubbing against the window frame and then meowing loudly at her still empty bowl on the sill.
"Where were you, then?" Bucky asked, pulling a can out of the cupboard. "Out on a hot da- what the fuck?"
Around Mouse's neck was a shiny, pink collar, the stretchy fabric kind, with a little metal buckle and a bell.
"Where did that come from?" Bucky lifted her up away from her bowl - much to her distress - and unbuckled it. He set her down again and examined the collar. There was no tag, just the collar. It was cheap, like it had been picked up from a dollar store, but it was very pointed. And possessive.
Bucky glared at it for a while then chucked it in the trash. Mouse was his cat. And besides, she wasn't the sort of cat to wear a pink collar anyway. Bucky gave her a look. "Whoever gave you this? You stay away from them." He closed the window pointedly and headed to the kitchen to make his own dinner.
Bucky kept her in for three days, but when the yowling was unbearable, he let her out again. She was back for dinner, her usually, fluffy self. But two days later, she was late for dinner again, almost twenty minutes this time, and she was wearing another collar.
"For fucks sake." Bucky threw it out immediately.
When, a week later, Mouse sauntered back in through the window with a shiny red collar on covered in rhinestones, Bucky lost it. He snatched at it with a frustrated huff, and she meowed and tried to skitter away. He caught her and tugged it off.
There was a tag, a small, red heart, with a phone number engraved on it. That was it.
He charged out of the window and climbed up the fire escape. There were only three windows above his, with the way the stairs wound back and forth and the floors alternated layouts, and only one of them was open. That had to be the one. Bucky hauled himself up to it and pounded on the glass, rattling it in its frame. "Open up!"
There were panicky, tripping footsteps and then the window was wrenched open the rest of the way by a stressed-looking, blond guy wearing a t-shirt that showed an arm holding a protest sign that said I can do this all day. "What?"
Bucky was stunned into silence for a moment - cause, god, this guy was hot, shapely arms straining the sleeves of the shirt, hair flopping in his bright, blue eyes, and Bucky hadn't felt that about anyone in a long time - then he remembered why he was there. "Stop trying to steal my fucking cat!"
The guy blinked at him. "What?"
"Mouse is mine. Stop putting collars on her with your fucking phone number like she belongs to you. She's my stupid cat, and I'm not going to let you steal her."
The man opened and closed his mouth for a moment. "Mouse? You mean Cinder?"
"That's not her name."
"I thought she was a stray." The man crossed his arms, biceps flexing as he tensed. "She doesn't look very good for a pet. I was trying to fatten her up. She seems hungry all the time."
"Yeah, I just rescued her, asshole. And if you keep feeding her, she's not going to come home for dinner."
"If you don't want people to think she's a stray, you should put a collar on her."
"She's a fucking cat, man."
"Whatever." The guy made to close the window, and Bucky shot out a hand and stopped him.
"Her microchip is registered to me. She's mine. Stop being a dick."
"I can't close my window all the way, dude. I have asthma and this building is full of mildew. I can't stop her from coming in if you let her wander like that."
It was true; the building was a shit heap. The guy shifted again, and Bucky saw dog tags glinting under his shirt. "Fine. Just don't feed her so she comes back to me, okay? And stop it with the collars."
"Fine." The man seemed to deflate. "Her name is Mouse, you said?"
"Yeah."
"Pretty dumb name," he muttered.
"Fuck you." Bucky flipped the guy off and stormed off down the fire escape.
**
True to his word, the guy stopped putting collars on Mouse, and she came back every night for dinner. It was still weird, knowing that when Bucky let her out, she was going up to hang out in someone else's apartment half the time - like his wasn't good enough? But when the other guy stopped feeding her, she started to flow back and forth between the two of them with less routine and more whim.
It was two weeks after their confrontation before Bucky saw the guy again. His knee was sore from twisting it on a run the other day, so Bucky pushed the button to call the elevator down, only to have the doors spring open and reveal the cat thief. It would be too awkward to wait for the next car - and probably too rude - so Bucky stepped in and nodded a grunt towards the other guy.
"Um?" the guy said, three floors later.
"What?"
"Is - uh - is Mouse allergic to anything? I haven't been feeding her, but my friend had this catnip plant that her cats don't like and she said it was just going to die in her apartment, so she asked if I wanted it. And. Um. Yeah."
Bucky blinked at him. "Can cats even be allergic to catnip?"
"I don't know."
"Well, she has catnip toys and she's fine with those, so I assume it's okay."
"Oh, okay. Good." The guy smiled softly to himself. The elevator chimed and they both stepped out, cat guy making for his mailbox, Bucky slipping out the front door. He really did seem to like Mouse a lot.
**
Two months after he got her, Bucky got a phone call from the vet that she was due for some booster shots and he needed to bring her in. She'd destroyed the cardboard box she'd come in, and Bucky didn't have another carrier, but he figured she wouldn't need one. She allowed herself to be held for hours without asking to be put down, never ran off or startled, and most of the time, came when Bucky called. Unless, of course, she was napping in the guy upstairs' kitchen window and couldn't hear him.
So he tucked Mouse under his arm and made for the elevator, watching the Uber drive down the block on his phone.
The doors opened and once again, Mouse's friend was already inside. He smiled when he saw Mouse. "Hey! Having an adventure?" he asked her.
"Vet," Bucky replied, on her behalf.
"Oh." His face fell. "Is everything okay?"
"Oh yeah. Just routine shots. She's great."
"That's good." He reached out to pet her, but the elevator chimed again and they both shuffled up against the back wall to make space.
A woman appeared, with an ask-for-a-manager haircut and a fussy purse the size of an SUV. Her eyes cut immediately to Mouse then flicked up to Bucky, lips pursed. She pushed the button for the third floor. "You should really have your animal contained," she snapped.
Bucky shifted away from her and closer to cat guy. "She won't do nothing."
"Says you. At the very least, you should put it on a leash."
The other guy laughed. "No one asks you to put your damn kids on leash," he muttered, "and they definitely bite. All Mouse does is purr."
Bucky tried to hold back a snort, but he couldn't stop it from leaking out. The woman pulled out her phone and turned her back to them with a huff, and Bucky flicked his eyes up to the man's. He smiled at him, then winked.
The elevator stopped at the third floor, and the woman got out.
"It's Steve, by the way," the guy said, once the doors had closed again. "I'm Steve."
"Oh. Bucky." They shook hands, only semi awkwardly. "Sorry, I yelled at you," Bucky felt the need to say. "It's just - she's my first pet and I'm trying really hard not to fuck it up."
"It's alright, I get it." Steve smiled at him. "You're not fucking it up. She's a really great cat."
Bucky shifted Mouse in his arms, making her purrup, and Steve reached over to scratch under her chin, shooting a glance at Bucky like he was making sure it was okay.
Bucky gave him a nod. "Thanks."
**
Over the next couple months, Bucky saw little of Steve. They said hi in the lobby, shared the occasional elevator, and once, when Bucky was out of sugar, he'd walked up the fire escape and knocked on Steve's window to ask to borrow some.
A week after that, Bucky got hit with a flu so bad he could barely roll out of bed to go throw up. For two days, he was dead to the world, buried in blankets and sleeping as much as he could.
On day three, Bucky woke up with his throat screaming and his muscles aching. The fever didn't feel any better; his skin felt like it'd been sandpapered all over. Mouse cried at the window, but Bucky couldn't find the strength to go open it. He knew she'd be pissed, probably had destroyed something in retaliation, but the thought of the cold air from outside leaking into the room was almost nauseating.
"You'll have to stay in again," Bucky mumbled into his pillow. "Sorry." To his surprise, Mouse gave up after about ten minutes and paced around his bed before settling on his hip, purring loudly. She was warm, massaging his side with soft paws, and it wasn't long before Bucky dozed off again.
He startled awake to a knock on the door, and was halfway out of bed before he realized he wasn't expecting anyone. Mouse, irritated by the sudden movement, darted away and disappeared into the bathroom. He was already standing, and there was a chance it might be girl scout cookies, so he wrapped the duvet around his shoulders and shuffled down the hall. He opened the door.
"Oh," Steve said, brow furrowing as he took Bucky in. "You are alive."
"Mostly, anyway," Bucky grumbled.
"Mouse hasn't come by in a few days so I thought I should check and make sure everything was okay."
"Mouse is fine. I'm not. I've been too sick to let her out."
"You look like shit."
"Wow. Thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go throw up and then maybe die." Bucky paused, consideringly. "If I do die, you'll take her, right? I don't know anyone else."
Steve blinked at him for a long moment. "Yeah, of course. Doubt you'll die of the flu, though."
"We'll just see about -" Bucky held up a hand. His stomach churned. He deeply regretting standing up to answer the door. "Shit."
He bolted for the bathroom and made it just in time, vomiting into the toilet until he was shaking and his eyes were wet. "Fuck." He heard the front door click closed, and he leaned back against the tub and let himself whimper.
Then the bathroom door opened.
"Ah!" He jerked up. "What the fuck, dude?"
"You're dehydrated," Steve said simply, somehow rooting around in Bucky's medicine cabinet. "And you need to get that fever down. Here." He ran a washcloth under the tap then handed it to Bucky, who stared at it in confusion for a moment then wiped his face. It was cool and damp and wiped away the sweat and grime and tears. It was the first pleasant sensation Bucky'd had in two days.
"What are you doing here?" he croaked.
Steve shuffled his weight from foot to foot. "My mom was a nurse. I can't just -" Steve waved his hand around vaguely.
Bucky was too full of snot and nausea to riddle out what Steve meant so he just shrugged. Steve hauled him back to his feet and left him at the sink with a toothbrush. He heard Mouse crying and the fridge open and close, then the snick of a can opening.
Bucky cleaned up until his wobble threatened to knock him over completely, then he shuffled into the living room and collapsed on the couch. He tried to turn on the TV, but the remote was too far away, and his eyelids were too heavy. A hand on his shoulder shook him gently awake again.
"Hey, Buck? Take these okay?" Steve held out a handful of bright blue pills.
"Wassit?"
"Tylenol cold and flu. Nighttime, because you're going to sleep anyway. I left some bread and soup on the table here." He tapped the coffee table. "And there's more in the fridge if you don't get to this in time."
Bucky took the pills and swallowed them, knocking back nearly an entire glass of water with it.
"Do you want me to take Mouse, or do you want her here?"
He should tell Steve to take her, but he thought about the way she curled up on his hip earlier and he shrugged apologetically. "She's company."
"Okay. I'll come back in the morning to feed her and check on you. Sleep well." He patted Bucky's pile of blankets.
"Okay…" Bucky was already drifting off again.
He came to only a short while later. The soup was still warm and he was feeling a little less awful, so he drank half the bowl and nibbled on the bread then rolled over and passed out again.
The next time he woke up, someone was singing softly in his kitchen. He pushed himself up slowly, the world wobbling around him a little too much, but still less than before, to find Steve leaning over the kitchen island, petting Mouse rhymically while she ate, singing some quiet tune.
"What the fuck?" Bucky asked, smacking his dry tongue against the roof of his mouth.
Steve startled up, having the decency to blush. "You're awake."
"I guess? What time is it?"
"It's about nine. I've got a meeting to go to, but I said I'd come feed her. Did you eat the soup?"
"Uh, yeah. It was pretty good. Thank you?"
"You're welcome. There are more meds in your bathroom." Steve peered at him. "You look better."
"I feel better. A bit. On the mend, I guess."
"Good."
Awkward silence hung between them then Steve pushed away from the counter. "Anyway. Glad you're alright. Get well soon." He hung Bucky's keys on the hook by the door - he must have taken them yesterday to let himself back in - and slipped out.
Mouse jumped down off the counter and sauntered over to Bucky, rubbing her body along the length of the couch then jumping up to walk up and down his legs, purring. "Hey, baby." He petted her, tugging on her tail a little and making her chirp and spin around. "What was that about?"
But an afternoon of horrible reality TV and warm cuddles from Mouse put Steve out of his mind.
**
Steve stayed out of Bucky's mind until six weeks later, when he got a reminder email that he was due in DC the following week. He'd never had to deal with leaving a cat behind when he travelled before, and it honestly hadn't occurred to him that someone would have to feed her and clean up after her.
Bucky hauled Mouse up into his arms and carried her up the four flights of stairs to Steve's apartment, hoping that having her actually present would prevent things from getting too awkward. Plus, then it felt more like Mouse asking, instead of Bucky asking. Bucky knocked, and Steve opened the door only a few moments later.
"Oh, hey, Bucky. Everything okay with Mouse?"
"Uh… actually I have a favour to ask you."
Steve stepped back and gestured Bucky into his apartment. His place was tidier than Bucky's, but the layout was mostly the same. There was a pink plastic cat dish on the windowsill, full of water, and a few toys scattered around. Bucky set Mouse down and she immediately trotted over to Steve and rubbed between his legs a few times before hopping up on the couch and sprawling out like she owned the place.
"Go ahead," Steve said, perching on the arm of the couch and petting her idly.
"Hmm? Oh right. I'm going to D.C. for a few days - a week, actually, and I don't have anyone to take care of her. Would you mind? She could stay here or I could give you a key, whatever you want. I'll give you all her food and stuff." Bucky shrugged and tucked his hands in his pockets. "Long as you give her back next week."
Steve laughed. "I was never trying to steal her, honest. I thought she was a stray."
"I know."
"Yeah, it's not a problem. I can watch her while you're gone. I'll just bring her stuff up here, if that's okay. Easier for me."
"Yeah, perfect."
They hung there for a moment and before the silence could descend into its usual awkwardness, Steve broke it. "So, D.C. huh? You got family there?"
"Oh. No - it's." Bucky pulled his left hand out of his pocket and held it palm out, showing the seam across the middle. "I'm part of a pilot program for prosthetics. Every six months I have to go down and do a bunch of tests."
"Wow." Steve whistled and stood, stepping close to get a better look at Bucky's hand. He squirmed under the attention but obligingly rolled his sleeve up to show Steve more of it. "That's incredible. I had no clue."
"Yeah… that's the idea. Stark Industries is doing amazing things. But I need to visit the centre here once a month and then go to DC twice a year."
Steve nodded. "Do you want me to, like, bring in your mail and stuff too?"
Bucky shrugged. "I don't really get any mail. And if my apartment's on fire, you'll be among the first to know, anyway. As long as Mouse is good, I've never had anyone check in on the place before. I can… uh - I can give you a key, though. Just in case. Then you can stash her there if you need to."
"Sounds good."
"Thanks, Steve. Let me know what I owe you for it."
But Steve's lip curled, and he waved a hand dismissively. "No way. I'm happy to get more time with her, honest. She's the coolest cat I've ever met. I like to think I'm like…" He trailed off but Bucky kicked his foot and raised an eyebrow at him. Steve rolled his eyes. "I like to think I'm like her cool uncle, okay?"
Bucky burst out laughing. He didn't actually mind that so much. "Sure, alright. Uncle Steve." Bucky's hand twitched up to clap Steve on the shoulder, but he snatched it back before they touched. It wasn't like they knew each other, really. It was just Mouse. "Thanks again."
The day before he left, Bucky brought Mouse, her litter tray, her food, her toys, and one of his own shirts (so she wouldn't forget what he smelled like) up to Steve's apartment and left everything with him. On his way out of the building the next day, he shoved his keys under Steve's door and jogged down to the taxi waiting outside.
Bucky barely spared a thought to home while he did his tests and trials. Each night at the hotel was a hot bath, far too much ibuprofen and a night of pained groaning into his pillow. The technicians adjusted his connection point with each test and his nerves screeched with abuse. It would all be worth it in the end, when they finished their trials and traded out his arm for a permanent, custom model, but for now, it was rough.
On the last day, he was gritting his teeth through the most painful adjustment yet, when his phone chimed. Bucky dug it out with his pocket the next time he had a break and it was a text from Steve's number, which he'd programmed in when he dropped off Mouse - just in case. At first, he panicked, but when he opened the message, it was a picture of the cat, fast asleep on a table by the window, in a sunbeam. Under her, was Bucky's shirt, heavily coated in her fur. She'd been sleeping there all week. Bucky's heart swelled without his permission and he barely felt the last tug at his shoulder.
He didn't text Steve back, entirely unsure of what he should say, but he opened the picture more than once throughout the last day of his trip and looked at her pretty fur and the extension of her paw, one white toe glimmering in the sun.
As soon as he got back, Bucky dumped his bag in his apartment and went right up to Steve's. Steve answered his knock almost immediately.
"Hey, Bucky. How was it?" He stepped back to let Bucky in.
"Fine. They did what they needed to do." He couldn't help rolling his shoulder out, feeling it twinge and catch. Beyond the adjustments, he'd slept on his side the whole time and old aches were coming back with a vengeance.
A chirrup sounded from the other room and Mouse came bounding in. She danced around Bucky's legs and purred when he picked her up and rubbed his fingers over her jaw. "Hey, sweetie."
"She missed you," Steve said, smiling at them both, and Bucky's cheeks heated. "She slept on your shirt every day. Did a lot of screaming at me." He laughed.
"Thanks."
"Hey, no problem. It was nice." Steve pulled Bucky's key off a hook and twisted it between his fingers. "So… where'd you serve?"
"Afghanistan. You?"
"Iraq." Steve handed the keys over with a sad smile. "I was going to move to England to be with my fiancée after, but, uh, she was serving with me, and..." He trailed off, and Bucky didn't need to ask. "So I came back home, instead. Brooklyn."
Bucky nodded. "Probably be easier for me to be in D.C., what with the appointments for my arm and everything, but - same. Home."
Steve nodded and patted Bucky on the shoulder. "See ya round, Buck."
**
A craving hit, and Bucky dug a pack and a lighter out of his coat pocket. It was warm enough that even though the sun was going down, he'd be comfortable in his hoodie alone. The window was open, and Mouse had been gone all day, either at Steve's or lazing on the roof. Bucky pushed it the rest of the way open and climbed out onto the rattly fire escape. He popped a cigarette from the pack and pulled it free with his lips then paused, tipping his head up at a sound. Three floors up, through the metalwork, he could see feet: Steve. He was on his own section of the fire escape, Mouse's tail flicking lazily where she was sprawled out across his lap.
Bucky stepped over the railing and climbed up, turning around past the other windows until he was right below Steve. Steve had a sketchbook in his lap, feet up on the railing and was trying - probably in vain - to draw around Mouse who was rolling around in his lap, rubbing her chin against his hand and his pencil.
"She's a menace," Bucky said, by way of announcing his presence.
Steve looked down and smiled. "I don't mind."
Now that he was closer, Bucky could see that Steve wasn't sketching, he had a case of pencil crayons next to his hip and was shading in the colours of the sunset between the buildings. "That's nice."
"Thanks."
"Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Not at all. Maybe if you sit here, Mouse will bother you instead." Steve winked, and Bucky settled on the stairs.
Mindful of Steve's asthma, Bucky turned away from him and blew the smoke into the breeze in a tight stream. Sure enough, when Steve didn't pay her enough attention, Mouse abandoned his lap for Bucky's and he rubbed her head and tugged her ears while she flopped around and purred.
The silence was easy and pleasant, and when Steve finished his drawing, he tipped it up and showed Bucky with a smile.
"You're really good."
Steve tore the paper off his pad and held it out to Bucky.
"Really?"
"Yeah, of course. What am I supposed to do with it? I have whole books of them. You don't have to keep it if you don't want to, but it's just an exercise." He shrugged.
Bucky took the paper and smoothed it out over his leg. "Thanks." Nobody had ever given him something they'd made, before - unless he counted his arm.
Steve stood and zipped up his case. "Hey, Buck, do you, uh, do you want to come up for dinner some night? I want to try that new Indian place but the portions are huge and you need to order at least three curries to make it worth it, right? So if you like Indian…"
"Oh, uh, sure. I like Indian."
"Great. Friday?"
Bucky checked his mental calendar to see if he had an appointment with Ashley or something, but it seemed clear. "Sure?"
"Great! Night, Buck." Steve slipped back through his window, and Bucky was left to hastily rub out his butt and scoop Mouse up into his arms, Steve's picture caught between two fingers. He trotted back down to his apartment and poured Mouse out onto the windowsill. She chirped while he cracked a can of food then she ate while he pinned the drawing to his fridge with a magnet and leaned back to admire it.
"Hey, Mouse?" She kept her face shoved into her bowl. "Do you think it's a date?"
**
On Friday night, Bucky tucked Mouse under his arm, grabbed a bottle of wine and made his way to the elevator, earning a few confused glances from a kid heading to the eighth floor. Bucky smiled and tipped his cat towards him. Mouse meowed softly.
Bucky knocked the bottom of the wine bottle against Steve's door. It was weird to come into his apartment the proper way. Steve opened the door and laughed when Bucky deposited the cat in his arms.
"You didn't have to bring Mouse," he said with a smile, "but I'm glad you did."
"Ah, don't give me that bullshit, Steve, I know she's the only thing you like about me."
And maybe he was fishing a bit, but it settled something uneasy in him when Steve's smile softened and he said, "She's the thing I like most about you, but definitely not the only thing."
Bucky chuckled and set the wine on Steve's counter. Mouse pranced around finding a toy under the couch and biffing it so it sprung across the floor and she could chase after it, perfectly at home here. Steve sat on the couch and patted the seat next to him. "What do you want to order?"
"Anything's good. I like korma, butter chicken. The flat bread. Whatever."
"Alright." Steve typed on his phone for a while then declared the food ordered. "Oh."
"What?"
"It's going to take like an hour."
"Oh, okay…" Bucky shuffled uneasily on the couch. He still had no idea why Steve had invited him over - was it about Mouse? Or did he really want to spend time together? Steve drew the cat up into his lap and petted her, rubbing her cheeks until her eyes squeezed closed and her purr was loud enough for Bucky to hear.
Desperate for something to say, Bucky stood and took a turn around the apartment. A drafting table in the corner with lights clipped to it, and a shelf full of art supplies snapped something together in Bucky's mind. "Oh. You're an artist. Like, professionally."
Steve chuckled. "Yeah. Mostly political cartoons, but I only write about half of them. I do a lot of commission work."
"You're really good."
"Thank you. Feel free to rummage."
Bucky took him up on his offer, lifting a stack of pages and flipping through them. He smiled when he came to a sheet completely covered in charcoal sketches of Mouse. Her body was little more than a dark smudge in each one, but somehow with ears and eyes, Steve had managed to capture her endless personality. And all the utterly ridiculous poses she napped in.
Steve set Mouse down and bent over a little soda fridge he had in the corner of the living room. "Do you want a drink?"
"Nah. I'll just grab some water," Bucky said, turning around the couch to the kitchen. It was funny, being in a kitchen that was a carbon copy of his own, except it was Steve's stuff dotting the counters, instead. Bucky opened cupboards until he found a glass then reached for the faucet.
There was a thud, then Steve called out, "Wait -!" but it was too late. Bucky turned the knob and the faucet exploded, spraying water everywhere.
Spluttering and instantly soaked, Bucky waved his hand around blindly until he smacked the faucet off again. "What the fuck?"
Steve was instantly at his side, patting a tea towel ineffectually wherever he could reach. "I'm so sorry! I should have warned you that faucet doesn't work."
Bucky tugged the towel out of his hands and wiped it over his face. Water droplets sluiced down the back of his neck and his shirt clung to his chest "Why doesn't your faucet work? Do you go to the bathroom every time you need to fill a glass?"
"I keep a big jug in the fridge. I've called the landlord, and texted, and emailed, but no one ever comes to fix it."
"Well, yeah, they're useless here. You have to do things yourself." Bucky plucked at his shirt with a sigh then gave up and stripped it off. He squeezed it out over the sink then looked up at Steve whose eyes snapped up to his face so quickly, Bucky expected his eyelids to roll back like old fashioned blinds.
"Um?" Steve said. "Oh, shirt -" He scuttled away into his bedroom and Bucky tossed his wet shirt over the windowsill then went back to the sink and started poking it. In all likelihood, there was just buildup in the aerator and it merely needed to be cleaned out.
Steve returned with a t-shirt of his own and held it out to Bucky, cheeks red and hot - whether from embarrassment about Bucky's half-nudity or about the tap was unclear. "Do you have pliers?" Bucky asked.
"You don't have to do that. It's okay. I can call someone…"
"Don't be stupid, Stevie - do you have pliers or not?"
Steve opened his mouth then snapped it shut again. He laughed to himself.
"What?"
"Been a long time since someone called me Stevie."
"Oh. Shit, sorry. It just slipped out."
Steve's smile softened and he leaned a little closer, making Bucky's stomach temporarily drop to his knees. "It's okay. I like it."
A knock on the door snapped them both back a foot.
"Oh, wow. It's the food. That was faster than they said." Steve stumbled towards the door. "There's pliers under the bathroom sink, I think!"
While Steve went to the door, Bucky went to the bathroom and rooted around until he found a pair of pliers in a small toolkit at the back. They weren't quite the right size, but they'd do. He came back out to the delicious smell of hot rice and curry spices, and he hurried to disassemble the faucet while Steve laid the food out and got down plates.
It only took a little oomph on the pliers to pop the aerator off, and sure enough it was full of mineral deposits, not just blocking the water flow, but stopping it from sitting on the end of the faucet properly. Bucky tapped it out into the trash, ran the water without it for a moment to clear the pipe, then screwed the aerator back on, tightening it with the pliers. He stood back, held up the tea towel in front of it just in case, and turned the tap on low.
The water flowed smoothly into the sink.
"You fixed it!"
Bucky smiled at Steve's bright enthusiasm. "Yeah. It was no trouble."
Steve braced one hand on the kitchen island and leaned over, holding a plate out to Bucky. He was surrounded by a rainbow of curries and other dishes, steaming and filling the room with the most mouthwatering smells. "I owe you another dinner, I guess," Steve said softly, and Bucky could only nod.
He took the plate and started loading it up with a little of everything, while Steve went to the couch and turned the TV on, throwing his feet up on the coffee table where Mouse curled around them purring and rubbing her cheek against his toes.
Bucky settled down with his plate of food, but he couldn't stop shooting little looks over at Steve on the other end of the couch. Was the tension all in his head? Or was this going somewhere?
**
"Bucky!!"
Bucky startled up from the couch. Steve was at the window. "Steve?"
"Bucky, Bucky -" He tumbled inside, and now Bucky could see the unmoving bundle of black fur in his arms. His heart stopped.
Bucky rocketed across the apartment. "What happened?!"
"Mouse - she fell, I think, from the roof. I found her on the fire escape and she cries whenever I try to move her."
"Shit - shit -" Bucky reached out and skated his fingers over her fur as Steve twisted his arms open. She was awake, but when Steve shifted, the most pitiful little cry leaked out and she blinked heavily. "Oh god. We have to take her to the vet. Don't move her. I'll call a cab."
Bucky's fingers were clumsy on his phone and he didn't even know what he was saying to the driver. God, what if she died? He'd come to love that stupid, little cat and -
"Buck."
He was just standing there, staring. "Shit - right, okay, okay." Bucky grabbed his jacket, keys, and wallet, as well as the shirt Mouse always slept on. He tucked it around her and led Steve out to the elevator.
The ride to the vet was stressful, and Bucky had to constantly resist the urge to poke at Mouse, checking on her, making sure she was still awake, still breathing. But she was settled in Steve's arms and he'd notice if she took a downturn.
Bucky had called ahead, so as soon as they arrived, a tech bustled them into a waiting room. "We'll have to take her for x-rays. You can wait here."
"Buck, she's going to be okay," Steve said after they'd spent several minutes perched anxiously on hard, plastic chairs. "She's tough."
"I just - I was supposed to take care of her, you know? That was the whole thing. The point. Why my therapist…"
Steve's hand landed on his back. "You're doing a great job. It's me - I shouldn't have let her come up to my apartment all the time. She fell on the damn fire escape, coming to see me."
"Don't be stupid. She loves your place. I should have just let you keep -"
"James?" The vet appeared.
Steve startled and turned to stare at Bucky.
"Yes?" Bucky stood and followed her to the exam room.
Steve pressed up behind him. "Your name is James?"
"You didn't think my mom named me Bucky, did you?"
"I…" Steve looked stunned. "I didn't think about it."
The vet closed the door behind him and gestured towards a lightbox on the wall. "She has a broken leg."
"Shit," Steve breathed.
"She's going to be alright. It's not too bad of a break, considering. I've reset it already and she's getting wrapped up in the back. Honestly, the hardest part of this is going to be on you. She needs to be kept still and quiet for a few weeks, maybe longer, depending on how she heals."
"We can do that," Bucky assured her.
"No jumping, no climbing, no going outside. You're going to have to keep her crated or in a pen most of the time and she's going to have a wrap that needs to stay clean and dry."
Steve nodded beside him. "Got it."
"Okay, good. I'm going to give you some antibiotics and mild painkillers for her, but she should be pain free once the swelling goes down. Which means she's going to be mad about being restrained."
"No kidding." Bucky breathed out heavily. She was going to be okay. Steve's hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed once before dropping away again.
A knock on the door interrupted them and the vet opened the door to a tech, holding Mouse in his arms. Her back leg stuck straight out, wrapped in bright purple vet wrap with a smiley face stuck to it. The tech smiled at them and poured Mouse into Bucky's eager grasp. "She was great. Loud, but great."
Steve chuckled and rubbed a knuckle along her chin, making her rub into it. She started to purr and Bucky's eyes heated; she wasn't even mad at them.
The tech handed two bottles to the vet and stepped out again. The vet explained the meds and Steve tucked the bottles in his pocket. "Alright, we'll see you back in a week for a re-check. Call me if you have any questions or she seems worse." She smiled encouragingly at them. "I'm sure she'll do great. She's lucky to have such dedicated parents."
Bucky shot a look to Steve who opened then closed his mouth. He shrugged. "Thank you?"
Bucky put the bill on his credit card then readjusted Mouse in his grip and followed Steve back out front where a cab was already waiting. Mouse fell asleep during the ride home, clearly exhausted and still affected by the sedatives they'd given her, and Bucky found he was resisting a nap of his own, now that the adrenaline was fading.
"That was terrifying," Steve whispered, face turned out towards the window, but one hand resting with his fingers touching Mouse's tail.
Bucky just sighed and nodded.
Back at their building, Steve followed Bucky up to his apartment without question. Bucky lay Mouse on a blanket on the floor where she curled up into a ball, and they set about fashioning a pen for her from some boxes, a pet gate, and the little quad where Bucky's bedroom, bathroom, living room, and hall closet all met. They put her litter in the open closet and set out blankets on the floor.
"She's going to hate this," Bucky said, hands on his hips, looking down at the little nest.
"Yup."
"Oh, well."
"Uh," Steve started and then he paused, twisting his fingers together.
"What?"
"I can come by? Help? Distract her and stuff. If you don't mind."
Bucky ran a stressed hand back through his hair. "Would you? That would be amazing."
Over the next two weeks, Steve stopped by whenever he had the chance, cleaning Mouse's litter, feeding her, and distracting her from her discomfort. Only a few days passed before Bucky gave him his extra keys, and only a few more before Steve started staying for dinner almost every night.
And these dinners were different from the night Steve had him over for takeout. There was nothing awkward about it, and the two of them were both so exhausted, there wasn't any pressure to make conversation. They just ate and watched TV, Mouse curled up on one of their laps, held securely so she wouldn't try to wander.
It was nice, also, having Steve around - someone to talk to, someone taking up space, making the small noises of living and leaving little signs of his impact all over the apartment. It wasn't something Bucky knew he wanted or ever felt like he was missing, but now that he had it, even though it revolved entirely around the cat, he liked it.
**
She threw up, Bucky texted to Steve when he got home late and found the stain of kibble and bile on the floor. It'd been three weeks, and Mouse was almost ready to get her cast off, but they'd changed her medication last time Bucky had brought her in, and he was worried it had upset her stomach.
A few minutes later, the front door banged open and Steve called out, "Buck?"
"I'm in here."
Steve's face appeared around the wall, finding Bucky sitting in Mouse's little pen, the kitty curled up in his lap. "She okay?"
"I don't know. She doesn't normally throw up. But the internet says it's pretty common for cats."
"Maybe it's nothing," Steve said, twisting his fingers in a way that suggested he thought it was the complete opposite of nothing.
"I hope so."
Steve climbed over the barrier and settled at Bucky's side. "You going to stay up?" It was already late.
"Don't think I can sleep, worrying about her. I know it's stupid, but what if she's allergic to the new meds or something?"
"It's not stupid. I'll stay up with you."
Bucky ended up making pasta while Steve sat with Mouse, and they crowded together into the pen and ate, dangling a string for her to bat at while she lay on her back, the cast-covered leg sticking straight out at a silly angle. She seemed okay, Bucky had to admit that, but they were committed to staying up now, and it wasn't like spending the night with Steve was any sort of hardship.
"This cat is the biggest commitment I've ever made," Bucky said with a snort, and Steve quirked an eyebrow at him from where he lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, tickling Mouse's nose with a string.
"Never been in a relationship? Like a serious one?"
Bucky shrugged. "Once, maybe. Not as serious as getting married, though. But yeah, it didn't work out. And it wasn't so much a commitment as… I dunno. Convenient. What about you? Seen anyone since - Peggy, right?"
"Yeah, Peggy." Steve shook his head. "Not really. I went on a few dates. One went pretty well, but uh -" there was a tight pause "- he didn't call me back. Not sure where I went wrong."
There was a soft question in the "he" and Bucky answered it as quickly as he could. "I'm sure it wasn't you. Guy's an idiot not to call you back."
Steve chuckled and ran his hand over Mouse's fur. "Thanks."
"That something you want? Commitment?" It felt like a more loaded question than it should have.
Steve watched him carefully for a long time before answering, eyes hot on the side of Bucky's face. "Yeah… yeah I'd like that. I'm a romantic at heart. The whole dating thing… it's really hard. Peggy and I were best friends first, and then we fell in love…" He trailed off again and didn't say anything else, turning back to Mouse, stroking his fingers through her fur.
Bucky took their plates to the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher, coming back to the living room to find Steve on the couch with Mouse in his lap. She was purring, settled in for a long cuddle and likely not at risk of trying to get loose and jump around. Bucky handed Steve a beer and settled on his other side, reaching over to rub one of Mouse's ears.
The occasional little spark that had been lighting between them over the last few weeks was suddenly a sharp, constant tingle under Bucky's skin, fizzing the most where his arm was pressed up against Steve's, and Bucky took a long drink from his beer just to give himself an outlet for this stressful new energy.
He turned the TV on to a baseball game, to give them both a distraction, but for his part, he paid little attention to it, focus drawn to Steve near constantly. The commitment they'd talked about was something Bucky had always thought he wouldn't want, but it was kind of easy to see how nice it would be now. Steve had just settled in, easily slotting between the pieces of Bucky's life until they were meshed in a way that felt inextricable now. He didn't just take care of Mouse, he fed Bucky as often as Bucky fed him, he brought in Bucky's mail whenever he got his own, and more than once, he'd found Bucky's missing phone or keys or wallet and tossed them to him.
And there were things he made Bucky want to do that he never had before. He started cooking for two, even thinking about what nights Steve would be over while at the grocery store. He texted Steve while he was on one of his trips for his arm, and felt off-kilter the days when he didn't see or hear from Steve at all. He could watch Steve draw or paint for hours.
Steve turned from the TV, mouth open to say something, and caught Bucky looking at him, contemplating this new piece of himself. It was too late to look away, and Steve slowly closed his mouth, gaze locked firmly on Bucky's until it flicked down to his lips.
The spark shot off again, even stronger now, a full firework in Bucky's chest. He leaned in, twitching forward as if pulled by some invisible string and Steve copied his movement. Bucky twisted, pushing up out of his seat, and their lips met. It was an awkward angle, so the kiss was nothing more than a gentle press together, but when Steve sighed into it, turning his head and leaning his weight against Bucky's leg, Bucky pushed up more, seeking more contact.
"Mrrrrowwww!" Mouse protested, squished between their chests, and Bucky snapped away.
"Sorry, baby."
Steve burst out laughing, soothing Mouse back down into his lap with one hand. He flicked his eyes back up to Bucky and the heat of the moment had softened into warm affection.
"Maybe we should watch a movie," Steve said. "I don't think she approves."
Bucky snorted, but he picked up the remote and started flipping channels. "Don't need her blessing. She knocked my entire toothbrush cup into the toilet two months ago. She owes me one."
Steve laughed again, and snuggled down until they were sharing a cushion, warm and close, pressed together, Steve's head resting on Bucky's shoulder.
**
Two weeks later, Bucky and Steve took a cab to the vet with Mouse in their arms and the vet took new x-rays and pronounced her good to go. They took off the cast and the splint, and Bucky watched with his lip caught between his teeth while the vet gently stretched Mouse's leg, twisting it back and forth and bending the joints. It looked painful, but Mouse didn't cry, distracted by Steve rubbing her cheeks and nose. When Bucky bounced on his heel in a nervous way, Steve's hand found his under the exam table and they wound their fingers together.
The last two weeks hadn't left much time for a conversation, though they'd snuck little touches and kisses whenever they could. They'd both been busy, and while Steve had spent a lot of time in Bucky's apartment with Mouse, Bucky hadn't been there for most of it, back in D.C. for arm tests. Steve had even had to take Mouse to her last appointment alone, sending Bucky a video of her protesting the stethoscope.
The vet congratulated them on their excellent care, drained Bucky's credit card, and sent them home with instructions for gradually increasing her exercise until he was back to herself completely. The best news, was that she could have free run of the apartment again, as long as someone was keeping an eye on her.
They tumbled back into Bucky's apartment, all smiles and laughter, giddy with the good news. Bucky was about eighty pounds lighter, knowing that Mouse was going to be okay. Steve set her gently on the floor and she wobbled over to her water bowl and started drinking.
Steve stood back with his hands on his hips, smiling at her like a proud dad. Bucky sidled up behind him and snuck his arms around his waist. Steve leaned back against him, and Bucky pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, thrilling at the boldness of the affection. Steve turned in his arms. "You know…"
"Yeah?" Bucky let Steve back him up against the kitchen counter and kiss him until his breath came out choppy and uneven.
"I think Mouse needs to stop going out and exploring on her own." Steve tipped their foreheads together. "As much as I hate to stifle her adventurous spirit…"
"No, no. I agree. We'll just have to find other ways to entertain her." Bucky sighed over at Mouse who was now lying on the rug, rolling back and forth, perhaps getting the vet smell off.
Steve shifted in a nervous way, and Bucky's eyes cut over to find his. He wasn't meeting Bucky's gaze, chewing on his bottom lip, forehead creased. "What's wrong?"
"I -" Steve finally looked at him. "I'm just going to miss her, that's all. I liked having her come visit me every day."
"Well. There's no reason she can't still come visit you every day. I'll just, you know, have to come with her. Or you can come here. You have my key."
Steve started to brighten, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. "Really? You don't mind if I keep it?"
"Course not. I mean - we're doing this, aren't we?" Bucky let his fingers settle on Steve's hip to define "this."
"Yeah." Steve pushed close again, stole a quick kiss. "Yeah, we are. I want to. If you want to."
"I want to." The next several minutes were lost to soft kisses and gently exploring hands. Steve settled his whole weight against Bucky, but he didn't feel trapped, he felt safe, the firm heat of Steve's arms caging him in on both sides. Steve's lips parted and Bucky licked into his mouth, everything snapping more intimate, more heated. Bucky curled his hands into fists at Steve's side, gripping his shirt to hold him close, and Steve leaned into the touch, his leg sliding between Bucky's.
When Steve leaned back and took a breath, at least two kisses past chaste, he ran a hand through his hair and flicked his eyes up to the ceiling, cheeks pink. Mouse mewed and rubbed up against his ankles. He bent and picked her up, carefully settling her in the crook of his arm. "Not sure that was heading to anything safe for your young eyes," Steve quipped, shooting a heated look at Bucky, who smirked.
They ended up ordering pizza and sitting side-by-side on Bucky's couch, watching Mouse relearn the apartment, sniffing under the bookcases and rubbing her chin on the corner of every piece of furniture.
"I think getting a cat was the best idea my therapist has had yet," Bucky said, thumb stroking soft circles on Steve's wrist.
"Yeah, your cat is pretty great," Steve said, grinning as he leaned in close, sharing air.
Bucky smiled too. "Our cat," he corrected.