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It was too early. Or maybe too late. He wasn’t sure which it was, but one thing Bucky did know was that he did not want to be awake. It seemed that no matter how many years he spent travelling the world for competition, jetlag wasn’t going to get any easier.
He knew he’d feel somewhat better once he was on the range and into his practice routine, but sharing transport meant meeting his teammates here first. And they were late. In all honesty, Clint was late all the time so he’d expected it of him, but Trip was usually better than this.
He could feel his eyes drifting closed as he settled against the wall to wait. He absolutely wasn’t going to fall asleep, but resting his eyelids for a few moments wouldn’t hurt anything.
“Hi!” a far too perky voice said from beside him… some unknown length of time later. Bucky absolutely did not jump. And he hadn’t been sleeping.
“Barnes, right? Archery?” the voice continued.
Bucky finally glanced over to find a sheer mountain of man holding out a hand. A familiar mountain, at that.
“Steve,” said the mountain, still clearly waiting for his hand to be shaken. “Steve Rogers.”
“Yeah, I know,” Bucky said, duly reaching out to grasp the man’s hand. He only realised the ridiculousness of the statement a moment later, still not fully awake.
It was true, though. He knew who Steve Rogers was. Everyone knew who Steve Rogers was. He was pretty sure that even little kids in those tribes in the Amazonian rainforest that had no contact with the outside world knew who Steve ‘might actually beat Usain Bolt this year’ Rogers was.
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head at himself. “You must get way too much of that.”
Bucky didn’t tend to get recognised too much outside of the specific sphere of competitive archery, but Steve’d had his face plastered all over billboards for months.
Although Bucky had to admit that they hadn’t done him justice; he was much cuter in person.
“Not as much as you might think, actually,” Steve said.
“Then I retract my apology,” Bucky teased, surprised at the ease with which he found himself doing so with a practical stranger. “I’m… “ He started to introduce himself and stopped, rewinding a minute. Replaying Steve’s first few words to him. “Wait. I know how I know who you are, but how do you know who I am?”
A slight flush tinted the very tips of Steve’s ears. “I, uh… may have memorised all of the team rosters,” he admitted after a moment.
Bucky barely knew the names of anyone outside the six people that made up the two archery teams; he’d picked up a few from the media but hadn’t seen much point in going further. Steve, apparently, thought differently.
“Why?” he couldn’t help but ask.
Steve chuckled. “You know, I’m not really sure.” He looked away for a second. “I guess what with being chosen as flag bearer and all, some of that whole ‘Captain America’ shtick the media likes to spout finally stuck. And a captain should know who he’s leading.” He shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. And hey, a photographic memory’s gotta be good for something, right?”
Bucky had always thought the whole squeaky clean, all around good guy Captain America media image was probably a pile of bullshit. And he’d only just met the guy – a lot of it still could be. But it seemed that at least parts of it might actually be based in truth.
“I’m pretty sure there are more fun things it could be used for,” Bucky said before he could think better of it.
“Well, that too,” Steve winked, proving he wasn’t quite the wholesome innocent the media so lovely to portray him as.
Before Bucky had a chance to even think of what to say next – the things that came to mind immediately were definitely not appropriate – Steve was glancing at his watch and bouncing on his toes.
“Sorry,” he said as he looked back at Bucky. “I should get going before Sam convinces the others to just let me walk. I’ll see you around!”
And with that, he was gone just as suddenly as he’d appeared.
And Clint and Trip still weren’t here.
***
“No. No. No. And absolutely not,” Clint said a few nights later, trying to shut the door in Bucky’s face. Bucky risked jamming a foot in the doorway to stop him.
“He says he’d not coming,” Trip had reported five minutes earlier after he’d gone to try hurry Clint along.
While Bucky could appreciate the sentiment, he’d been on the circuit long enough to know what was optional and what was not, so he’d trekked back up the stairs himself to drag Clint out if necessary.
“You don’t have a choice, Clint,” he said now to the sliver of scowling face he could see through the cracked open door.
“No, seriously,” Clint said. “After what happened at that ‘United’ fiasco last night, I’m not risking it again.”
Bucky didn’t remember anything particularly out of the ordinary happening at the previous evening’s event, but it didn’t really matter.
“But no, seriously,” he parroted back. “It’s not optional. The sponsors get really pissy if we skip out on these things. It’s part of the deal; they give us money so we can keep doing this for a living, and sometimes we show up for speeches and have some pictures taken.”
“I still think it’s insane,” Clint grumbled, but he disappeared from behind the door, which Bucky hoped meant he’d gone to get cleaned up and changed.
“It is!” he called out in agreement through the still open door. “But it’s how this world works!”
“I still don’t want to do this!” Clint yelled back.
To be fair to him, Bucky didn’t know many sportspeople who viewed sponsor commitments as anything other than a necessary evil, but they were just that: necessary. And tonight at least it was Stark Athletic. The Stark ‘party’ in Beijing four years ago was one of the very few such events he remembered with any fondness. The food had been good, the speech from Stark himself outrageous, and there had been shiny new prototypes to play with.
“Come on,” he shouted. “This one might actually be fun!”
Forty minutes later, the cab finally dropped them at the doors of an incredibly swanky hotel; if this had been any event other than Stark’s, Bucky would have been shocked at the decadence of the décor.
“I’m almost afraid to touch anything in case I accidentally break some million dollar antique,” Clint muttered, pulling at his cuffs as they walked into the foyer.
A hotel employee of some kind was upon them in seconds, ushering them in the right direction without even having to ask why they were there.
The room they were led to was large but already filling up quickly, white jacketed waiters with trays of juices and snacks weaving between tuxedo clad Olympians and Stark executives alike. Several photographers could also be seen wandering about, grouping people for casual snaps.
Before they had a chance to get more than a few feet in the door they were caught by an efficient looking young woman who herded them over to a large, branded, backdrop. After posed photographs in every combination imaginable, they were finally free.
Clint disappeared before Bucky could blink – presumably to find a corner to hide in for the duration – and Trip made a beeline for one of the display stands set up around the edges of the room, leaving Bucky alone.
He flagged down a passing waiter for a glass of orange juice – served in a crystal wine glass, of course, because even if – in deference to the athletes – the drinks were non-alcoholic, heaven forbid they be served in anything so pedestrian as a tumbler.
He vaguely recognised several of the people close by – not so much that he knew their names of what they did, but he knew he’d seen at least some of them at things like this before.
Looking around, he’d just decided to emulate his teammate and go investigate the ‘toys’ on display when there was a voice behind him.
“Well hello again!”
Bucky spun around and narrowly avoided swallowing his own tongue. Rogers cleaned up good. It seemed rather unfair that he could make black tie look so amazing when he also managed to wear skin tight lycra on a regular basis without looking ridiculous.
“Rogers, hi,” he eventually pushed out.
“Please,” the other man demurred, holding up his hands. “Call me Steve.”
“All right, Steve.” Bucky paused as a thought occurred to him. “Or would you prefer Captain?”
He froze. He was pretty sure that there were about four hundred options for Steve to take that entirely the wrong way. And even worse, one single – definitely flirtatious – way for him to take it exactly as meant.
“Why?” Steve said, tilting his head. “You looking to take some orders, Private Barnes?”
Which was just…
Except.
“Private?” he responded, swaying back on his heels. “Really? Come on, I’d be at least a Sergeant.”
Steve took a step closer. “You think so, Private?” he murmured, a glint in his eye.
Bucky leaned in just a little, pushing a cocky smirk onto his face. “Yessir I surely do think so, Captain.”
“Insubordination?” Steve said almost under his breath. “Do I have to make you drop and give me ten?”
You wouldn’t have to make me, Bucky thought, feeling his breathing deepen as he watched Steve’s eyes flicker down and back to meet his.
The moment shattered when Steve collapsed in on himself, his hand coming up to grip Bucky’s arm for support as he giggled helplessly. It was infectious, and a few seconds later Bucky found himself chuckling along.
“I’m sorry,” Steve finally said, still breathless. “That was really, really bad. And trust me, I have heard some bad ‘Captain America’ related pick-up lines in the last couple of years.”
Bucky’s heart was still beating madly but he tried not to let it show. “Oh, is that what that was supposed to be?” he said, face the picture of innocence. He hoped.
Steve shot him a look that said he didn’t believe a moment of it.
“In all honesty,” he started after a long second. “Sometimes I miss being just plain old Steve.”
Bucky had no experience to draw on – he’d never tried to be anything but himself, even when it might have worked out better for him to do so – but in that moment he could see all of the pressure that had been heaped on Steve’s shoulders since he was practically still in his teens.
“Well then, let’s give ‘Captain America’ the night off,” he suggested with a smile. “I think I’d like to get to know plain old Steve. Although I’ll tell you now…” He let his gaze drift obviously over Steve’s frame. “I’m having trouble with the ‘plain’ and ‘old’ parts of that.”
Steve’s answering smile was almost blinding. “I’d like that,” he said softly. “But only if I can get to know the not so plain old James Barnes in return.”
“Bucky,” Bucky corrected. “No one’s called me James since, like, third grade. No one that I’d call a friend, at least.”
Steve sighed, and his eyes went soft. “Bucky Barnes, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
***
One of the downsides of representing the USA instead of somewhere like, say, Andorra, Bucky thought several evenings later, was the interminable waiting around. Greece had disappeared into the stadium what felt like hours ago and he and the rest of the US team were still cooling their heels in the holding area outside.
He really just wanted to get going now. He, Clint and Trip had had a really good morning in the ranking rounds, getting themselves seeded 4th, 1st and 9th respectively, with the team aggregates leaving them 4th. On the plus side that gave them the following morning off before the quarter finals started, but Bucky was still keen to just get into the stadium already and get this done.
“Your collar’s gone lopsided.”
The way Steve could sneak up right beside him without him noticing should really have stopped surprising Bucky by now.
“What?” he spluttered, half in startlement and half an actual question.
Steve just grinned. “Your shirt collar’s all… Look, just let me…” He reached out. Bucky could hardly breathe as Steve fiddled with something at his throat, knuckles just barely brushing against Bucky’s skin.
“That’s better,” Steve said after a few long moments, hands sweeping over Bucky’s shoulders as if dusting off lint. “Not at least you look respectable.”
“If that was supposed to be an implication that I’m not…” Bucky started, smacking a hand against his heart, fingertips almost touching Steve’s thumb where he’d yet to remove his hand. “…then you’re absolutely right, but don’t go spreading it around.”
Steve ducked his head and chuckled, eyes sparkling under the beret. “Oh believe me,” he said. “That’s information I plan on keeping for myself.” He withdrew his hands by way of Bucky’s chest, fingers dragging lingeringly over Bucky’s own.
The tailored slacks that went with the ceremony uniforms were not designed to deal with things like that; Bucky shifted his weight and tried to think of something else.
Not the time, not the place, he told himself desperately. When he finally dared to meet Steve’s eyes once again it was gratifying to see the hooded conflict there – he was clearly realising just as Bucky was the inadvisability of his actions. At least here and now.
“So,” Steve said quietly, clearing his throat. “I… uh…”
Bucky nodded. He knew he needed to say something, needed to find anything to talk about, but his brain was still stuck on how close he’d come to just jumping Steve right there and then in the middle of the holding area in front of the entirety of TeamUSA and a few other countries besides.
“Oh!” Steve exclaimed a few moments later, with the look of a man whose brain had just come back online. “Your events started today, didn’t they? How did it go?”
Bucky couldn’t actually remember if he’d mentioned that in any of their scattered conversations they’d had both in person and over text in the last week. Maybe he had – or maybe Steve’s memorisation kick had extended to the complete schedule of the whole Olympics. From what he knew of Steve at this fledgling stage of… whatever it was they were building, he rather suspected the latter.
It was probably a sign of just how screwed he was that he found Steve’s little oddities endearing rather than weird.
Steve, who was still looking at him expectantly. Bucky had to rewind a couple of seconds in his mind to actually remember the question.
“Pretty good, actually. I shot a 679 with 11 Xs, which is my best this year at the format.”
Steve looked a little lost.
“It left me seeded 4th for the knockout stages,” he said rather that start explaining the scoring system. “It’s a good score. In theory it should give me the advantage over my opponents in the early rounds but in practice there’s not that much difference between the top and the bottom of the field. I mean it’s the Olympics, everyone’s good!”
Steve nodded. “Yeah, in my events the difference between winning and coming nowhere can be fractions of a second. I guess the margins are just as close in a lot of events.”
Bucky pushed down the slightly bitter memory of losing out on a semi-final place four years ago by a matter of millimetres in a shoot-out and simply bobbed his head in agreement. He’d known what he was letting himself in for when he’d chosen this as a career; no point whining about it now.
“You nervous?” he said instead to change the subject, dipping his head towards where a small group of official-looking people were looking after a dwindling number of flags and handing them out as teams left for the stadium.
Steve scoffed; Bucky couldn’t tell if it looked a bit feigned or if he just didn’t know Steve well enough yet to recognise his truly nonchalant expression. “It’s a flag,” Steve stated. “Carry it around a bit, put it down where I’m told. How much can go wrong?”
“That’s not exactly an answer,” Bucky pointed out. “At least, not to the question I actually asked.”
Bucky could see the flippant response hovering on Steve’s lips, but then he paused and apparently reconsidered. “I wouldn’t say nervous, exactly,” he eventually admitted. “I mean, yeah there’re a lot of people out there, and there are a few moments where a lot of that focus will be on me, but I’m kinda getting used to that. It’s more… adrenaline, I guess. I just want to get out there and do this.”
Bucky nodded. “It surely can’t be much longer until we’re up now.” He didn’t recognise the flag that had just been handed over to the small group headed for the stadium, but he hoped it was… Tuvalu or somewhere like that. Somewhere that started with a letter that wasn’t too far before ‘U’. “Not that I’m not enjoying this conversation, but it feels like we’ve been waiting here for hours. I want to get this going as much as you, trust me.”
A corner of Steve’s mouth quirked up. “I should have come looking for you sooner,” he said quietly. “I’m sure the time would have gone much faster for the both of us.” He frowned momentarily. “Not sure why I didn’t, actually.”
“Not one of your best decisions,” Bucky agreed, his tone light-hearted – he hoped – but meaning it fervently. He wanted to spend as much time as he could with Steve, even if that time was spent lingering in a drab holding area. It was possibly a little scary just how much he wanted to be around Steve after just a few days of knowing him, but he was trying not to question it.
Amazing things – amazing people – like this didn’t come along in his life often enough to ignore them.
Steve opened his mouth, presumably to respond, but was interrupted by the appearance of a brightly dressed staff member – or maybe volunteer? Bucky thought he’d read something about volunteers – at his shoulder.
“Mr Rogers, if you’d like to come with me, we need to get you sorted with your flag. You’re due out in just a few minutes,” she said.
Bucky could see others relaying the latter part of the message to the rest of the team.
“Good luck,” he mouthed as Steve backed away under the guidance of his helper.
Steve just smiled.
Bucky was so, so screwed.