Work Text:
“Want any help?’
Sam wanted to be annoyed by Bucky’s presence, he really did. He had returned to Louisiana to get away from the madness that always seemed to follow him when the man was around. His plan had been to see his sister, annoy her a little and try to be helpful, get destroyed in basketball by his nephews, eat some seafood, and maybe actually get a good night’s sleep. He was a simple man with simple needs. Granted, he had had no idea how much of a mess the boat actually was.
It was significantly worse than he had initially thought. Any piece of cloth molded and the engine busted, paint so chipped and rough you could barely read the name on the side and running your hand along the letters would leave you with splinters. Sarah was more flustered than she had let on. She would never admit it of course, and he would try his best not to press, but he could see the worry on her face. Bucky had one good arm, a damn piece of vibranium, and a Depression Era work ethic. So Sam, for Sarah’s sake, would make it work.
He sighed as he quickly gave in and nodded at Bucky, turning to make his way across the deck to the bow to begin the inevitable twelve hour work day he was embarking them both on.
“I’m Bucky.”
“Sarah,”
Great, the two people most able to get under his skin were making pleasantries. He had seen Sarah on the dock, watching as Bucky waltzed in and tightened the connector of the pipes like it was nothing. They hadn't met yet, which he had always assumed was for the better; keep the world's separate, keep them all safe. Karli had reinforced that notion with her threats.
There was a pause in the conversation between the two, but no footsteps fell in behind him. Another second passed and Sam rolled his eyes as he turned, half expecting Bucky to be making some stupid face behind his back or the two to be plotting already. His eyes went to the pair, mouth slowly falling as his gaze settled.
Oh .
Oh shit.
“Sarah…”
Bucky’s voice seemed to hang in the air between them.
The pair gazed at each other, Bucky on the deck of the boat and Sarah on the dock but standing as if mere inches kept them apart. He looked up at her, eyes somewhat squinted against the sun. She hugged her clipboard to her chest, brown eyes entirely too soft for Sam to buy them to really only be focused on Bucky. There was a dumbass smile on both of their faces. He wasn’t sure he had seen the one on Sarah’s in years, and the one on Bucky’s lips he was not sure had been there since approximately 1942.
But he knew flirting when he saw it.
And there would be none of that while he was around.
His immediate thought was to dive between them, jump on the dock, and shake Sarah by her shoulders. She knew who Bucky was, behind the fresh haircut, suspiciously well crafted outfit, and now soft looking blue eyes. Not to mention that the man was one hundred damn years old. Nice looking white boy or not, there was nothing good that would come out of whatever the hell was happening in this moment. And yet, Sarah’s smile made Sam hesitate in reacting immediately. A small pang in his chest followed by a slight flinch in his face.
He had used to tease her about her smile when they were younger, crooning that damn Hall and Oates song in her ear in front of her friends and every boy she had ever brought home. It had annoyed her, made her furious and led to punches in his arm that landed a bit too hard. It was special, the broad flash of teeth that mirrored his own. The song briefly flickered in his mind as she shyly flashed her teeth at Bucky. He hadn’t thought about those punches in a long time. Had not seen her smile like that for longer.
Still, Sam kept that furrow in his brow, forcing his eyes to glare as they danced between the two. He couldn't condone James Barnes smiling at his sister like that, no matter how sweet she looked or how much his own mouth wanted to flick up in response. Bucky with his assassin senses and creepy sixth sense could no doubt feel the daggers he was throwing their direction and so Sam, without a word, turned and continued on his way, satisfied when he felt the footsteps following him.
He would let it slide this time, not say a word while Sarah stood nearby. Maybe he'd even allow one more time. Did he have that song on his phone? He would have to check, queue it up in preparation for another moment of gross flirtation that might decide to happen in his presence. That was if, and only if, it got Sarah to smile.