Work Text:
“Take a look at this.” Sam slid his tablet over in front of Bucky, who was on his second cup of coffee and the piece of toast he was only eating so his meds wouldn’t hit an empty stomach.
He glanced down to see a Craigslist post: “IN DESPERATE NEED of a paintball partner for this weekend’s tournament at the Navy Yard. Fees already paid; equipment to be provided. All you need to bring is a good eye, a steady hand and the ability to strategize. SGR”
Bucky snorted and pushed the tablet back. “No thanks.”
“Why not?”
“Because most of those paintball fanatics are Rambo wanna-be’s with a hard on for guns of any kind. I’ve had my fill of assholes like that.”
“Fair enough. But what if this person isn’t like that? Wouldn’t hurt to at least text.”
Bucky rolled his eyes; when Sam got an idea in his head, he was like a damn bulldog. “And when said person finds out about this?” He held up his stump. “What then?”
“Their loss. You’ve still got it - remember when we took on Nat and Clint at the arcade over in Bed-Stuy? You had a good time, I know you did.”
Bucky had to admit it felt good to be looking down the sights again, even if he’d had to steady the gun with his stump against the counter. “I don’t see how it could work with a paint gun.”
“Won’t know til you try. Don’t make me call in my dare from the party last weekend.”
“You wouldn’t.” They’d played a bloodthirsty game of Truth or Dare and Bucky should have realized that letting Sam defer his win was a bad idea. Sam just gave him that smug, gap-toothed grin of his and nodded.
Bucky heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll text the number.” He picked up his phone and tapped at it, showing Sam the screen once he pressed Send.
Still need a partner for the paintball tourney?
Yes! The response came back almost immediately. How much experience do you have?
A little - more with real guns. I used to be a sniper.
Really? was the reply, followed by the pondering emoji. Bucky couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad response. Might as well give the guy the full picture.
I’m also down an arm. There was a long pause before SGR, whoever he or she was, answered.
if you’re willing to give it a try, so am I. But before you commit, let’s meet. There’s a coffee shop on the corner of Pearl and Prospect. See you there in an hour?
Bucky hadn’t expected that response at all; it made him wonder what this SGR was up to. But he’d gone this far, and besides, the coffee shop was just a few subway stops away and Bucky texted back: See you there - I’ll be the long haired guy wearing a red henley
Look for a blond guy in a blue shirt.
The coffee shop was empty when he arrived, so Bucky ordered and chose a seat in the corner, before shedding his jacket. He’d only taken a few sips when a short, skinny blond guy in a blue shirt walked in and looked around. His eyes met Bucky’s and widened slightly before he stepped toward him.
“Hi, um,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “So, I’m the paintball guy. Steve. Steve Rogers.” His voice was deeper than Bucky had expected, and it sent a bit of a thrill up his spine.
“Then I’m your potential teammate, James. James Barnes, but I’m Bucky to my friends.”
“Good to meet you. Let me get something to drink.” He went over to the counter and ordered a hot herbal tea, bringing it back and sitting down across from Bucky.
“Okay,” Steve said, “Long story short - my previous teammate was also my boyfriend. We signed up for the tourney a month ago, and two days later, I caught him cheating on me. I kicked him to the curb and since I’d bought his gear for him, I kept it.” Bucky could tell there was more to the story, but now wasn’t the time to pry. “You mentioned you were a sniper?”
“Yeah - the best in my unit. But I didn’t see the IED that took me out of the game.”
“I’m sorry.” Steve’s expression was right on the border between sympathetic and pitying; Bucky knew that look all too well. “And—“
“If you’re gonna thank me for my service,” Bucky interrupted, “swear to god I’m heading right back out that door.”
“Fair enough,” Steve responded, taking Bucky’s outburst in stride. “I was actually going to ask to see your arm, so I know what we’re working with.” Bucky blinked in surprise; he hadn’t expected Steve to be so blunt. But at the same time, it was oddly refreshing. He leaned forward just enough to show Steve his neatly pinned sleeve that ended just past the elbow.
“I’ve had people underestimate me for years,” Steve explained, with a hint of a grin playing around his lips, “and I’ve learned to take advantage of that. Let’s figure out the best way to get you set up and how we can work as a team.”
Bucky found himself grinning back. “You’ve got a deal.”