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Steve didn’t go on a lot of dates. They felt like interviews – gave him sweaty palms and nervous ticks and he either spoke too much or not at all. He was mostly always late, because he’d get ready too soon and try to kill time so he didn’t look too eager or desperate to impress and then would get sucked into whatever he was doing and wind up late. He never knew what to wear, and even though Sam had looked at him like he was a complete loser (“Dude, you’re 240lbs of all American beefsteak! Why are you so worried? You look hot in everything!”) He still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was either under-dressed or over-dressed. He hated dating.
So when he sat across from probably the most attractive woman in New York, his feeling of unease was compounded. The restaurant was nicer than he expected from the outside and he’d worn jeans. He’d looked at the menu online and it had things like ‘traditional’ and ‘hearty’ and he’d assumed that jeans would have been appropriate. He was wrong.
His date (A friend of a friend of a… general acquaintance, really) was wearing a figure hugging black dress and heels so tall and thin Steve had been a little lost at to how she’d managed to walk in them at all – with her lips painted the exact shade of blood red as her nails. He was sweating under the soft lighting and her expectant look. She’d asked him a question. He couldn’t remember…
“I’m sorry.” He smiled, and shifted in his seat a little. He was aware that he’d said that twice already. “I’m not… Just… uh…” He trailed off, for the 2nd time in as many minutes.
“Maria said you work for Stark.” She prompted, and Steve couldn’t detect any kind of exasperation in her voice, but he knew he deserved it.
“Yes.” He nodded, quickly, glad to have something he could actually talk about. “In testing.” He realised that he couldn’t actually talk to her about his job much though. That was the thing – when you work with cutting edge military tech, you weren’t allowed to talk about it. He’d signed so many disclaimers and non-disclosures that he was sometimes unsure if he was actually allowed to tell people where he worked, never mind what he actually did. “It’s um…” He paused, feeling like a total idiot. “Classified?” He hedged.
His date nodded, her red hair swaying on her bared shoulders. “Same here.” She smiled, soft and warm and seemingly perfectly at ease even though Steve was probably the worst date of her life. “I work at Shield, so I understand that.” She said. Her voice was rougher than Steve had expected at first, husky – deeply attractive. It wasn’t helping him feel at ease at all.
“Right.” He agreed, before he realised that in a couple of sentences that they’d completely exhausted what could normally be relied upon for a good topic of conversation. He squirmed again.
“It’s a nightmare,” She smiled, looking over at him with warmth. “It’s nice to meet someone who understands what it’s like,” She added. “It’s hard to find people with the same security clearance.”
Steve nodded. “My last date thought I was lying to him,” Steve said, before realising that he really shouldn’t have brought up a previous date to his current date. She laughed though, so it couldn’t have been so bad.
“Oh, I’ve had people assume I’m a spy.” She said, warmly. “Or a stripper.” She added. “That was something.”
Steve found himself smiling, a real smile for the first time that night. “Oh god – one guy thought I was a gigolo.” He managed, blushing to the roots of his hair, “And I spent 2 hours once telling a very lovely girl that I wasn’t a member of an international crime fighting ring.” He paused. “I still don’t think she believed me.”
“At least she thought you were a good guy.” She smirked. “My best friend once got accused of terrorism, communism and the assassination of JFK,” she paused. “By three different dates.” She let him laugh before she shook her head. “James is hopeless.” She smiled. “He’s been on more first dates than anyone in New York.”
“I dunno,” Steve hedged, “I might be the world title holder.”
“You get set up a lot?” She guessed, and gave him a commiserating look when he just shrugged hopelessly. “Oh, don’t with the puppy-dog look.” She said, rolling her eyes. “People don’t like it when attractive men are single, and attractive men who are not only single but meaningfully employed are diamonds.” She snorted a little. “I’ve been setting James up since he was 16 years old and he’s still stubbornly single.” She shot Steve a meaningful look. “He does that whole kicked puppy look you’re trying on me right now, ‘But Natasha,’ he complains, ‘you know I can’t date!’.” She rolled her eyes again and took a sip of her wine. “Pathetic.”
They ate, talked, and laughed. For Steve, it was the single most successful night he’d been on in years – he actually thought that they got along just swell.
“Did you just say, ‘swell’ in a real life sentence?” Sam asked, leaning back against the wall. They were painting his new apartment – Sam had moved from DC to Brooklyn and Steve had promised to help him settle in. “Damn, Steve, you really are a member of the Brady Bunch.” He snorted. “Swell.”
“Shut up.” Steve grinned. “You know what I mean. She was nice, we got on. It’s… it’s just nice to meet someone who you think you could actually get to know better for a change.”
Sam shook his head, and Steve didn’t say anything when his best friend shot him a look. Sam could have a whole one-sided conversation with a single look. This particular look spoke volumes about Steve not making the most of the opportunities that would often fall into his lap. Sometimes with a breathy little giggle and a ‘oh, I’m so sorry, let me buy you a coffee’ or a squeeze of his ass while he stood in line waiting to be served at a bar. Steve though, Steve hated it. He hated that people looked at him and saw… well… what he looked like. No one wanted to get to know him better when he was in high school when he was going through that awkward ‘shorter than the shortest girl’ stage or even in college when he went through that ‘growing an inch a day but still skinny as hell’ stage. In fact, the only time anyone ever looked at him twice was when he finally (finally) managed to stop growing UP long enough to grow OUT. His face was still the same face – he’d hardly changed in that way since high school, still the same jaw and nose and eyes and lashes – and no one wanted to talk to him then. The fact that people wanted to talk to him now was… weird. Uncomfortable. He still felt like he was wearing someone else’s skin. A giant, oversized ‘Steve suit’ that people liked more than the actual Steve.
The thing was…
His high school self (and his college self) would have kneed him in the balls for not taking advantage now. But he’d spent too long feeling like everyone’s last pick that he just couldn’t feel at ease any more.
“I’m going to call her tonight.” Steve said, hoping that he sounded more sure of himself than he actually did. He’d gotten her number, which was a first. Normally people wanted to date him right up until the point that they saw him stumble and fumble his way through human interactions and he never saw them again. “Ask if she wants to go to the park.” He liked the park. He thought it was a nice second date location. During the day, so no pressure – they could leave whenever they liked or carry it on until dinner.
“Praise the Lord.” Sam said, grinning. “Steve Rogers is taking the initiative!”
Steve twirled the cord of his phone and waited for the line to connect. Sam teased him endlessly for his ‘hipster trash’ phone, but he liked the fact that he had something to do with his hands as he sat on hold. He didn’t like the cordless phones that he sometimes confused for his mobile. He had a pen and his week planner on his knee as he waited – he wanted to be ready if Natasha couldn’t make his suggested time.
Finally, the phone was connected.
“Bucky.” A male voice said, sounding a little out of breath, like he’d been running to grab the phone before Steve hung up. Steve took a breath.
“Um, hi,” He managed, “Can I talk to Natasha?”
There was a sneeze and then, “Huh?”
“Natasha?” Steve repeated, suddenly getting a sinking feeling in his gut.
“I think you’ve got the wrong number, man.” The voice said, sounding a little annoyed. Whomever was on the end of the line was obviously ill, their words thick and heavy – blocked nose, going on the sniffles.
“Sorry.” Steve said, “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
The line went dead.
Steve waited a few more minutes, very carefully dialled the number that Natasha had very clearly written down - no chance of him mistaking a digit with her clear handwriting.
“Bucky.” The same male voice said, and Steve felt his shoulders slump.
“Sorry,” He said feeling like the biggest fucking loser on the earth. “I think I got the wrong number again.”
“Sounds like it.” The voice said, sounding both amused and commiserating. Another sneeze down the line made Steve move his head away from the receiver, like he could catch something through the phone. He heard a muffled “Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry.” Steve said, feeling even more like crap. Not only did Natasha give him a wrong number (deliberately, too – she’d been very careful when writing it out) he’d called someone who really just needed to rest. “Uh, have you tried putting rubbing menthol on the soles of your feet?” He found himself saying, which was… was just pathetic, really.
“Uh, rubbing what on my where?” The man asked, sounding horrified.
“Menthol… uh, like… a vaporub?” Steve rushed. “Uh, Vicks?” He paused, as the man on the other end sneezed loudly again. “You can rub it on your feet.” He finished, sounding lame as hell. “It helps.”
“Did you call me up to give me flu advice?” The man said, sounding about as amused as a man with a heavy sinus infection could.
“No, I just… uh…” He floundered. “Never mind.”
“Would Tigerbalm work?” The man asked just before Steve was about to hang up out of sheer embarrassment. “I don’t have Vicks.”
“Uh, I dunno.” He admitted. “I’ve always just used Vicks.” He thought about it. “Probably though, I mean, it’s the menthol part that does the trick.”
Steve had spent a lot of time being sick as a kid, and a teen. His mom had tried every old wives tale she’d ever heard, and some of them actually had worked. “Uh, you can add hot water to a non-medicated cough mixture and drink it like tea.” He added, if you haven’t got lemon and honey.”
“Yeah, I don’t have those.” The man said, and Steve could hear him shuffling around through the line. “Uh, how much mixture?”
“Um, just the same as you’d take on a spoon.” Steve advised. “It’s kinda gross but you get used to it.” He wasn’t sure why, but he stayed on the line as he heard the other man move around, the sound of opening cupboards and hot water boiling.
“You some kind of doctor?” The man asked, as he stirred the mixture in a cup. Steve could hear the ‘clink’ of the metal as he stirred.
“Me? No.” Steve said, laughing a little. “Needed one often enough though.” He added. “Spent a lot of time as a skinny asthmatic kid who caught every bug known to man.”
“I’m never sick.” The man said, and Steve couple hear him tapping the spoon on the edge of the cup. “Ever. I think I might be dying.” A pause, and Steve was sure he could hear him take a sip. “That’s vile.”
“Yeah.” Steve agreed. “Sorry. The hot water’ll help though.”
“Hmm?” The man said. “Uh, my ears are worse than my fucking nose, I can’t hear shit.”
“I was just saying the water will help.” Steve tried again, as clearly as possible.
“Hmm.” Another sip. “Well, it tastes like a cure or kill, so you might be on to something. Either way, I’ll stop feeling so bad.”
Steve found himself grinning. “Yeah? You think that’s bad? My mom once made me press a hot onion to the side of my head for a whole day when I was a kid.”
“A what?”
“An onion.” Steve said, a little louder.
An incredulous “Why?” made its way down the line.
“It’s apparently an old cure-all for earache.” Steve said, wrinkling his nose. “It really didn’t work. At all.”
The man, Bucky, laughed thickly on the other side of the line. “I bet you smelt amazing.”
“Oh yeah.” Steve agreed. “For weeks.” He remembered, too – it had been in middle school and he’d been teased so bad that he’d begged his mom to keep him off school. She couldn’t – could hardly afford to pay the babysitter as it was for her nightshifts, never mind through day. It wasn’t the first time he’d been picked on, and it hadn’t been the last. “Not my best memory, to be honest.”
“Man,” Bucky said, before sneezing wetly. “Aww fuckit.” He mumbled, and hung up.
Steve looked at the phone in his hand and blinked. Oh. Carefully he put the receiver back down and looked at the piece of napkin that Natasha had written her number down on. He picked it up, screwed it into a little ball, and threw it into the little trash can he had by the phone. It landed perfectly inside. He’d forgotten for a few minutes while listening to Bucky that he’d been stitched up by yet another date. He’d liked Natasha, he thought they might have been friends, if she didn’t want to pursue a romantic relationship. She was smart and had a really dry sense of humour, which he liked. He thought she might get along well with Sam, maybe, if they’d become friends.
He was half way through a pizza when his phone rang – and he muted the TV as he leaned over the couch to answer it. “Steve Rogers.” He said, hoping he didn’t sound like he was still chewing. Very few people called his house number, mostly they just rang the mobile, so he figured it was just a call centre.
“Uh,” A voice said, sounding… choked up.
“Bucky?” He asked, swallowing the mouthful of pizza so quick it hurt. For a moment he thought he might choke, but a quick swig of the beer on the table stopped that.
“Uh, Hi.” Bucky said, not sounding any better than he did earlier in that night. “Uh.” He said and paused. “I didn’t hang up on you.” He said, after a moment.
Steve wanted to argue, because that was exactly what Bucky had done, but he didn’t. After all, it wasn’t like they knew one another, Steve had just been given a fake number. “It’s okay.”
“No, I mean, like…” He paused, and sneezed again. “I didn’t mean to hang up. You were uh, nice? I guess.” He said, once he’d stopped sniffing. “I just wanted to say, uh, I didn’t mean to hang up, I just got snot… you don’t wanna know.”
“It’s okay.” Steve said, although he found himself smiling a little. “Have you managed to take anything for your cold?”
“Flu.” Bucky said, quickly. “It’s the flu. Or plague. I’m not ruling out plague.”
“Uh-huh.” Steve grinned. “Sounds like a cold.” He took another swing of his beer and settled back into the couch. “Have you got anything to take?”
“Nah. I’m a man.” A pause, a sneeze, and a sniff. “I don’ need nothing.”
“Well I’m sure the flu virus is very impressed.” Steve said back, forgetting for a moment that he didn’t actually know Bucky and that maybe his sense of humour just wouldn’t go down so well. But Bucky laughed.
“Don’t say it like that.” He complained, sniffing. “That makes me sound like a middle schooler.”
“You do sound like a middle schooler.” Steve shot back. “If you are sick you need to take something for it. No point in suffering if you don’t have to.”
“Yeah, but that would mean leaving the house.” Bucky complained, and Steve could hear the tell-tale movement of…
“Are you in bed?”
“No!” Bucky said, sounding guilty. “I uh, I pulled my blankets on the couch.” A pause, a sniff. “I don’t know you well enough to call you from bed.” Another sniff. “Anyway, don’t think I can’t tell you’re eating.” A sneeze. “Eating while I’m dying, I might add.”
“I’m heartless.” Steve agreed, taking another bite of pizza. “But if I leave it the cheese’ll go gross.”
“You’re eating pizza?” Bucky said, sounding about as incredulous as a person can while being choked with the cold. “I’m dying over here and you’re eating pizza?”
“And a beer.” Steve nodded. He really couldn’t help the grin that played over his lips. For some reason, teasing this guy made him pretty happy.
“I hate you.” Bucky mumbled, obviously snuggling deeper into the blankets, going on the shuffling he could hear down the line. “I’m starving, and I’ve only got re-runs of Master Chef to keep me going.”
Steve’s eyes flipped up to his TV, where Joe Bastianich was watching the contestants work with a critical eye. “Nothing wrong with re-runs.” He said, aware he sounded a little defensive.
“Oh my god, are you watching it? You are!” Bucky sounded delighted, right before he sneezed again. “I still think Josh should have won.”
They talked through the show, commenting on the food like they were professionals – like Steve didn’t burn water and (he found out) they knew Bucky by his first name at every fast food joint within a 12 block radius of his apartment. He found out Bucky also lived in New York, that he also worked ‘in testing’ and couldn’t really talk about his job other than “I work for Hydra.”
“I work for Stark.” Steve said, which (and he might have been a little bias) was a helluva not nicer place to work than Hydra. He’d been in a few Hydra facilities when he’d been starting up – a lot of interviews – but he hated it. He’d been working for Shield when Stark offered him a better job.
“Ah, we’re the Romeo and Juliette of international weapons divisions.” Bucky snorted, and then sneezed again. His cold didn’t seem to be improving. “Man, I gotta kick this before Monday.”
“I’m sure they’ll understand if you’re sick.” Steve said, looking at the last slice of pizza and wondering if he really needed to move to get it.
“Yeah – nope.” Bucky said down the line. “They aint big on unpaid vacation days.” He sighed. “I’ve got 36 hours to get better or they’ll haul my ass into see the big man.” A sniff. “I really can’t afford to get fired right now.” He paused. “My sister’s at Yale.”
“Oh wow, that’s awesome.” Steve enthused. “Your family gotta be pretty proud.”
“I mean, it’s just me and Becca.” Bucky said, after a beat, “But man, I couldn’t be prouder. She’s on this partial scholarship thing, I mean, it covers her classes – but not anything else. So I gotta get myself right.”
“Then you’ll need to take something more than whatever you’ve been taking.” Steve told him. “Get yourself to the pharmacy.”
“It’s ages away.” Bucky complained, sounding petulant and childish. “And closed.”
“How old are you?” Steve laughed, rolling his eyes down the line. “There are plenty of 24hour places.”
“I’m 29 you punk.” Came the muffled response. “And I’m dying.”
Steve didn’t think twice before he nodded. “Alright, where is the nearest to you, I can get you what you need.”
There was silence on the end of the line, and Steve remembered that he didn’t actually know Bucky at all. The other man probably thought he was a serial killer or something. He paused. What if Bucky was the serial killer?
“Um, man, thanks, but… uh,” Another sneeze – followed by two more in rapid succession. “I’m uh… man you can’t do that. I don’t even know you.”
Steve thought about it for a moment before saying anything. “I don’t mind.” He said, carefully. “I mean… you do sound like death.”
It didn’t take long before Steve was standing outside an apartment building that looked almost identical to his – and a lot closer than he would have thought – with a bag crammed with all of the cold and flu treatments they could sell him. He’d also stopped by the take-out that was open and picked up two containers of chicken noodle soup, and dumplings. Bucky had told him what door to buzz, but he’d been standing looking at the buzzers and couldn’t see ‘Bucky’ at all. Trusting that the man he had never met before hadn’t sent him to a crack den, he pushed the little button beside ‘J.Barnes.’
There was nothing for so long that Steve was seriously thinking of just turning around and doing home, when the intercom crackled to life. “Yeah?” A voice said, sounding stuffed even over the bad connection.
“Bucky? It’s Steve.”
“Oh shit, uh, just… yeah, just come up.” The line went dead and the door clicked open.
Bucky was standing at his door when Steve climbed up the stairs to his floor. He was wrapped from head to toe in a navy blue quilt – the only parts of him Steve could see was the bright red nose that popped out of the shadow.
“Uh, I didn’t think you were serious.” Bucky said, shuffling back. “Come on in. I’m sorry about the mess, man, I’ve been laying around since Thursday.”
“It’s cool.” Steve said, following Bucky inside. The apartment was nicely decorated, nicer than Steve’s place that was for sure, but had a lingering stale smell of closed windows and sickness. It reminded Steve of his childhood bedroom, which was weird and a little jarring. “I picked you up some soup, and pretty much everything they had over the counter.” He said, holding up the bag in his hand. “Uh, just go sit down and you can take a look.”
Bucky nodded and practically collapsed onto the couch. The coffee table was littered with used tissues and empty mugs, and Steve didn’t think about it – he put the bag on the floor and started cleaning up.
“Don’t touch those!” Bucky protested, and Steve shrugged at him. The blanket had fallen from his head, and Steve saw him for the first time.
He looked… sick. Like, sweaty and gross and far too attractive for his own good. His hair was long and greasy and his nose was red and swollen, and his dark blue eyes were watery and puffy, and… oh, he was… he was lovely. Lovely.
“It’s okay.” Steve shrugged, grabbing the tissues so he would have something to do other than stare at the man who was now struggling to sit up on the couch. “Where is the kitchen?” He asked, standing up. “I can heat up the soup and get you some water to take the medication.”
“Man, seriously,” Bucky was saying, before he dissolved into sneezing – and collapsed back against the couch cushions. “Just, I can…”
Steve nodded, but still turned around. The kitchen was easy to find, the light was on and the door open, so he just grabbed what he could and left Bucky to his sneezing. He really needed to give himself a little space to breathe too, because lusting after a guy who had snot on his chin wasn’t what Steve had signed up for.
The kitchen was actually pretty neat and tidy for a single guy – everything was in its place and the counters were clean. Steve kept his apartment very tidy because his mom would have skinned him if she’d come home for work and had to clean up after him when he was a kid, and good habits like that tended to follow you into adulthood. Going on the mess of the living room, he’d expected the whole house to be a mess. He was glad to be wrong. The cupboards were bare, which probably meant that Bucky hadn’t been lying about the amount of take-out he ate, and the fridge had a filter jug of water, three bottles of an IPA Steve had never seen before and a solitary lime. Probably for the beer. The cupboards were pretty well organised, and Steve liked that it was almost intuitive to where everything would be kept. He could hear Bucky cough and sneeze on the couch, sounding about as pathetic as a grown man could, as he picked up a glass, a couple of spoons and walked through to the living room.
Bucky had obviously tried to clean up as best he could while Steve was gathering his thoughts in the kitchen. The couch looked a little less like a bomb had gone off around it, the coffee table cleared of used tissues and the dirty cups were pushed to one side. The man himself was sitting up – he’d tried to tie his hair back into some kind of bun, but it was really too greasy to hold well – and he was reading the leaflet inside the ‘extra strength cold and flu’ pills that Steve had bought. “You think these’ll work?” He asked, glancing up at Steve before looking back down at the pills in his hand.
“Yeah.” He said, holding out the glass. “Don’t you dare dry swallow those.” He said, pointedly handing over the glass. “It’s bad for your throat.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “Take those, and eat the soup. I got dumplings too, not sure if you like em.”
Bucky glanced at the bag and nodded. “I like anything with calories in it.” He mumbled, before knocking the pills back and taking a liberal swig of the water. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.” He pointed out, waving Steve to sit down. “It hurts me to look up.” He said, when Steve sat down. The couch was softer than the one in his apartment, and kinda felt a little like it was trying to eat him.
“It doesn’t cost anything to be nice.” He said, out of rote. It was a saying his mom had used a lot, especially when she’d help out the people in their old apartment block – popping in to check on their elderly neighbours or carrying groceries up four flights of stairs. He’d gotten a reputation for being a boy scout as he got older, but it was his mom who instilled those values in him. And she’d be spinning in her grave if he didn’t offer to help out someone who was sick.
Bucky shot him a rather grateful look before picking up the bag that contained the soup and dumplings. “You gonna stay and have something to eat?” He asked, pointing at the TV. It wasn’t as large as the one Steve had mounted on the wall, but it was big enough. “I’ve got Netflix and HBO.”
Steve fell asleep somewhere after Bilbo told the trolls that the dwarves he was traveling with had parasites. He didn’t remember anything after that – had already gotten used to the wheeze of Bucky breathing through his mouth and the occasional sneeze. The soup had helped, the pills had helped more – Bucky was drowsy but awake the last time Steve looked over at him, still wrapped up in the blue comforter. Still looking good despite looking so bad.
It was something his mother had always found amusing – but at 6am on the dot, Steve’s eyes snapped open. It took him longer than he would have liked to figure out where the hell he was, slumped down into the too soft cushions of someone else’s couch. He could hear a shower running. He was on the couch alone.
The table was cleared of the containers from the soup and the dirty mugs – in fact, aside from where Steve was sprawled out (taking up far too much space with his stupidly massive body) the whole place looked spotless. The only thing out of place was the little stack of medication on the table. It looked like Bucky had taken more through the night. Steve stood up – it was harder than he’d expected with the comforter draped over his legs, and the soft cushions he’d sunk into through the night.
The shower was still running, and Steve really wasn’t sure what he should do. By all accounts, Bucky would still be feeling pretty rough despite the signs that he’d been awake (and mobile) for at least an hour.
So Steve folded the comforter as neatly as he could, although he thought the best thing to do would be get it to a dry cleaners – it had the lingering smell of sweat and cough mixture that clung to the fabric. Once he’d folded that he managed to grab the tissues that Bucky had missed as he tried to tidy up around Steve’s sleeping form, he plumped up the cushions. He would have liked to open up the windows, but he wasn’t sure if that would be a great idea – Bucky would still be feeling bad, and the cold would be worse for him than the stuffy smell of the room.
He’d only been standing in the middle of the room uselessly for a few seconds before he heard the water turn off with a clunk that sounded almost identical to the pipes in his apartment. There were a couple of minutes where Steve did a weird dance – moving from the couch to the window and back again, not quite sure what he should do, until Bucky walked through from the bathroom.
Steve’s brain misfired. There was a lot of skin. A lot of damp, pale skin. And a towel, but the towel was navy and the skin was pale and Steve’s brain was shutting down because all of the blood was being diverted south. He was suddenly very pleased he’d managed to sit down on the couch before Bucky appeared, because he would have probably fallen over.
He had a tattoo – a very nice tattoo that looked like interlocking plates of metal down one arm. It was… hot. It was definitely hot.
“Did I wake you?” Bucky asked, looking guilty. “The shower makes a fuckton of noise, sorry. I was trying to keep it quick.”
“Aw, no – uh,” Steve stumbled. Bucky’s nose was still red, and his were deeply shadowed and watery, but he was still managing to pull off looking like the sexiest-vampire-in-modern-culture thing. “I um, I wake up at the same time every day.” He said, managing to work through the lump in his throat. “I didn’t mean to crash here, I’m really sorry.”
Bucky waved off his apology with his tattooed arm. “Christ, don’t even mention it.” He said, and Steve wondered his tight the knot on his towel was. It seemed to be holding up just fine. Damn. “I mean, you totally saved my skin, I feel better already.” He grinned. “Not gonna get fired, at least.” He added. “Give me like, 10 minutes so I can get dressed, yeah?” He said, walking out of the room. He had droplets of water running down the muscular planes of his back and Steve wondered if he was going to burn in hell for thinking about tracing the trail with his mouth. He’d been a good person, bringing a sick stranger medication and now he was being punished.
It didn’t take long for Bucky to get dressed, and Steve could hear a hairdryer after a few seconds. He normally just let his own hair air dry. He never thought of the upkeep of long hair. He managed to keep his mind occupied with the idea of that for a while – would you need different shampoo? Would Bucky have the same hair care ritual as Peggy, who had hair masks and hot oils and a whole regime that opened Steve’s eyes to just how little time he spent on his own personal grooming. If it hadn’t been for Peggy, Steve would probably still be using the same 2-in-1 brand store shampoo that he’d always used, skipping product completely and wondering why his hair felt like straw all the time. Hell, if it wasn’t for Peggy he’d still be wearing Axe.
Thinking of Peggy made him both happy and sad. Their relationship had been the longest Steve ever had, and probably the most satisfying relationship he’d known. They were still friends of course, despite the miles and miles of ocean between them. She’d been the reason he’s started working for Shield and when he’d left, Starks offer had been much more alluring. A new start.
When the drier switched off and Bucky sneezed loud enough to make Steve jump a little (followed by a muffled curse and another, smaller sneeze), he walked back into the living room. “Man, I was feeling great an hour ago.” He mumbled, running his fingers through what was now a soft brown curtain of hair that looked all kinds of sexy. A marked improvement on the greasy mop the night before. His nose was red (Steve knew it wasn’t from the heat of the shower, but the flu) and there was moisture on his eyelashes from the sneeze.
“You need to rest up.” Steve said, feeling a little punchy for some reason. Really, Bucky had no right to look so good while sick. “All the pills in the world won’t fix you overnight.”
“Yeah, but I’m hungry.” Bucky grinned, before sneezing again. His hand was covering his nose and mouth and Steve handed over the box of tissues without comment. There was no doubt that he probably had snot down his face. “Tanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” Steve said, and felt himself smiling. “I’d actually better get going.” He said, once Bucky had wiped himself clean, looking pretty much like he wanted to die of embarrassment.
“Uh, yeah?”” The other man asked, looking a little disappointed. “I mean, uh, yeah. Okay.” He nodded. “Course.”
“And you have my number.” Steve said, and then felt stupid when he remembered that it wasn’t a date. They weren’t dating. They didn’t even know one another.
“I do, yeah.” Bucky nodded. “Uh, sorry about that Matt guy.”
Steve blinked. “Who?”
“Matt? Ashford… something.” Bucky blinked. “Uh, the guy you were trying to get a hold of.” He looked at his feet, and Steve wondered if he was blushing or just feverish. “He totally should have given you his proper number, you aint half bad.”
“Matt?” Steve said, and then remembered how blocked Bucky’s ears must have been over the phone. “Oh, no!” He laughed, “Natasha.” He said, “I was looking for Natasha. Not Matt Ashford.”
Whatever colour Bucky had on his cheeks left them as he gaped at Steve. “Natasha.” He said, and although he still sounded choked with the flu, he managed to sound pretty strangled at the same time. “Romanov? Red hair? Best bitch face in New York?”
“You know her?” Steve said, feeling confused.
“Know her? I’m going to fucking kill her.” He said, and then sneezed. “She’s my best friend.” He added. “Uh, I think she might have set you up.”
Three days later, Steve was sitting on his couch with a beer and a curry, watching Cake Boss. There was an ice pack wrapped around his ankle and a bruise the size of a dinner plate forming on his thigh, but Tony had given him the week off to make up for very nearly breaking his damn leg. A paid week off. Which Steve obviously planned on making the most of.
He’d moved his phone a little closer to the couch so he wouldn’t have to jump up if it rang, and was pretty pleased he had when just as he got his butt positioned in a way that was comfortable and didn’t put strain on his leg – the phone started ringing.
“Steve Rogers,” He said, as he picked up the plastic receiver, imagining another sales call.
“Steve, it’s Natasha Romanov.” A husky female voice said, down the line.
He didn’t need to fake a smile. “Oh, Hi again!” He said, “I’m sorry I didn’t call – work’s been hectic.”
“Wha-” She started and then gave a throaty chuckle. “Same here. I thought you might have called me back though.” Her voice was teasing. “You didn’t call at all?”
“Sorry.” Steve said, trying to sound as genuine as possible. Sam was convinced that Steve had the monopoly on ‘heartfelt’ and ‘honest’ expressions. It seemed that this translated over the phone too. “I really meant to – I’m not the kind of guy who wouldn’t call.” He looked at his leg. “I’ve actually been put on paid leave for the week.” He added. “Healing up – trust me to meet a beautiful woman and then three days later wind up in the ER.”
“You met a beautiful woman?” She asked, and he grinned.
“Fishing for compliments already, hmm?” He said, and then laughed when she snorted. “Hey, if you don’t mind me limping along, would you like to perhaps meet up this week?”
“Oh, uh-” The question seemed to shake her for a moment before she seemed to shake herself. “Oh, that would be great. Are you free Friday night? I can give you my address?”
Natasha only lived a short taxi ride away, which was great, and Steve had taken a lot more care in getting dressed this time, picking a nice shirt and a pressed pair of slacks. He wasn’t going to get caught out like he had the first time around. The building was nicer than his, with a doorman and everything – who told him just to go on up as ‘Miss Romanov was expecting him’. The whole thing felt a little like a spy movie and Steve was smiling a little to himself when the elevator doors opened. Pausing only a few moments to check himself in the reflection of the mirrored wall, he stepped out and walked purposely to her door – limping only a little with his strapped up leg.
Inside the apartment he could hear voices. “I told you to get dressed up!” He heard Natasha say, muffled by the door. He paused, hand hovering in the air just as he was about to knock.
“I don’t see why I need to get dressed up for you.” A male voice said, sounding highly amused. Steve grinned, and rapped on the wooden door.
A few moments of silence passed and then the door swung open. Natasha was wearing a navy blue dress that complimented her creamy skin to perfection, her hair swept up into an elaborate coiffure. She looked way too dressed up for a date, and when she was him standing there, her face fell slightly.
“Oh Steve!” She said, voice a perfect blend of hassled and tragic. “I’ve been trying to call you; my Boss has asked me to attend a fundraising Gala tonight. I’m so sorry, please, please, come in.”
Her apartment was modern and sleek and very much exactly like Steve would have expected. Of course, the general look was somewhat marred by the man lounging on the couch, watching Steve with a blank expression.
His hair was pulled back into a bun, but a few strands had escaped and were curling a little around his cheekbones – wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and a grey hoodie. Steve kept his expression neutral, and he threw a questioning glance at Natasha. He hoped that his confusion was written on his face, because he wasn’t about to trust his voice. “Oh, this is James.” Natasha explained, waving a hand over the man on the couch, who was looking at Steve like he was something that crawled out of the drain. “He just popped over to say hello.” She smiled.
“Oh.” Steve said, and nodded. “I, uh, I guess tonight is a bit of a bust then?” He said, looking back at Natasha after throwing an equally unimpressed look at the man on the couch. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I bet.” James snorted, and Steve shot him a look that he was sure had all the dislike he could muster.
“Perhaps another time?” He said, turning back to Natasha who was flat out glaring at James. It took her a few moments for her to even realise that Steve had spoken.
“Oh, I’m sorry Steve.” She said, “It was such short notice, I would never have asked you over if I had known in advance.” She paused, and looked at James – from where Steve was standing he couldn’t see her expression when she turned to face the other man. “I thought maybe you could still use the reservations though,” She said, turning back to Steve. Once her head was facing away from him though, James winked at Steve. It took every fibre in his being to keep a straight face. “I mean, you could take James? He’s been cooped up at his place all week.”
Steve frowned, and looked past her shoulder at James, who was screwing his face up enough that Natasha noticed. This time, Steve did see her expression. He was pretty sure he never wanted to be on the receiving side of that particular glare.
“You know what, I think I’ll pass.” Steve said, “But, uh, I have your number.” He threw her a sheepish look. “I’ll call you this time.”
Natasha threw him a look that clearly said that wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but nodded. “You know what, here,” She said after quickly looking through her purse and pulling out a white square. “My card. Just in case you lost the napkin.”
“I got a 30 minute lecture.” Bucky said, throwing himself on the couch beside Steve and lifting up the ice pack that he’d brought through. “She’s so pissed at me.”
Steve snorted, his sweatpants pulled up to his calf so that Bucky could wrap the pack around his ankle. “You know she’s going to kill you when she works out that we’re friends, right?”
“Worth it.” Bucky smirked.
“Hi Natasha, it’s Steve, I just wanted to call to see if you wanted to meet up this weekend?” Steve said, keeping his tone light and friendly. Bucky, sat beside him and eating his way through the leftover Thai curry from the previous night, wiggled his eyebrows and pointed to the TV. “Call me back, if you wanna.” Steve finished.
Two weeks later Steve was eating lunch with Natasha when she told him that she didn’t think they’d work as a couple but that she hoped they could be friends. He managed to look a little disappointed, but he got a sinking feeling that she knew something was up.
“I think she knows.” Steve told Bucky as they went back up to the buffet. They’d picked this particular restaurant because it was right between both of their apartments, and they had an ‘All You Can Eat’ option that they were treating more like a challenge than a nice way to try new things.
“If she knew I’d know about it,” Bucky told him, hip bumping him away from the garlic mushrooms. “Cause I’d wake up with the severed horses head in my bed.”
“I kinda forgot why we’re not telling her that we’re dating.” Steve pointed out, wondering if he should grab the last of the garlic bread. He was pretty sure the owners were throwing them dirty looks for eating so much. They’d had this particular argument before. They’d been friends for 6 weeks and dating for a month, and at least once a week Steve lost his nerve.
“Because she set us up!”
“But it worked!”
“Steve, if you ever wanna get laid again...” Bucky threatened, but there was no heat in it.
Steve liked Buckys apartment because his mattress was somehow better than Steve’s. It had something to do with the topper that Bucky bought, but it was like sleeping on a cloud and if Steve had his way he wouldn’t ever leave it – not for work or anything. The added bonus was that Bucky was also in the bed. They’d celebrated their four month anniversary by eating a pile of food and falling asleep before actually having any sex. He didn’t mind – Bucky was wearing a pair of Star Wars patterned flannel sleep pants that Steve had bought him for a joke one day and he actually really liked because they were so fucking warm and soft, and Steve had just kicked off his jeans and slept in his boxer shorts. But... something was touching his leg. Something... weird.
Beside him, Bucky was grumbling awake (not a morning person at all) and Steve rubbed his eyes sleepily before flipping the covers back to see what was pressing into his calves.
His scream jolted Bucky so hard that the other man actually fell out of the bed – landing on his feet before wobbling unsteadily and looking around franticly before his eyes fell on the... thing... in the bed.
A rubberised horse’s head mask.
“Oh god,” He whined as Steve blinked. “She’s gonna kill us.”
“How did she get in?” He found himself asking, as Bucky ran his hand over his face.
“Skills.” Bucky said, before collapsing into helpless laughter. “Oh god, we’re both gonna die.” He wheezed.
She didn’t kill them, but it was a near thing.