Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I just had the best idea I have ever had in my life,” Bucky said, punching straight through a doombot with his metal hand and clutching the napkin with Steve’s phone number in the other. The formerly (somewhat) dark and peaceful corner of Central Park was now lit up with energy beams, flashing robotic lights, and panicked astronomy buffs running for cover. Oh well, it wasn't like they'd been going to see many stars what with all the Christmas shit everywhere.

“The bar you are setting for that is not high,” Natasha told him over the coms.

Bucky frowned and dodged an incoming ‘bot, tucking the napkin carefully into his ‘undercover’ jacket. ‘Undercover’ meant no visible grenades or kevlar, unfortunately, but at least it was fireproof, and was also apparently great for getting phone numbers from tiny hot blondes while undercover. “No. Shut up. I’m going to solve my dating problem. It’s solved. I’ve figured it out.”

“The dating problem where you have a crisis of conscience about your bad-boy past and take off before the appetizers?” Sam asked, and Redwing sliced through the cranial wires on the ‘bot just in time to save Bucky needing another metal appendage. “Or the problem where no sentient being worth dating would put up with all your stupid even if you stayed long enough for them to try? More time fighting, less time mooning over the guy you just met.”

“Mooning over his true love, Sam,” Natasha corrected, and there was another explosion from her direction.

“No,” Bucky wheezed. One of the ‘bots had hit him from behind in the dark, bowled him over a discarded telescope tripod, and landed him right in the leftovers of someone’s midnight stargazing picnic. “I got his phone number. Fuck, he gave me his phone number after he saw my face. This is the first time that’s ever happened.”

Sam inhaled to take the obvious opening, but Natasha cut him off before he could get it out. “If everyone recognized you the second they saw your face, we wouldn’t--uff–have had you–undercover,” she said, breathing in that way she did when some unlucky slob was being garrotted. “Even so, I’m guessing it’s thanks to the coke-bottle lenses in those cute black hipster glasses he didn’t clock you.” The sounds of metal screeching on metal came through the line, along with some distant yelling about the cost of telescopes. “You should pick up more guys at ops in stargazer societies, James, you can barely see each other.”

“Actually yeah, good job there, I think that was the longest you’ve ever spoken to one person in the entire time I’ve known you,” Sam agreed. “You put five words together in your goodbye sentence before the explosions started. That was four more words than normal, man, I’m proud of you.”

“Fuck off,” Bucky said without venom, face still in the dirt. He twisted sideways to break the hold just as the ‘bot went for his throat, crushed its chestplate, and yanked out a handful of wires. Its eyes flickered and went dead. “No, this is how the Winter Soldier can date. I just have to keep meeting him in the dark where he can’t see me.”

Natasha made a noise. It was not a my-teammate-is-a-genius noise.

“Actually, that is the best idea you’ve ever had,” Sam huffed, out of breath, wind loud on the speakers. Bucky looked up and could barely make him out in the dark dodging an airborne Doombot firing lasers. He trotted back over to where he’d left his gun duffel and pulled out his miniature rocket launcher, Sam still swearing in the coms. “Keeping that-- fuck you tin can-- keeping that unshaven mess of a face hidden until it’s too awkward to say anything about it-- shit!”

Bucky finally got a good sight on the ‘bot and pulled the trigger, the explosion close enough for Sam to get blown comically into a roll, but not close enough to actually cause any real problems.

The cursing did not let up as a result. “Why is it always explosions with you?” Sam accused. “You’re a ghost. You’re not even there. But using rocket launchers, somehow. I’m with you on this plan, though, yeah, good idea. Hide those weird immortal jowls you got until after the wedding night, no one wants all that extra neck skin, I get it--”

“I’m putting three hundred on James making three dates, including this one, before this all blows up in his face,” Natasha interrupted.

“You two can not ruin this for me,” Bucky said, a little dreamily, sighting another ‘bot with the rocket launcher. “He’s perfect. He’s beautiful. I think he’d fit in my pocket, but didja you hear him eviscerate our mark when the guy called him a four-eyed twink? I’m in love.”

“Heads up, two sighted behind James,” Natasha told them. “Apparently our bad guy can still call reinforcements even with the broken jaw you gave him after he punched Snookums. Let’s hope Steve was worth the new timeline.”

“He absolutely is,” Bucky assured her, and turned to get a doombot to the face. The rocket launcher went flying and fired, the observatory behind them went up in flames, and the ‘undercover, for real, just find out who this guy is so we can bring him in for questioning’ mission went completely sideways. The way it usually did.

“Fucking ghost,” Sam said, and Bucky threw a doombot at him.

***

“I met someone, Jessica, wake up, I met someone. I met someone after I started shouting and got a bloody nose, he asked for my number while I had blood streaming down my face.”

Steve shut the door on his microscopic Brooklyn apartment, stowed his astronomy kit in the narrow bookshelf crammed between the bedroom door and his coatrack, and gingerly unstuck the now crimson washcloth from the gory mess of his nose to peer into his ‘hall’ mirror. His shirt had survived with only minor bloodstains, that was nice. Being friends with Jessica Jones meant he thought ahead on these things-- things like buying injury towels in bulk and keeping them tucked in every backpack, satchel, and kit he owned. Putting their half a hair-trigger braincells together had really improved both their lives. “I was heaving into my inhaler while he hit on me, he’s my soulmate.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Jessica Jones muttered, a little muffled like she was talking into a pillow. “You’re the asshole who bullied me into a regular sleep schedule and I hate it. Fuck off and call me tomorrow.”

“I’ll buy you breakfast,” he offered, taking an antiseptic wipe from the bowl by the door and dabbing at the mess. The bleeding started up again, but as an ooze rather than the more date-unnerving gush, so he was probably good to be out in whatever public was still awake.

There was a considering silence on the other end of the line. Either that, or Jessica had hung up on him and gone back to sleep.

“Freeee fooooood,” Steve crooned. “I’m offering freeeee foooooood.”

“And drinks,” Jessica told him, giving in to the irresistible siren call of a meal she didn’t have to pay for.

“And two free drinks.” Steve patted at a few drips on his sweater vest, which thankfully was a maroon and mustard check, decided he looked mostly acceptable and straightened from the mirror. “But it’s on you to find somewhere at 3 am that serves breakfast and liquor within walking distance.

There was a shuffle on the other end and Jessica made a noise like heaving herself out of bed required all her super-strength. “Yeah. I know a place.”

“Of course you do,” Steve said, and made sure he had plenty of injury towels in his bag before he left.

***

“Maybe we should call Steeeeeeve,” Sam suggested once they were all bundled grumpily into the black SUV back to headquarters. They’d finished trashing the last DoomBot into scrap, and then hung around dealing with the cops, fire department, EMS, news crews, two different neighborhood watches, and the executive director of Midnight Yoga in the Park long enough for all his cuts and bruises to start healing around the dirt. He kept scratching the scabs open as they pushed the grit back out again. It itched. “If he’s your soulmate, he can kiss it aaaaaaaall better.”

“He probably could,” Bucky said loyally. “He’s gonna solve all my problems. All my problems are solved, Sam.”

“James Barnes,” Sam said after a moment of contemplation. “You have said a lot of unhealthy things in the time I have known you, but that is absolutely in the top ten.”

“Nah.” Natasha piped up from the passenger seat. She had it tipped back almost into Bucky’s lap and was holding a cold pack to half of her face. “Remember the three years he was still trying to figure out what was genuine mission-relevant risk and what was Hydra brainwashing? Remember when he told us his broken femur was ‘functional.’ Remember when he used to say Bucky was an ‘irregular designation’? Remember when–.”

“Nevermind, actually you’re right, on the JBB scale of unhealthy this doesn't even rate,”Sam conceded.

“Fuck you guys too,” Bucky told them good-naturedly, and started humming along to Mariah Carey on the car radio.

***

“Hold up,” Jessica said when Steve had climbed the bar stool of The Randy Dancer Booze Cafe to get up to the counter and opened his mouth to start. She waved her thanks as the bartender put down two shots in front of her, then downed them both. “Okay. I’m ready. Tell me about Prince Charming, hopefully I’ll pass out midway. This was at the stupid stargazing thing you’re at every month now?”

“I wasn’t going to even go tonight, you know, because of Davis being a dickhead. Fuck researching astronomy for my next novel, that guy is a creep. But we thought we might see the aurora, so I went one last time, and there were these new people there. Egg whites and chamomile tea, please,” he said to the bartender, who didn’t even write it down.

“Bring the most unhealthy fried thing you make,” Jessica said, and Steve sighed. “Gotta die of something.”

“Exactly. I’m just trying to make sure it’s an interesting something instead of a passed out on my kitchen floor.” Steve tapped bony fingers on his glass of spring water morosely. “Adding to my writerly mystique with a violent end instead of my heart giving out during an asthma attack is the goal. After I make the best seller list. Anyway, look, this guy--I didn’t get pissed off at a single thing he said all night.”

That actually made her look up from her chewed nails in surprise. “Bullshit.”

“He agreed with me about conviction rates and the lack of realistic ways forward for convicted felons released from jail, Jessica. He even suggested we Ban the Box on job applications before I did.”

Jessica narrowed her eyes. “As an opener about a guy you met in a park after midnight, Steve, this is not actually the good sign you are making it out to be.”

“When Davis broke my nose, James broke Davis’ jaw before I even wound up a punch, and when I got on his case for it he apologized to me.” Steve sighed, smiling beatifically through what was probably turning into some really impressive bruising. Jessica had seen worse, he wasn’t worried. “He’s tall, built, mysterious, and his laugh, Jessica. Oh my god.”

Jessica eyeballed him. She waved over the bartender. “I need another drink,” she told him. “I need a drink because my buddy here is going to have a second date with a violent psychopath who thinks blood spatter is sexy.”

“You’re not having another drink, that breakfast is going to be awful coming back up with vodka,” Steve told her. “Get kombucha. Look, the last time I bled this much on a date the guy broke up with me right there in the emergency room. James looked like I’d handed him a holy grail when I gave him the napkin I was about to use to staunch the blood flow with my number on it instead.”

“Oh yeah, that’s super romantic and normal,” Jessica frowned. “Wait. I’m being the reasonable one here. This does not feel good. I understand Luke so much more now. Stop it.”

“When he texts I’m going to ask him to the movies,” Steve decided, raising his water glass.

“Let’s hope your current novel is a bestseller soon, then, because you’re definitely getting the violent and mysterious demise of your dreams,” Jessica said, taking her kombucha from the bartender with a grimace and raising it along with him.

***

“This is not a team emergency,” Sam admonished Natasha and Bucky when they looked up with that weird assassin twin synchronicity they had and explained what was happening. “I got these blueprints because I thought we had a mission.”

Sam had flown over to Bucky’s sad, empty, box apartment in a warehouse with three historical sets of plans to a specific city block in Brooklyn, thinking it was Hydra or Doom or even Aim. He’d dressed up, he’d used the Wilson charm on the public records employee, and he’d rushed over with it not an hour after the call only to find out it was because Bucky wanted a foolproof way to avoid Steve catching a glimpse of him in the movie theater lobby lighting and the emergency exit led right to the back cafe garden full of floodlamps.

“It is a mission,” Natasha told him. “A mission to make sure I win the betting pool. Stark chipped in, and I want all his rich asshole money. I need three dates to happen, and we can’t figure out an evac on date two without using a townhouse next door. Give me those.”

Sam passed the plans over with a sigh, fully intending to go right back out the window, but then the assassins started arguing about how much lockpicking was too much for a second date and he got sucked in like he always did. He elbowed them to the side to get a good look at his own blueprints.

“Here,” he said as Natasha pulled out a bowl of chips and salsa, apparently preparing for a long night. The terror twins had already laid out three bags of popcorn and a ziplock of what looked like beef jerky. Sam sure hoped it was beef jerky. “Look. There’s a doorway that probably got finished over in the last remodel directly to the back rooms. Go in for recon, take a drywall knife to it, slap on some stick on molding and you’re good.”

“Yes, perfect.” Bucky ran a metal forefinger down the faint line of possibly-a-hallway. “And Steve wears glasses. The boiler room will be full of steam so even if it’s well lit, I’m good as soon as they fog up.”

“We sound like you’re planning a murder.” Natasha reached across both of them and the stack of building plans for the popcorn. “You realize that, right? You realize we all sound like we’re planning a job.”

Bucky scoffed, eyes still on the blueprints. “I’m planning a date, which is a normal human activity. I planned dates for years before Hydra got me. You’ve just got murder on your mind since we, you know. Murder people.”

“Used to murder people,” Sam interjected, leaning back to get a better view of the layout as a whole. He traced a second route thoughtfully. “If you’re still murdering people we are going to have words, because Captain America can’t hang around with that kind of crowd.”

“Right,” Bucky agreed, spreading his arms. “And as long as Steve doesn’t get a good look at my face in full light, I have time to prove it. So I’m going to plan a date, like a normal person, and I’m going to romance Steve, like a normal person, and by the time he finds out I kill people, we will already be past the ‘getting to know you’ stage and it’s smooth sailing.”

Natasha nodded earnestly, eyes wide and guileless. “You’re so smart. No one would ever peg you as a murderer.”

“Shut it,” Bucky told her. “I’m planning a romantic date. It doesn’t make me look like a murderer.”

***

“Okay, I’m pretty sure you’re right and he’s a murderer,” Steve admitted after his second date with James. He shut the fridge and leaned on the kitchen island, passing one can of ginger switchel to Jessica and popping the tab on his own wistfully. “But look. I’m only sixty percent sure and the other forty is really focused on his eyes and his laugh. And those are both really strong selling points.”

Jessica Jones eyeballed the can Steve handed her. “What the fuck is this.”

“I don’t keep alcohol here, it screws up my meds.” Steve shrugged and took a sip as he pulled up the other stool. “There’s no added sugar either, since, you know. Diabetes. Don’t give me that look, I need your help.”

Jessica rolled her eyes and chugged half the can in one go. “Are we gonna off the guy? If so, we need a better ride. I can’t strap a dead body to my motorcycle around here, there are way too many street cameras.”

“The forty percent of me is giving that a strong no,” Steve decided after a moment. “But the sixty percent is kinda stuck on how after the movie he took me through two coat closets, the boiler room, and half a thrift shop’s back inventory to get to the alley behind the theater instead of just going through the lobby, then got spooked when I told him I could still see without my glasses, they’re mostly for street signs and stuff. So let’s keep it as a backup plan.”

“Gotcha.” Jessica considered that. “That forty percent of you is in your pants, isn’t it?”

“Look, you and I get long fine,” Steve pointed out, “and you have definitely beaten the shit out of people in back alleys. I know, because you beat the shit out of me in a back alley.”

“I punched you once by accident and said I was sorry,” Jessica pointed out. “It’s not like I murdered you. And if I’d beaten the shit out of you, you’d know it, since you wouldn’t have those cheekbones anymore.” She pulled out a pack of cigarettes, clearly remembered he had asthma, sighed and put them back. “He might murder you by accident with cat dander or something though. So what’s your plan?”

“If he isn’t a murderer, this man is perfect even if he never took off his gloves through the whole movie. We went to an outdoor bar afterwards, right--”

“After he took you through the boiler room, avoided leaving fingerprints anywhere, and finally convinced you I was right about the murder thing, you went out for drinks with him?” Jessica’s eyebrows had climbed so high they were practically free range. She shook her empty can at him. “You hand me tumeric ginger health shit in your own place but you go to a bar with a guy you’ve dated twice who might be a murderer?”

“--and I started a bar fight, obviously,” Steve continued like she hadn’t said anything, ignoring her pointed stare while she slowly crushed the can in one fist. “You know how it is. I at least waited until James went to the bathroom. But it turns out James started a bar fight in the men’s room with the guy’s buddies at the same time, so--”

“Steve,” Jessica said. “You are obviously my people, this is why we are friends, but as a sometimes vigilante on the dicey side of the law I’m a little concerned about you finding more of us.”

“I just need to survive long enough to be at least ninety-five percent sure,” Steve decided, reaching to take the mangled remains of the can from her to put in the recycle bin. “Okay so, point being, how do I not get murdered, but still go to the secondary location? Should I pack a bag? What goes in a ‘don’t get murdered’ bag?”

Jessica frowned, thinking. “I dunno, I usually just go with what’s in my pockets. I’m pretty hard to kill. Try googling it?”

Steve pulled out his phone and grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from a drawer. “What to pack...prevent...murder,” he muttered, typing. “Hm. Top hit, ‘what to pack for murder’. Maybe what to pack, prevent murder...safety?”

Jessica leaned over to squint at the screen. “Now I’m worried you’re the murderer,” she decided. “Why did google auto-suggest what to pack to prevent bloodstains?”

“I got in a bar fight on my second date,” Steve pointed out, scrolling through useless link after useless link. “Why do you think? Anyway, I’m a writer. My google search history already has me on three government watch lists, minimum. Oh, here, this one might be helpful.”

Jessica eyed the list dubiously. “What the fuck is a tactical whip,” she asked.

Steve made a face. “What’s a tactical pen?”

“I took a guy out with a pen, once.” Jessica shrugged and opened his fridge, scowled at what she saw, and started digging around. “It was just a regular pen, though. If you’re packing one, make sure it has a strong shaft. Something you actually bought, not a freebie.”

“I guess you can’t go wrong with the pepper spray and a taser,” Steve said, writing them down. “Something loud. Baseball bat might be a little obvious? Okay. Taser, pepper spray, megaphone, name-brand pen. What else?”

“Granola bars maybe?” Jessica suggested, giving up on the fridge and going for the pantry. “You eat nuthin’ but bird food, and if you’re going to stroll right on over to the second location and get locked in a basement, be a shame to starve to death while you wait for the evisceration to start.”

“Granola bars,” Steve repeated dutifully, noting it down. “For while I’m waiting for evisceration.”

“Or maybe bring some of that soda crap.” Jessica found a bag of milk-and-soy-free chocolate chips, opened it up and poured a few in her mouth, then visibly regretted it. “It made me want to die when I drank it, maybe he’ll get thirsty while he’s strangling you.”

Chapter Text

“I was really hoping it wouldn’t be as crowded here, what with that Avengers thing going at the other end of the park tonight,” James said sadly, looking up at the Holiday Lights display. An illuminated Scarlet Witch shot light-up fireworks over the River Gate entrance to the Bronx Zoo, the walkway up completely packed with couples and families. “Jesus. Look at that line.”

When James had suggested they check out the zoo light display last week, Steve had put two and two together and gotten ‘every date outdoors in the dark’ and made some quick defensive choices. He’d done an online search and named the busiest possible night he could, he and Jessica had gone shopping for the season’s loudest blinky light up holiday sweater in the hopes of being noticeable and therefore less likely to disappear into the bushes, and he’d actually packed the anti-murder backpack in a move of total desperation. The taser sat heavy in the water bottle pocket, and the pepper spray was in the front of his jeans, and he’d picked up a mini toy bullhorn (“Yelling is Fun for All Ages!”) from the stocking stuffer aisle to stick in the front pouch. The granola bars were at the bottom of the pack.

The other option was not going, of course, but anytime Bucky cracked one of those black humor jokes at him with that schoolboy smile, a chorus went off in the back of Steve’s head, so. No.

Getting tickets to the zoo on the night the actual Avengers were planning to be at Dancing Crane Plaza doing some sort of lighting ceremony was a little tricky, though, since the event had sold out pretty much as soon as they went on sale. James had pulled it off somehow, and Steve just hoped he hadn’t actually killed anyone to get them.

“Eh,” Steve said, distracted. Dark web criminal underground tickets notwithstanding, he was trying to figure out how to get James’ arm around him without being too obvious, because he was freezing. It was an unseasonably warm winter, sure, but it wasn’t warm enough to go out in New York without a jacket, and keeping his sweater on display had meant forgoing his staid canvas coat. He had wrapped up in two scarves, his warmest hat, and mittens over gloves, but he was already losing feeling in his fingers. “I’d say the lights are a bigger draw. There’s 39 new animal species represented. You can head to midtown any day of the week to see superheroes. And it’s not even all of the Avengers, they didn’t bring Hulk or the Winter Soldier.”

James gave a weird laugh and looked shifty. “Yeah, well, it’s a family friendly event. Oh god, Stark was given design control over his image here, wasn’t he.”

Steve took in the two-story tall Iron Man in a sleigh full of bags of money. Like most of the lights, it was made of painted fabric glued over a wire frame, which made it look like a stained-glass image in 3D, but…Stark-ified. The reindeer called to mind robots on steroids wreathed in garlands of pine boughs around light-up neon arc reactors. “I’m guessing yes,” he said. “Wow, those reactors are...bright. There goes my night vision.” He turned back to James just in time to see him duck his head away and frowned. “You okay?”

“Yeah, there’s just a security cam-- uh. Hey, how about if we skip the line? I know a back way.” James edged out of the yellow spotlight under the streetlamps, and Steve, like the idiot he was, followed him. They skidded down a grassy area and shuffled around to a darkened sidewalk.

“Is this...uh, a ‘back way’ like our boiler room ‘short cut’ at the movies?” Steve asked, Jessica’s voice in his head telling him very loudly that she was sure glad he brought snacks for the murder basement. “Because I am a little concerned about taking a ‘back way’ at an event with Avengers-level security.”

James snorted. “Their security is a joke. I can get past it no problem, even in the dark with a hot date.”

“Great!” Steve said, and switched on his sweater.

James blinked at him for a moment.

“A...hot date in a sweater that blinks ‘jingle bells’ with flashing holly and...are those llamas?” James corrected himself eventually. Steve and Jessica had scoured three stores during the holiday shopping crush to find a sweater absolutely no one could ignore, and boy howdy, they had succeeded. James looked less than enthused, which was a point in his favor for taste, but not in favor of non-psychopathic plans for the night. “Hey, shit, where’s your jacket? You must be freezing, you want mine? I don’t feel the cold much.”

Steve was going to say no, obviously, since the whole point of the sweater was to be seen, but then James started to shrug out of his tailored peacoat, and oh god. Even in flashing jingle bell lights James’ biceps stood out clearly under the cozy blue sweater he was wearing, and when a dark curl of hair fell over one eye and he brushed it out of the way, Steve forgot any and all words in a blaze of thought-annihilating lust. It lasted long enough for James to wrap him up in brushed wool still warm with lingering body heat, get a strong arm around him, and hustle him through a maintenance gate behind a shrub covered in blinking silver Widow’s Bites.

Steve trundled along in the kind of erotic haze that tended to land animals on endangered species lists, and when they ducked behind the dark side of the Avengers display, nearly dumped them both on their asses stumbling over the wiring in the dark. James glanced down, steadying them both effortlessly, and Steve must have looked as lovestruck as he felt because James’ gaze caught on his.

Oh god. This was it. This was...either the moment Steve departed this life or the moment he got arrested for public indecency at the Bronx Zoo, and he was absolutely willing to risk both for the chance James was going to touch him inappropriately, yes please.

And then he was backed up against the rear support of Stark’s money sleigh with a murderer trying to kill him with hot, hot kisses, and Steve embraced his fate with wholehearted enthusiasm.

He embraced it for...a while.

James finally pulled away, his hair tousled in a way that made him somehow even more mind-numbingly gorgeous, both of them breathing hard. Steve tried to reel him back in because if he was about to die, he was going to die with this man’s tongue in his mouth.

“God, Steve,” James gasped. “Yes, please, but no. Steve, I can’t get caught by security here, Stark’s AI is in every camera they have. If I get recorded on second base with you, even I can’t get in deep enough to wipe it.”

“What?” Steve asked, working to get back to some level of brain capacity.

“Hold on, let me look for the best way back in,” James said, moving away. Between his dark jacket, dark jeans, and flowing, luscious, but dark hair, it only took about two steps for him to fully disappear into the shadows. “I checked this all out in daylight, I shouldn’t take long. You wouldn’t believe the security holes the bozos Stark pity-hired left in this mess. Be right back.”

Hoooo boy.

Yup.

The forty-sixty split shifted to about thirty-seventy. This was definitely the night Steve field tested the contents of his anti-murder backpack. “Maybe I should have gotten a tactical pen after all,” he muttered under his breath as James’s silhouette appeared to briefly grope the Electric Black Widow’s left calf.

“Tactical pen?” James asked, rematerializing and taking Steve under his arm again, then seamlessly guiding them back around to rejoin the flow of traffic headed away from security. “You mean like a mini kubotan?”

“Uh,” Steve managed, still having no idea. “Yeesssss? I. Uh. Just like being prepared! I’m very prepared. For self defense.”

“Smart,” James said, giving him a big smile and holding him a little closer. “You get caught with those in a fight, though, and everyone is gonna know you went looking for it. Go with a mag light, those have a good heft to ‘em, but more plausible deniability.”

“Great,” Steve said weakly, his heart full and also terrified. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” James seemed affected, too-- he paused and gazed at Steve’s face long enough for the people behind him to start grumbling audibly before he shook his head and kept moving. “I normally go for knuckle dusters,” he continued. “They’re a classic for a reason. Illegal in New York, though, so I wouldn’t suggest them for you.”

“Wow. Good to know.” They were coming up on an enormous light up tunnel shaped like a great white shark. James tilted his head towards the gaping maw of an entrance, his eyebrows up in invitation, and Steve thought it was probably the least subtle sign fate had ever given him in his life.

But then James swept a gloved hand through his hair and grinned up at the tunnel like a kid, and the primal thirty percent of Steve took the sleighbelled reins.

“Sure, yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“I mean let’s be honest though,” James said, hands in his pockets and head tipped back to appreciate the coruscating rainbow shimmering through the shark’s insides. “If I’m going to be breaking laws anyway, I’m more of a knife guy.”

***

Bucky was brilliant, and this whole dating in the dark thing had been a stroke of pure genius. He’d been worried that he may have lost his touch post-Hydra, but they were on their third date, now. Their third amazing date, and Steve melted into his arms every time they got close with a sigh that made Bucky think wildly about other things they could be doing in the dark. He could keep up this winning streak long enough to weather the inevitable ‘wait you’re WHO,’ that ruined each of his budding romances. This would absolutely end well.

It definitely wouldn’t explode in his face like Natasha predicted. It was going great, because Bucky was dating as James, and James was definitely not a mostly-reformed Soviet-ish assassin.

Every time they stepped to the side to let another group of stressed out tourists hustle past, Steve looked up at him with incredible intensity in those big doe eyes in their tortoiseshell frames and Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Bucky had trouble remembering why they shouldn’t sneak off behind a few bushes to fool around. Steve seemed unusually buoyant, too, stopping by all the kiosks along the way to chat animatedly with the folks shilling light-up snowflake wands and fresh marshmallows for roasting over the little bonfires.

Sure, it was a little weird how Steve had given his full name and address to the hot chocolate barista, but he hadn’t done it in a flirty way or anything, and anyway Bucky worked with Tony Stark whenever he absolutely couldn’t avoid it. He was used to sudden random bursts of extreme chattiness. That was a thing people did. James was working to reciprocate too, and thank goodness they’d started talking about weapons so he’d had something to contribute. Steve had brought it up, so it was totally normal to be encouraging.

At the North American Animals display, though, his phone buzzed sos in his pocket. Bucky frowned.

“Hang on doll,” he said, ducking to the side by the Moose and Caribou section and pulling his phone out of his back pocket. Steve switched his sweater lights back on, which was smart-- they didn’t want to get separated in the crowd, and there was no way he was going to lose Steve this way. Bucky nodded approvingly at him and checked his text app.

Friday:
Boss says not to “flip your wig” but we have a “bogey” in the park and you should “enjoy your killer diller date” but keep a “sharp eye for any bad weather folks.”

Friday:
I take this to mean there seems to be a suspicious character in the area, but the Avengers have it well in hand and to continue with your night off.

Bucky glared at the screen. They better goddamn have it under control, since he wasn’t risking True Love by doing any identity-revealing heroics tonight for anything short of actual terror attacks. By aliens.

Bucky:
Tell him to hang ten, dude, since I’m having such a tubular time.

Friday:
Wicked.

Bucky looked over at Steve, who was texting someone on his own phone. “Hey,” he said, and Steve jerked his head up to stare at him, slapping his phone screen against his chest. Bucky smiled in apology for startling him. “Let’s head back, yeah? The Avengers are scheduled to do the tree lighting thing soon, and that’s the end of the night for most folks-- the subway and buses to Brooklyn are going to be packed. Wanna get ahead of it?”

Steve looked uncertain, glancing back the way they had come. The path was pretty empty now that everyone was heading for the main event.

Bucky took a deep breath and decided to press his luck. “We could maybe go back to my place, after. If you want.”

Steve went visibly weak at the knees. “Oh fuck,” he managed, which Bucky was hoping was a good sign.

His pocket buzzed again.

Stark’s Idiot Kid:
Hey Buckybot, good news, we caught the terrorist before he could fire off two shots!

Stark’s Idiot Kid:
Bad news, he had time to fire one shot and hit Wanda with some kind of weird hallucinogen. Long story short, the Christmas trees are alive, please evacuate your neck of the woods.

“What the hell,” Bucky said, just as Steve said, “look, uh, I have a roommate who is expecting me back exactly thirty minutes from now and calls the police all the time and--”

And then the life-size caribou lantern next to them twitched, shuddered, lifted its massive antlered head, and looked exactly like Bucky might imagine a prey animal surrounded by predators might look when it was busy deciding between fight or flight.

“Oh shit,” Bucky said, as the caribou chose fight.

Bucky shook out his metal arm as the thing charged, but Steve was faster— he yanked a can of pepper spray from his front pocket and got the thing dead in the face. It reared backwards, bellowing, and fell over with its legs flailing.

Bucky stared, incredibly turned on and about to do something very decisive about it, but that was when the screaming really escalated and Bucky realized the problem was much, much bigger than one startled caribou.

“Ah hell,” he said, pulling off his gloves and rolling up his sleeves. So much for his romantic night off. That was the international assassin shaped cat out of the bag, then, so he sure as fuck hoped he and Steve had reached the ‘not necessarily going to flee immediately and file for a restraining order’ level of commitment by this point. He snuck a wincing glance at Steve, who, yep, had his eyes glued to the metal arm.

Damnit.

“Oh thank fuck,” Steve said, looking way more relieved than any man surrounded by shrieking civilians and magically envitalized animatronics should be. “You’re the Winter Soldier. Oh my god, I thought you were a serial killer. Holy shit. Yes, absolutely, let’s go to your place after this.”

“You thought I was a--wait what,” Bucky asked, and then the bison display cut him off by stampeding directly over his back.

“Holy shit,” Steve yelped, scrabbling for the pepper spray again, but the moose and remaining caribou were up and moving, too. He lurched forward, tripped, and disappeared into a clump of rhododendrons as every animal in the exhibit zeroed in on Bucky as the Thing Other Herbivores Are Goring and Therefore Dangerous.

Bucky jackknifed his legs up to kick one of the moose in the jaw, but instead of knocking it down with one blow, he ripped right through the cloth and got his boots thoroughly tangled inside the metal-framed skull of a very startled and now very pissed off bull moose. One that already wanted him dead. It whipped its head across to the right, dragging Bucky face-first through three beds of poinsettias and slamming him into a tree so hard he saw stars, then back to the left and into a street lamp. Bucky finally kicked loose, and shit, the moose with its lantern fabric hanging in shreds around open rebar instead of a head was going to haunt his fucking nightmares. He had just gotten up again when a bison slammed steel horns into his back and heaved him into the air.

He twisted, landed on his feet, and grabbed at the moose’s antlers in a bid to wrench the thing sideways and to the ground, but then the whole fucking herd of caribou caught up.

Well, Bucky thought philosophically as he went down again under the bugling crowd of rebar and fabric ungulates, at least they weren’t as heavy as actual moose and bison. Silver linings and all that. He covered his head with the metal arm and tried to get back to his feet, but these were animals that regularly fended off packs of wolves and mountain lions, and all that death-machine evolution was focused on trying to curb stomp his face into the concrete path. Standing was not happening.

The moose got in a lucky shot at his arm at the perfect angle to deflect his desperate swipe, one of the bison crashed down on his chest and his breath left him in a hard gasp, and he just barely got a look up as two wickedly cloven caribou hooves came down towards his eyes and--

It all went dark.

Literally, actually dark. Bucky blinked and squinted.

“James?” Steve’s voice was strained and desperate. “James? Are you okay?”

Bucky’s eyes were adjusting to the sudden dark. He blinked, focused, and then swallowed. Hard. The frozen caribou hooves were maybe five inches from his face. “Yes?” Then he twisted his head toward Steve, who was bent over his inhaler with a loose electrical cord dangling from his other hand.

(Metaphorical) light dawned. “You pulled the plug?” Bucky managed, crawling out from under the herd of darkened lanterns. “Christ on a cracker, Stevie, I want to suck your dick right here, oh my god, you brilliant fucking lunatic!”

Steve gave him a thumbs up, head still down and counting breaths. “Does,” he wheezed. “Does anyone need. Medical attention?”

Bucky blinked and looked around. “Uh,” he said, belatedly remembering he was a superhero. He cupped his hands to his mouth and turned to the crowd of screaming parents, shrieking children, and assholes recording his romantic awakening on their smartphones instead of getting the fuck out of an active combat zone. “Any of you all need medical attention?” he bellowed.

A few clearly unharmed jerkoffs raised their hands hopefully, but everyone else stuck to the standard New York super-event mob mentality, which was part panic, part blasé gawker, and part bitching him out for not politely requesting the action be conducted somewhere else before it started. “I think they’re good,” Bucky said, jogging over. Steve seemed to be getting his breathing back under control, but was still kind of wheezy.

“Hold up.” Steve raised a finger and crouched down to dig in his pack, rummaging through it until he triumphantly pulled out the tiniest megaphone Bucky had ever seen. He switched it on and gave the standard air horn blast for attention while clambering onto an overturned souvenir cart.

“Okay!” He managed, volume cranked all the way up. “Any lost kids missing their adults, head toward the sound of my voice, I’m the guy in the blinking llama sweater; your family will meet you here! Everyone else please clear the way for children seeking their parents etcetera in the dark. Don’t be an asshole who hangs around for internet clout when your phone camera won’t pick up shit in the dark anyway. Head to the south asia gate quickly but calmly, please.”

The crowd was quiet, but clearly not 100% on board with this plan. Bucky reached up and took the megaphone.

“Do it or I’ll start rippin’ off arms,” he said, waving his metal one. “I have immunity in the event of a terrorist attack, and I am really excited to use it since this ruined date night.”

***

“So this is Steve,” Bucky said later, when the Avengers had all convened by the Bug Carousel and Stark’s cleanup crew had descended. Barton looked like he’d been on the wrong end of an explosive arrow, half of Sam’s suit was charred and smoking, Natasha’s hair stood out in a perfect red halo of static electricity, and Wanda was slung over Iron Man’s shoulder, still giggling to herself every so often. Bucky didn’t care. “I’m gonna marry him. This is my future husband right here. Steve. My soulmate. Steve, meet the Avengers, I’m going to marry you.”

“...hi,” Steve said.

There was a long pause.

“Wow,” said Sam.

“You are really working as hard as you can to project Insane Stalker at this poor man, aren’t you,” Tony said, impressed. Wanda kicked a little and made jazz hands behind his back. “You are just totally cannonballing right into the crazy-eyed deep end here, no hesitation. I respect that.”

“Eh.” Steve shrugged. “I was seventy percent sure he was a serial killer right up until the metal arm came out this evening, and he still got three dates. So I guess it’s not an issue.”

“Both of you are bug-nuts crazy, noted.” Tony said. “Friday. Update security measures everywhere accordingly, please.”

“Why do places keep asking us back?” Clint wondered, losing interest in Bucky’s personal triumph and surveying the carnage around them. “Why do I still have to go to these? Hasn’t New York noticed a pattern yet?”

“Upside,” Natasha told him, “Pepper wouldn’t let Tony buy the Holiday Tree and ‘show up those bozos at Rockefeller Center’, so at least it’s not as bad as it could be. I think there might even be, what, two lantern animals left unscorched in the whole zoo?”

“Oh,” Bucky said after a second. “Uh. I mean, the animals in the North America display are all fine, except for one of the moose. Steve unplugged ‘em. They just turned off and froze. Then we went through the Africa and Asia sections to get the lions and tigers before we got to you, so.”

The Avengers all looked at Steve, then looked at Bucky.

“And you didn’t think,” Sam said after a long pause, “to share that option with the class?”

“Sorry,” Steve said.

“I was distracted by making out with him after he saved my life and then organized an evacuation of a literal zoo full of rioting New Yorkers,” Bucky said. “You try keeping a cool head with all your blood flow going to your pants. Anyway, it’s my night off.”

“If it’s your night off,” Steve said thoughtfully, wiping away the blood from a cut on his cheek with a sparkly llama festooned sleeve. He had taken a few falls from various carts and statues he’d been shouting atop, and Bucky wanted to eat him alive. In a very non-serial killer way, of course. “You wanna head to my place? Or your place. Any place. Now? Like, right now?”

“I can get us to a safehouse with a mattress in ten minutes,” Bucky purred, tugging Steve closer. Steve pulled him into a heated liplock that only ended because Iron Man jabbed them with a metal elbow.

“Huh. You actually have met your soulmate.” Clint raised his hand for a fist bump. “Nice. But also please leave.”

“We already ruined Christmas here,” Sam agreed. “We don’t need you photographed with your dick out, too.”

“Safehouse,” Steve agreed, and as they made for one of the Avengers bikes, Bucky thought through a haze of lust that he was absolutely going with every one of his clearly brilliant ideas for the foreseeable future.

“I’m a genius,” he told Steve, revving the engine and pulling Steve tight against his back.

“You’re definitely something.” Steve patted him on the shoulder. “I’m totally willing to chip in my share of the thinking though. Pull my weight in the relationship and all. ”

“That sounds great,” Bucky said, smiling beatifically back at him, and peeled out of the Southern Boulevard parking lot with Steve’s hand up his shirt and his mouth on Bucky’s neck. He was probably going to need to get a new safehouse once they were done, or at least do some major repairs and renovations.

“Hey,” Steve shouted into his ear over the wind. “How fast can you go on this thing? I bet we could race a few police cars while we’re at it.”

They were going to get fucking married tomorrow, Bucky decided, and gunned it.

Chapter Text

Steve:
Jessica

Steve:
Jessica

Jessica Jones rolled over and slapped at her phone. It didn’t make it stop blooping at her. Eventually she groaned, hefted herself up on one elbow to blink muzzily at the screen, and frowned.

Steve:
Every man dies, not every man truly lives

Me:
Who tf is this

Me:
If yr that james guy sending weird shit after killing steve you just made yr last mistake

Steve:
Don’t worry about the news, everything is fine, I’m alive in a safehouse with the man of my dreams

Jessica scowled, sat up, and turned on the news. After a while, she turned it back off and groped for the bottle of Jack she kept by the bed. Which was empty. She sighed, stared at the text again, then the TV, rubbed her face with her hands a few times, and turned the TV back on.

Once the news anchors started repeating themselves, she picked the phone back up.

Jessica:
what

Jessica:
the duck

Jessica:
Duck

Jessica:
WTF ROGERS

Steve:
I’m probably not getting married today

On the TV, a chipper blonde woman was interviewing a man in an enormous red parka. According to New Yorker Who Was Definitely There, some twink in a llama sweater had been routing evacuation traffic at the zoo last night by threatening that the Winter Soldier would tear their arms off if they hung around too long. Apparently the twink had also taken several moments to make out with the Winter Soldier before batting him away and getting back to work, so the crowd had mostly believed him and made tracks.

Steve:
But just in case, what are your plans?

(Jessica is typing)

Steve:
Even if we don’t get married I might need a ride home from the hospital

Steve:
I think I pulled something in my back

Steve:
fire escape sex=bad idea even with superhero boyfriend

Steve:
Nevermind Bucky says he can wait with me!

(Jessica is typing)

(Jessica is typing)

Steve:
I’ve changed my mind about a violent demise for my legacy bc death by supersoldier orgasms is probably better

Jessica: TOUGH I’M GOING TO KILL YOU