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Bucky doesn't make it a habit to go out drinking anymore. He has a seven-year-old, a job, a mortgage; responsibilities he didn't have in his early twenties. His weekends are usually spent playing dress up, making Sponge Bob macaroni, and watching Tangled for the fiftieth time, but Natasha's new boyfriend, Clint, managed to get tickets to some Disney on ice thing, and Aubrey had wanted to go, so Bucky willingly gave up his weekend. It's just one weekend; they'll have plenty more before she gets into her teens and resents him. He's sort of hoping she skips that phase.
.38 Special is blasting from the jukebox speakers when Bucky walks into the bar. His dad used to play this record during parties, along with a few others, too far in the past to admit that vinyl had been replaced by cassettes and CDs. Bucky has no room to talk, though, having been caught listening to cassettes in his car numerous times. He has an iPod, but he doesn't like the earbuds it came with and he refuses to get those DJ headphones he sees kids wearing today. When in the hell did I get so old?
He finds an unoccupied stool, sinking down onto it, and shrugs his jacket off. A wild haired man approaches him, raising his eyebrows in inquiry, and Bucky orders a beer. Above, the song switches to another old one, The Outfield singing about losing love, and Bucky can't help commenting, "Seems to be a theme tonight with the music."
The bartender grunts, placing Bucky's beer on the counter, and walks away. Bucky snorts, shaking his head, and takes a swig from his bottle. He leans back in his chair, chewing on his thumb nail, letting his eyes scan the bar. It's not packed exactly, but there's enough people here to indicate the place has its regulars. In a corner booth, a bespectacled girl towers over her friends, her hands moving animatedly as she speaks passionately about something, her glasses slowly slipping down her face, unnoticed. At a nearby table, two men seem to be arguing about something, the one with a goatee shaking his head furiously, stubbornly jutting his lip out while his companion sighs in annoyance, clearly on the cusp of giving up the fight. So many different people, so many different lives, yet they all chose to come here of all places.
The song changes again, Sammy Hagar and his inability to go 55, and Bucky leans forward just as someone plops down next to him. He glances over at the new arrival, a skinny, pasty blond glaring moodily at the counter, cradling his head in his hands, and asks, "You alright?"
"Sometimes I forget I'm around other adults," the guy replies slowly.
"What?"
"Nothing." The guy looks up, meeting Bucky's eyes, and says, "It's a long story involving my friend Jane setting me up with her boyfriend's brother."
"Ah." Bucky nods, fighting a smile. "Didn't go well?"
"He sneezed and instead of saying, 'Bless you' I pulled out a packet of tissues. I offered to get him a juice box when I meant to say glass of wine. And I'm pretty sure I asked him if he wanted some crayons at one point." The blond releases his head, letting it thud against the counter, and groans, "I'm an idiot."
"You sound like a parent," Bucky says laughing softly. "I can tell you some horror stories."
The guy lifts his head, giving Bucky an amused look, and asks, "Horror stories?"
"Have you ever asked your boss if he had to go potty?"
The guy snorts, quickly covering his mouth. He lowers his hand and mutters, "Sorry."
Bucky shrugs, not bothered in the slightest. "It's fine."
The blond smiles and says, "I'm Steve."
"Bucky."
Bucky's not sure how trading 'war' stories ended with them having sex, but he wakes up the next morning in someone else's bed, to the sunlight drilling into his eyes. He groans, turning over, burying his head under a pillow that smells a lot like Old Spice. The space next to him is empty, but it's still warm, a clear sign that Steve hasn't been out of bed long. Bucky considers getting up and looking for him, but he decides against it in the end, opting to doze off again.
He's jarred awake a short while later by the bed dipping and a pair of lips pressing into the side of his head. He grins into the pillow, peeling his eyes open, and looks blearily up at Steve. "Do I smell coffee?"
The blond snorts but nods, picking up a mug of coffee from his nightstand. Bucky sits up, accepting the cup, and inhales the piping hot liquid. It's a cheap brand, probably the same brand he gets, but Bucky would still bathe in this stuff. He doesn't usually take his coffee black, but he doesn't care, he takes a drink anyway. He would definitely bathe in this coffee.
Bucky waits until he's finished his coffee before getting out of bed. As he seeks out his clothes, he's very much aware of Steve watching him, and he throws a smirk over his shoulder. He struts around, listening to the blond laughing at him, and can barely contain his own laughter, grabbing his briefs from under the bed.
"You want some breakfast?" Steve asks bounding off the bed, already heading towards the bedroom doorway. "Eggs or eggs?"
"Hmm." Bucky makes a show of thinking about it, picking up his shirt. "What were my choices again?"
"Ass," Steve retorts but grins, hurrying out of the room. "You could just stay naked. I don't mind."
Bucky shakes his head, biting his lip to keep from smiling, and continues to look for his clothes. Once he's dressed, he pads barefoot out of Steve's room, heading down the hallway towards the sound of frying eggs, only to stop when he spots a wall full of class photos.
Bucky studies each one, realizing they all have one thing in common: Steve. He's standing at the far right of each one, smiling along with the kids. There's a plaque, held by a different kid each year, that says: Mr. Rogers' Second Grade Class. Bucky finds the most recent photo, scanning it, wondering if Steve works at Aubrey's school, figuring he's bound to find at least one kid he knows, when his eyes zero in on a familiar redhead.
"Crap."
Slowly, he backs away from the photos, creeping down the hallway, and steps into the kitchen. He watches Steve work for a moment, watches as he cracks a few eggs into a pan. He hums a Hall & Oates song under his breath, bobbing his head to the music inside his head, clearly unaware that he has slept with the parent of one of his students. Bucky hates to be the bearer of bad news, but someone has to tell Steve.
"Hey," the brunet starts, clearing his throat.
Steve glances over his shoulder, the left side of his face lifting up in a half smile, and he says, "Hey. Breakfast is nearly ready."
"I, uh, I saw the photos," Bucky gestures behind him, "on the wall."
"Yeah, my students," Steve replies nodding, returning to his eggs. "I told you I was a teacher last night."
"You did." Bucky chews on his lip for a moment before adding, "You didn't tell me you taught the second grade."
"It didn't really come up," Steve answers poking at the eggs with his spatula. "Can you get the orange juice out of the fridge?"
Bucky doesn't move, his eyes still locked on the back of Steve's head. He draws in a breath and blurts, "Aubrey Romanov-Barnes."
"Excuse me?" Steve turns, his eyebrows furrowed. "What does Aubrey have to do...?" he trails off, his eyes widening. "No," he whispers hanging his head.
"I'm James Barnes," Bucky says softly, "Aubrey is my daughter."
"Well shit." The blond falls against the counter, running a hand down his face. "If I'd have known..." he rubs the back of his neck.
"What do we do?"
"I don't know." Steve shrugs gently pulling at his hair. "I don't make it a habit of hooking up with the parents of my students."
Neither one says anything for a beat, nor do they look at each other, but Bucky finally huffs and says, "The school year'll be over in six months."
Steve's head snaps up and he gives Bucky a wary look. "And?"
"I'm just saying. You could call me. During the summer. Aubrey wouldn't be your student anymore." It's insane to be suggesting this, and it's not exactly illegal for a parent to date their child's teacher, but if it's going to be a problem for Steve, morally or whatever, then Bucky is willing to wait six months. Besides, they just met last night; taking six months to get to know each other could determine if they could be more than a random hook up. Plus, Bucky wouldn't mind seeing Steve again.
Steve shrugs, his bottom lip between his teeth. "Are you sure?" he asks uncertainly.
"Should probably get to know my kid's teacher anyway. Seeing as I didn't even know what he looked like."
"Alright." Steve nods, offering Bucky a tentative smile. "Six months it is."
"Great. That's..."
A loud, shrill sound cuts Bucky off, and Steve whirls around to find his eggs burning. "Shit."
They last about a month before Steve calls and asks Bucky out.