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“What are we doing here again?” Bucky side-eyes Zemo as they wander up a well-maintained stone slab path; neatly trimmed grass staying in its place either side of it.
“I told you, James. We’re visiting a friend.” Zemo pulls at the cuff of his fancy-ass fur-collared coat; not at all affected by the San Diego heat, like someone who was basking in the sun on his face after so long inside and behind bars. “Now that I’m free to do as I wish, it would be nice to see him again.”
Bucky looks around and up at the large, but welcoming looking house and huffs out a laugh. “And you just so happen to be friends with the Commander of the Pacific Fleet of the US navy, huh?”
“Well…” Zemo smirks at him, in that way that pissed Bucky off as much as it made his heart flutter something stupid in his chest. “When we first met he was just a Captain, but yes.”
He slips his hand into Zemo’s coat pocket and plucks out a singular wrapped piece of Turkish delight; smiling to himself because he knew the asshole would have snacks on him. That coat hides everything. Including his ass. (Sadly). “And why didn’t you use this insane connection to help get you released from prison, instead of roping me into your shenanigans?” He asks, chewing on the powdered, sweet confectionary.
“Firstly—” Zemo huffs. “—you willingly came to visit me; I did no such roping you accuse me of. Secondly, bring your own snacks next time. And thirdly, Tom already has his hands full; I didn’t want to bother him with my petty problems.”
Like spending nearly a decade in prison after blowing up the UN and pretty much destroying the Avengers was a petty problem.
“Has his hands full with what?” He asks, rather than deal with Zemo’s own brand of idiocy.
“His husband.”
Before Bucky could clarify that sentence, because honestly, what the fuck? How much trouble could one husband be? the front door opens and a smaller man about 5ft 7 in height, soft dark brown hair, green eyes, a compact, muscular frame wrapped up in a polka-dot apron (and jeans and a t-shirt) blinks at them in bewilderment; Zemo’s hand raised as if poised to knock.
“Oh hi.” The pretty man says, a confused smile on his pretty face. “Who are you?” His gaze flicks to Zemo and his eyes widen in recognition. “No wait, I know you—I mean I’ve seen you in photos with Ice. No idea who you are though.” He chuckles to himself and Bucky is so caught up in the softness of his movie-star smile he couldn’t even say anything even if he wanted to. Zemo is looking at the other man with amusement curling his lips. “What did I open the door for again?” His brow furrows and he clicks his fingers in answer to himself. “Oh yeah, newspaper.”
He squeezes between them and runs down the front path; his socked feet avoiding the cracks between the paving slabs. He grabs the newspaper, and then runs back up, brushing up against Bucky’s side before he’s standing in the doorway facing them again.
Bucky stands there in partial shock, because no one bar Zemo has touched him in months, and yet he knew the smaller man was approaching him just then—even without looking his way—and yet he’d allowed him to touch him anyway.
It had been a long time since Bucky had immediately felt safe in the presence of someone he didn’t know. He wondered what it was about the man in front of him that made him feel so calm and safe, after decades of being anything but.
“You here for Ice?” He asks, looking between them both with a grin; as if it’s normal for two random, dangerous men to appear at his front door.
“Tom? Yes.” Zemo says, with a nod.
“Cool.” He nods to himself and then turns his back to them like Bucky doesn’t have his own kill count of an indeterminable number and shouts up the stairs. “Babe! Two hot men are at the door for you!” And they he wanders off, leaving the door open and Bucky and Zemo stood there; him looking very confused and Zemo looking very amused.
He clears his throat and looks at the Sokovian.
“So that was—"
“The husband, yes.”
“He’s—"
“Energetic.”
“Fucking adorable.”
Zemo’s mouth quirks at Bucky’s answer, the words sort of spilling from his mouth without his say so.
“He’s a pain in my ass, but I love him.” Bucky flits his gaze to the doorway and sees a taller man with blond, swept-back hair and blue eyes; cheek ticking as if he’s holding back a laugh. He’s wearing dark slacks, and a soft, dark blue jumper; reading glasses hooked into the collar of it. Whilst he’s a few years older, Bucky recognises him from numerous photos dotted about in Zemo’s various houses across the States and Europe. “Zemo, it’s good to see you.”
Zemo steps forward and hugs who Bucky realises is Admiral Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky; holding onto him for a few moments, like friends who have not seen each other in too long do.
“It’s good to see you too, Tom. I’m glad to see you finally made an honest man out of Maverick.”
Ice (because Bucky thinks that’s a way cooler name than Tom, pardon the pun) laughs, and claps him on the shoulder. “Someone had to. I’m just glad it was me.”
“You call him Tom, but his husband Maverick?” Bucky can’t help but ask.
Ice smirks and answers in lieu of Zemo. “He’s never really been a Pete to be honest. He’s a maverick on the ground as much as he is in the skies.”
“And in bed?” Zemo teases with a sharp grin.
Ice just rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it. He holds his hand out to Bucky a moment later with a smile. “It’s an honour to meet you, Sergeant Barnes. Thank you for your service for this country.”
Bucky swallows at the sincere note to Ice’s voice and nods jerkily; sniffing back tears as he slides his Vibranium hand into the palm that has shaken so many people of power and note, and that is shaking his like he matters. “So, you used to run with this asshole back in the day, huh?”
Ice seems to know what he wants to say but is having trouble saying, and gives his hand an understanding squeeze. “Yeah. I may have dabbled in some trouble with him by my side a few times. Come in, we can discuss embarrassing stories over tea.”
Zemo tuts like he’s not amused, but he follows Ice inside, and hangs up his coat eagerly. Bucky closes the door behind him and waves at Zemo and Ice to say he’ll follow them into the living room in a moment. He looks around and wanders into the kitchen. He finds Ice’s husband—Maverick—rolling out dough for choc-chip cookies.
“Hi again.” Maverick smiles at him, a dab of flour on his cheek. “You bake?”
Bucky lets out a startled laugh, at the bizarre notion of him baking. “Uh—not really. Between being brainwashed for 70-odd years and then being part of the Avengers and hunting down Hydra, I haven’t really had the time for baking.”
He snaps his mouth shut; eyes wide with shock. He doesn’t know why he just said all that. He usually doesn’t say much at all, to anyone.
Maverick blinks at him as if processing all that he said; Bucky waits with clenched hands for the fall out.
The smaller man just smiles at him, easy and wide and hands him the rolling pin. Just hands Bucky something that could be used as a weapon, as if he looked into Bucky’s very soul and knew he wouldn’t hurt him. As if, that one act wasn’t so rare to him, that Bucky wanted to treasure it—treasure the adorable, soft man with energizer bunny vibes—for as long as he lives. “Wanna give it a go?”
Bucky rolls his bottom lip against his teeth and took the rolling pin hesitantly; his metal hand fully on display. Maverick grabs him a spare apron and then sorts out the cutters for them to use.
When Ice and Zemo find them fifteen minutes later; he’s carefully placing the last cookie on the baking tray and Mav is high-fiving him well done, and Bucky understands what Ice meant when he said Mav (please just call me Mav, Buckaroo) wasn’t just his callsign in the air.
He didn’t give a fuck about rules and expectations in life either.
The cookies were the best Bucky had ever tasted.