Chapter Text
Bucky glanced up and over the espresso machine to eye the small man leaning back in his chair as he sketched in a notebook.
Bucky kept watching the other man as he finished up the latté he was making, only glancing away briefly to make eye contact with his customer and offer them a ‘good day’ nod before going right back to staring at the small artist.
“You can always talk to him, you know? Coulson would probably even appreciate you speaking to someone.” Clint approached him from this right side and remained close, but not touching him.
Bucky grunted quietly and nodded his head a little, continuing to stare.
“Look Buck, there’s only so much staring you can do before he notices you and it gets a little weird man.”
Bucky grunted quietly again, his eyes still fixated on the slender artist’s fingers as they held a piece of charcoal.
“Whatever Barnes. Your man, your deal.” Clint threw up his hands and went off to the back, leaving Bucky up front by himself.
He leaned back against the counter and chewed his lip as he watched the tiny artist's hands sweep across the page, his fingertips blackened by the charcoal, his face set in a determined look.
Bucky’s expressio. slowly slid into a small smile, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he watched the nimble artist in his craft.
“James.” Bucky’s body jolted without his conscious thought, turning into the punch he threw.
Coulson’s hand enveloped his fist, body staying relaxed, and his face creased in a small smile.
Bucky stepped back, ripping his fist out of Coulson’s hand and curling it to his chest. Pushing his left shoulder forward in the process and turning his stump shoulder into stark contrast, his body breaking out in a cold sweat as he tried to ignore the curious looks from around the room.
“Sorry about that James, I should have known better. I came to tell you to take a ten, but you look like you could use a thirty. Take an early lunch.” Coulson’s face was apologetic and calm.
Bucky kept his vision focussed on his boss in front of him, trying to ignore all the stares that were making him even more tense than ever before.
He gave a quick nod and almost ran into the back room to collapse in the swivel chair at the desk.
Clint squeezed his good shoulder as he walked to the front, staunchly looking in front of him to provide as much privacy as he could give Bucky.
Bucky ducked his head between his knees and curled his arms around his head, taking as deep breaths as his chest could handle with the compression against his thighs.
“Hey Bucky?” A small, lilting voice drifted into Bucky’s awareness.
“Bucky I’m coming in ok? I won’t get near you if you don’t want me to, and I won’t step into arm reach until you acknowledge me.”
Bucky held out a shaking hand and gave a thumbs up.
He heard a huff of a laugh before he felt someone move close and a small cool hand touch the back of his neck.
He felt his shoulders instantly relax and raised his shaking hand to grip the wrist of the cool hand. He wrapped his fingers full around the tiny wrist and instantly stiffened when he recognized the delicate bones under his grip.
“Tiny Artist?” Bucky’s voice came out gruff and rusty, too settled into its unuse to suddenly perk back to its normal husky baritone.
A small air laugh was his response, “The name’s Steve. But I will take that from you gladly.”
Bucky smiled and squeezed the wrist before letting it go and settling his arms on his thighs and slowly raising up to a seated position. He glanced over and saw the slender face he had memorized and dreamed about.
Steve smiled down at him, “There, feeling any better?”
Bucky felt a smile, small as it may be it was still there, tugging back on his lips before he nodded.
“Good.” Steve pulled his hand away from Bucky’s neck before extending it in front of him, “Hi, I’m Steve and I’ve noticed you watching me whenever I try to watch you.”
Bucky felt a laugh startle out of him before he gripped the hand in front of him, “I’m James.” his voice was still gravelly and uneven, and he gave a small cough before pulling his hand back from the shake, “but most people call me Bucky.”
Steve’s smile was large enough it looked fit to crack his face, “That’s quite an odd name.”
“So’s Buchanan, but Bucky seems less weird than that.”
Steve nodded sagely, “Very fair.”
Bucky leaned back, “How’d you learn to coach a through a freakout?”
“Well, you already seemed most of the way through it, you seemed to be doin’ alright by yourself. But to answer you, my friend is Sam, he’s-”
“Sam the crazy progressive V.A. counselor Sam who runs the support groups Sam?” Bucky could feel his voice starting to strain a bit with the sudden bout of enthusiastic talking.
“That’s my Sam. He’s a good friend and I try to volunteer there a lot, so I’ve picked up a few things here and there.”
Bucky finally looked up to meet Steve’s eyes, “Never joined up yourself?”
Steve’s gaze slid away and he took a step back, folding his arms in front of himself defensively, “I’m too small and too-too sick to ever be accepted.”
Bucky’s hand shot out and touched Steve’s elbow, his unrelenting grip causing Steve to look at his face, which was serious.
“Good.” Bucky began to pull his hand away and Steve reached out, taking his hand, “Hey so, am, am I reading this wrong?”
Bucky smiled and squeezed Steve’s hand, “Nope. You’re readin’ this right.” Steve’s smile matched Bucky’s, “Good.”