Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s difficult, is the thing.

It’s difficult being in the 21^st century. It’s difficult keeping up with the culture. It’s difficult being a Congressman. It’s difficult bearing the responsibilities that come with being in the public eye. It’s difficult taking everything one day at a time, as he’d been advised to do. But what’s most difficult, he thinks, is being in the Avengers Tower and not thinking about – well.

“No, stupid!” Yelena’s eye-roll is mighty, index finger pointed menacingly in Walker’s face.

He doesn’t know what they’re arguing about but they’ve been at it for a while now, both of them dogged and unwilling to back down. It’s probably something inconsequential as it tends to be when it comes to those two and the clashing of their egos. Or, well, Walker’s ego and Yelena’s need to prove Walker wrong at all times. They’re oddly compatible in that way, especially since John loves to rise to the challenge even when he’s aware that Yelena, or Ava, are making fun of him for it.

“Whatever, what do you know, anyway?” Walker bats her hand away and turns back to the TV.

There, on the screen, is a remake of a movie that he can’t quite name but is certain Ava tried talking to him about before they started watching it. Explosions wrack the scene as the protagonist barely makes it out of the situation alive and John grins when Yelena sighs loudly.

“Objectively, both of these movies are terrible.” Ava chimes in with a smirk, earning herself two identical glares for her troubles.

“Hm, judge, jury, executioner.” Alexei strokes at his beard in thought. “I like this. We should use!”

He is distracted from their chorus of reprimands and booing by another body entering the living room area. No, not a body, it’s – it’s just Bob. It’s just Bob in another loose sweater and soft-looking sweatpants, bare feet near-silent against the tiles as he tries not to draw attention to himself.

“Hey, Bucky.” The man greets, a tight-lipped smile on his face, going for the fridge.

Perched on a barstool at the kitchen island as he is, he can’t help but observe the other. Bob opens the double doors then sort of just… stares at the inside of it for a while. Eventually, as if he had to steel himself, he starts pulling out ingredient after ingredient, seemingly intent on making himself a meal of some sort.

“There’s leftovers.” He points to the counter but the man waves him off, ignoring the offer and taking out several slices of bread from the breadbox as well.

With a shrug, he falls back into his customary silence, watching as the other begins assembling his dinner.

Living in the Tower has been odd, to say the least.

Though, alright, he’s not here full-time, but he’s still around often enough and for long enough to start getting that weird little itch in the back of his head. It’s been odd and, for the most part, he can’t put his finger on the why of it.

Sure, he’s actually a part of a team now, so that’s new. He’s also getting paid regularly, which is nice. It’s also a change to have people know him and know what he likes and dislikes again, to have them caring. So maybe that’s it. Maybe the domesticity of it all is making him twitchy.

Or maybe it’s the nuclear bomb-lying-in-wait concocting a sandwich monstrosity across from him.

Pickles, bologna, pepperoni, mustard, mayo, tomatoes, cheddar. Bacon, lettuce, ketchup, tabasco, mozzarella, bell pepper.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Bob. It’s just that, well, he’s a little fucking afraid of him, actually. And how could he not be when the man had singlehandedly wiped out the entirety of New York for a few terrifying minutes. How could he not fear what he’d seen, the rooms he’d had to fight through to get to the others and then to Bob. Mostly, he’s scared that that was just skimming the surface of what the Sentry is really capable of.

The other adds peanut butter to one of the slices and a disgruntled noise makes it out of Bucky’s throat unbridled.

Bob looks up, eyes wide and guileless as if he’s done nothing wrong when he’s clearly created an abomination and called it lunch.

“You can’t be serious about eating that.”

“What? Why not?”

“Peanut butter.” He waves at the stacked food, concerned.

“Is that – oh, was that yours? Was I not supposed to-” Bob’s hands shoot out, taking the jar and turning it around to see if it’s labelled with Bucky’s name anywhere.

With a gentle whir of his left arm, he grips the other’s wrist, stopping the motion. “No. It’s not – that’s just. A lot of things to put in a single sandwich. I’m not sure it’ll taste good.”

“Oh.” The other leans down, eyeing the sandwich critically, one wrist still trapped in Bucky’s hold. “You think?”

“Maybe.” A strained smile doing its best to come off as genuine emerges on his face and it seems to placate the other some.

“Right.” Bob runs his unclaimed hand through his hair, making it even messier. “Sorry. I just… still haven’t gotten used to having this much food around.” The other trails off near the end of the sentence, avoiding Bucky’s eyes quite intently, never the one to remind others of his own sordid past.

And great, now he feels like a dick. Of course Bob takes every opportunity to eat as much as possible, treating every meal as if it were his last. It’s not like Bucky’s new to the concept. He’d been there way too often and, even though the Great Depression was quite a while ago, he still hasn’t forgotten what it was like to not know where your next meal is going to come from. He releases the other’s wrist and comes to stand next to him instead.

“How about this?” Nudging Bob to the side, he begins working on the sandwich, disassembling it. He pairs off the ingredients into several smaller sandwiches, allowing Bob to have all of them there in the meal while not crowding everything into a single double-decker. He does, however, leave the slice of bread with peanut butter on the side for a different thing.

Once the smaller sandwiches are all done and sorted, he maneuvers around Bob to get the jelly out of the fridge. There are several steps between the appliance and the counter and yet as he pivots on his heel, he almost crashes into his silent shadow.

“Hello?” The question is out of his mouth before he can stop it, the surprise of getting snuck up on fueling that quiet alarm in his brain that’s been ringing since Bob entered the room.

“Hi,” The other smiles, unsure but looking – entirely harmless. That alarm can go fuck itself, Bob’s been nothing but sweet since they all moved into the Tower. He’s done chores, ordered groceries, helped with paperwork and Bucky needs to fucking relax.

“Do you want to make the PB&J?” The other smells like laundry detergent and the 3-in-1 gel both Alexei and Walker use, the kind Bucky had before Yelena put him on to better products. Maybe he should ask her to get some for Bob, too.

“Oh!” Bob startles away, finally realizing how close they’ve been standing. “Sorry, no. You can – you can do it. I liked watching.”

The other’s cheeks are red, the flush visible despite how he’s trying to hide behind his hair. Without thinking about it, he gently bumps their shoulders together.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” The quiet hum is almost melodic as it leaves Bob, pleasant to the ear. “All methodical like. You sure know your sandwiches, Bucky.”

The grin coming easier this time around, accompanied by an amused snort. Disarming is what Bob is, no matter what that alarm in his head is claiming.

“It’s not an exact science.” Walker throws their way, voice loud and obnoxious, a stark difference to the conversation they’ve been leading so far.

He huffs as Bob flinches, moving away from him to patiently wait for his late lunch. Right, the peanut gallery.

“Well, have you ever cooked anything other than MREs? Bet it was all DoorDash and frozen TV dinners after… you know.” He doesn’t look away from the task at hand, doesn’t need to because he already knows Walker’s got that sour look on his face that appears every time Bucky strikes too close to the truth, every time he retaliates for Walker’s transgressions by bringing up his ex-wife.

“Nothing wrong with DoorDash!” Alexei’s exclamation is muffled by the popcorn he’d just stuffed into his mouth. “It comes to door, quick and easy!”

“Don’t listen to them.” The PB&J gets pressed together and cut diagonally before he deposits it onto a separate plate. “If you have groceries in the fridge, you should use them.”

Bob nods, a serious look coloring his features. “Food at home.”

“Just, try not to burn anything down.” With a final pat on the other’s shoulder, he hands the food over.

He watches as Bob takes the meticulously put-together sandwiches in with his eyes first, poking with curious fingers at what each holds despite having watched Bucky assemble them. He seems almost reluctant to taste them and Bucky’s stomach knots with sympathy, as well as a dose of nerves because he hasn’t made anyone food in a long while. Even if it’s just a couple of sandwiches, he feels proud almost.  

The other picks the BLT first, taking a big bite and humming. When he looks back up at Bucky, his eyes are practically sparkling.

Something sharp and desperate coils in the middle of his torso, right under his sternum. It drags through his innards and settles heavy in his gut.

“Thank you, Bucky. This is really good.” Even though his tone is hushed, the words are genuine and he has to clear his throat before speaking because he’s fucking embarrassed like he’s not a centenarian.

“Any time, man.” Without looking again, he moves towards the sectional where the rest are still absorbed into their movie.

That sharp thing pulsates; were he any worse at his job, he would be squirming uneasily in his seat. Fortunately, he is who he is, so he sits there and bears this strange feeling, pretending to pay attention to the slow-motion sequence on the TV while the sensation festers.

Bob doesn’t really do much.

And it’s not for a lack of trying on his part, but Valentina had been real strict about keeping him out of the field. Bucky was inclined to agree, all things considered, but he hates seeing the guy slink away like a scolded dog every time he tries asking.

Lately, he seems to have given up on the notion.

So, aside from doing the occasional chore, Bob can most often be found sitting in his armchair by the big windows, reading – as he is now.

The afternoon light is casting him in shadow, outlining his distinct shape and Bucky feels his eyes keep being drawn towards the scene. He could excuse it as caution but, at this point, he doesn’t necessarily think that’s true.

The sound of the elevator making its way up to the communal floor catches his attention but neither Bob, absorbed in his reading, nor Yelena, napping in a sunny spot like a cat, pay it any mind. Which leaves him the sole observer of Ava’s sly expression. Her mouth stretches in a grin that makes her look almost menacing and Bucky is scared of what’s going to leave her mouth next as she approaches.

“Bob, just the man I wanted to see!” She chirps, brandishing a stack of papers in front of her, making the man in question startle.

“What’s up?” The snap of the thick book being closed is loud in the room.

“Valentina wanted me to pass these on.” She hands the stack over, dropping them into Bob’s lap.

“What are they?”        

“Why, fan letters, of course.” Hands behind her back, Ava sways on her feet innocently as Bob gapes up at her.

“For who?”

“For you.”

“For me?”

Something obviously isn’t computing in Bob’s brain because he keeps looking between Ava and the letters, gobsmacked. The prolonged pause has seemingly caught Yelena’s attention and she sits, giving up on the pretense of sleep.

“I have fans?” The other asks timidly and Ava hums.

“Oh, yes. Loads. The internet is abuzz with news of the New Avengers’ mystery housemate.” Her drawl is equal parts mocking and amused. “They have groups and everything online. They think you’re handsome!”

“Ava,” Yelena croons, tilting her head in challenge. “Were you reading Bob thirst posts?”

“No!” The immediate denial is useless considering all of them can see the blush emerging on her cheeks. “Well. Not really. I was, uh, browsing.”

“I thought Googling us was Walker’s job.” Privately, he’s amused by this turn of events.

It’s not like he’s never done it. It’s just that he usually has a cursory look in order to make sure nothing illegal has made it into the spotlight before closing the apps down. He’s never lingered like the others do. For him, it’s never been about the opinions of other but, rather, reconnaissance and security estimation.

“Walker’s only ever interested in doomscrolling.” Ava scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “There’s plenty of other things about us out there.”

“They think I’m handsome?” Bob pipes up again, staring intently at the fan letters now.

“Yup.” Ava pops the ‘p’, looking pleased. “Handsome, cute, hot, mysterious. Take your pick.”

“I’ve never thought about it.” The other admits and Bucky feels both his hands clench against his knees. If her hurried intake of breath is anything to go by, Yelena, much like him, seems to be having a hard time with what this bit of information could entail.

“Really?” Ava takes a step closer to peer down at him as if she is indeed assessing his looks.

“Don’t get me wrong.” The other raises his hands, waving them to stop whatever he sees brewing in Yelena’s gaze. “I never struggled with, uh, finding partners but… nobody’s ever told me something like that to my face.”

“I think you’re handsome, Bob.”

It takes him a hot few seconds to realize it wasn’t Yelena who spoke, nor was it Ava. It was, in fact, his traitorous mouth opening without his permission again, voicing things he hadn’t been consciously thinking about saying. His left arm whirrs softly in the silence as Bob’s eyebrows arch up in surprise, a dusting of red appearing across the tops of his cheekbones. Despite all the training, the torture, his age and any other number of things, he feels a flush crawling up the back of his neck to match the other’s. Well, this has been sufficiently embarrassing for everyone except maybe Yelena.

“Oh.” Bob bites his lip, looking down, and a spasm of some sort pulses through Bucky’s metal arm, fingers digging into the meat of his knee harder.

“We all think you’re very handsome, Bob.” This time, it is Yelena. She walks over to the other, ruffling his hair and tapping at one of the letters in his lap. “You should look.”

“And, as a matter of fact.” Ava brings her phone out with flourish. “We’re gonna go find some about Walker. Maybe that’ll make him feel better for once.”

Tugging Yelena after her, Ava makes for the elevator, chattering about videos and edits – but, more importantly, leaving Bucky alone with Bob after all of that.

A pin hitting the ground would have been too loud for the silence between them. He forces himself to relax, to go back to staring at the TV that’s been left on mute because looking at the other right now would nigh unbearable. What the fuck was that?

“Did you mean it?” Bob’s voice is oddly sure as he poses his question. It’s odd because he’s only ever been soft-spoken with Bucky. With Yelena, with Ava, he’s excitable, laughs easily and with his entire chest. He gives Walker a run for his money when he’s being a dick and even indulges Alexei by listening to his stories, asking questions when necessary. But with Bucky, with the shell of the Winter Soldier, he’s been… subdued. It bothers him, to an extent. Of course it does. Though, it also makes perfect sense.

Bucky wasn’t there at the start. He wasn’t there when the four of them had escaped Valentina’s vault, wasn’t there when Bob tried sacrificing himself for them. He came after all the near-death trauma they’d piled onto their preexisting ones. He’s been here ever since but, somehow, he feels it isn’t the same.

“Yeah, man. Of course.” Clearing his throat as subtly as he can, he meets the other’s imploring gaze.    

“I think your arm is cool.” Bob announces, shifting forward in his armchair. “I mean – uh! Obviously, it’s tragic, what happened – but, um. That’s – it’s still. You know. It looks cool. Can I say that? I’m sorry. Never mind!”

“Bob.” He chuckles, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease at the other’s stuttering ramble. “Come here.” The arm whirrs as he holds it up, beckoning the other over.

“Really?” Wide-eyed and eager, Bob scrambles across the room until he’s seated on the low coffee table in front of Bucky. “Can I?” He asks but his hands are already reaching for the chilled Vibranium.

“Yeah, knock yourself out.”

He doesn’t expect much from the first touch, he won’t be able to sense it anyway, but the moment Bob’s hand closes around his fist, his entire shoulder locks up with the memory of the Sentry and his cold, golden gaze. Biting back a curse, he forces himself to relax as the other’s fingers move on to tracing the individual plates of his forearm. It’s just Bob. It’s just Bob and his gentle eyes and even gentler hands on the dark metal. He breathes through it, taking the inspection as if it were exposure therapy, bearing it with grace and only a tiny shiver here and there. He’s been through much worse; it’s just Bob.

“Can you feel this?” The other wedges his nail under the ridge of a plate. He scrapes the space there in, what one might call, an invasive manner but it only makes Bucky relax further. It’s almost dizzyingly good to have someone trusting him this implicitly. He knows he can’t really hurt Bob, not even if he wanted to, but it’s still a gesture he appreciates greatly.

“Nah.” With a flex of the arm, he sends the plates rippling, making Bob’s smile widen. “Just phantom pain when something’s about to go wrong. A warning, like when you’re pushing a muscle too hard.”

“You had another one? Silver.” The other taps his fingers against his shoulder.

“Mhm.” It’s not something he’s fond of remembering.

The weight, the scarring, the iconography – it all falls into the category of: things buried so deep not even his therapist can drag them up from within him. And yet here Bob is, asking questions that he’d usually just glare and sulk about. Grumpy, is what Yelena calls him. Emotionally stunted, Ava chimes in customarily. Neither of them are wrong, per se, but right now, doesn’t want to… well. He doesn’t want to stop Bob from asking questions, from being interested, from feeling like he’s free to do what he wants. Based on what he’d seen so far and on what Yelena had told him, the other still struggles with these things specifically.

There are bad days, there are good days. We have to make the good ones easier to remember. She’d confided in Bucky, apparently deeming him the perfect candidate to commiserate with.

There they go again, trusting him with things.

“That one could sense pressure, could tell when things were soft by feel instead of by looking.” It’s probably the only thing that Hydra did better than Wakanda’s scientists.

“Can I ask what happened?” Bob fits both hands around the forearm, possibly trying to measure the circumference of it. Abruptly, he wishes he could feel this, the warmth of his skin, the blunt nails and the calluses of the other’s fingers.

“Guy chopped it off.”

The other pauses, a horrified expression on his face.

His time in Siberia with – with – is still a blur in his mind and no matter how hard they tried, those memories somehow stayed out of focus. It’s probably better, all things considered. He’s done a lot of compartmentalizing since then.

“That’s-” Bob doesn’t seem to know what to say, mouth opening and closing.

“It’s fine. Wasn’t even the first arm I lost.”

He winces as the joke fails to land. This is, perhaps, a little too morbid for Bob’s tastes, seeing as he just continues staring at Bucky in silence. The other’s eyes flash golden and Bucky tenses, his entire body at the ready and waiting for the fight all in the span of two heartbeats.

But the scene around him doesn’t change, no. Instead, Bob takes a deep breath and his eyelashes flutter, obscuring his eyes from Bucky’s. Crisis seemingly averted.

“Sorry.” With a wince, he pulls back from the other, watching as long fingers drag down the dark, gleaming metal. “That was in poor taste.”

Bob chuckles uneasily, finally relaxing and slumping at the shoulders, curving into himself. “It’s good that you can, uh, joke about it.”

“Comes with age.” Wow, another one falling flat but at least this one’s not as tragic and it actually makes the other smile a little.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

With a decisive nod, he stands, patting Bob on the shoulder. “You should read the letters. Judging by the state of ‘em, whoever intercepted the mail today already sorted through it so I doubt you’ll find anything untoward in there.”

“You think?” The other stands, putting him entirely too close to Bucky again – close enough that they’re practically breathing in the same air.

“Valentina’s done a damn good job of scrubbing the internet of any traces of you, don’t worry. Whatever’s written is probably a little cheesy, though.” The reassurance comes naturally, something in him wanting to use every tool at his disposal in order to make sure Bob’s at ease.

“Alright, if you say so.” The other’s face scrunches up in contemplation, determined now.

It’s Bob’s whole… thing. The kind eyes, the way his shoulders move as if he’s trying to make himself smaller, the way his mouth stretches when he’s really, truly grinning. He’s handsome, but, Bucky’s starting to fear that he’s more than that. It’s not caution drawing Bucky’s attention towards Bob, it’s how fascinating he finds him despite his instincts telling him to go the other way.

Putting up an air of charm he’d left behind when he died in the 40s, he winks, brushing past the other as Bob splutters. “Later, handsome.”

It’s not often that he gets injured during their missions. It helps that since the whole Sentry business, they hadn’t been sent on anything too dangerous or demanding. Most often, it’s taking down one terrorist cell or another, Hydra remnants, rogue operatives and the like. He tries not to think about it too much but, as the unofficial team leader, he does get to veto missions he thinks – or knows – are too shady for them. Ones where Valentina has obscured too many factors, tried pulling the wool over their eyes a little too insistently.

And even when he does get hurt, he usually heals right back up within a couple of hours. Which is also why he doesn’t bother with medical while Yelena and Ava go in to get patched up. Instead, he heads for the common area, still dusty and bleeding sluggishly from a gash above his eyebrow and a cut on his arm.

He starts up the coffee maker, his bones creaking as the stiffness in his muscles makes it difficult to move. Maybe he’s actually getting too old for this. With the corner of his eye, he spies Bob in his armchair but the other doesn’t react as he and Walker, who’d followed him up, putter about the space. Walker is making himself a protein shake of some sort and only when the blender turns on does Bob jolt in his seat.

“You’re back!”

“Keen observation skills, Bobby.” Walker grumbles, shoving more kale into the blender.

“Do you even need that stuff?” Bob raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you, like, naturally ‘roided up now?”

“Funny.” John tries to keep his scowl but Bucky can see the tension actively leaving his shoulders like Bob’s mere presence is enough to relax him.

Something akin to unease settles inside his gut, heavy and prickly. He slams the top of the coffee maker down a little too hard, hissing as the wound on his arm opens back up.

“Fuck!” With reluctance, he reaches for one of the tea towels Yelena likes hanging around the kitchen.

“Bucky!” Bob’s suddenly there, putting out heat like a furnace from all the soaking in the sun he’d done, grabbing at Bucky’s arm and pulling it up to see the damage. “You’re hurt!”

“Another keen-”

“Fuck off,” He grunts before Walker can start shit again. He’s not in the mood for the other’s attitude at the best of times but especially right now when Bob’s looking him over with so much concern that it physically pains him to turn the other away.

“Wow, okay. Have fun with that.” Walker turns his nose up at them and heads for the elevator, the blender’s pitcher in hand.

“You should have-” Bob breaks off with a frustrated huff. “Sit down.”

Helpless to stop this from happening, he allows the other to push him into a barstool. He watches Bob wet the tea towel, feeling what Walker surely did a couple of moments ago; the easing of the tension in his shoulders, the fond smile trying to break through his grimace, the warmth under his ribs.

Without asking, Bob takes the liberty of manhandling his arm again. He doesn’t say anything, just allows the other to work, allows himself to stare at the man in wonder. Bob has a frown on his face, his mouth a tight line and his eyebrows furrowed as he does his best to clean up the steadily-healing wound. His motions are careful and gentle as if he’ll hurt Bucky if he puts any force behind them.

“You should probably wrap this up.” He hushes and straightening back, eyes now meeting the cut on Bucky’s face.

“I just really wanted some coffee.” He admits, gazing at the coffee machine longingly. The caffeine doesn’t do anything for him, much like a lot of the other stuff, but the scent and the taste are still a sort of comfort. Especially after a rough mission where he skirts too close to what he’d once been.

“It couldn’t wait?” Bob dabs the corner of the cloth against his face, cleaning up the dried blood, making the cut sting a little. He’s too close again. And he smells a little like a fruit salad, maybe one of Ava’s hand creams.

“It helps.” Closing his eyes so that he can stop staring at the man right in front of him, he hums. “Before – when Hydra was in charge – I was never allowed to have coffee. Or much of anything, actually.”

“Bucky.” There’s no pity in Bob’s tone, just more of that quiet concern again.

“I’ll heal in a few hours.” He reassures the other, smiling because sometimes that same concern is enough. “But if you want, you can be a doll and hand me my cup.”

“Yeah, of course.” Bob’s cheeks are red as he scurries to the machine gurgling in the background. He adds milk and a teaspoon of sugar to it before returning to Bucky’s side and offering him the cup.

A pleased noise leaves his throat as the scent hits him, the aches and pains momentarily forgotten as he takes it in. He can already feel the cut on his arm stitching itself together and he makes a mental note to get Yelena a replacement towel – or even a brand new set on account of them ruining this one.

“Good?” The other hushes, eyes glued to Bucky’s face once again as if he’ll start bleeding again the moment he looks away.

“One of the few perks of the 21^st century.”

“Oh? Would you say that there are more pros or cons, in your humble opinion?” The other grins, swaying until he’s resting back against the kitchen island behind him.

“Jury’s still out on most things.” He snorts, trying not to think about everything he’s had to adjust to even though it’s Bob asking. “It’s all so… convenient. Makes me miss simpler times.”

Bob cycles though several expressions in the span of a few seconds. He looks like he wants to ask something very badly but doesn’t know if he can. He’s holding himself back and realistically, Bucky’s aware that he’s not easy to talk to but he’d – he’d like to be. At least when Bob’s concerned.

After a couple of moments he seems to give up on his train of thought. With a shake of his head that sends his hair into disarray, he huffs. “I’m thinking of learning how to cook.”

“That so?” Bucky eases back into the barstool, curious now. “No more sandwiches for you?”

“Somebody told me they’re not real food.” The other quotes with his fingers and an eye-roll.

Maybe Bucky will have to thank Yelena because whatever she talks to Bob about, he seems to take to heart. And really, he wouldn’t like to have a repeat of a few weeks ago when he’s not here to intervene.

“Taking classes or just experimenting?”

“There’s a bunch of stuff online for it, man. Thought I’d get informed first, see how I’ll fare.” The man’s smile is timid but excited. “If you have anything you like, I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that.” He doesn’t wince, doesn’t let anything show on his face.

He can’t – there are still things that he struggles with, too. The picking and the choosing, the having too many options and not caring enough about what he puts into his body. Most things today taste good, most things are edible even if they’re sometimes too greasy or too sweet. He hasn’t gotten around to having favorites yet – just things that he eats by rote, things he knew from before and things that others offer him. Even if the coffee Bob got him had been too sweet or watery, he would have drank it.

“You doubting my skills?” Bob’s voice breaks through his tumultuous thoughts, a teasing lilt to it.

“What skills?” He pokes right back because this he can do, he can allow himself this much when talking to the other.

“Just you wait, Mr. Congressman.” Bob puts both his hands on his hips, puffing his chest out. “I’ll be cooking up a storm in no time.”

“A hurricane maybe.”

“Hey-!”

A huff, a grunt, a yell. The sound of heavy breathing echoes in the room. Metal clinking somewhere in the distance while the impact of flesh on flesh remains prevalent.

He intercepts the jump, getting his arms in between the strong thighs going for the general area of his neck. The momentum carries them and he slams his assailant onto the firm mat below.

“This is unfair.” Yelena complains, trying and failing to escape the grapple he’s gotten her in. “You have fought Widows.”

“As far as I can recall, trained them, too.” With a grin, he shoves until he can flip her onto her front and immobilize one of her wrists.

“Metal arm.” She taps her palm against the blue vinyl, calling it quits.

He lets her go, easing back onto his heels but the moment she’s free, she’s turning around and jabbing her finger into the place where his arm meets his shoulder. The motion disengages the prosthetic, making it clatter to the ground, stiff and lifeless.

“Hey!” He smacks the oncoming jab away, getting back to his feet as she grins at him sharply.

“Round two!” Yelena calls and off to the side, Alexei’s laugh fills the room.

“That is my girl!” The man cheers, jostling Ava with his elbow as she snorts in amusement.

 “Oh, so you’re okay with fighting invalids now?” Walker chimes in with his two cents, automatically raising Bucky’s hackles.

He re-centers himself, shifting his weight around. He blocks a high kick and jumps back when she tries sweeping his feet from under him. They go on for a while, Yelena trying to get in close and Bucky dancing away, waiting for an opening. On an attempt at a roundhouse kick, she falters, moving too slow, distracted or tired, any number of things. He seizes the opportunity and grabs her ankle, throwing her off balance. Her arms pinwheel and she twists at the waist so she doesn’t fall.

He releases her with a tired-sounding huff. “That’s enough for today.”

“No, we go again.” She sneers, righting herself and squaring up.

“You’re not going to accomplish anything by pushing yourself too hard.” Tugging his sleeve up, he reattaches his arm, rotating it at the shoulder in order to make sure it’s working properly.

“And what am I supposed to do, hm?!” She points to the people around the room, frustration leaking into her tone as her mouth turns down at the corners. “Supersoldier, supersoldier, supersoldier.” She waves at Ava next. “Goes through walls.”

“Lena.” Alexei gets up but she just shakes her head.

“No – no. I have to keep – I am human. The only one. I have to keep pushing.” Running a hand through her sweaty hair, she glares at them at large before storming off. She smacks into Bob who’s just come into the room, the door clanging against the wall as it ricochets off of them.

Alexei surges up to go after her but Bucky puts a hand to the middle of the taller’s chest.

“Don’t. She needs to cool off. I’ll go check on her in a bit.”

Alexei looks tortured but he seems to realize that Bucky’s right. The sad expression on his face brings the rest of them down, every one of them lapsing into a tense silence. He shrugs the atmosphere off and slowly, Walker goes back to his treadmill and Ava goes back to lifting weights. Only Alexei seems stuck, sulking off into the corner to beat up a punching bag.

He’s unwrapping the knuckles on his right hand when Bob approaches him.

“What happened?” The other hushes, holding out a water bottle.

Shrugging, he takes it. “She’s frustrated.”

“With – with herself?”

“Yeah.” There is a painful pinch of muscle in his thigh that has him hissing lowly and taking a seat against the nearest wall. “She’s a terrific fighter, an incredible shot, there’s no doubting that. But she’s vulnerable in ways the rest of us aren’t.”

“Squishy.” Bob hums, settling down next to him, pressing their shoulders together.

“Mm.” The other is warm against him, radiating heat where they’re touching. He should probably warn the other, say he’s all sweaty and gross, but instead, he just closes his eyes and soaks in the touch. It’s been too long since anyone’s done this with him so casually.

“And you’ll talk to her?”

“I will.” It’s not a vow, not a promise, but the serious expression on the other’s face makes it feel so.

Of course he’ll talk to Yelena. He hasn’t planned what he’ll say exactly, but he needs to make sure that she knows that they won’t let her get hurt and that they will all back her up if she doesn’t want or need the protection. Every one of them has bad days, today’s just been Yelena’s turn.

“Looking cozy,” Walker’s footsteps are always somehow loud. He’s always making some sort of noise and it’s no different now when he drops down on Bucky’s other side and steals his water.

“Nobody asked, man.” Bob mutters under his breath, making him snort.

“Getting awfully smart with me, Bobby. Barnes has been a bad influence on you.” The other tutts but his eyes are crinkling at the corners, amused as well.

“Maybe I can make her something to feel better.” Bob muses, ignoring Walker’s unwarranted commentary.

In the same vein, as if Bob hadn’t spoken at all, Walker interjects. “Do you think she would have taken the serum?”

The clattering of Ava’s weights cuts off abruptly, leaving only Alexei’s grunts and punches as backdrop. She approaches them and takes a seat in front of Bucky, expectant.

First, he opts to answer the easier of the two questions. “That hot chocolate from the other day, with the whipped cream. And if there’s any of those rum candies still left. She’ll like that.”

Then, with a long-suffering sigh, turns to Walker. “I don’t know, John. I’d wager no one knows until the opportunity presents itself.”

Walker hums, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “That’s not true. I knew I’d take it if I could.”

“Yeah, but you’re-”

Bucky cuts Ava off with a glare, making her huff. As if in gratitude, Walker nudges their folded knees together.

“I don’t think she would.” He speaks with conviction even though Walker can’t possibly know the ex-Widow that well.

“What gives you that idea?” Ava shuffles forward until she can lean her elbows onto Bucky’s knees, taking the liberty of using them as a rest.

“She doesn’t strike me as someone who wants to outlive all of her loved ones.”

Bob sucks in a sharp breath and Ava’s eyes widen, the whirring of his metal arm is loud as his fists clench. Walker’s not wrong and every single one of them know it. Bucky perhaps more so than the rest but he’s a special case, a different measure.

“And were you thinking about that?” He tries to come across as non-accusatory as possible, not wanting to instigate anything while having such a loaded conversation, especially now.

“No.” Walker scoffs, waving a hand through the air. “No, in the moment all I could think about was how fucking weak I felt. Powerless. But – I’m sure you all know this.”

Bob leans over, making eye-contact with John as if he’s expecting a fight but Walker just flattens his mouth and shakes his head.

“What I mean is, I’m preaching to the choir here. With the exception of Barnes, probably. Heard he was an ace shot even back then.” The other smirks, trying to dissipate the heavy atmosphere surrounding them and failing miserably.

“No, I don’t think I’m exempt.” Staring at his hands feels safer than looking at the rest of his ramshackle team. “When you’re in any war and especially one of that scope, you always feel powerless. You’re not fighting some singular bad guy, space alien – whatever. You’re up against an ideology, a fucking concept. How’re you gonna defeat something that you can’t touch?”

They lapse into silence. It’s almost companionable; all of them digesting what’s been shared today, what their futures are going to look like and what they’ve had to live through already. He needs to go talk to Yelena soon.

“Do you think…” Bob pipes up first, braver than any of them give him credit for. “I mean, they did stuff to me. It was sort of related to the whole serum thing. Do you think I’ll live longer, too?”

His flesh and blood hand finds Bob’s wrist as if drawn there by a magnet. The other is always warm. He’s warm in ways that Bucky’s chilled bones appreciate, in ways that settle that deep shiver that sometimes goes through him – that he can’t ever seem to rid himself off. He squeezes his fingers and Bob relaxes against him minutely.

“Does it matter when we’re all in this fucking boat together?” Getting up, Walker’s gaze shifts from Ava to Bob and then back to Bucky, a pensive look on his face where Bucky had expected a sneer. “For what it’s worth, if I was going to be stuck with anyone till I wilt like a damn flower, I’m glad it’s you losers.”

And that – that might be the most genuine thing he’s ever heard John say. He chuckles, startling both Ava and Bob.

“Your therapist tell you to say that?” He bites out, knowing Walker’s uncomfortable but still baring his soul to them like this.

“No, yours did.” This time, it is sneered at him. “Thought it’d make you feel better about yourself.”

With that, the other walks away, a slump to his shoulders that reads as embarrassment. What else was it that the team’s therapist said? That they all need to work on their communication skills?

“He’s still such a prick, but he is getting better about it.” Ava concedes with a sigh, taking Walker’s spot and shuffling to his side.

“I’m glad, too.” Bob slumps into his side, startling him a little and making him realize that he still hasn’t let go of his wrist. But it’s moot point now with how the other’s head is resting on his shoulder easily, how Ava has fit herself to his left.

Something has shifted within him ever since the day they’d been announced as the New Avengers, since he’d become a part of the team. Because they’re here all the time, they’re around him, beside him. Near constantly, he’s being forced out of his comfort zone, forced into conflict resolution, into interacting with people he doesn’t know much about and forced to learn. But, he’s also being asked things like his opinion, his preferences; he’s being looked at for guidance and advice, he’s the oldest of them all and by default, they seek him out even when he’s having a rough time.

And he – he’s finding it easier and easier to just give in and let himself enjoy their company. As a general rule, he thinks that it feels good to be wanted, to be needed, and after a long fucking while, he’s feeling those things again.

He gives Yelena an hour before he seeks her out.

He knows she won’t be in her room so he doesn’t bother checking there. The common room-slash-floor is only a stop on the way to where he’s actually going so he picks up a bottle of water to bring with him.

The air is chilly as he makes his way to the topmost platform of the tower where Yelena is sitting with her legs dangling over the side of the metal grate. He slips off his hoodie and drapes it over her shoulders because unlike him, she’s not changed from her gym clothes.

“Making a net up here, little spider?”

Yelena snorts, shaking her head. “What do you want, Bucky?”

He shrugs, sitting down next to her. “I don’t know. Can’t a man enjoy dizzying heights with a friend?”

“Sure.” She sniffles, bringing a knee up and leaning her head against it, meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry. For earlier.”

“I’m not here for that.” Sighing, he leans into her a little, hoping to keep her safe from the wind that’s picking up. “It’s – what you said earlier. I understand that you feel… inadequate.” With a wince, he clears his throat. “But being human has never stopped you before. It never stopped any of the Widows… it never stopped Nat from fighting for the fate of the world.”

A nasally scoff makes it out of her throat, her eyes growing misty. “You don’t know. You don’t know and I am – I am not Natasha. I can’t strike a pose, whip my hair back and have everything be okay. I can’t – I never could and I never will be like her. She’s a hero and I am – a second rate assassin, the garbage man, a loser.”

“Natasha couldn’t do it either. Not on her own anyway.” He tips his head back, letting the cold hit his face. “She had a whole team with her most of the time. She wasn’t ever alone. From the start, right? It was her and Barton. Then she had the whole of SHIELD behind her and later it was – it was Steve. It was the Avengers. She was human but she wasn’t alone.”

The corners of her pouted mouth tug down, tears sliding down her red cheeks as she shakes her head vehemently. “I can’t – I can’t rely on you all of the time. I don’t know if I can even trust half of you. And I have to get better and stronger but I cannot even do that when all of you are-” She breaks off with a sob and Bucky rushes in, gathering her up in a hug.

“Shh, hey.” He croons, letting her cry into his shoulder. “You will. You’ll be able to trust us. You’ll learn how to and we’ll prove ourselves to you. We have your back, we’ll be there to help whenever you need us.”

“Big promises.” She smacks her closed fist against his chest, still shuddering through the sobs she’s trying to subdue.

His heart aches for the pain in her voice, for the desperation. He doesn’t know what else he could say to help her along, thinks that maybe this is something she needs to realize on her own.

“It’ll take time.” He rocks her from side to side a little, rubbing a hand along her back. “But you can’t let that stop you from trying. What is it that you always tell us? There are bad days and there are good ones. Don’t let the bad ones outweigh the good, huh?”

“You are full of cheese, old man.” She pushes him away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Did you know her well?”

“Shot her once.” He smirks as she smacks his thigh, releasing a choked-off laugh. “I knew her and I didn’t know her. It’s – weird. With the whole memory thing. I knew both the Widow and the Avenger. Neither of them as well as I wish I had. But, ah… Steve spoke highly of her. Always.”

“They were good friends.” She nods, taking the bottle of water from his other side.

He lets the silence envelop them, looking over the vastness of New York in the evening, watching as the lights come on.

She’s the first to speak again, a quirk of her mouth hiding a smile. “And to think Walker wanted to be team leader.”

The laugh catches him off-guard and he shakes his head. “He wasn’t so bad earlier. After you left, the rest of us losers had a sit down and talked about out feelings.”

“What?!” She jumps up until she’s squatting next to him. “You’re lying.”

“Swear.” Following her lead, he stands up, stretching. “Even walker bared his soul to us.”

“Tell me.” Tugging on his metal arm, she hoists herself up as well. “You have to.”

“Nope.” Walking them over to the access ladder, he jolts when she uses him as leverage to drop herself down onto the lower level where the door is.

“Fine.” Arms crossed over her chest, she grins. “I’ll just hack the security system.”

“Our dear friend Valentina won’t be happy.”

“Up hers!” One arm in the crook of the other, she shoves two fingers into the air and his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.

“You and Ava been spending quality time together?”

“She’s a bad driver.”

 He’s not – he’s not a good team leader, necessarily. He’s barely their leader and more of a live-in supervisor if anything. But they still depend on him. And he’s still terrified of letting them down. The dependency of it goes both ways because finally, he’s feeling some semblance of normality. Some semblance of belonging. And he’d lose his good arm before he lets himself lose this again.

“You own a suit, Bob?”

He asks, frowning heavily at the letter in his hand. It’s an invitation, the edges of it gilded and the lettering cursive. It’s an invitation for some charity event or other with his name on it. Well his and, curiously, Bob’s. Robert Reynolds there right next to James Barnes.

The man in question is making pasta Carbonara at the moment, clearly not paying him any mind as he dips a finger into the pot and licks it clean.

“Here, can you tell me if this needs more salt?” The other holds his re-dipped finger out as if he’s expecting Bucky to stick his finger into his mouth.

With a raised eyebrow, he bypasses the offered hand and takes a spoon to the sauce instead. The sauce is creamy and light, the right amount of garlic to make it delicious without overpowering the rest of the ingredients.

“It’s good.” He tosses the spoon into the sink, turning back to the other.

Bob’s been steadily making his way through easy recipes over the past few weeks. It’s usually basic stuff with a couple of ingredients at most. And he’s good at it. It’s nothing mind-blowing, but he’s not garbage at cooking like, say, Ava is. Which makes sense, considering Bob’s had to fend for himself for most of his adult life while Ava had the whole lab thing going on. Though, even he has off days, especially if the recipe requires him to do too many things at once and he gets overwhelmed. As a rule, he tries not to draw attention when one of them fucks up and he’s around. He helps them fix whatever it is quietly and they move on with their day without mentioning it again. So while she’s trying a little less frequently, Ava’s getting better too. But, unlike Bob, she’s a lot busier with official Avengers shit.

Avengers shit that apparently is now going to include Bob as well. This invitation has Valentina written all over it.

“Are you sure?” The other cleans his finger off, smacking his lips as if to double check if Bucky’s lying.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Leaning up against the counter next to the stove, he repeats. “So? Do you own a suit?”

“I – honestly, I don’t know. I haven’t checked my closet recently. Maybe? Who know what the staff put in there when they moved me in.” The other rambles, stirring the pot with a concentrated look on his face. “Why?”

He holds the envelope up for the other to squint at, reading silently.

“What?” Bob pauses, quickly turning the stove off and taking the cardstock into his hands. “Why – why am I on here?”

“Don’t know.” With a shrug, he reaches up to turn off the hood as well. “Valentina must have thought I needed a plus one.”

“No!” The other smacks the invitation back against his chest and it flutters to the ground. “I can’t go.”

“Why not?” Realistically, he knows why, but he’s still curious about what the other’s reasoning will be.

“There’ll be so many people there! Important people. And what if I say something stupid? What if I – what if I lose control? There’s so many things that could go wrong. Why would she do this to me?!” Bob’s hands are in his hair, tugging at his own roots savagely and he jolts forward.

Tugging the other’s arms down by his wrists and keeping them still between them, he shushes. “Hey. Calm down. No one’s making you go, you don’t have to if you don’t think you can.”

“But Valentina-”

“What’s she gonna do? Insult us a little, toss her credentials around? Don’t worry about her.” He tips his head down, trying to meet the other’s eye. “I think you’d be able to do it but, it’s on you.”

Bob bites his lip, twisting his hands within Bucky’s hold nervously. “It is for a good cause.”

“It is.” He hums, “And I do need a plus one.” He doesn’t. He usually goes to these things alone and keeps to himself if he doesn’t have to mill around with the other congress members, if he’s not fishing for information. But having Bob with him would be different, could even be fun.

The other seems to steel himself, nodding. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll – I’ll go. But, if I, uh, man. If I start feeling off, I need you to get me out of there.”

“I promise.” He releases the other, taking his phone out. “I’ll tell Mel to have a tux sent to your room, I’m sure they still have your measurements.” He’ll also ask her why Bob’s on the invitation in the first place but the man doesn’t need to know that right now.

“Thanks, Buck.”

Buck not Bucky. His throat closes around a swallow, palm sweating suddenly. The soft way Bob had said it, the way his smile had stretched, unsure but genuine. It’s too much, too close to that place inside him that’s still hurting, the one that he doesn’t think will ever heal.

He doesn’t reprimand the other because he’s never been able to. Even as his heartbeat skyrockets, he just smiles back at Bob, allowing him to get away with so much more than any of the others. He just wishes his every interaction with them wasn’t cast in Steve Rogers’ shadow.

“Anytime, man.”

Like a coward, he doesn’t stick around for lunch. Bob’s confused frown follows him all the way to the elevator but he refuses to look back. He’ll need a solid three days to recover from this single instance. Either three days of brewing in isolation or a talk with his therapist and he knows which he’d prefer.

But, he also knows which one he’s going to end up picking.

“And why do you think it bothers you to hear others saying it?”

“Because they’re not – they’re didn’t earn it. They don’t know me.”

“But you allowed Robert to?”

“Yeah, guess I did.”

If he wasn’t highly trained to control his body, he’s certain he would be shaking in his damn boots. Which makes zero sense because it’s just a charity gala. It’s just another night of the same song and dance as every other he’s been to. And bar for his first one as Congressman, he’s been pretty relaxed about them. Which leaves him to conclude that he’s metaphorically shaking in his boots because he’s taking Bob with him as his plus one.

Which, again, is stupid because he’s not a gangly Brooklyn hoodlum with scraped knuckles asking a dame to the dance hall anymore. He’s a veteran, an ex-assassin, an Avenger, a Congressman.

His knees are weak as he knocks on the door to Bob’s room, a decorative box in his hands.

The door opens to a frazzled looking Bob with his bowtie undone, panic clear in his eyes.

“Oh, thank God!” The other breathes out before pulling him into the room. “I can’t get this stupid thing to stay straight. It keeps turning out crooked!”

Chuckling, he sets the box to the side and turns the other towards himself. This is one of the things he can do in the dark and blindfolded. Deftly he knots the two strips of fabric into a bow, tugging on the ends to make sure it’ll stay put.

“There. That better?”

“You’re a life-saver, Buck.” The sigh he lets out is heavy and one of relief, shoulders slumping.

He takes the pause in activity to take the other in. Bob looks – well. He looks really fucking good in his tux. Obviously, he’s been aware of the way the other looks from the start – he said it himself, handsome, but seeing him in formalwear is something else entirely.

Mouth dry and mind blanking on appropriate things to say, he brings the box back up.

“Here, think these will complete the look.”

The other’s eyes dart from his face to the box before gingerly taking it from him. He doesn’t hold his breath while the other pops it open but it’s a near thing.

“Oh, these are-”

“Mhm.” He doesn’t let Bob finish the thought. Instead, taking the golden, mother of pearl cufflinks from their holding place. He lifts the other’s right arm first, securing the first one in place. Bob lets him do the same with his left arm before bringing both up to admire them.

“They’re really nice, Bucky. Thank you.” Bob’s fingers immediately find one of them to fidget with and he’s not going to admit that that’s one of the reasons he’d put in a request for them with Mel when he was asking for the tux.

“Remember what I told you?” He asks, clearing his throat and motioning towards the door. He needs to get his fucking shit under control. He needs to stay calm and collected no matter how handsome Bob looks or how much he wants to hold his hand.

“If I wanna go home, all I have to do is ask.” The other nods, walking in front of him.

“Any time, no matter what’s happening or who wants to talk to us.” He confirms, putting his personal feelings aside because the other needs him to remain present and vigilant.

By the time they’re in front of the building, he’s put everything under lock and key.

The ride to the event is filled with Bob’s bouncing knees and fiddling hands that make him want to do something stupid like – like putting a palm on the other’s thigh to keep him still, like offering his metal arm out for the other to run his fingers over. He does neither because that’s not – he doesn’t do that.

He doesn’t offer Bob his arm but he does put his hand on the small of his back in order to guide him past the photographers and journalists.

These ballrooms, these buildings really, that events such as this one are usually hosted at tend to all look the same. He supposes they look nice, all decorated for the occasion and the like but they’ve long since lost their shine. To someone who’s seen the likes of the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg or prowled the halls of Versailles, it’s not all that impressive.

To Bob, however.

He spies the other’s eyes widening in wonder at the fresco on the ceiling, at the gilded detailing around the room, at the intricate flower arrangements, the extravagant gowns and dresses the attendees are wearing. The man shuffles closer to him on instinct, probably feeling intimidated and even though he hadn’t offered, Bob grabs the crook of his right arm.

“Ah, there you are!” Valentina materializes in front of them, a big grin on her face.

“Here we are.” He parrots, unimpressed as Bob snorts under breath. “Why?”

“It’s Pride Month.” Her grin remains frozen, gaze lit up like she’s expecting something from him in turn.

“I – yes?” With a raised eyebrow, the stare-down continues. “What? What do you want me to say? Congratulations?”

Her grin falters and with a frustrated sign she grabs his arm, dragging him along. “For God’s sake, James. It’s Pride Month and we’re here to unveil our very own, very first LGBTQIA-plus Avenger.”

“We are?!” He jolts, stopping dead in his tracks, causing Bob to bump into his back and pulling Valentina to a halt.

“Obviously.” Her eyes go from his face to Bob and then to where Bob’s clinging to his arm still.

“You can’t be fucking serious.” Hissing, he takes a step forward.

“Of course I am.” She pats his chest and then takes the lapel of his suit between her fingers, tacking something onto it. It’s a pride flag pin.

“Valentina, this is-”

“Ah, Congressman Barnes, have you met Miss Marie? She’s one of the organizers of this here gala.” Valentina is already moving on, making their introductions.

“Mr. Barnes.” Marie grins and takes his hand. She’s a tall, dark-skinned woman in a stunning red dress with her hair piled on top of her head and sincere eyes as she takes him and Bob in. “I thank you for being here tonight. What you’re doing… it’s going to means a lot to so many people, so many kids.”

“I – yes, of course.” He straightens up, nodding seriously. “Kids should feel safe to be who they are and if I can help them along on their journey then it’s the least I can do.”

“Yes, I think you will find Congressman Barnes to be someone they’ll always be able to turn to.” Valentina lays it on thick, not even bothering to conceal the glee in her eyes as she steers them away from Marie.

“What the hell, Valentina?” With a sneer he manages to back her into a corner where she brings her hand up, sipping her drink. “What is this about, why-” Why me, he doesn’t say. He can’t bring himself to do it even if it’s what’s been on his mind since she’d dropped this bomb on them.

“Well. I mean.” She shrugs, “You were my only option, really. Who was I going to pick? Walker? Please, that man would rather chew his own foot off than admit to anything. Ava and Alexei aren’t media trained and Yelena’s too important to lock down with publicity stunts. You and your little disordered friend here were the optimal choice.”

“Fuck you.” He spits, turning and bumping into Bob who’s remained stoically silent through this whole thing. And, shit, Bob.

He grips the other’s shoulders, expression solemn. “We can leave. We can go right now and forget whatever she had planned.”

The other motions to the side and Bucky tips his had to see a great big poster of him with the words queer and representation printed upfront and personal. His breath hitches and he closes his eyes in a panic.  

There’s a hand on his cheek and when he opens them back up, he’s no longer standing in the middle of a busy gala. Instead, he’s in a park – in Central Park. He’s sitting in the grass, the sun shining above him occasionally obscured by fluffy clouds casting shadows onto the ground. The sound of the orchestra has been replaced by a cacophony of birdsong that sets his mind at ease.

“Bucky.”

The voice doesn’t match the one he’d expected. Because it’s not Steve next to him like it usually would be. Instead, it’s deeper, rougher, with a different accent but not less gentle in its inflexion.

He turns to see Bob sitting there with legs crossed, dressed casually, seemingly soaking in the sunshine. Oh, this isn’t real.

“How – where are we?” The grass under his fingertips – all ten of them – feels so incredibly real, the dirt under his fingernails stark to the rest of his skin. It’s all so lifelike.

“It’s, uh, something me an’ Yelena have been working on so that I could maybe join you all on missions.” Bob ducks his head, shyly plucking at a fallen leaf, tearing it apart. “It’s like the shame rooms but instead of zeroing in on your worst memories and experiences, it draws on the happiest ones. It’s – it’s more difficult than just letting the void do its thing, takes more focus to keep it from creeping in.”

There’s a warmth spreading through his chest and he swears he sees flowers popping up all over the glade, the room they’re in reflecting him directly. Leave it to Bob to render him speechless.

“Bob, you don’t have to…” 

The other’s gaze softens, smiling. “I’m sorry about what Valentina did.”

As if sensing the mounting panic within him, Bob continues, shuffling closer to him. “I’m sorry if you – you weren’t ready or if you didn’t want people to know. I’m sure we can leave anyway.”

“Me? Bob, you’re here as – you’re here as my date, you realize that? She’s intending to debut us as a couple. She’s pulling you into my shit.” The wind picks up around them.

Bucky’s had his first sexuality crisis back in the 40s, bow legged and bird-boned with his knees scraped raw as he got down for one of the handsome dockhands with the fair hair. He had his next one realizing he was in love with his best friend. And then once again when he realized that it was the 21^st century and that it’s now legal to be with who you love, that he won’t get shot in the back for kissing men as well as women. But he doesn’t know about Bob. This isn’t something they’ve ever talked about, this isn’t something he’d planned on talking about with anybody.

Bob shrugs, leaning back on his arms. “I don’t like lying to people or pretending I’m something I’m not.”

Oh.

Well.

“But,” The other nudges their shoulders together. “I’m gonna be honest, It looks like you’ll be needing backup on this one, Buck.”

He chuckles, running a hand through his short hair. “She’s gonna leave me out to dry, huh?”

“Probably.”

He swallows heavily, refusing to think about the obvious. About having to pretend that he’s dating Bob for the media, for inclusivity. About being openly queer in everyone’s eyes. About actually, possibly, really liking Bob.

“I used to bring Steve out here when his asthma wasn’t too bad.” He admits quietly, wanting to share something with Bob. To make him understand how special this little clearing is for him. Why it’s one of his best memories. “We wouldn’t have a lot of free time, three jobs between the two of us but… I always tried getting him out of the apartment on sunny days.”

“You do anything interesting?” Bob’s tone matches his, low and intimate as if they’re not alone in Bucky’s memory room.

“Nah. Well, Steve would bring his water colors and paper with him to try and do some nature studies but we had to be frugal with those. Art supplies have always been expensive.” He thinks back to their apartment, to working overtime just so that he could afford to resupply Steve when he started getting low. About getting him a real canvas for one of his birthdays. “Sometimes I’d read a book, bring a shirt with me to mend, easy things like that. Couldn’t really do anything strenuous because Steve was sick half the time.”

“This was your spot.” Bob brings his knees up to his chest as if he’s trying to make himself smaller.

“Yeah.” It wasn’t really theirs considering it’s a public park and that this little glade was popular with the kids, but it was important to the both of them. “I haven’t thought about it in a while.”

“I feel like I’m intruding.” The other’s smile is wobbly this time around and Bucky shakes his head.

“No, don’t – you’re not. If it were anyone else, yeah. But you’re…” Words fail him because he doesn’t know what he wanted to say. How could he explain the entangled knot in his chest that are his feelings for the other? The words a crush are too juvenile but anything else feels too monumental for him to admit. “You’re Bob.” He finishes lamely and the other bursts out laughing, tipping his head back with it.

He looks beautiful. He looks carefree and like he belongs in the glade, surrounded by the greenery and bathed in sunlight. Fuck. He’s said too much.  

“Yeah, I guess I am.” There’s a tear at the corner of his eye that drops down his cheek. Without thinking, he reaches over and wipes it off with his thumb.

Bob sucks in a breath and he winces, feeling as if he’s overstepped. Time to pivot.

“We should get back. I need to – come out, I guess.” He stands, dusting off his wool trousers and adjusting his suspenders. It’s all instinct, it’s all what he’d do before heading home with Steve. But none of this is real.

Except Bob is looking at him funny when he offers him a hand.

“What?”

The other’s cheeks heat as he takes the proffered hand. “Ha, it’s just. This is a whole different look. It’s hard to, you know, merge this version with the Bucky Barnes I know.”

It must be strange, he thinks, to be faced with a relic from the past still breathing and moving, to catch glimpses into a previous century through his memories. Bob might be the one with the powers but this is an experience only Bucky can provide him. Maybe – maybe he can offer some of his happier memories up for exploration once Bob gets a better handle on this new aspect of his power.  

“Well, seeing as he’s not coming back anytime soon, I wouldn’t try too hard.” He wiggles his left hand and winks. The missing arm joke lands better this time, Bob only huffing and rolling his eyes instead of freezing up.  

“Alright, try not to startle too bad.” Bob takes him by the wiggling hand and grimaces as the world around them wavers. “The comedown is, uh, a little rough.”

He closes his eyes when Bob steps closer to him, close enough for their chests to touch. His stomach drops as the other wakes them up and he has to lean forward against him in order not to tumble to the side.

“Breathe.” Bob instructs, hushed low into his ear. “I’ve got you.”

While the darkness is somewhat a comfort, it’s not an escape and he’ll have to face the rest of the gala eventually. With a deep breath, he pulls back, fully intending to step away but Bob doesn’t let him. The other keeps him within his embrace, eyes roving over his features.

“I’m okay.” He promises, smiling to appease the other even though he’s anything but. This whole night was destined to be a disaster and him baring a part of his soul to Bob has so far been the least of his worries.   

“Sure you are.”

There’s a crowd around them, moving towards the middle of the room as their attention is drawn by people getting up on the podium to make their speeches. Someone bumps into them and Bob gasps. Now, he knows that they’re roughly the same height, but the way Bob’s hunched on himself always puts him at slightly shorter than Bucky. Which means that when someone bumps into them, he ends up with his cheek pressed against the other’s forehead.

His body freezes on its own and he feels Bob do the same. The amount of heat the other usually puts out suddenly doubles, making him sweat under his expensive suit.

“Sorry.” He mutters under breath but Bob’s hand squeezes his forearm.

“No, it’s okay.” The other straightens up, finally within sightline. “If we’re going to be paraded around like a couple, we should, you know.” There’s a flush on his cheeks and he’s biting his lip, leaving Bucky completely enthralled. “Act like a couple.”

“Never my favorite type of mission.” Taking a leap that he’ll hate himself for later, he presses a chaste kiss to the other’s cheek before leading them towards where the tables are.

Bob continues using him as a shield against the oncoming socialites and Bucky continues employing his glare as a weapon in order to stop any of them from trying to strike up a conversation. They find their designated seating and he pulls the other’s chair out for him, Bob smiling beatifically as he sits down.

Marie is on his right side, a soft grin on her face that he instantly feels bad about because they are, technically, lying to her. Not in all the aspects, not when it comes to him, but about Bob’s presence. He takes a seat to the left of him, putting him opposite his metal arm.  

“I don’t think we’ve been officially introduced.” Marie offers her hand out and Bob shakes it, nodding enthusiastically.

“Name’s Robert but I prefer ‘Bob’.” He seems to have turned up the charm, kissing the back of her hand, and Bucky is impressed.

He knew that most of Bob’s insecurities are to do with his fear of losing control, of stepping out of line again. So he shouldn’t be surprised that the other’s actually pretty adept at playfully flirting like he seems to be doing with Marie, but it’s still somewhat of a shock. Shows what he actually knows.

As the two of them chatter, he watches the rest of their table and the rest of the room. There are several people he recognizes; important businessmen with their teen daughters and sons, people from congress with their significant others, a few old money billionaires and their plus ones, mostly all of them with their own little Pride pins or badges somewhere visible. And there’s, of course, Valentina.

She’s taking her spot in the literal spotlight, stepping up to the lectern and tapping the mic as the music quiets down.

“Good evening everyone!” She starts jovially. “I hope you have been enjoying yourselves so far. From where I stand, the atmosphere has been incredible and it’s all thanks to our lovely organizers committee and, in no small part, to the New York Rainbow Ensemble providing tonight’s musical entertainment.” A round of applause follows her announcement, the ensemble in question bowing where they’re stationed.

“I am incredibly pleased to see the turnout for tonight’s gala. I am proud of what we have come here to do and the cause we are banding behind.” Her smile thins, face taking on a serious expression instead.

Bucky highly doubts she means a word she’s saying.

“In times tumultuous as they are today, it is important to show support to our most vulnerable. To fight for the rights of those who cannot do so themselves.”

Yeah, she’s singing a different tune now. Where was all this goodwill and cheer when the Flag Smashers were in question? When the people were in the streets, looking to her and the government for answers? This whole ordeal is starting to make him a little sick to his stomach.

“Events such as these might seem like showboating, like we’re all full of hot air.” Somehow, her eyes meet his even from this distance and he feels like she’s reading his every thought. Under all her pomp, she’s truly a terrifying woman.

“But even if this is all for show, the donations we gather today, the sponsorships we acquire and the people we connect with… they are all very real and they will be used to help those who need it the most.” Another round of applause that she has to wait out.

“Ahead of time, I would like to thank our esteemed guests, our organizers, the beautifully talented orchestra, and, of course, tonight’s speakers.” She pauses for the applause while making direct eye-contact with him again.

Ah, shit.

“Bucky.” Bob’s hand grips his wrist, eyes wide when they meet his. “If you want to bail, now’s the time.”

“No.” Resigning himself to doing this, he puts his hand over Bob’s. “No, I have to do this.”

“She can’t just force you to-”

“Sweetheart,” The endearment does wonders at silencing Bob’s protests. “This is hardly the worst thing I’ve been made to do.” He stands, kissing the top of the other’s head just as Valentina calls his name and the roaring of the crowd applauding starts up anew.

Once up on the podium, he shakes hands with Valentina, both their grins strained as the camera flashes go off rapidly.

“For the record,” He bites out through gritted teeth. “This was shitty of you.”

“Man up, Barnes.” She mumbles back, patting him on the shoulder and leaving him alone in front of the mic.

Giving speeches seems to have become his new norm and he clears his throat as the noise dies down.

“I would like to start off by saying that, when Valentina first approached me with the idea, I wasn’t entirely sure about it.” His hands clench against the smooth wood. “As many of you know, I come from a different time.” That tight feeling rises up in his throat again and his gaze finds Bob at their table, holding on to Marie’s hand as she looks up at him in admiration.

Pride.

“A time where being who you are, loving who you want, was not only frowned upon and illegal but – but dangerous.” Swallowing heavily, he fights the urge to let his hair fall across his face, to hide. “I won’t regale you with my every sordid tale because we’d be here all night.” A brief chuckle resonates through the room, easing his tension somewhat.

“But, I will say, having grown up with that danger hanging over me, the paranoia that comes with it… metaphorically waking up in a country where that’s no longer a reality has been an immeasurable weight off my shoulders. Has made me feel incredibly lucky.” A deep breath rattles his chest and he hopes it hasn’t been picked up by the mic.

“Which is why I accepted Valentina’s offer in the end. Because I know that while it is no longer illegal or as dangerous as it was in the past, it is still an issue with a lot of communities, a lot of individuals, too. And if me, being up here, speaking about my experience and – and publicly coming out as queer, can help even one single person out there feel safe and seen, then the things I went through, the things we’re still fighting for, will be worth it.”

A hush overtakes the room, they’re hanging on to his every word like they haven’t in all his time as congressman. It’s oddly exhilarating but that might just be the delayed panic, speeding his heart up.

“Of course, the goal is to help many more than a single person, but the sentiment remains.” He smiles faintly, wincing at his own lame attempt at a joke. “So, I would also like to thank the people here for their gracious donations, their attendance. The organizers who outdid themselves, and Miss De Fontaine for being so willing to advocate for the cause. And, of course, the New York Rainbow Ensemble for their exceptional performance so far.”

The rousing applause is followed by, frankly, inappropriate whistling and yelling from the crowd. He pauses for the cameras, raising a hand and waving at everyone as someone else – Marie – takes his spot at the lectern. He doesn’t take a full breath until he’s back in his seat and there’s an eager hug waiting for him from Bob.

The other’s latched onto his front, arms firm around his neck and Bucky has no choice but to wind his own around the other’s waist.

“Sorry, I just – that got me real emotional. You did so well.” The man in his arms hushes against his ear, breath warm and his hands grasping at Bucky’s shoulder.  

“Ain’t nothing to it.” He drawls, voice rumbling with that lump in his throat again. He’s aware that there are cameras all around them, that their every interaction is being tracked and monitored (that they’ll be on the headlines in the morning, fresh off the press) but he can’t bring himself to care. He soaks up the familiar warmth, the easy touch and wishes it was real.

This is far from an ideal time to realize that he doesn’t want Bob to let go of him. That he wants to have this whenever he can and not only as a ruse. Fuck, he’s so screwed.

“Exceptional work, James, I knew you had it in you.” Valentina slides into Marie’s seat, grinning from ear to ear, completely impervious to the awkwardness of intruding on someone’s moment.

Bob pulls back, turning to glare at her but she remains unphased, blinking at them owlishly.

“You’re so lucky.” The man mutters, putting himself between him and Valentina in a protective display that has Bucky feeling all sorts of fluttery things in his chest.

“Am I?” She pretends to think, going as far as putting her finger on her chin in a mocking gesture. “Or do I just know my people that well.” She takes Bob’s hand into her own, looking between them. To the reporters, to the paparazzi, it’ll look like she’s saying something genuine and inspiring but in reality, she’s gloating. Fuck, Valentina: 1 – Bucky: 0.

“Just – go away. I have to deal with all of this.” Running out of patience, he dismisses her. If she’s hurt or annoyed by it, there’s nothing showing on her face.

“Have fun, Barnes. Enjoy the catering, get a drink, dance with your boyfriend.” With a wink and a pat to Bob’s hand, she leaves.

“She is such an asshole.” Bob sighs, turning back towards the table, pouting.

“It’s in her job description.” He puts his right arm around the back of the other’s chair and Bob leans back against it, seeking the comfort.

They watch the rest of the speeches in silence and then they’re served food. It’s several courses of delicious food that he mindlessly goes through while people at their table try and talk to him and Bob. They give up fairly quickly when it looks like Bob’s only willing to respond to either him or Marie, only smiling and giving short answers to anyone else.

When Marie leaves to talk to some of the other organizers, Bob turns to him, eyes big and smile mischievous.

“Buck.”

“Alright, what is it?” He can’t beat down the smile that emerges on his lips. The tabloids are gonna have a fucking fit with how often he’s been seen grinning tonight.

“I wanna dance.” With more strength than perhaps warranted, Bob pulls him up, reminding Bucky of what exactly is hiding under his well-tailored suit.

“Oh.” He looks over to the area designated as the dance floor, his stomach in knots. Slow dancing. It’s all slow dancing. He can do it. He’s not going to say no to Bob, not when he looks this excited.

“Yeah, come on.”

“I never got the chance to do this, you know?” The other hums. “Dropped out so I never got to go to prom. And after that… well.” With a shrug, he takes Bucky’s hands and places them on his person. “You’ll have to lead, I’m not sure about all the steps.”

“It’s easy.” He brings the other closer, hand sliding up from the other’s waist to under his arm and over his shoulder blade. “The box step. Nothing fancy, we’ll be mostly swaying anyway.”

“Okay.” Bob hums, barely heard over the slow music. “I trust you.”

It’s almost a non-sequitur. Almost. And it would be, were it anyone else. But Bob seems to know him as well as Valentina does because that’s all it takes for him to relax. His hold on the other loosens, his legs moving on their own, leading Bob in a neat little box. The other stumbles, looking at their feet, but he’s grinning. He does get it, eventually, and when he draws his eyes away from their legs, he’s beaming at Bucky.

“Good, you’ve got it, doll.” The words bring a flush of red to the other’s cheeks and he turns away, leaning his head onto Bucky’s shoulder.

They dance for a while, no words exchanged between them and none needed anyway. Just the music, the sway of their forms, the embrace they’re sharing. He knows it’s just pretend and yet he’s getting lost in it. In the way Bob clings to him again, in the way the other seems to tremble when Bucky’s grip tightens as if craving the closeness. In the way that Bob trusts him so much, that he wants to be there for him. In how everyone else will look at them and see two intertwined lovers sharing intimate space. It’s a beautiful moment, it’s something he’s always wanted to experience. It’s devastating, it’s not real.   

They say goodbye to Marie before they leave and she thanks them again, exchanging numbers with Bob to stay in touch.

He refuses to stop by the gaggle of interviewers and paparazzi by the door. Keeping Bob’s hand in his, he ushers them past the crowd with grim determination until they’re back in their car, already on their way to the Tower.

“I had fun.” Bob declares, sitting close to him, their fingers still tangled. “Despite Valentina’s stunt. Shit, sorry. That must have sucked for you. But, aside from that… Marie was nice and the food was good and the dancing was… nice. It was a good experience.”

He physically feels the glare slip from his face. Closing his eyes, he slumps in the seat, head thrown back. Bob’s right, it was nice. And it was for a good cause, one that has a lot to do with him.

“It would have happened eventually.” Squeezing Bob’s hand, he continues. “It’s better this way. Better than keeping it as some sort of dirty secret, as something they could hold over me if they found out. Not that they ever could, I don’t really care. But it’s one less secret to worry about.”

“Tell me another one.” The other scoots even closer to him, eager to learn, to connect.

He can’t imagine how different the other’s life is at the Tower to how it was before. When it’s a good day, Bob’s usually taking every opportunity, every chance to get closer to his roommates. Even with Walker, in his own way. Even during the bad days, he’s usually with one of them, Yelena not allowing him the chance to isolate himself. It’s a persistent effort by them all, making sure that Bob’s feeling alright, that he’s comfortable that he’s – he’s healing. And up until a few weeks ago, Bucky had been slacking. Had kept himself at a distance even if it was subconsciously.     

“What? Haven’t read my file yet?” He teases, tugging their joined hands into his lap, covering them with the metal one.

“That seems invasive.” The other shakes his head, fingers flexing in his hold.

“But you’re asking for my secrets anyway?” There’s no hiding how amused he is, how fond and Bob seems to realize this as he bats his eyelashes at him.

“Please?”

Fuck, alright. They were doing this. Whatever this is.

“I used to smoke like a chimney.” It’s not really an earth-shattering secret, it’s not something that’ll rock the other’s world but it’s something true. Something nobody in this century knows about because it wasn’t important enough to put into his file. It’s also not something gruesome or depressing that he’d only freak Bob out with.

“Ooh!” The other croons, eyebrows shooting up. “A cool guy.”

“Had to keep it out of the apartment ‘cause of Stevie’s lungs but, yeah. Quit when I got drafted, seemed like a good time for it.” With a hum, he looks away from the imploring stare boring holes into the side of his head. He’s going to start sweating again.

“You don’t talk about him with the others.” Bob notes, and – shit, walked himself into that one.

He shrugs, trying to appear as casual as possible. “It doesn’t really come up. It’s not like I’m sharing secrets with Walker or Alexei.”

“I’m glad.” That certain, bold tone is back and this time it’s laced with something he can’t parse through. “I know it’s healthy to talk about these things, or whatever Mrs. Thompson says, but I’m happy you trust me enough to tell me about him.”

The ‘me’ of it all is stressed, is pronounced like this is something Bob is possessive over, like he’s hoarding these interactions for himself, keeping them from the other. It’s all going to Bucky’s head, to his heart.

“You’re… easy to talk to.” He leaves it at that and it seems to please the other because he smiling brightly again.

The rest of the ride is silent and, like the gentleman that he is, Bucky walks Bob back to his room.

“I had fun.” Bob says again, leaning against the wood.

Were this a real date, were he really delivering Bob back home after a night out, he would be agreeing with him, giving him a charming smile, calling him something sweet and, ultimately, kissing him goodnight. But it’s not. So he doesn’t.

Instead, he nods, briefly squeezing the other’s shoulder. “Thank you for going through with it even after we found out what Valentina was up to.”

“Like it was a hardship.” Bob rolls his eyes. “There’s worse things to be known as than Bucky Barnes’ boyfriend.”

Which, he supposes it’s true.

“Good night, Bob.”

“Night, Bucky.”

There’s a brief, pregnant pause before he nods to himself with a huff, starting the trek back to the elevator. It’s not exactly disappointment that he feels because he wasn’t expecting anything, but. He’s still sad.

Being out there with Bob by his side, joking with him, dancing with him… it had felt right. It had felt like something he’s been missing for so long and for the first time in a long time, he’s felt like maybe there was hope for him too. That maybe he was healing, too.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” Walker’s all-American drawl greets them bright and early in the morning.

He pauses, Bob bumping into his back and mumbling sleepily.

Ah. So it begins.

“It’s the lovebirds, coming down from their nest together.” John croons serenely. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were up to no good last night.”

“Holy shit, do you hear yourself talk?” Yelena groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You are like bad cartoon villain.” Her accent is thick enough for her to garble some of the vowels but Walker hears her just fine considering how his expression sours.

“Saw the paper, did you.” He deadpans, keeping Bob steady when he sways on his feet. For the record, they’re here at the same time by coincidence. The elevator had stopped on Bob and Yelena’s floor and he’d gotten in, only realizing Bucky was already inside when they were already done with the ride. 

“I see congratulations are in order!” Alexei shouts, bending behind the counter and pulling out a bottle of vodka.

“It’s eight in the morning.” Ava interjects, looking from the large bottle to where Yelena is looking interested in the label.

“This is the good stuff.” She notes, “You should be honored.”

“All vodka is shit.” Walker grimaces, shoveling eggs into his mouth.

“You have not had the good vodka then.” Alexei concludes and pours himself a good three fingers into a whiskey glass.

“Really, though.” Ava switches seats so that she’s closer to them, leaning against the island, practically crouched in the barstool. “You two want to explain?”

Yelena provides backup, holding out a copy of the New York Bulletin. There, on the front page, in full color are him and Bob, slow dancing. They’re obviously surrounded by other people, obviously a part of the crowd, but the photo is framed as if they’re the only two people that matter, as if they are stuck in their own little world, their own bubble that’s a self-sustaining microcosm. They look – they look good.

Ava clears her throat, reading as if he can’t do so for himself. “The Rainbow Avenger: Congressman James Barnes leaves fans heartbroken as he debuts mysterious boyfriend at the New York Prism Gala.”

“The Rainbow Avenger?” Bob wheezes, snatching the paper out of Yelena’s hand. “That’s fucking stupid!”

“It’s also: not real.” He waves away the vodka Alexei tries to give him, taking Ava’s coffee instead.

“So you didn’t just randomly come out on the first day of Pride Month?” Walker challenges, eyebrow raised.

“You know it’s Pride Month? I’m impressed. And suspicious.” Yelena’s grin is sharp, making Walker’s eyes widen.

“I’m not a fucking bigot!” The other huffs, throwing his hands into the air. “What will it take for you to stop this bit?”

“Kiss Barnes.” Ava quips with a cheeky smile and-

“No!” Three voices call out at the same time. Walker, looking flushed and mortified, Bucky himself, horrified at Ava’s audacity and – to everyone’s surprise – Bob, who is tomato red.

“Bob?” Alexei, smirk mostly hidden by his mustaches intones. “Something to say?”

“No. It’s – Bucky’s been through a lot yesterday, man. He doesn’t need you giving him shit about this.” The other defends, arms crossed over his chest, drawing Bucky’s eyes to how the sweater stretches over his shoulder. “It was all set up by Valentina, she forced this on him and it’s not fair to make fun of him for it.”

A stunned silence descends upon the room, none of them having expected such a strong reaction from Bob. There’s that feeling again, the rug being pulled from under him. It’s not like he can’t tell them off himself, but that Bob felt the need to come to his defense – well. That’s something special, isn’t it?

“You heard him.” He grins fondly, putting a hand on the other’s shoulder. “You’re not allowed to be mean to the queer.”

Ava’s mouth pops open, Yelena’s eyes widen and Alexei releases a chortle. Only Walker remains stoically frozen as if he were a mere statue in their communal kitchen area.

“Come on, we’re going out for breakfast.” He tugs Bob back, leaving the rest in the aftermath of whatever that was.

“Where?” The other bumps into him as they enter the elevator and then remains pressed to his shoulder.

“We’re gonna pick some stuff up then I’m taking you to a spot I know.”

Bob hates the bike, it turns out.

He drops off from behind Bucky on wobbly legs and has to heave a few times to get himself into order while Bucky watches helplessly.

“Promise we can take the subway next time.” He pats the other’s back with his free hand, wincing as Bob wheezes.

“That was intense.” Finally straightening up, Bob takes in the world around them.

Bucky watches, feeling more than a little nervous as the realization dawns on the other’s face.

“This is Central Park.” He hushes as if afraid that his voice will somehow scare Bucky.

He only hums, motioning towards the entrance. “Come on.”

The park’s changed since the 40s, obviously, but in essence – it’s the same. The spirit of it is there, this little green haven in the middle of a bustling city, filled with people enjoying a sunny day in June. He leads them by heart, his feet knowing where to go even if his mind had forgotten it for a time. They step off the path and walk past a couple playing with their kids in the grass, two teens sharing a pair of earphones and a girl on her laptop, typing away relentlessly.

“It’s different than in your memory.” Bob says, looking around. “The trees are greener, bigger. Makes sense, I guess. It’s been a while.”

“Maybe we should have brought some books with us.” He sits himself down onto the grass, disregarding the wide-eyed stare he’d just gotten from the laptop girl as his hand flashed in the sun. Maybe he should have stayed home, maybe they should have laid low for a couple of days after yesterday but the need to bring Bob here, to share this with him in reality was much stronger than his fear of being seen. And – it doesn’t matter anymore. The whole world thinks they’re together now anyway.

He hands bob his bagel and sugary concoction coffee, the other accepting the food and drink with a big grin.

“I don’t know, man.” The other hums. “Maybe enjoying the nature, being in the moment without anything else for distraction will be good for us.”

The food is gone within minutes, both of them just enjoying themselves, enjoying the companionable silence. Once done, Bob gathers daisies from around them and starts trying to weave them into something resembling a chain but he keeps failing miserably. Bucky watches for a while, amused, before reaching over and showing the other how to do it properly.

“How’d you learn to do that?” Bob’s focused on the task now, quickly mastering the technique. He has nice hands, Bucky notes idly as if this is somehow new information, as if he hasn’t held them between his own.

“My ma’ taught my sister and then she taught me because she thought I should make one for the girl I fancied.” He brushes the stray petals off of Bob’s pants. “Made one for Steve instead.”

The melancholy feeling doesn’t hurt as bad these days, the aches left behind by the other not as sharp, not as piercing.

“So it’s always been you an’ him, huh?” Bob wrinkles his nose, concentration broken for a moment to stare into the depths of Bucky’s soul. “Until it wasn’t.”

“Yeah. Guess so.” He can’t muster up the bitterness, has grown tired of it pervading his every waking moment. First Steve, now this whole New Avengers bullshit that Sam’s been giving him the silent treatment about. It’s – he must be cursed. Must have done some awful shit in his past life.

“I don’t want to overstep.” Bob starts cautiously, taking his hand and tying the wreath around his wrist. “But, I’m glad you have us now. At least we’re all equally fucked up.”

“Hey, now.” He grins past the tight feeling in his chest. “I happen to think Walker’s a little more fucked up than the rest of us.”

Bob laughs, bright and cheerful, nodding his head along to his bullshit. “For sure, man.”

There’s an itch at the back of his neck, setting off alarm bells in his brain. That awful feeling of being watched, of being seen creeps up on him. There’s definitely someone on the main path taking a photo of them. It was inevitable but he’s still a little irked that he’s only had a little while with Bob alone.

“What’s up?” Ever-perceptive, the other shuffles closer, curious.

“Seems like we’re exciting news.” He chuckles, twitching his head in the direction of their observer(s).”New York’s newest attraction.”

“Ah.” Looking a little disappointed but not deterred, Bob switches tactics and moves to sit directly next to him, nestled into his side like he belongs there. “This should be better, then.”

“Hey, you don’t have to-”

“I know.” Bob’s tone is firm, looking up at him through his lashes. “But we’re in this together, now. So, you know, relax, babe.”

“Ha.” His chest heaves with the inhale he takes, letting it out through his nose forcefully. “Easier said than done, I’m afraid.”

“Bucky.”

“Bob?”

“Alright, listen.” Shuffling yet again, the other kneels in front of him. Or, well, practically straddling one of his legs, making him flush, warmth spreading through him and settling heavy in his gut. “I was going to give it some more time, give all of this a while to settle but you keep.” He cuts himself off, fiddling with his hands, with the wreath around Bucky’s wrist. “I’m not stupid, Buck. I’m not some unobservant tool either. I had to get by on my own for most of my life, I’m good at seein’ things and noticing. Just because I keep silent about them, doesn’t mean I don’t know they’re there.”

His blood freezes in his veins, that familiar chill pervading the bone marrow of his skeleton. Fuck. He’s screwed it all up again.

“I know what the looks mean, I know what it means when you let me in like you have yesterday and today. And I-” The other shrugs. “Like I said, I was going to wait but it seems stupid to do that now when everyone already thinks we’re dating.”

“Bob, what-” He can’t get the full question out there, the fingers of his metal arm are digging into the ground beneath him, his heart beating a staccato rhythm in his chest.

“I like you, Buck.” The other grins shyly, crooked and bright. “Like, a lot. Have for a while now but I didn’t say anything because you didn’t seem ready to move on. And okay, maybe I’ve been taking advantage of Bob privileges and being a little touchier with you than the rest because of it, but I wouldn’t have done anything until you made the first move.”

“What changed?” Breathless, his voice can barely be heard leaving his mouth.

Bob shrugs, casual as if he hadn’t just turned Bucky’s world upside down. “You’re letting go. I’ve done a lot of therapy since we moved in, I know all about that concept. Maybe too much, as Mrs. Thompson tells me. But the point stands. And, of course, what happened yesterday has sped things along some.”

“I didn’t want it to be pretend.” He admits, finally free to say what’s been on his mind for the past however many hours. “It was difficult knowing that it wasn’t real, that I got to have what I wanted for a fraction of a moment before it was being taken away from me again. Wanted to kiss you, doll, make sure everyone there knew you’d be coming home with me.”

Bob’s face heats up suddenly, mouth popping open in surprise that thrills Bucky to no end. “O-oh. Yeah. Alright. We’re doing this.” The other surges forward, both hands on his cheeks as he presses his mouth to Bucky’s.

How many times has he imagined doing this same thing in this same spot but with someone else, with someone who meant so much to him – who still does. Someone who’s always been unattainable. The reality of it is so much better. Because it’s still the same spot, still a warm June day but it’s with someone who wants him back just as fiercely.

He groans as Bob’s hand winds into his hair, parting his mouth for the other’s tongue. A tentative lick to his bottom lip before he pushes back against it, separating from the other with a soft noise.

“What?” Bob’s chest is heaving against his own, excitement in his eyes.

“Let’s not be indecent in front of a crowd.” He nods to the side where there is, indeed, a small gathering of observers and, seemingly, fans congregating.

“Oh, come on, man!” Bob whines, hiding his face in the crook of his neck.

He laughs, chest finally unburdened, feeling like he’s walking on fucking air. He grips the other and rolls them around until Bob’s staring up at him, hair in a disarray and eyes sparkling.

“One more for the road?” He asks and the other brings him down with hands at the back of his neck.

It’s a much sweeter kiss, chase almost, both of them aware of the audience but neither willing to sacrifice parting yet. At least this will be good for publicity, he thinks.

“I hear congratulations are in order!” Walker gleefully shoves his phone into Bucky’s face as they’re walking past him in the lobby, repeating Alexei's words from that morning. He’s got some social media open, a post showing Bob and him from minutes ago, kissing in the park. Happy Pride Month! The caption by the user @queervengerstruther says, adorned with little rainbow flags and other emoticons.

“Not now, Walker.” He hisses, shoving the thing away.

“Oh, what, suddenly you’re too busy for your teammates?” John huffs, obviously annoyed at the dismissal.

“Do you want to sit around watching us make out?” Bob challenges, fearless when it comes to fucking with Walker and Bucky holds back a laugh as Walker’s face changes colors at a rapid pace.

“If you say gross, you’re homophobic.” He reminds the man as soon as he opens his mouth.

The click of his teeth slamming together is audible.

“Like you two weren’t insufferable before.” With a grumble and a frown, the other slinks away, yet again defeated.

“We’re gonna be making out, are we?” He turns to the other, crowding him against the elevator mirror as soon as the door closes. Bob’s practically trembling, the barely-contained excitement making him jittery. His bottom lip is bitten red and Bucky wants to ruin him just a little.

“What, you got a better idea?” The other’s fingers dance along his chest before both palms come to rest against, feeling Bucky’s thundering heartbeat underneath the muscle.

“No, nothing else I’d rather do.”

“This means we gotta tell the others for real now.” Bob reminds him as they stop at Bucky’s floor, looking around at the vastly unused space of it.

“They’ll figure it out.” He dismisses, sitting down onto the sofa and pulling the other into his lap.

“In a hurry?”

“Will you take your shirt off if I say yes?”

“Try it and see.”

“Making a den down here, Winter Wolf?” Yelena’s voice rings through the gym where he’s been for the past hour.

“Not the optimal climate.” He halts his movements, letting the punching bag sway before stopping it altogether. “No space for a burrow either.”

“Heard you and Bob figured your shit out.” She leans against the wall, holding out a bottle of water.

He snorts, taking it and chugging half of it in one go. “That was all him. I would have kept being a coward until the cows came home.”

“Cows?” She raises an eyebrow before seemingly deeming it unimportant. “What matters is that both of you are happy. But.”

“Shovel talk?” He can’t help but grin. It’s not unexpected. Yelena’s been Bob’s closest friend since the beginning, it makes sense that she’d come here to threaten him.

“Shovel?” Huffing again, she throws her hands into the air. “Your American expressions make zero sense.”

“You want me to explain?”

“Stop distracting me.” She pouts, pointing a finger at his sweaty chest and poking him. “He can take care of himself but he cares what you think. A lot. Do not disappoint me, Barnes. Or I will find a way to end you, supersoldier or not.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Oh, god, what’s this?!” Bob’s words are loud, yelled from the door as horror draws his features into a frown. “Tell me she didn’t just give you the shovel talk!”

“What shovel?!” She exclaims, her fist smacking angrily into the bag before muttering something in rapid-fire Russian that not even he catches.

“Do not!” She points at Bob this time when he opens his mouth to explain. “No sex in communal spaces. Gym included. Goodbye.”

She gives Bob’s sides a pinch as she passes by him, making him yelp and then laugh. He’s still smiling by the time he reaches Bucky.

“Hey.”

“Hi, doll.” His hands are already reaching, already reeling the other in for a kiss.

“I gotta say,” Bob grins against his lips. “For a centenarian, you haven’t lost any of your game.”

“Game? Back in my day we called it charm, charisma.” He spins them around, picking bob up and depositing him on top of the stacked mats.

“Well, whatever it is, it worked.” Bob parts his knees and Bucky settles between them, elbows on the other’s knees and hands on his thighs, squeezing.

“Great, means my work here is done.” He tugs back playfully but Bob’s ankles lock him into place, immovable.

“Oh, no. Not by a long shot. Think Yelena will know if we do anything in here?” The glint is back in his eye, almost golden.

“Definitely, she goes through the footage semi-regularly.”

“Guess you’ll have to hack the security system then.”

“I know at least three people who’ll get mad at me for that.”

“That’s on you, babe.”