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Bucky Barnes swears he’s not jealous.
Not when he looks at Steve and Agent Carter -- Peggy , as Steve calls her, the name rolling off his tongue so fluidly , sounding so right coming from him that Bucky has to tell himself that the chest constrictions, that feeling of a hand wrapping around his heart and squeezing it, has nothing to do with the way that Steve says her name.
What’s he got to be jealous of, anyway?
That his best friend is happy? Steve deserves it, and Bucky would swear on his life that he’s happy for him.
That Steve’s finally got himself a girl? Come on, Buck . He’s been trying to set Steve up all his life. It shouldn’t bother him that he’s finally got someone -- especially if that someone could not be more perfect for Steve.
And it’s ridiculous to even entertain the notion that Bucky might be jealous that Steve has someone and he doesn’t, because, well, that’s entirely his doing. Bucky’s always been more of a... dancing with different partners sort of person. And anyway, if he’s honest with himself, he hasn’t quite felt like dancing very much lately.
(If he’s danced, it’s been rough, uncouth, completely ungentlemanly -- fucking up against walls, in back alleys, quick and fast, wham, bam, thank you, ma’am -- and then he’s off, back to his apartment in Brooklyn, downing bottles of whiskey like they’re water. It’s like there’s this darkness inside him that’s been creeping out since he was captured – tortured – and it’s only gotten worse now that the war’s ended. Bit by bit, it’s inching up to the surface, and Bucky’s more than a little terrified of himself.)
With a shudder, he shakes the thoughts away, turns instead to look for the two lovebirds out in the mess of bodies dancing with each other. He spots them -- it’s not that hard, really -- Steve’s taller than Bucky now and his perfect blonde head sticks out like a beacon. He’s got an arm around Peggy’s waist and she’s got one curled around his shoulder and their free hands are intertwined. The band’s playing something slow and they’re swaying, side to side -- Steve’s never been much of a dancer. Even from where he is, Bucky can see that they’re whispering to one another -- they’re almost always talking, he thinks.
Seeing the two of them together…
Bucky turns back to the bar, downs his whiskey and signals to the bartender for another glass.
He’s not jealous, he tells himself as he savours the feel of the amber liquid burning his throat.
He’s not jealous, he tells himself as the bartender gives him a look like maybe it’s time to cut him off before he slowly slides another glass over.
He’s not jealous, he tells himself as Steve and Peggy pull up next to him.
Steve touches his back lightly, like he’s pulling Bucky out of his thoughts and letting him know that he’s there. (As he draws his hand back, all Bucky can think about is the electric feeling his touch leaves.) He looks up -- up -- hard blue-grey eyes momentarily locking on kind and trusting blue ones, before flickering past Steve’s shoulder to land on Agent Carter (because he’ll be damned if he calls her Peggy). There’s a noticeable twitch in his jaw. He forces a tight-lipped smile at the two lovebirds before turning back to his glass. He traces a finger around the rim, blaming the alcohol in his system for the fact that he’s far too aware of Steve’s body next to his.
“You kids having fun?” Bucky asks, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice as he glances over at his best friend and his best girl.
Steve lets out a little chuckle, his cheeks an endearing shade of pink. He gives Bucky a warm smile. “Actually, we’re thinking of calling it a night. Peggy’s got an early start tomorrow,” he adds as Bucky’s eyebrows raise incredulously.
Bucky looks back down at his glass, lips curling into something that’s not quite a smile, not quite a grimace -- more of a cross between the two. He nods. “Don’t go doing anything I wouldn’t do,” he replies simply, fingers still tracing the rim of his glass.
There’s a pause.
Bucky’s positive he knows what’s going on: Steve’s wondering if it might be better to stay with Bucky, but he can’t possibly let Peggy go home alone, even if she insists that she can and that she’ll be fine and she’ll ring him once she gets in, if that makes him feel better, but Steve will still insist on walking her home.
3, 2, 1…
“Don’t stay out too late, Buck.”
He appreciates the sentiment, the way Steve’s voice is just low enough for him to hear, and so full of softness and gentleness and there’s an implicit please take care of yourself, Bucky, for me .
Bucky nods, not looking up at Steve. He raises his glass to say goodbye, downs it as Steve and Peggy walk away, not noticing that both of them glance back at him as they leave.
He debates getting another drink, then decides that no, that’s not what he wants right now. He turns away from the bar and surveys the room.
Bucky will dance tonight, messy and hard and rough, and then he’ll go home, drink till he passes out and do it all again tomorrow.