Chapter Text
The machine hummed in Bucky’s hands as he fed dough through the opening. The dough stretched in a long sheet across his arms before he laid it down, sliced it into thirds, adjusted the thickness and fed the pieces through one by one. The thin sheets of pasta sat on the counter as they argued over what kind of pasta to make.
The Winter Soldier wanted fettuccine.
James wanted manicotti because he loved to make things difficult.
Bucky was too lazy for either of those. Fettucini meant making a cream sauce. Manicotti meant being frustrated for an hour over stuffing cheese and meat into the pasta and baking it.
Bucky Barnes didn't want to think. The mission they had been tasked to do recon on had taken a lot out of him. James and him had to fight with The Winter Soldier to keep him from regressing one hundred percent and taking out all possible threats. They were there for information. Nata...sha had went in and silently left with a thumb drive full of hydra information.
James didn't like to give hydra the opportunity to be important enough to capitalize in their head. Bucky Barnes would sigh. The Winter Soldier tried not to think about hydra.
Bucky Barnes was snapped out of his pasta thoughts when The Winter Soldier alerted him that someone had entered the common kitchen. James hoped someone would talk to them, Bucky Barnes was stuck in their head and needed a reality check.
The footsteps were loud, clicking heels against the floor. They could also hear the faint buzz of jazz horns.
Bucky Barnes continued to stare at the pasta.
There was a snap of bubble gum behind him before they heard the familiar voice of Darcy Lewis. “Pappardelle.” She moved in next to them.
Bucky Barnes turned and assessed her. James wanted him to pull the ear buds out of her ears and put the errant lock of hair behind her left ear. The Winter Soldier looked at the pizza cutter in her hand and wondered exactly when she had opened the utensil drawer and pulled it out. Their blue eyes caught hers. He reached out tentatively and grabbed the pizza cutter.
“Thanks, doll,” he murmured before letting the smallest of smiles grace his lips.
He sliced strips in two centimeter strips, trying not to worry when they weren't straight or perfect. They were aware that Darcy Lewis had moved away from him and was rummaging around in the refrigerator, pulling things out and snapping her gum.
Bucky Barnes remembered Charlotte Smythe blowing bubbles at him, snapping it, and winking before beckoning him towards the back of the theater in 1939. The Winter Soldier thought snapping gum was a waste of energy. James wanted to ask for a piece so they could bubble battle. Bucky Barnes remembered bubble battling with Rebecca.
He sighed audibly as the pizza cutter came to rest at the end of the pasta. Bucky Barnes placed the pizza cutter next to the pasta machine and didn't jump when Darcy Lewis placed a tentative hand on his arm.
“Bucky?” Her voice was quiet. “Can I call you Bucky?” Darcy’s voice was soft even if she winked at him while asking.
He cleared his throat. James chanted YES YES YES in their head. The Winter Soldier also thought it was a good idea to give her an affirmation. Bucky Barnes cleared his throat again before turning his head. He inclined it and looked at her through his dark lashes. “Doll, you can call me Bucky any day.” James piped in, because He’s James, “You’re been in my lap, has to count for something.” The Winter Soldier watched as the apples of her cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink. “We are to be wed too.” Bucky Barnes suddenly became uncomfortable.
Darcy stuck out the edge of her tongue before she winked again. “Well, Bucky, I know… actually,” her eyes glazed over as she looked past his shoulders for a moment. Darcy shook her head and placed her hand back on the metal arm. “You just looked lost. It really isn't my place to say anything, but, as my gram always said Ain't nothing good food can't fix...except broken bones, you need a doctor for that.” She smiled widely.
Bucky Barnes turned back to the pasta and clenched his human fist. They stood there in silence. Bucky Barnes continued to stare at the pasta dough. Darcy Lewis fidgeted next to them. “It calms me down.” He gestured to the pasta machine in front of him. “Not that it's the same as before, had to hand crank it, was awful and Rebecca would hold the pasta as I rolled it out. My grandmother would hold my biceps, ya know, and tell me that I would make the Italian side of my family proud.”
Darcy made a small noise next to him.
Bucky Barnes turned his whole body towards her and leaned against the flour covered counter. His black shirt gained a white streak above his hip. “Small pieces come back to me.” He reached out and tucked the hair behind her ear. James cheered. “You popping those bubbles, brought new ones back.”
“I hope they were good ones,” Darcy smiled and leaned into his touch.
“Charlotte Smythe is definitely a good memory.” His cheeks heated up. “But having a bubble popping contest with my sister is a better one.”
Darcy turned towards the pasta and assessed it. “What are you going to do with it now?”
“The pasta, or the memories?” Bucky quietly asked as he, too, turned to stare down at the wide noodles.
“Neither, both, does it matter?” She reached out to the flour and spelled out her name in the dusting. Her cursive was loopy and crooked.
Bucky Barnes reached next to her and started spelling his name. James’ was in a scribble. Bucky Barnes’ was in beautiful cursive the nuns had beat into his hands. The Winter Soldier’s was in perfectly blocked Cyrillic. Darcy hummed before reaching out and wiping their names away.
“The Mission...I don't think I was ready for it.” He admitted.
Darcy leaned against his side before looking up at him. “Do you want to talk about it.”
“I'm not sure I can legally tell you...”
Darcy poked his metal wrist. “I have a high enough clearance for you to give me the overview.” She blew and popped another bubble. “Plus I already saw the debrief paperwork.” Darcy snapped the gum again. “You don’t have to talk about it. Just know if you want to talk to someone other than Steve or Sam, I’m around.” She winked one of her blue eyes.
Bucky Barnes gently grabbed the hand that had poked him. “Not that I don’t want to,” His face was set in a slight grimace, “I just don’t think I’d be able to stop.”
Darcy patted the back of his metal hand before giving him a sad smile. “Well, let's listen to Granny Lewis and fix ourselves some of this paparedelle.”
The Winter Soldier caught her hand before she could move too far away from them. James pulled her closer to them. Bucky Barnes slipped an arm around her to embrace her quickly before letting her go.
“Did you just hug me?” Darcy smirked and motioned between the small gap between them.
Bucky Barnes’ cheeks reddened. The Winter Soldier was inexplicably itching to pull her back towards them. James was slightly stunned when she wrapped her arms around their waist and gave him a tight hug. “Uh…”
“Man, I give the best hugs! No half assing hugs around me.” She leaned against him.
“Affirmative.” The Winter Soldier replied before James put his arm around her shoulder again. “Was thinking about a quick butter sauce,” he started, “bruised tomatoes, garlic scapes, oregano, basil,” Bucky Barnes continued, “capers,” The Winter Soldier finished.
“Yo! Knockoff putanesca sauce.” She patted their metal hand on her shoulder, “I like the way you think.”
------
Clint found them while they were twirling wide noodles on forks and stuffing their face with the garlic bread Darcy had made from the crusty bread in the pantry.
The Winter Soldier directly addressed him. “Eat. We ate your food, please eat ours.” James smirked. Bucky Barnes watched as Clint moved towards the table.
“No funny business?” He narrowed his light eyes at their plates.
“No way man, Barnes knows his way around a pasta machine.” Darcy said around a mouthful of food.
Their mother would have scolded her.
Clint looked skeptical. “He made this from scratch?”
“Yeah, we did.” They motioned at the table at large.
“Darcy helped?”
She pointed the fork at the archer. The Winter Soldier was pleased to see that she aimed the fork at his jugular. James wanted to eat the tomato stuck at the end. Bucky Barnes sighed internally. “Just sit down and eat some damn pasta before we tie you down and force feed it to you.”
“Kinky.” Clint replied, his face transforming, wrinkles evening out as he pulled a chair out and sat at the table.
“What ever gets you going.” Darcy rolled her eyes before shoving the tomato in her mouth.
Bucky Barnes’ face reddened again as they heard her make another noise in pleasure. James wanted her to make that noise even more. The Winter Soldier alerted them that the oven’s timer was about to go off.
Three.
Two.
One.
The buzzer sounded. They watched Darcy jump up and run over to the oven.
“She doesn’t bake for anyone.” Clint said as he twirled his own pasta onto a spare fork.
They cleared their throat. “I…” Bucky Barnes continued, “asked.”
Clint shrugged. “Just saying,” they heard the oven door open and Darcy chanting HOT HOT HOT quietly under her breath, “She hasn't baked for anyone since her grandmother died.”
They waited until the oven door closed. The Winter Soldier steadied and held Clint’s gaze as he replied, “This is Granny Lewis’ recipe.”
Clint hummed thoughtfully before Darcy reappeared at the table, her feet silent as she had kicked off the heels while they had put together the dessert. “Just have to let it cool a bit.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“We never had many lemons to put into it.” Bucky Barnes said to her.
“Gran always said that. They used to use anise.” James watched as Darcy shuddered in horror.
“You can eat any part of the anise plant.” The Winter Soldier commented.
They watched Clint watch them as Darcy laughed loudly. “She said that too.”
“Sounds like a smart woman.” James picked up the glass of cheap wine and tipped it back.
Clint shook his head and shoved more paparedelle in his mouth.
“Yup.” Darcy winked and grabbed her own glass of wine and drank deeply from it.
--
The ricotta pie was amazing.
And if they pretended to not notice Clint stealing the rest of it from the fridge at midnight well, that's a story for another day.