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Since Steve had first introduced him, Bucky had rarely been one to participate in, as Tony liked to call it, “family fun time,” so you didn’t bat an eye when he started spending more time in his room and less time with you and your teammates.
You didn’t question it when he started making excuses for why he couldn’t make your sparring matches. You didn’t protest when he began to turn down your offers to make some headway on his movie bucket list. When he canceled his Monday morning jog with you, Steve, and Sam, the three of you just shrugged and went on your merry way.
Nevertheless, you had to admit his behavior was odd. You and Bucky had grown close in the last year he’d been staying at the compound, and you had grown accustomed to having him around while you read on the couch or sunbathed by the swimming pool. You missed his endearing nicknames and rare, sweet smiles and even rarer, sweeter laughter. You missed him.
Lately, Bucky had been taking his dinners back to his apartment. When you cooked salmon for the team one night, he wrapped up three helpings to-go, thanked you over his shoulder for the meal, and didn’t even come out of his room for dessert. You knew he liked your cooking and that he, like Steve and Thor, required multiple servings of every meal. Still, no one had ever liked your salmon that much.
Around ten o’clock that evening, everyone began to retreat to their respective corners of the tower or turn in for the night, wishing you and Natasha sweet dreams while she helped you with the dishes. You took that opportunity to question her about Bucky.
“Hey, Nat,” you began, eyes focused on the tray you were scrubbing, “is it just me, or has Bucky been acting strangely lately?”
Nat shrugged. “I know what you mean, but I wouldn’t call it strange coming from him,” she responded. “You know he has those moods where he can’t bear to be social for more than a few hours at a time.”
“I guess you’re right,” you muttered, placing the tray on the drying rack. “It’s probably just me overthinking things. I can’t help but feel… maybe it’s me he’s avoiding?” You glanced over at her.
Nat was staring at you incredulously. “That’s definitely not it. You’re one of the few people he’s opened up to while staying here.” She thought for a moment as she held a bowl under the sink to rinse. “You’re used to his constant company, and so him distancing himself is making you panic. I get where you’re coming from, but I’m sure whatever you lovebirds have is still there.”
Your brows knitted together in confusion. “We’re just friends, Nat,” you assured her, yet your cheeks warmed at her words.
Nat smirked. “I never said you weren’t, but if you feel the need to explain yourself…” she trailed off, arching an eyebrow challengingly.
You flicked some water at her. “Not a chance. I’ve already had Wanda in my head. I don’t need you rooting around in it, too.” Nat chuckled, and you went on washing dishes. Although some of what Nat had said had relaxed you, you still felt worried that your company wasn’t enough for Bucky anymore. You dismissed those thoughts, since he seemed to be avoiding everyone else as much as he was avoiding you. Maybe you would ask him about it in the morning.
You woke up later that night to insatiable hunger. You lay awake, curled up on your side, trying to ignore it, but your stomach’s incessant roaring won over. You threw the covers back and shuffled out into the hallway, riding the elevator down to the kitchen for a late night—or rather, early morning, since it was three A.M.—snack.
Your feet dragged along the floor as you entered, yawning loudly. You were too tired to question why the light was already on or notice that someone else was in there with you. You finally opened your groggy eyes completely and froze.
Bucky was leaning against the breakfast counter, and his eyes shot to yours when you walked in. You, however, weren’t looking at him.
There were cats on the counter. Tiny cats. Four of them.
“Bucky,” you mumbled, blinking rapidly, “are those kittens? On the counter?”
“Uhh… No.”
You glanced at him, unamused. “Is this what you’ve been hiding lately?” you asked, stepping over to the kitchen island gingerly, as if you might scare the kittens away. They were too busy lapping up milk from a saucer to care.
Bucky dropped his head in shame. “Yeah,” he grumbled, avoiding your eyes. “Just… don’t tell anyone, alright? They don’t have anywhere else to go.”
You reached over and ran two fingers along one kitten’s back. It raised its butt, tail standing up like a tuft of wheat. Your mouth fell open in awe. “Where did you find them?” you breathed, watching them with wide eyes. “They can’t be more than a few weeks old.”
“They were in a box,” Bucky explained, “outside this bakery I go to every now and then. You know, the one with the cookies I bring you?”
Cookies you used to bring me. “Someone just left them there? In a box?”
Bucky nodded. “I couldn’t just leave ’em there. They were so small, so skinny.” One of the kittens, an orange tabby, plodded over to him and slumped against his arm. Instinctively, Bucky used his cybernetic fingers to scratch beneath the kitten’s chin, drawing a purr out of it. The tabby rolled onto its back, showing off its plump belly.
You giggled. You never would have thought you’d get to watch the former Winter Soldier himself petting a four-week-old kitten, gazing down at it like it was the purest thing in the world. The sight was so wholesome. “You’re fattening them up, alright,” you teased. “I hope they enjoyed my salmon.” The saucer ran dry, and one kitten left the dish to walk up to you. She was a tortoiseshell, with big green eyes and four white paws. She licked your bare forearm and you thought you had melted into a puddle right there. “I can see why you like ’em. They’re so precious. You’re going soft, Sergeant.”
He chuffed, flicking you in the shoulder affectionately. “I’m goin’ soft around you, doll. It’s all your fault.”
You carefully scooped up the tortoiseshell into your arms. She mewed softly, and you gasped. Bucky laughed at you, but your eyes were riveted to the kitten tucked comfortably against your chest. “I’ve died and gone to heaven,” you whispered.
Bucky’s expression turned to that of concern. “Whoa, doll, are you crying?”
“No,” you hissed, feeling a warm droplet leak out of your eye and down your cheek. “You’re crying. Don’t look at me.” The kitten batted a velvety paw at your chin. You squealed, sniffling before turning your watery eyes to Bucky. He was grinning at you smugly. “Did you name them?”
Bucky nodded. “This little guy is Tiger”—he pointed to the ginger one vying for his attention—“this is Butter”—he patted the yellowish brown one sitting quietly in the center of the dried-up saucer—“that’s String”—he stroked the back of the brown tabby waddling in your direction—“and you’re carrying Dot.” Tiger nibbled on Bucky’s hand, and Bucky went on petting him.
You beamed down at Dot tearfully; she was purring while you rubbed her tummy. The brown tabby, String, stood on his hind legs to knead the front of your sleepshirt, his claws catching on the cotton. “Nice names, softie. Remind me to never let you name our children.” Wait, what the hell did you just say?
Bucky chuckled. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll leave that job to you. I hope our children are a little less furry. C’mon, Butter, get off of there, baby girl.” He nudged Butter off of the saucer so he could grab it and place it in the sink behind him. “Still, these are kind of like our children, now… should you accept joint custody.”
You looked up to see Bucky peering over at you hopefully, with Tiger crawling up his metal arm to his shoulder. Had he just implied not only that he wanted to share these kittens with you, but also share actual children? As in he was interested? In you? You cursed inwardly. There was no way you could resist those bright blue eyes, or four tiny kittens, for that matter. “I won’t tell anyone,” you promised, kissing the top of Dot’s head and placing her back on the counter. The tortoiseshell kitten mewled in protest; you gasped at the sight of her tiny pink tongue and tiny white fangs.
Bucky grinned and moseyed over to you, with Tiger still curled up against his neck, playing with his hair. He leaned down and kissed your cheek, his lips detaching with a wet smack. “Thanks, doll. Care to help me carry them back to my room?”
You nodded, your lips quirking up into a small smile as you watched Dot stretch. “Sure, only if you let me tuck them in.”
Bucky returned your smirk, and you could feel your teasing façade crumbling. He was standing really close to you, so close that you could feel the heat rolling off of him. With his super soldier hearing, he could probably hear your heart thundering in your chest. “Only if you give me a goodnight kiss,” he murmured.
You sighed and took Tiger from his shoulder, kissing the tip of the kitten’s nose and depositing him lightly on the counter with his siblings. “Well, you’re no kitten, but I guess you’re furry enough,” you quipped, patting Bucky’s stubbly cheek. God, he was so close to you.
Bucky grabbed the hand you had on his face and held it there. He wrapped his other arm around your waist, tugging you closer, his eyes trained on yours. “Meow,” he deadpanned.
You laughed but kissed him anyway.