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The kitchen was way too bright for six in the morning.
The sun had barely crawled over the horizon, pale light spilling through the windows of the compound kitchen, and yet chaos had already taken full ownership of the place.
Flour dust floated in the air like someone had detonated a baking bomb. Measuring cups clinked against the counter. Somewhere behind the coffee machine, something suspiciously smelled like burnt butter.
And in the center of it all stood Yelena Belova, arms crossed, patience hanging by a thread.
“Okay,” Bob said carefully, peering down at the recipe book like it contained ancient sacred texts. “So… how many grams of flour should I use?”
“Ten,” Yelena answered immediately.
“Ten? Seriously?” He lifted the cookbook and squinted at it. “The book says fifteen, Yelena.”
Yelena slowly turned her head toward him, her expression flat. “Fifteen grams is too much for a tart.”
“Wait. Are we making a tart?” he asked, genuine confusion written all over his face. “I thought we were making cookies.”
Across the kitchen island, Ava looked up from the pile of measuring spoons she’d been enthusiastically sorting and immediately snorted.
“Oh my god, we don’t even know what we’re baking?”
Yelena closed her eyes and was already regretting every decision she made the other night. If she didn’t desperately need help, she absolutely would not have allowed these two disasters into the kitchen before sunrise. The rest of the team was probably still asleep, peacefully dreaming, while she was here fighting a losing war against flour measurements and questionable decision-making.
But there was too much to prepare, and even Yelena Belova could not cook an entire birthday breakfast alone.
She opened her eyes and clapped her hands once.
“Okay! New plan. Job descriptions have officially changed.”
Bob and Ava both looked at her like employees waiting for their performance reviews.
“The cake and batter measurements are now exclusively my responsibility,” Yelena declared, pointing at herself with authority. “Clearly that is too much power for you two.”
Ava raised her hands in surrender. “Fair.”
Yelena turned to her next.
“Ava, you prepare the ingredients for the mac and cheese. No precise measurements required. You just… put things in bowl.”
Ava’s grin widened instantly. She slid the measuring spoon across the kitchen island like she was returning a weapon she’d been banned from using.
“There you go,” she said cheerfully.
Yelena chose not to comment on the ghost girl’s enthusiasm for abandoning responsibility. Instead, she turned to Bob.
“Bob.”
He straightened immediately, like a soldier waiting for orders.
“You prepare the drinks,” she said. “When he wakes up, he will absolutely need at least three cups of coffee.”
“That many?” Bob frowned in disbelief.
“Have you seen him in the morning?” Yelena shot a question back, and that made both Bob and Ava nod in agreement.
“Also,” she continued, scrunching her nose while she was thinking through her plan, “let’s make some milkshakes to make it more festive. It’s a party after all.”
Bob nodded firmly, partly because he didn't want to disappoint Yelena, and mostly because he was glad she'd included him in this morning's mission.
And this was a mission.
If Ava hadn’t casually glanced at the calendar two days ago and screamed across the living room like she’d discovered a national emergency, none of this would be happening. Yelena herself had been the one insisting they should strengthen team bonds lately. And yet somehow… She had completely forgotten that Bucky Barnes’ birthday was March 10th.
Which meant this entire operation—Breakfast Surprise for the World’s Grumpiest Super Soldier—had been launched in full panic mode.
The three of them worked in silence for a few minutes, before Bob, while still focusing on his coffee machine and arranging cups, broke the ice.
“What about Bucky’s gift? Walker said he got something for Bucky.”
Yelena slowly raised one eyebrow. “Wow. Seriously? already?”
Ava leaned forward on the counter, curiosity lighting up her face. “What did he get him?”
Bob scratched the back of his head, trying to remember. “Hm… I think it was a helmet? He said Bucky rides the damn thing all the time but he rarely wears a helmet. Is that true?"
This time, it was Yelena’s turn to snort.
“Ha!” she scoffed, shaking her head as she wiped flour off her hands onto the front of her apron. “Not a bad idea. I did not think that dude was capable of choosing such a solid gift.”
Across the kitchen, Ava was stirring something in a pot while leaning halfway over the stove like she’d been cooking her entire life. Which, technically, she hadn’t. But she had the confidence of someone who had watched a lot of cooking videos.
“Well, I'm impressed,” Ava said, pointing her wooden spoon at them like she was making an important declaration. “That’s actually a great gift. Bucky barely ever wears a helmet. Remember when he chased us through the desert?”
Yelena groaned immediately. “Oh my god, yes.”
Ava’s eyes lit up with chaotic excitement.
“He was riding that motorcycle like a maniac! Sand flying everywhere, bullets flying everywhere—”
“And not even a helmet,” Yelena cut in, rolling her eyes.
Bob blinked. “Wait—he chased you in the desert?”
Ava nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yeah. Very dramatic entrance. Dust cloud, metal arm, murder glare. Straight out of The Terminator, I must say.”
Yelena huffed as she continued whisking the batter, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Of course he didn’t wear one,” she said dryly. “Because apparently having the super soldier serum makes him think he has nine lives.”
The memory then drifted through Yelena’s mind whether she wanted it to or not. It takes her back to the heat of the desert, all the chaos, the sound of Alexei’s old and slightly inappropriate limo engines tearing through sand while OXE troops hunted them down like animals.
And then Bucky Barnes appeared, with his motorcycle roaring and his metal arm glinting under the sun, rescuing them like a knight in shining armor.
Well, a knight who immediately blew their limo and tied them up afterward. Technically, he had rescued them, and then immediately captured them like the dangerous buron they are—It was a very confusing day, really.
But if Bucky hadn’t shown up that day? If he hadn’t stubbornly forced them into his ridiculous crusade against Valentina? Yelena probably would’ve gone back into the shadows and lived the rest of her life in regret just trying to survive.
And she definitely wouldn’t be standing here now, making cake batter for someone else’s birthday. So she was grateful to him, so deeply grateful, even if Bucky Barnes would probably refuse to take credit for any of it.
Ava’s sudden groan made her mind travel back into reality.
“Oh no.”
Yelena glanced up. “What now?”
Ava dramatically smacked her forehead. “I still haven’t figured out what to get Bucky!”
Despite her complaint, her hands were still working like a professional chef. She dumped macaroni into it like this entire meltdown was happening on autopilot.
Yelena shrugged casually. “I already bought something.”
Bob immediately perked up. “You did?”
Yelena nodded, though she tilted her head slightly. “I just don’t know if he’ll like it.”
Ava whipped around instantly. “What did you get him?”
Yelena turned off the mixer with a soft click. The smell of vanilla cake batter filled the kitchen, sweet and warm.
“A singlet.”
The kitchen went quiet for a second.
“A… singlet?” Bob blinked.
“Yes,” Yelena said matter-of-factly. “Black singlet, three pieces of it.”
Ava stared at her. “…That’s the gift?”
Yelena lifted a brow like this should be obvious. “Have you seen his wardrobe?”
Ava burst out laughing before she could stop herself. And honestly? Yelena had a point. Living under the same roof as Bucky Barnes for months had revealed something deeply tragic about the man.
Every morning Yelena would wander into the kitchen and find him already there, sitting at the pantry counter, one hand wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee and his tablet in the other, scrolling through the news like a grumpy old man.
And what would he be wearing? A singlet and sweatpants.
That’s it.
Sure, Bucky technically owned other clothes — a few henleys, some plain t-shirts, maybe a jacket if he felt fancy — but somehow he always rotated through the exact same dull, lifeless colors.
Grey. Dark grey. Slightly different grey, if he’s feeling a little bit cheerful that day.
It was painful to witness. Whether Bucky was a hardcore minimalist or simply allergic to fashion trends, Yelena still hadn’t figured it out. But either way, it was unacceptable. So of course she had to intervene.
“I’m expanding his wardrobe,” Yelena said firmly, pointing the whisk like a weapon again. “He wears singlets anyway, so now he gets a better one.”
Ava burst out laughing at Yelena’s explanation.
“That’s brilliant,” she said between chuckles “He’ll probably complain about it for ten minutes… but he’ll absolutely wear it.”
Yelena smirked. That part, at least, was guaranteed.
Bucky Barnes was many things—grumpy, stubborn, emotionally constipated—but he wasn’t ungrateful. If someone gave him something, he’d use it. Even if he looked mildly irritated the entire time. Which, honestly, was just his natural face anyway.
Then out of a sudden, a slow, mischievous smile crept across Yelena’s face.
Her hands were still occupied with the cake dough that was now sitting perfectly on the bowl, but her eyes slid toward Ava, who was now staring thoughtfully into the pot of boiling macaroni like if she blink the pasta would magically disappear.
“I actually have an idea,” Yelena said casually.
Ava didn’t look up yet. “For what?”
“For what you should get Bucky.”
That got her attention.
Ava lifted her head slowly. “What?”
Yelena’s smile grew wider. “Oh, it’s gonna be a very personal gift.”
Because apparently, from the very first time they shared the same floor which they would call their home for these past months, she had noticed something interesting about the dynamic between Ava and Bucky. Something that the others either missed completely—or politely pretended not to notice.
But Yelena noticed everything.
The way their conversations lasted a little longer than necessary? The way Bucky’s eyes lingered on Ava for half a second more than they should? The way Ava suddenly became ten times more protective whenever Bucky was on a mission?
And the rooftop thing.
Oh yes, Yelena had definitely noticed the rooftop thing.
Something was definitely brewing between those two. Maybe they didn’t realize it yet, but it was there. And that was exactly why Ava had been the first person to notice Bucky’s birthday on the calendar.
And Yelena did not believe in a coincidence at all. So, with all the power she had in her hands, she will play cupid for these two idiot.
Ava squinted at her suspiciously.
“…Wow. No. Thank you.”
Yelena blinked. “What?”
“Whatever you’re about to suggest,” Ava said flatly, “I already know it’s going to ruin my life.”
Yelena gasped dramatically. “Hey! I haven’t even suggested anything yet!”
Ava rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed. “Yeah, but I know you.”
Yelena placed a hand over her chest like she’d been personally wounded. “Wow. I am offended.”
Before Yelena could escalate the argument—and she absolutely intended to—the kitchen door unexpectedly burst open with the subtlety of a small explosion.
“GOOD MORNING, MY CHILDREN!”
Alexei Shostakov sprung to the kitchen like a human thunderclap, beaming from ear to ear with the unstoppable energy of someone who had absolutely no concept of indoor volume.
“Oh wow!” he boomed, looking around excitedly. “What is happening here? Why does it smell like cake?!”
Great. The circus had arrived, Yelena thought briefly before putting her dough into the oven.
Bob, who’d been pretending to be a functioning adult by blending milkshakes, waved him over like an open invitation. “Hey, Alexei! Want some?”
Alexei’s hand dove for a shake before Yelena’s reflexes — sharpened by too many near-disasters and slightly fewer hours of sleep — intercepted it with alarming speed.
“Don’t drink that,” she snapped, rescuing the cup. “It’s for Bucky’s birthday.”
Alexei blinked, then brightened. “Bucky? Birthday? Today?!”
Yelena rubbed her temple and tried not to picture the million tiny ways this morning could go wrong. “Oh my god, we talked about this at the briefing last night, Dad. Surprise party, remember?”
Alexei’s eyes went comically wide. “No way!” He scanned the kitchen like he’d missed some crucial memo. “But he left on a mission last night!”
An audible, dramatic gasp blasted from Ava’s mouth while she nearly knocked her own macaroni pot.
“HE WHAT?!”