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Bucky is sitting at a bar, drink in his one good hand while his prosthetic lays uselessly at his side. It’s been a long day and he deserved every throw back of biting whisky he took. Steve was still at the VA with Sam working though their final class and Bucky had ‘noped’ the fuck out of it real quick.
He didn’t need the VA to get better. Getting better wasn’t something he could do. It was hard not to be a little pissy with Steve’s optimism because for all he is Bucky is the one who is missing an arm. Steve’s the picture of the American Soldier. Blonde, tall, ripped, and always with a smile. Bucky was the cold hard facts of the system and its habit of pushing its veterans that don’t fit the mold to the side.
Fuck ‘em.
War had taken more than his arm, though. When that blast had shredded his arm to pieces it had taken his Words with it. When his Soulmate’s words had first appeared Bucky was ecstatic. His words were so badass and completely unique that there wasn’t much of a chance of a mix-up.
You don’t happen to have a knife on you, do you?
Those words had been emblazoned on him in cramped, hurried writing and Bucky had spent hours upon hours imagining the type of person who’d say that to him. From that moment on he’d always made sure to carry a knife. He’d hoped that he’d find that person in the army. But then he’d lost his arm and his words and everything went to shit.
What help could he be now?
He waved for another few fingers of whiskey and focused on the shelves of alcohol. He could feel people looking at him. Most of the time he would catch people looking at his arm first and then his face. God, he needs to stay in more.
Suddenly, a loud, bright-eyed man slid onto the stool right next to him and slapped the bar, calling out a free round of shots for everyone. Bucky looked him over and frowned to himself. Way-back-when this guy would have been Bucky’s type to the T. He had dark, messy hair, a rather fabulous goatee, and the most expressive, dark amber eyes he’s ever seen.
But then the guy looks at him and his smile turns into a smirk. He gives Bucky a slow up-and-down look, eyes barely ghosting over his left arm, and just sits down with a wink. The bartender sets both their drinks in front of them and somebody hollers, “Ay, Tony!” The guy, obviously ‘Tony’, yells back and the next thing Bucky knows is there’s a hand on his thigh and Tony’s leaning in close enough that Bucky could kiss him if he just moved an inch.
And then he says, “You don’t happen to have a knife on you, do you?”
Bucky is so completely lost because this is it, this is the guy, and they’re meeting in a bar. Drinking has only ever been a part of a recipe for bad life decisions but know it’s led him to the meeting of his soulmate and Bucky isn’t sure what to do. He tries so hard to think of something to say, something worthy of this meeting but his mind just goes straight to the gutter.
“If that’s what you’re into, I’ll play.”
Tony immediately looks sober. His smile dies and his face goes a little pale while his lips form a hard line. Bucky feels like maybe he did something wrong. Leave it up to him to fuck up what should be the best moment of his life.
“Who told you to say that?”
Bucky shakes his head and raises his hands in surrender, “No one told me to say anything.”
“Where are your words?” Tony snaps. “Show them to me.”
Bucky frowns, going on the defensive, “I don’t have them anymore.”
He drops his left hand on the bar and gives a half-grimace, half-smile to Tony. There’s a part of him that wants to say his records will show them. They’re on file with his doctor and with the army. He’s waited so long that if he has to he’ll do whatever he can to prove it. But there’s the other part, the angry part of him, which wants to say ‘fuck you’ and move on.
So he just waits.
Tony looks like he’s considering something and Bucky can practically see the gears turning. He sucks his teeth for a moment, staring into Bucky’s eyes like he’s looking for the evidence there, and chews on his cheek.
Then, all at once, he deflates, “Can you imagine how hard it was having that on me growing up?”
Bucky blinks and then laughs. It’s so sudden that it shocks Tony, making him flinch hard enough to spill his drink. Tony laughs along with him, then, and it sounds so good. The both of them laughing together suddenly feels like the most natural, perfect thing in the world.
The laughter dies down and Bucky says, “I tried to come up with something you deserved.”
“Well, you did great with what I gave you. God, I don’t do things by halves.”
“I’ve been carrying a knife on my since I was eighteen.” Bucky pulls it out and hands it over to Tony, “I guess I can finally hand it over now.”
Tony takes it and looks at it, weighing it in his palm and feeling the sharpness of its blade. It looks like it belongs there, Bucky thinks. Almost as if Tony was meant to hold it. It’s so surreal now, surrounded by people, in a bar halfway to drunk with his Soulmate just sitting in front of him holding his knife like he’s meant to.
“What’d you need it for, anyway?” Bucky asks, ripping Tony out of his thoughts.
Tony meets his eyes and smiles, “Nothing now. I’d rather take you home.”
“Sounds good to me.”