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7th of May, Thunderbolts tower, day off, 5:11.
John... John didn't know relaxation. Didn't participate in it at least.
He started his day at 5, as always, and went out for a run, as always.
As he zipped past the few people out at this early hour, baseball cap and sunglasses on to mask his identity, he thought about what to do today. The soldier enjoyed a good check list, and today's list ended up looking like such :
Go to the market.
Cook breakfast.
Get cleaned up and dressed.
Do everyone's laundry.
Clean up the kitchen.
Go to the tower's gym.
Cook lunch.
Clean up the kitchen.
Fill out paperwork and reports.
Read a book or watch TV for a bit.
Cook dinner.
Clean up the kitchen.
Go to bed.
He mentally went through the various events that he was going to fill his day with as he stopped in Central Park to take a picture of a bird in a tree. His phone was filled with them. Not that he'd ever show them to anyone, though once upon what felt like an eternity ago, he used to show them to Olivia before bed when they cuddled. The moment John felt nostalgia and pain climb up his legs towards his heart, leaving him weaker and tingly, he pocketed his phone, and went back to his run.
On his way back to the tower, as planned, he stopped in the market. It was well into 7 and most stands were set up, but it still was empty enough- the perfect time to go there, he'd decided a while ago now. He checked his phone for his shopping list, because again, John loved a good, well organised list, and began trotting between each stand. Measuring fish, calculating prices, even negotiating with the sellers that he'd grown to know now and who always teased him for having the same schedule as the elderly clients who came everyday too. It felt familiar, reminded him of his time in Georgia when he was younger, either still not enrolled or on break from West Point. Only there wasn't Olivia or Lemar by his side, just the slowly rousing sounds of the big city. He finally left the market heavier with four plastic bags and bitterness, waving the old lady who sold fruits goodbye before he began his stroll back to the Tower yet again.
Go to the market, check.
He hummed to himself as he walked, busy and irritated people weaving past and around him without even looking up. The best thing about New York, he'd noted months ago, was that people were too busy and apathetic to care for who they bumped into, because God forbid they missed their train, interview or first day selling their soul to an evil mega corporation who couldn't care less if they died on the clock. It made him snicker, as he turned left and avoided yet another passerby, because wasn't he in the same kind of situation ? He'd sold his soul to the military, then to the people, then to Valentina. What a mess he was stuck into, him and everyone in the team. Turning his head, the veteran's eyes were caught by a small library, that he was surprised was open when he checked the time- 8 am. It was empty, aside from one employee organising books, and so he decided to check it out.
The smell of books and paper assaulted his nose for a moment after he walked in, before the smell of the food inside his plastic bags covered it. Shit, he hoped it wouldn't smell of fish the whole day in here because of him. The worker, a young woman with brown short hair, turned to smile at him, welcoming him into her establishment. He nodded and muttered a hello, almost tempted to ask why the hell a library was open so early. But he decided against it and browsed through the books. He wasn't a big reader, and if he did read, he enjoyed either non fiction, or a good crime fiction. He did remember enjoying some Arthur Conan-Doyle when he was younger, though Olivia had teased him for it. Not his fault Sherlock Holmes' deductions were pleasant to read. More thinking than really looking at the books, he blinked himself back into focus and stopped in front of a random shelf. He put down the two bags he carried in his right hand, and grabbed a random book, thick but not scarily thick. Flowers for Algernon, Daniel Keyes. He didn't know that one. The cover looked nice, and the resumé looked okay. Maybe... maybe Bob would like that one. Bob liked a lot of books after all, of different genres, eras and authors. He'd probably enjoy that. He'll probably enjoy it, John tells himself as he walks out of the library, a small paper bag in his left hand and the book in it.
Get Bob another book, check.
The veteran's stroll in the city went on, one book heavier but 10 bucks lighter. Aouch. No matter, he didn't even have rent to pay, or groceries technically, or anything like that. He only sent half his generous paycheck to Olivia every month, and most of the rest he kept safely stashed in his bank account, unused, kept in case one day everything fell apart. Again. He sometimes stopped to look at the birds perched on the tall buildings' facades, or to greet a dog back. It reminded him how easy it was to live when nobody knew him, when he wasn't the poster boy for complete and total failure. No one recognised him today, he thinks to himself, content, wondering if one day he'd be able to walk outside without this stupid baseball cap on, and those horrendous shades Yelena had stolen for him as a joke. He hadn't bought another pair anyway.
Clear blue eyes trailing over the street, the people, the businesses, scanning for any potential threat or escape route if something were to go wrong, they finally settled on a Walmart. 'Huh, so that's what they'd been cooking up', he thinks as he walks inside, remembering how for the last six months he'd walked by this place every day, and it had remained empty except for the past two weeks as they set up shop. New York, basically the capital of the world, where everything and anything is at the tip of one's fingers, where dreams come true, and they decided to make a fucking Walm- oh, that mug looks fun.
John stops in front of the shelf of mugs, all meant to be a shitty gift more than a real gift. One of them, bright red and clearly Christmas themed catches his eye. He drops his bags with a soft thump, turns it around to read the front. 'Old Santa's vodka cup'. Okay. Sure. Whatever. Glad to know his taxes went into the right things. Still, he thinks of Alexei, loud and abrasive and Santa looking Alexei, and shoves the shitty mug into a trolley, alongside the rest of his goods. Alexei loves collecting mugs, he gets one everywhere he goes, so he'll probably like it anyway, John tells himself as he slowly trails the many shelves.
Get Alexei a new mug, check.
The next thing that catch his eyes, is something he'd been looking for for a damn long while. He's not a fan of shopping online, he prefers going out, seeing the product for himself, enjoying the satisfaction that a physical buy and the social interactions grant him. He stops, making sure he's not in the middle of the way, and grabs the heated blanket off the shelf. Brows pinched in focus -actually they were always pinched, like he was born this way or something-, John read the description in details. Size, price, instructions, energy... It all looked good and all, but the color just wasn't it. He looked for another model, and quickly found the same blanket, only purple colored. There. That'll do, he thinks as he adds it to his cart's load, Ava said she liked purple once, but that she was just so used to black and grey she didn't dare buy anything other than that. Now she'll look good in purple, and maybe the warmth will help with her aches and pains.
Get Ava a heated blanket, check.
He'd severely underestimated the size of this damn Walmart. He'd somehow ended up in an animal section, with toys, leads, collars, bones and whatever else sitting neatly on the shelves. John wouldn't admit it to himself as he mindlessly walked by the products, ignoring a small man who double checked him as he walked by because holy shit this guy is tall, but he knew damn well why he was still in the pet section. As he reaches the space dedicated to rodents, he remembered how one day as he went to empty the trash cans in Yelena's bedroom and bathroom, he'd linked eyes with her guinea pig Cucumber. The stare off had lasted five seconds at best before the little creature went back to nibbling on some carrots, but John remembered clearly thinking 'Damn that cage is small'. He supposed that Yelena didn't really have the time to buy another one, nor the courage to go out. He stopped in front of the many pet cages, eyes trailing towards the biggest and baddest against his will, and soon his cart was much heavier. It's only so that the damn rodent doesn't look so depressed, he thinks, and so Yelena stops feeling guilty about not feeling like going out.
Get Yelena and Cucumber a new enclosure, check.
The checkout made him close his eyes as he beeped his credit card, refusing to look at the price of his duties. He shakily put his wallet back into his shorts' pocket and gave a weak 'thanks' and a nod to the cashier, before they both moved on with their lives. Her with her next customer, and him with his walk towards the tower. Three bags in each hand and a massive box containing a rodent cage under his left arm, he kept walking by busy people who he knew only looked at him not because he was John FuckUp Walker, but because of how loaded his arms were so early. No matter.
He checked the time on his watch, 8:52, and the moment he looked back up, was met with the sight of what seemed to be some sort of garage sale. Passing through it, John decided that it wouldn't hurt to take a peek. He liked old stuff anyway, vintage or straight up ancient, especially military gear or comics. He didn't consider himself a collector, but he did have a nice collection of old knives he'd yet to take out of the many boxes in his room and display on his shelves. He apologised to an old lady for the space he took with his box, and she only chuckled and told him he didn't have to apologise if he couldn't help it. John didn't reply to that.
He stopped in front of a clothes rack, and for the fifth time put down his bags to look through them. Huh. Quite some old clothes there. Leather jackets, shirts, pants, full suits. Even shoes at the bottom of the rack. His lips in a tight, thoughtful line, he quickly remembered one of the rare nights the Thunderbolts were all gathered together to chill and talk. Questions went left and right, never stopping for him though, and landed on Bucky at some point. 'What do you miss the most from the 40's, old man ?' He remembers Ava asking to the former Winter Soldier, her british accent constantly making her sound teasing -or maybe it was just the look in her eyes. Bucky had sighed and thought for a moment, before he laughed almost like a sighed, the tired traits of his face relaxing for but a moment. 'The clothes. God the clothes. Everything is so... tight, today. Some things are better I suppose, but the clothes...'. And then the conversation had went on, the moment coming and going. The veteran blinked himself back into the present, eyes going focused instead of glassy, and he checked out one of the suits on display again. He gave the old, smiling couple in charge of the sale 20 dollars for it, and told them they could keep the money when they tried to give him back his change, a polite smile on his lips.
Get Bucky a new, better suit, check.
The newly acquired clothes stuffed alongside the heated blanket and mug in one of his bag, John kept going. This time, he managed not to trail off on the way home, lost in thought as he walked up to the massive Tower sitting amidst the equally massive city he lived in. He nodded hi to the security guard, Carl, who nodded back politely, stepped into the elevator, bent comically with his many bags and box and long legs to let the security device scan his eye, and finally the elevator doors closed.
It cut off the noise of the city and of the people, that he never remembered stressed him out so much until he got out of it. He wasn't sure he could live in a small town like Custer Grove again, where everyone smells the same and knows everyone and their mistakes, but the quiet seemed appealing sometimes. At least in a big city, he could start over. He wished Olivia and Mike were there to start over with him though, but the thought slid off his mind the moment the doors slid open as he reached the Thunderbolts' floor. As expected, at 9:18, no one was awake or out of their room yet.
He stashed each and everything he'd bought either in the fridge or in the fruit bowl or cabinets, or in the utility closet that no one aside from him ever touched because cleaning was his job, and he liked it that way. He put the cage, suit, book and heated blanket in there, to build and wash later, and quickly cleaned the new mug and put it inside the cabinet holding Alexei's whatever-he-put-in-there. John took a minute to organise his thoughts, decide what would breakfast be today. He started off with coffee for Yelena, Bucky, Ava and himself, orange juice for Bob, and a glass of milk for Alexei. Bob's cereals sat on the counter first, with its many cut up fruits and almonds and chocolate bits in it. Soon the five eggs sizzled in the pan just as he finished whisking the pancake batter, and he put them in a big plate alongside the bacon just as he finished the first pancake.
When the first bed head poked its messy strands into the kitchen, the table was already set, pancakes stacked neatly, maple syrup ready to be half emptied in ten minutes, coffee either creamy, sugarish or dark but all hot, eggs and bacon just waiting to be eaten with french toasts, and cutlery sitting around the plates and bowl. Yelena yawned, looking like she'd slept too late to get a good nights sleep as always.
"-Walker. She greeted with a sleepy nod, taking her seat at the table and putting a pancake on her plate.
-Yelena."
John simply nodded back, before finishing his cup of coffee quickly, and walking past Yelena to go back to his room just as the Russian woman was about to speak again. She frowned, almost like a pout, but quickly forgot about it the moment Ava walked in, looking over her shoulder and at the Veteran who'd zipped past her.
"-I don't get how he can be so energetic so early. Ava sighed as she sat next to Yelena.
-Not a clue."
Cooking breakfast, check.
John's showers were quick and efficient -like almost everything he did- from the remnants of his military days. Five minutes top, and it had only been two months now since he'd allowed himself two more minutes if he washed his hair or didn't feel quite right. Today, it lasted five minutes exactly. He stepped out, bare and dripping, and put both hands on the fancy sink, leaning in to inspect himself in his mirror. He turned his head to the right, to the left, chin tilted up, tilted down, eyes wide then narrowed, inspecting his teeth, then simply stared into his eyes. He remembered once during a philosophy class he'd taken in high school, the teacher had told them as an exercice to say their name again and again in front of the mirror, and see for themselves how it would end up not feeling like their name anymore, but something else, foreign. John was pretty sure he didn't have to do that for everything to feel foreign. His face, his body, his eyes, his identity, his mind, everything felt foreign, like he was Frankenstein's creation put together, held together by sheer anger, trauma and spite.
He didn't recognise the face he saw in the mirror, but he didn't know anything else at the same time. The only constant in his life, himself. He decided against shaving, simply trimming his beard, remembering how Olivia had once told him that it made him look more mature, older, sexier. They'd had sex that same evening, which was pretty good, and which still provided him with some relief material when his body inevitably reminded him that he was human, and had desires too. He quickly styled his hair without really caring about the length of them now, and dried himself with his towel.
He got dressed in complete silence, save for the faint sounds of the city below, that he stared at through his window once he'd finished putting on his long sleeved shirt, pants, boots and flannel on. Another day where he'd avoided his full length mirror and his body.
Get cleaned up and dressed, check.
Onto the next, then. Laundry. He started with his own basket, grabbing it with one hand and walking out of the room. He walked into everyone's room one by one, all empty -he could hear them all loudly laughing or talking in the kitchen, far from him- to gather everyone's laundry. He used to do only his own at first, and after a month realised that no one did their laundry properly aside from Bucky and sometimes Bob, and did it all for them. He thought they'd learn, but no, apparently they liked it when he did it, and so he began to do everyone's laundry, always on a saturday if he could. But today was his day off and so, why not today. He even went to grab Ava's heated blanket and Bucky's suit to throw it all in the wash as well.
He walked into the empty laundry room, stared at the laundry machine and dryer for a moment, then got to work. Separate by color. Avoid looking as much as possible at the underwear. Separate by which what belonged to which who if he could. Shove into the machines. Pop the juice in. Program. Wait. The waiting part was both the easiest and the worst. If anyone asked, he'd say he simply sat on the chair and watched the city bustle with life below, but in reality he simply dissociated, looking relaxed but feeling far away from himself.
Lemar, the shield, Olivia, Sam Wilson, Mike and Mikey, the Hoskins, the military, the war, the bullets, the blood, death, death, death. If stewing in your past was an Olympic sport, John would surely get a gold medal. He didn't even realise he did it, his brain simply always ran back to what it was familiar with -pain-, and once it got going nothing could bring him back for a while. Until the washing machine beeped, and he jolted at the high pitched sound, and blinked the exhaustion awake. Right. Laundry. He repeated the cycle twice, alongside the dryer cycles, and when finally it was over at 11:56, he neatly folded all the clothes in piles, grabbed his own, and left. He knew everyone would just come and collect their empty laundry basket, and their clean laundry. He was generous in his duties, but not so generous as to put their damn laundry back into each of their closet.
Do everyone's laundry, check.
As he walked back to the now empty kitchen after putting his clothes back in his room, he thought he should tell the team to grow up and do their own chores. But again, what would he do if he couldn't do this for them anymore ? It's not exactly like he was useful. Well, he was a good human shield, and he cooked. But that was about it. He didn't bring anything else to the table, except avoidance, a short fused temperament, and an inability to do something as simple as playing uno without getting irritated and leaving. He was pretty sure they didn't like talking with him. Tolerated, sure, but enioyed it ? He snickered to himself as he began to clean up after the rest of the team, grateful that Bob had already cleaned his bowl and glass and spoon, and Bucky his mug. No more coffee in the maker. Well, he'll just make more.
He was supposed to go to the gym for a bit, but he quickly realised that lingering outside and shopping had put him off his schedule. He cussed behind his cup of coffee, self deprecation coming as easily as anger to him, rubbing his eye with his palm and taking a minute to reorganise everything. Shit, shit, shit. He didn't like it when things didn't go as planned. At least no one was there to see him have a mini meltdown over his organisation being thrown off. Fine, whatever. He'd go to the gym instead of relaxing this afternoon.
Cleaning the kitchen, check.
Once again, John took a minute looking around the kitchen to look for something to cook. He'd gotten cauliflower from the market, -which had made him wonder if it was still cauliflower season-, potatoes, and onions. He could cook up something with that. Setting his body on autopilot as he moved around the kitchen, he cut up the vegetables and potatoes quickly and efficiently, heat up a pot to make some homemade bechamel, added spices and cheese to the mix. He blinked as he stared at the large meal he'd made, checking the time on the oven before putting it to heat for forty minutes. 12:34. Good. They'd eat at a perfect hour today.
As John looked at the timer, he realised that he actually had 40 minutes to kill now, that he could very well spend in the gym. But now he'd changed his plans, and changing them again felt uncomfortable, and so he sat down and felt guilty and paralysed. It was Bob who pulled him out of his thoughts after twenty minutes of staring at the gratin slowly cook in the oven.
"-Walker ? You okay ? His voice sounded as low as it always was when he tried not to sneak up on someone, but it still wasn't enough to not make John jump.
-Jesus Christ Bobby. Warn a guy next time.
-Ah, sorry, sorry... Bob giggled a little, clearly not feeling as guilty as he tried to sound."
The brunette sat on one of the stools of the counter, eyeing the food cooking up, then looking back at John and his permanent frown.
"- You didn't answer. You feeling okay ? Bob asks casually, playing with a loose thread on his high collared sweaters' sleeve.
-Why wouldn't I be ? I'm peachy. John huffs, trying to appear just as casual as he rested his cheek on his fist.
-I dunno. You didn't eat breakfast with us.
-I never eat breakfast with you.
-Well you could. Bob replies a bit firmly, tired of John brushing off his attempts at a deeper conversation than 'Hey how are you, oh I'm fine and you ? Alright bye'. He immediately sunk back into his seat when John looked at him with an unimpressed raised brow. I mean... You can eat with us if you want... It's your food too, y´know.
-I know that. Bob's mission to get John to open up had failed, and they both knew it."
The two men sat awkwardly in the kitchen, Bob swinging his legs on his stool and playing with his sleeve, and John staring at everything but Bob. Luckily, they were both saved by Yelena's second appearance, her bleached hair now brushed -more or less- and her pajamas replaced by sweats and a tank top.
"-Hello again Bob. Hello again Walker. She said as she sauntered over to the counter, eyeing the oven and the food in it.
-Hey Yelena.
-Hey.
-What are we eating ? She doesn't comment on the awkwardness of the moment or their behavior.
-Uh, potatoes and cauliflower gratin. With bechamel. The veteran shifts in his seat, gesturing vaguely at the oven."
Yelena simply nods, content with the reply, before striking a conversation with Bob. Well, John was pretty sure he could join in too, but he's also pretty sure he'll somehow make her mad and make Bob uncomfortable, so he remains quiet and listens without looking as Yelena tells the brunette about the new tricks she's trying to teach Cucumber. Bob is as fond of the guinea pig as she is, and soon they're both excitedly talking about how smart of a rodent he is, and John wonders if they're biased or if an animal can really be that smart. He feels pretty smart himself, for a biting dog, but these days he's not so sure anymore.
Ava walked in next, followed by Bucky and right behind him Alexei and his loud re telling of something that maybe probably did not happen at all. The kitchen filled with life and chattering as the gratin finished cooking up, and Bob set the table alongside Ava. John remained on the side line, pretending to be waiting for the oven to beep so no one was tempted to try to pull him into a conversation about Mother Russia, guinea pigs or whatever else it is they talked about. At 1:14, the oven sung, John pulled out the gratin with a mitt, and served everyone after making sure it was well cooked, spiced and creamy enough. He sat down and refrained himself from saying grace, and simply got to eating.
Instead of focusing on everyone's discussions, he focused on their micro expressions, trying to know if they liked the food or not, torturing himself with the need to know everything about what others thought of him, good or bad. Bob hummed, eyes closed and smiling, and John decided that it was positive. Bucky didn't flinch but ate quickly, so that was a neutral. Ava nodded to herself but remained blank, and so he decided that was a positive neutral. Alexei laughed and raised his fists but John couldn't tell if it was because of the food or his own storytelling, so he decided it was also a positive neutral. Yelena huffed after the first bite, brows raised but eyes blazé, and went back for more. That was a positive. Finally, the veteran relaxed in his seat a little, leaning back and looking down at his food. That was good. He'd done good. He wished someone would tell him out loud that he'd done good, but he wasn't gonna complain now and ruin everyone's mood.
Cook lunch, check.
The gratin was gone in thirty minutes top, and John stood up first to gather everyone's plate and clean up himself. He didn't like having someone in his kitchen, especially not when he was in it. If there was something to clean, he preferred to do it himself, and do it well. Bob stood up next and walked up to him, offering his help to wash the dishes. One look up and down, and John was handing him a plate to wipe clean and put in the drying rack. They worked in silence, and John wondered if it was because Bob didn't enjoy talking to him the way he enjoyed talking to the rest of the team. Maybe he made Bob uncomfortable just by being there. He thought about the younger man's dad in the void, and wondered if maybe Bob saw his father in him. John didn't like the thought, and so he frowned and pushed it out of his mind, instead going back to his checklist for the day, unaware of Bob's worried glances to him, then to the team who stared curiously behind, or the shrug he gave them.
Clean the kitchen, check.
The kitchen emptied little by little, with Bucky retreating to his room, Alexei leaving to whatever it was he did on his days off, and Ava, Yelena and Bob moving to the living room. Ava pulled out the 'cute kittens' puzzle Yelena had gotten her for Christmas, 1000 pieces that she still hadn't finished, Bob grabbed the book he was in the middle of to keep reading it -The Shining, John remembered- , and Yelena laid down on the couch, scrolling through pinterest, John guessed.
John looked at them from the kitchen island, pretending to wipe down the already squeaky clean counter, wondering if they'd be okay with him sitting with them to fill out paperwork. He looks down at the rag, throws it next to the sink, and decides against it. He had other things to do after all. He quickly went to the utility closet, and found the box of Cucumber's future cage and Bob's book where he'd left them -it's not surprising, they would all rather die than look for a broom and a mop. He left the room with both, locking himself in his bedroom, getting to work.
The book didn't need any attention, so he simply put it on his nightstand for now, deciding to just leave on the pile of books next to Bob's reading nook for him to find one day someday. The cage, though... He's a good builder, don't get him wrong. He built plenty of shelves and furnitures for the Hoskins, then Olivia, then their son. But shelves, cradles and rodent cages aren't exactly the same. The fact that the many levels and platforms and wheels could be moved around freely with no real spot given in the manual is the trickiest part. He's a good builder, but he's got almost no imagination. John sat criss crossed in front of the cage, blinking and holding the running wheel in one hand, and the manual in the other. Finally, he decided to just... put stuff here and there. A tunnel, the wheel, little stairs. It's almost fun, once he gets the hang of it, filling the big cage with toys that he'd probably never see Cucumber use. He hoped Cucumber used them though. Or maybe Yelena just won't like the cage and get rid of it. He stood up, the enclosure almost reaching mid thighs, and went on a mission to make sure Yelena isn't in her room.
It's not that he wanted to surprise her, it's that her knowing he was the one who bought it would force her to say thank you even if she hated it, and he didn't like being thanked for what he thought was normal. He smuggled the cage in her room, filled it with everything in Cucumber's former cage -including Cucumber-, and swapped the cages. He hesitated for a moment, with what to do with the old one, wondering if he should get it over with and get rid of it, then ultimately decided that it was safer to simply leave it there.
He stared at Cucumber as the guinea pig explored his new home bit by bit, going up and down and even running in the wheel. John felt himself smile a little as he watched, content that the little creature seemed to appreciate the attention.
Build Cucumber's cage, check.
He quickly exited the room, looking as not guilty as possible, and went back to his own. Now for the not so fun part. Paperwork and reports. John sat heavily at his desk, slowly rubbing his hands on his face, sighing at the prospect of having to do something so boring. He knew the moment he got into it, he'd enjoy it, the repetition of it, the simplicity -name : John walker, age : 39, marital statute : fucked up, work : hero ?-. But he had to get into it first. He sat at his desk for ten good minutes, staring at the papers and his laptop. 2:28, he finally got to work.
As expected, it took him less than thirty minutes to do, and he found himself enjoying it five minutes into it. Still, he sighed and stretched his arms up, cracking his back and joints with the satisfaction of a familiar job he could do well so easily and without fear of messing up.
Fill out paperwork and reports, check.
At 3:12, John was at the tower's gym, lifting weights with Bucky spotting him. He had known there was a chance for Bucky to be there, the two soldiers were cut from the same cloth after all. Habits died hard, and physical exertion was still the best way to clear your mind and punish yourself. The two didn't talk, just took turn spotting the other. Truth be told, they rarely talked. A hello, bye, good luck, good night here and there, but the wound of the Flag Smasher fiasco was still deep and oozing half dried blood. John had long accepted that he'd never get on Bucky's good side, and would never trade war stories the way the former Winter Soldier and the Red Guardian did sometimes.
He wasn't mad at Bucky for the way he'd acted back then, hadn't been mad for a long time, but seeing him always brought back memories and shame that John would rather forget. He wondered if it was the same for Bucky. If he felt guilty, or mad, or indifferent. He would rather Bucky be mad at him forever than indifferent, because then John would stop existing, and he couldn't bear that.
At 4:37, John left the gym, twenty minutes after Bucky did.
Go to the tower's gym, check.
He took another quick shower, replaced his sports close with his casual jeans and flannel, and sat on his bed. Today wasn't going so badly. Everyone seemed content, no one had yelled, not even him, and the teasing hadn't even hurt so bad. It was a good day. Dread settled in his gut as he clasped his hands tightly between his knees, knowing he might just ruin it for everybody with one wrong step. He could just stay in his room for a while, at least until he had to make dinner. And if someone came knocking, he'd stay dead quiet and pretend to be sleeping. If he wasn't there, he couldn't fuck it up. He decided to do exactly that.
Keep away for everyone's sake, check.
At 6:25, John came out of his room, having decided that it was time for him to cook. He grabbed Bob's book as he left, closing the door behind him and walking into the living area. One look around the room told him that everyone had left to do their own things, and so he took this opportunity to slip the book atop of the pile that sat next to Bob's armchair near the floor-to-ceiling window. He stopped, wondering if he shouldn't put it under another book to avoid making it look too obvious, brows pinched and hands slowly rubbing his thighs as he thought. He finally decided to leave it here, knowing that it would probably take a while before the demigod found it anyway.
For the third time today, he inspected the kitchen, thinking of something to make for dinner this time. It wasn't easy cooking for a team full of super soldiers, but he'd cooked for the whole neighbourood before in Custer's Grove for the annual neighbors meetup. He remembers going every year he could, with the Hoskins and Olivia, meeting up with the friendly neighbors, barbecuing, laughing and chatting, watching the kids running around while holding Olivia's hand and sharing a longing look, wondering if they'd still attend in ten years, only with their kids this time. They hadn't.
John blinked himself back into the present, but before he could even open the fridge, Bob came running with the grace of a panicked toddler, and pushed the fridge closed right in front of a dumbfounded John.
"-No ! I mean- huh- we- we're cooking tonight ! Bob explains with a flustered air, blinking multiple times as he pressed his back against the fridge so the veteran couldn't open it.
-...What.
-We're cooking ! Tonight. Bob repeats with a bit more confidence now, clearing his throat and standing tall.
-What do you mean. John keeps asking, still confused.
-He means, we are cooking tonight. Yelena's russian accent cuts off their conversation, as she walks with Ava in her tow, both looking as casual as can be.
-...But why.
-Because we want to ? Ava snorts, one brow raised in amusement, pulling out her phone and propping it on the fruit bowl.
-... I don't... A cold sweat runs down John's back as his eyes run between all three, wondering if his food had actually been terrible all along and they just couldn't take it anymore.
-Your food is great. Adds Yelena like she could hear his thoughts, or read the pinch in his brows, and Bob nods in agreement. We just, wanted to thank you.
-Thank me. Thank me for what ? He felt like he was caught in a hold up.
-For the food. Obviously. Ava says with a shrug, earning an elbow to her ribs from Yelena. Urh. And the gifts.
-And the laundry ! And the cleaning in general. Bob adds with the cheerfullness of a puppy.
-So, we will cook tonight. Yelena concludes, pushing a bluescreening John out of the way."
John stood dumbly on the side as they began to move around the kitchen, so little organised but so determined to do this. He blinked in confusion, before being pulled out of it by the booming voice of Alexei as the man came into the room, followed by Bucky looking as blazé as always.
"-HA ! THERE HE IS ! The man with the gifts ! Like Santa Clause ! The Russian laughed loudly, and John didn't have the time to avoid the bear hug he was pulled into. He just stood there, confused and tense, until Alexei pulled away, big toothy grin on his face. Get it ?? Santa Clause because the mug you gift me has Santa on it ! It is so funny !"
Alexei laughed again, clearly enjoying his own joke and even earning a glare and a slap on the arm from Yelena. John remained like a wax statue, more and more confused by the situation. Bucky seemed to sense his confusion, and put his metal hand on his shoulder with a sigh.
"-They want to thank you for all the gifts and the food. And the laundry. They decided that they'd cook something you like. The former Winter Soldier explains with a tired but almost fond tone, shaking his head like the idea was silly. Still, he walked into the kitchen as well, rolling his sleeves, clearly ready to cook as well."
John's confusion about the situation dissipated, but he still didn't understand why they'd bother to do this. It wasn't even gifts, it was just... So they remained efficient. He was just taking a load off their shoulders, that was his job. Bob didn't have to worry about buying his next book, Yelena didn't have to go out to buy a new cage if she didn't want to, Ava could relax more and be even more unstoppable, Alexei could... be happy with his mug collection, and Bucky didn't grieve over lost clothes. And the food, it was so everyone remained alive. And because he enjoyed cooking obviously. What will he do now that they took over his kitchen ?
Seeing him overthinking, Yelena walked up to him and guided him like a zombie to a nearby stool for him to sit on.
"-You can watch us if you like. We can all barely cook, it will be funny. For you. She explains, watching as Bob hovered near the fridge, wondering how much he should fill the pot with water. Okay, I must help them. Relax."
And with that she went back behind the kitchen island, barking out orders to an unorganised team. John watched like he was having a fever dream, blinking mechanically. It was all a mess, and he wondered why they even chose to cook as a gift for him if most of them couldn't even cook, but... He couldn't help the warm feeling in his gut, that made his heart beat faster behind his ribs. It took him a moment to realise that the feeling was pleasant and that there wasn't a catch and it wasn't a joke where he was the butt, and he relaxed in his seat little by little. He leaned on the counter with his arms crossed, smiling with some amusement as Alexei took up too much space with his broad shoulders, pushing a pissed Yelena to the side, as Bob tried to get Ava to cut and mince in his place because he didn't like the knife while Ava said it'd strengthen his spirit, all while Bucky seemed to be the only one to actually get any work done.
The blond found the sight amusing and comforting, finally relaxing on a deeper level, not trying to cover who he was to avoid conflict. As his eyes trailed over each and every one of them, he realised that they actually were grateful for not just his work and his gifts, but for him. They probably didn't want him to hide who he was and make himself smaller just so they could have peace. Because there wasn't any peace with any of them, with or without him. It was just their way of being, loud and unashamed and clumsy and sometimes a little stupid, and with some repressed anger and weirdness.
He scratched his neck, eyes wrinkled as he laughed at Bob's terrified look on his face when he handled the knife under Ava's barked instructions. It took them a whole hour and then some to finish their meal, fried chicken and fried veggies with a side of mashed potatoes. John was actually impressed that they'd manage to do all this, even if it took five of them to do it. Well, four, since Alexei was practically decoration at this point. And it also looked well seasoned too, which was probably Ava's doing, he knew the woman liked her food with a lot of seasoning. He stared as Yelena put two pieces of fried chicken, three pieces of fried courgettes and three of eggplants, and some mashed potatoes on a plate to top it all off, before she set it in front of him.
He looked up at her, raising a brow, Bob giving him a fork and a knife hurriedly as they all gathered in front of him to watch him eat. John huffed, amused and uncomfortable at the same time -they looked like curious meerkats.
"-Can you guys, like, sit down and eat too or...
-No, we want first opinion. Yelena replies firmly, raising her brows and nodding at the plate.
-Fine. John sighs and grab his fork and knife, cutting a piece of chicken. Looks okay. Edible, at least. He teases with a snicker.
-Oh shut up and just eat, the suspense is killing me. Ava whines, and Bob nods in agreement.
-Jesus, okay, He shoves a bit of chicken in his mouth, brows pinched as he slowly chewed, taking in the flavor. It wasn't bad, it was even good, but it wasn't exquisite, obviously. It's good.
-Really. Bucky asks with an unimpressed air, not really believing him.
-Yes ! It is ! John insists, taking a bit of courgette.
-Have faith in our cuisine Winter Soldier ! Alexei laughed and wrapped his arm around a tired Bucky's shoulders. Yelena ignored them, leaning forwards.
-You're not lying to make us feel better right ?
-Do I look like the kind of guy who lies, especially to make you feel better. The veteran deadpans as he tries out the potatoes next, and everyone shrugs in agreement.
-Then I guess we can eat too. Ava concludes, and Bob bolts to go get more plates.
-Wait, was I your guinea pig for this ?? The blond looks betrayed, a hand clutching the metaphorical pearls on his chest.
-Mhmh, yes you were. Talking about guinea pigs, Cucumber really likes his new enclosure. The russian woman says casually, stealing a piece of chicken off his plate, eating it like they weren't two emotionally constipated soldiers using metaphors to avoid direct confrontation. He told me to tell you thank you.
-Huh. He said that. Well. John clears his throat, feeling too awkward to even comment on his food being stolen, and tries for a casual, charming smile that just ends up looking dorky. Tell him he's welcome.
-I will. And with that, Yelena goes to take a seat alongside the others, everyone settling comfortably."
For once, it isn't John who starts eating last.
Bonding with the team, check.