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you shouldn't fit in such a soft scene. none of them should. and yet, those assassins and glorified hitmen (and bob) look something like a family. with yelena, mostly hanging back towards the edge of kitchen, swooping in to steal food. john trying to do the same - hanging back, not the food part - trying not to intervene. trying not to take over or hover. because bob is supposed to be learning to cook. because your teaching him, because you'd offered.
then less than slowly everyone else just poured in.
ava was being somewhat helpful. repeating things bob didn't catch because yelena or john had to be shooed away again. simultaneously, goading them and, even if indirectly, usually being the reason bob missed something or you got sidetracked trying to redirect the other two. not that bob was much better about egging yelena and john on. helping yelena steal bits of food he was supposed to be mincing or dicing, or whatever fancy replacement word for 'cut that shit up' you used. asking sarcastic questions to no one in particular, but were mostly meant to fuck with john. questions like 'and we can't just double the heat to half the time?' while reaching for the stove. questions that got him a light slap on the arm and a warning 'love' from you.
or alexei. who was supposed to be distracting john so he wouldn't get so fidgety with everyone in the kitchen. only because bucky refused. only because bucky interrupted you when you tried to ask earlier. not intentionally. you'd only said, 'baby, do you think could take john-' and that 'no' flew out faster than he could catch it. it was abrupt, seemed to catch both of you of guard. made you laugh hard enough you forgot what you were asking.
in his defense; the one you never asked for, and he'll never have to give, but he feels he should have ready anyway; bucky earnestly did think you asking for something on walker's behalf. had he known this was what you were asking for, his answer might've been different.
maybe.
but instead, you had alexei, who put a movie on before asking john if he'd like to watch one. who got distracted by that movie and has mostly been standing with his arms crossed watching it. only occasionally, he pops in to instigate ask how things are going. alexei claimed it was just bad timing when the urge to ask lead him into the kitchen.
all of it could be normal, bucky reminds himself. this could just be friends. they could just be regular people for a little bit. it's like a dinner party, but a little less formal. or, whatever else adults are supposed to do to hang out in these modern times.
this feels like it.
even from all the way back, to edge of the room, just at the mouth of hallway, where bucky's leaned against the wall. it feels regular. light.
it's weird to feel that.
good.
he thinks. hopes.
it's not something he ever would've imagined having. or being a part of. not with you, not when you'd first met in that dingy little apartment. the one he crashed, because you'd been there first (bucky doesn't agree with that version of events). when you were trying to shred through each other. both surprised. a weird mix of panicked and digilent. when you scared him, truly scared him for the first time that he could remember. when he gave you that scar, from where chunks of wall and plaster stuck into your arm. when he was trying to get away.
it comes up later - bucky watching, not your first meeting - as most things do. to say before bed may be a bit early, sleep just doesn't come easy to men like you. but it's around that time. when you both go through your routines, trying to wind down. trying to form those new habits. healthier habits. "you didn't have to hang back."
all you get is a hum. bucky takes the clothes you place next to him on the bathroom counter, listening. doesn't really have much to say. not yet.
just can't get that image out of his head. of you. of unnatural, inhuman, herculean you. cooking and joking with his teammates. staring at you together in the mirror, you make him look small. you're much more intimidating when you keep your face schooled. that rough, gnarled presence you carry, that one that matches your appearance more than your personality, always seems to fall apart when you speak. all bucky can do is stare at you, from where you stand behind him, in the mirror. the man he loves, one of few people he's found comfort in since hydra. the only one who's stuck around. someone he thought only he could find comfort in, someone he thought was too much like him to be a comfort to anyone else.
he tips his head back onto your shoulder when you lean against his back. it's a little lazier than a hug, but he can feel your voice rumble against his skin just the same. "you're allowed to have fun, y'know. your friends might prefer it, buck."
"they aren't-" because bucky doesn't consider them friends. because they only know each other for work, because those kind of things never really work out when it gets more complicated. interpersonal. they leave or die. (except you.)
(jury's still out, he figures)
"they could be. they'd like to be."
and maybe that's true. maybe it isn't. "i like watching." but that much is. and you don't push it after bucky says it. he doesn't want to think about it further, doesn't want to think of much of anything right now. you get the idea when he groans at your hands pinching just above his hips.
he can't really place when you'd started doing it. probably when he was first on the run, he thinks, after you joined him. before he could really recognize steve. when you met and had whatever it was before you had this. it wasn't soft. wasn't cute.
it used to hurt a bit, just enough to feel real to bucky.
because back then, the only thing he could trust was real were the things that hurt. but it was nothing like hydra ever did. not even close. you never really stopped doing it. bucky doesn't think you ever really realized that you do it, or when. not until it makes him squirm.
not until he needs you to take him to bed, like you don't know you're about to. because you're right, he is allowed to have fun.