Work Text:
Title: Too much (is Never Enough)
Author: Nemesi.
Beta: Shirokou, who ended up beting her own gift. *pokes* She's a jewel, ain't she? 8D
Fandom: Captain America.
Continuity: MCU Canon AU.
Genre: Humour, Romance, A little bit of Action, Sappiness.
Word Count: 10650 circa.
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, the Avengers.
Pairings: Steve/Bucky. Pre-Science Bros. Whoever knows what’s going on between Clint and Tasha, really.
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: Marvel owns my soul, and also all the characters and themes herein portrayed. I'm putting everything back inside Marvel's sandbox as soon as I'm done playing with their toys.
Warnings: There be vaguely insectoid aliens. I don’t describe them long or even in detail, there’s just a couple of remarks here and there about their similarities to bugs. But I thought I’d better put a warning here for those of you lovely people who might have Entomophobia/Acarophobia/Insectophobia.
Notes: Honestly, the Bruce and Tony “BUT--” recurring gag was supposed to happen in the OTHER shrunkyclunks, but they got started and…*shrugs*it doesn’t really lead where it was supposed to, but I was powerless to stop it.
Also, “my” modern Bucky tends to be a, uh, trichotomy? A total cupcake hiding behind a rakish, charming exterior. But with this ice-cold steel core that’s ALL Winter Soldier…
...so basically he is Canon Bucky maxed-up to (all) extremes.
Summary: Weeks after the Battle of New York, Captain America finally shows some signs that he’s adapting to the modern world. He looks happier, lighter, even besotted at times. All evidence indicates that Steve must've meet someone. A friend - or perhaps even more than a friend. So naturally, the Avengers take it upon themselves to investigate..
* * * * *
Captain America was a tragedy.
Not a tragedy-tragedy, mind you.
Well, yeah, he was a tragedy in the sense that he’d lost everything he’d ever known; sacrificed his young life - and why nobody ever mentions in the history books or the documentaries or whatever just how young he was when he died?! - he was, what, twenty-something? When he killed himself to stop a war, and then poof! He emerged on the other end of a century, where everything he’s ever known and loved is either dead or dying, and the first thing they do, is what? Throw him back into another war, one against aliens, even, and that’s the stuff of tragedy, sure, not gonna argue with that, but so NOT the focus of today’s Super Secret Meeting.
Silence.
“...you’ve lost me,” Clint groaned in Tony’s general direction. “Right at tragedy-tragedy, which is where you last stopped to take a breath.”
“What Tony was meant to say,” Bruce translated for the Avengers gathered in the common room on that fine morning, “is that our dear Captain isn’t adapting well to this new century. And his behaviour as of late has been cause of… concern.”
Tony snapped his fingers and pointed at Bruce.
“What my other half said.”
“That’s a couples’ saying, Tony.”
“But--”
“Our good Captain seems ill-at-ease in modern Midgard,” Thor interrupted thoughtfully. “I do not think he recognizes this city as his own, anymore. It is alien to him, and probably disappointing.”
“Cap doesn’t like the future much,” Natasha agreed. “But we already knew that. Why did you call this meeting now?”
Clint rubbed his mouth.
“It’s the smiles, isn’t it?”
“...what smiles?” Natasha said slowly, in a tone of voice that implied: ‘Captain America doesn’t do smiles.’
“See?” Tony told Bruce, gesturing emphatically towards Clint. “I’m not the only one who’s spooked by it!”
“Tony,” Bruce answered, “you’re curious, not spooked.”
“Curious and spooked, I’m man enough to admit that.”
“Me too!” Clint piped up, raising a hand.
“What. Smiles.” Natasha reiterated, pushing Clint’s hand back down.
“You haven’t been stateside for a while, so you can’t have noticed, but Cap’s been…” Clint gestured helplessly for words.
“Chipper,” Tony burst.
“More relaxed,” said Bruce.
“Content, I’d dare say. Melancholy, but with an undercurrent of hope to his features,” added Thor.
“...evasive!” Clint burst. “And mysterious. And he’s been going out a lot. Alone. And coming back smiling like Christmas.”
“And he’s become one with his phone!” Tony chipped in. “Not that it doesn’t make me proud to see him finally use my tech, but he’s always cradling that phone like--”
“My preciousssssssssssss,” Clint hissed, miming the part.
“YES. That. And smiling at it like the thing is his newborn baby or something.”
Natasha narrowed her eyes.
“So let me get this straight-- Cap finally shows some signs that he’s adapting to the modern world… maybe even made a friend outside of the team… and now we get worried enough to intervene?” She leaned back against the couch, arms crossed and eyebrow cocked up.
Tony waved off her pointed sarcasm.
“I already said that I’m curious. I’m curious, okay? So bite me. Besides, Brucie’s curious too--”
“I’m not.”
“--and your lover-bird there is curious, too--”
“Not my lover.”
“But I’m curious, yup.”
“--and wouldn’t it be our duty as his faithful comrade in arms to check on him when we’re worried? I mean, we are worried, aren’t we? With the smiles and all?”
“If we’re so worried,” Natasha asked after a long glare that could’ve curdled milk, “we could take a peek at his text messages and call history. We run a background check. Find out if the person he’s meeting is out to get him. Everyone’s curiosity is sated. And we let this drop.”
Clint made an approving gesture with both hands towards her, like a Ringmaster proudly presenting his best performer.
Tony hummed appreciatively, but ultimately shot the idea down.
“Yeah, I thought of that. Obviously. Brucie, tell them I thought of that already.”
“Oh, he did,” Bruce assured, with the voice of someone who’d long ran out of patience. “He thought of it, and also voiced it over and over again, and in the end he complained about it, too. Loudly. ”
“Complained?”
Tony tutted.
“Sadly, JARVIS has protocols that protect you all from any breach of privacy. And I specifically told him not to listen if I asked to bypass them. Not unless it was a life-or-death, Earth-is-about-to-implode situation, and even then it’s all up to his discretion whether to allow me access or not. Look. JARVIS?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Could you please play all the audio files in the Black Widow’s phone?”
“I’d strongly advise against that course of action even if I wasn’t specifically programmed to refuse it,” JARVIS replied.
Tony flicked his hand towards the speakers.
“See? I’ve been a sensible adult for once. I know, it’s a real tragedy.”
Natasha slowly bared her teeth in a smile like a shark’s.
“But you never programmed JARVIS to stop me from doing any hacking, did you?”
。°。°。°。°。°。° 。
It took her a handful of moments to remotely access Steve’s phone. His call history was pitifully short and unimaginative - Nat, Stark, SHIELD, Nat, Nat, Maria Hill, Nat, SHIELD, SHIELD, SHIELD, Dr. Banner, Barton, Nat, Nat, SHIELD, Nat, Maria Hill, Dr. Banner, Maria Hill, SHIELD - and his texting app was similarly bereft, apart from one long, long, long thread filled with quotes and laughter and jokes and emoticons as well as quiet, tender moments of empathy and truth, references explained, histories revealed, midnight blues and confessions.
Natasha skimmed her eyes through the messages, noting the lack of attachments of any kind, and pursed her lips.
“What?” Clint gasped, clearly recognizing the look as one that spelt worry. Abandoning his post at the kitchen island, he scrambled and skid all the way to the couch, hopped and landed with a bounce on the cushion next to Natasha. “What?!”
Natasha glanced around at the other Avengers, her expression openly puzzled.
“I think… I think that Cap… might be... seeing a stripper?”
Tony did such a violent double-take at that, that he sprayed most of his drink in a 1.3 mts radius around himself. Luckily for everyone involved, Bruce had taken a prudent step aside and managed to remain dry.
“What? Oh, what, what?!” Tony cried out gleefully, striding up to Natasha and making impatient gimme-gimme hand gestures. She surrendered the tablet reluctantly, shrugging delicately as she did.
“I mean, who else would voluntarily call themselves “Bucky”?”
Tony was flipping fervently through the texts, tablet tilted so that Bruce could peek at it from over his shoulder.
“Oh, how you tease me, woman,” Tony said after a while. “There’s nothing even suggesting anything beyond the PG rating. I’m disappointed in you, Red Menace. This is my disappointed face right here,” he said, whirling a finger.
“These seems to be texts between friends,” Bruce concurred. “Intimate friends perhaps, but still nothing but friends.”
“B U C K Y,” Natasha stressed, a little scowl on her face.
“That a stripper name,” Clint agreed. “Or a high-class hooker maybe.”
Bruce unhooked his chin from Tony’s shoulder and gave them a look.
“So Steve befriended someone who uses her body to make her wages,” he said, deceptively serene. “How is that a problem?”
Natasha made a slashing motion with her hand.
“Oh, don’t be naive. Of course it’s not a problem for us, as long as she isn’t an undercover agent out to get him. It’s just--”
“Our lovely, wholesome Cappie with a hooker?” Clint winched. “He’s gonna get eaten.”
Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose.
“By Fox news, most likely.”
“Nu-uh,” Tony waggled a finger. “Not a sex worker, not a stripper, and not a woman, either. Look.”
The Avengers crowded close.
They perused the texts log a few moments more, and then Clint said, hushed and awed like a kid at Christmas:
“...Cap’s got a mancrush?”
Natasha wiggled her nose.
“These are… so…”
“Adorable is the word you’re looking for, Red Menace.”
“...out of character, is what I was going to say.”
“So carefree and happy.”
“Full of wonder.”
“These are glimpses to his bare soul.”
“There are horridly cute,” Tony scoffed. “I mean, look at this, look, he spent seven texts to tell Bucky how a stray kitten was allowing him to pet her, and then got absurdly heartbroken when it turned out she had an owner.”
“Out of character,” Thor hummed, a thoughtful quality to his voice. “But do we even know our dear Captain well enough to pass that judgment?”
There followed a moment of long, heavy silence, nobody quite managing to look straight at anybody else. That is, until Tony cleared his throat, tilted the tablet enough to show a place and time written across the screen and said:
“...we’re so following him on their next date, aren’t we?”
。°。°。°。°。°。° 。
It wasn’t like anybody objected.
So the next night found all the Avengers slipping quietly out of their Tower, shadowing a blissfully unaware Captain America onto the streets. None of them had a particularly clever disguise on; an uncharacteristic, but comfortable and nondescript outfit went a long way to help someone blend in the crowd. More than half the secret to being invisible was in the attitude, anyway. Relaxed shoulders, kind-of slouched pose, slow steps. Or the total opposite: face in your phone, hurried pace, head bobbing to the music. That sort of things.
A sensible dress for Nat, with black leggings and low boots. A rock band tee and a blazer for Bruce. An open tartan shirt, purple sunglasses and a hint of beard for Clint. A coat and scarf for Tony. An oversized parka, a slouchy hat, and hair bundled into a messy bun for Thor. Those were more than enough to make the Avengers virtually indistinguishable from any other busy, rushing New Yorker braving the windy twilight.
Cap though.
Cap was glowing.
Even at a distance.
His disguise had worked to some degree; to be perfectly honest, none of the people who stared at him had any idea who the young man with the skip in his step was. What attracted eyes, dozens of eyes, wasn’t his secret identity.
It was his smile.
It was the way his whole face lit up with it, how he drew a sharp breath, excited as a kid, whenever his phone pinged. How he released that same breath in a short laugh, arrested on the sidewalk and with his eyebrows drawn together in concentration as he typed back a quick response.
“The one time that he manages a good disguise…” Natasha despaired.
“I feel like I need sunglasses to look straight at him,” Clint muttered, reeling back Thor before he could get stopped for another selfie. “Does anybody else need sunglasses to look straight at him?” He threw Thor a scarf for good measure.
Tony and Bruce raised a hand in tandem.
“Young love,” Tony sighed, exaggeratedly batting his eyelashes. “Do I ever glow like that, Brucie?”
Bruce hummed.
“Yeah, when you’re talking about the suits, I guess.”
“But--”
“I don’t like this.” Natasha pressed her lips into a thin line. “They’ve been texting for months, and Bucky didn’t send over one picture?”
“Maybe he’s shy?”
“I bet he’s ugly.”
“I prefer the shy theory, honestly.”
“Mayhap he is much too old to be dallying with a young man.”
“Did any of you,” Natasha gritted through clenched teeth, “ever take into account that he’s not leaving a photographic trail because he might be a criminal? A fugitive? Or an international assassin whose mission is Cap?!”
“You worry too much, Natasha,” Bruce said gently. “This is far from their first date.”
She scoffed.
“I’m not saying that he’s necessarily an international assassin. I’m saying I’m appalled none of you even thought of the danger.” She paused. “And he could be an international assassin. For all we know.”
Tony shrugged.
“I bet he’s just got an ugly mug.”
“I’ll see that bet,” Clint grinned. “50$ that he’s a real looker.”
They shook on it.
。°。°。°。°。°。° 。
Their destination was a secluded and adorably quaint shop in Manhattan. Not overtly romantic, but intimate enough to be the perfect location for a date. It had a sign outside that proclaimed its name was simply “The Coffeehouse”.
Inside, the shop was divided in two areas: a reading space, furnished with soft rugs, long-leafed plants, squishy-looking, coloured bean bags, one glorious hammock chair, and several books, scattered around, in piles on the rugs, in rows on the shelves, most of them well-used and worn. In the other half of The Coffeehouse was an espresso bar and pallets bookshelves filled with coffee paraphernalia, glass figurines, candy, and a small selection of indie CDs.
The Avengers let Steve push the door open, jingling a little windchime; they counted to 240 and then power-walked to the closest window. When Natasha peeked through the curtains, her jaw all but dropped.
“Oh. My. God.”
Tony crowded against her, and whistled loud enough in her ear to earn himself a slap.
“So. Bucky’s damn well gorgeous. Colour me impressed.”
Clint muffled a squee into his fist.
“Is he… is he pulling back Cap’s chair for him?!”
“And taking his coat?”
“Taking the scarf from around his neck, too? What the heck? Did we fall into an old-timer movie?”
“Romantic comedy, more like.”
“...uhm. Isn’t that... the Midgardian custom... known as... Eskimo kissing?”
“Oh. My. God,” Natasha felt the need to reiterate.
“Well, at least he’s not an international assassin,” Bruce said brightly, cowering only slightly when Natasha swung a scowl in his direction.
“I know you might think otherwise, but I don’t keep a database of all wanted criminals in my head.”
“No, no, he means it!” Tony said, waving his phone. “JARVIS’s run a facial recognition. Bucky Boo isn’t in any known criminal database, public or otherwise.”
Natasha cocked an impressed eyebrow.
“That fast?”
“I was done a couple minutes ago, actually; but I was giving Arrowman his “Bucky Boo is sex on legs” money.”
Clint waved the $50 bill towards her in explanation before pocketing it.
“I think I shall regret asking,” Thor began, “but why is he Bucky Boo, now?”
“Boo is derivative from the french beau,” Bruce explained. “It’s used to indicate a romantic partner.”
Tony nodded.
“Like Brucie Boo and Tony Boo, for example.”
“Thor Boo or Clint Boo work as well,” Bruce said with a shrug. “I’m not involving Natasha, here, but you get it. It’s basically teasing.”
“But--”
“Are we approving of the Captain’s suitor, then?” Thor asked over Tony’s spluttering.
Natasha pressed her lips thin.
“Oh, no. This requires more surveillance.”
“What happened to “we let it drop”?”, Bruce ventured.
“That was before the Eskimo kissing.”
“And the shared milkshake,” Clint added.
“What shared---” Natasha began, then swivelled back towards the window, and her eyes grew the size of dinner plates. “Oh. My. God.”
。°。°。°。°。°。° 。
They developed a rotating system.
Bruce managed to opt out from most of his turns, as did Tony, preferring instead to hole up in their lab “for Science”. Thor and Natasha did their fair share of stakeouts, when their schedules allowed. It fell mostly on Clint to play Cap’s shadow during his dates with Bucky; though he couldn’t say that he minded it too much.
Currently, Hawkeye was stationed inside The Coffeehouse, half swallowed by a buttery-soft marshmallow of a beanbag, and intent on gobbling down his own weight in pastries.
The stripper theory hadn’t been completely ruled out, (“Those shoulders, guys. Those. Shoulders. I know I’d pay to see them bare. Why wouldn’t he get paid for it?” as Tony had so elegantly put it.). But Bucky also manned the bar at The Coffeehouse basically every day (and most nights, to boot). Steve tended to spend several hours every day at the bar with him, sometimes donning an apron himself, other times just relaxing back in one of the stools, sketching or reading, but close enough to chat whenever they had the chance.
As legends would have it (read: Tony had bribed, Thor had both flexed and dimpled, Natasha had glowered, but in the end it was affable, bumbling, shy Bruce who was impossible to resist. When he’d asked, several regulars had fallen over themselves to tell him).
But.
As legends would have it, Steve had stumbled into the shop on one stormy day several weeks before. Scared to ruin either the books or the rugs, he’d stood there under the tinkling wind chime for several minutes, eyes wide like a deer’s and drip-drip-dripping a growing puddle on the floor.
And then Bucky had vaulted over the bar like it was nothing, manhandled Steve in the back of the shop where it was warmer, and given him his own spare clothes to wear.
In short: it was the Hollywood meeting of two fated romantic leads.
“I’m waiting for a kiss,” Clint muttered in his comm, subtly adjusting the focus of the mini-camera hidden in his glasses.
Bucky was currently on break, and had been spending it sitting with Steve at a corner table. They were sharing (read: feeding each other) oven-warm cookies and sipping chocolate from tall, mismatched mugs. They must’ve ordered different flavours though, because they’d just swapped mugs to take a sip (and consequently rubbed the other’s mouth clean with a gentle, lingering thumb)
“Why haven’t they kissed yet?” Clint took a bite of his bearclaw and readjusted his butt in the squishy, squeaky seat. “Are they in denial or something?”
“Is that the river in Egypt?” Thor asked through Clint’s earpiece. And then Tony’s voice literally exploded over his.
“No! It’s when two guys have such absolute chemistry you just want to smush their faces together and yell “NOW KISS!!” but nope, they just leave the adoring audience hanging.”
Clint spluttered out a laugh.
“That’s called queer baiting, Tony,” he corrected.
“Well, I feel baited!” Tony huffed in indignation. “Don’t you all feel baited?”
Natasha hummed non-committedly, and kept browsing through the folder she was holding.
“Military brat. Orphaned young. Joined the army as soon as he was able. Did his tours, spent his pay into his sister’s college tuition. Made tours in Afghanistan. Sokovia. Latveria. Made it into the Ghost Corps. Last confirmed mission was near the Wakandan territory. Honourably discharged. He was issued both the Distinguished Service Cross and the Steve Rogers Medal of Honour. How and why have I never met this man before?”
“She sounds besotted,” Tony stage-whispered. “Why does she sound besotted with Cap’s beau?”
“That’s not the besotted voice,” Clint corrected with a grin. “That’s the ‘I want to spar with this man and wipe the floor with him’ voice. The besotted voice is breathier and an octave lower.”
“TMI, Birdbrain. Waaaaaaaaaaay TMI.”
“Wait,” Clint said quickly and sharply into the comm, silencing everyone back in the Tower. “Something’s happening. Cap’s gone. I repeat. Cap’s upped and left. And Bucky Boo’s at the bar, ordering something… looks like coffee? Yup, a tall coffee. And he’s. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, nonononononono guys. GUYS.”
“What is it?” Natasha’s voice cut effortlessly through Clint’s panic. He took a deep breath.
“I. I think. I think I just caught... Bucky Boo... cheating,” he hissed urgently.
The following silence was like ice.
Then came the crackling of thunder, loud and bright, as Mjolnir jumped into Thor’s hands.
“Care to elaborate on that?” Natasha asked, voice deceptively calm, but just as sweet as the deadliest poison.
Clint panicked.
“I mean, he’s buying coffee! And a pastry! And they usually never buy either of those and Cap’s nowhere to be seen and Bucky Boo’s not taking the tray back to their table, actually he’s going to someone else’s it seems, that why I think he waited for Cap to leave before going to put the moves on another guy, and he’s moving through the books area and… going… to… war… ds… uhm.”
“Uhm? Clint, what’s ‘uhm’ mean?” Tony demanded breathlessly. “Clint?!”
“Clint?”
“Clint!!”
“Why, hello there, Hawkeye,” Bucky said through a grin that turned Clint’s knees to jelly. “Steve said to get you a black coffee, but I've got your number and picked a danish for that sweet tooth of yours, too,” he winked. There was mirth dancing in his eyes, and the dimple in his cheek was to die-for.
Clint had too much dignity to crawl under the rug to hide, especially when Steve stepped out from his hiding place, helplessly embarrassed and disappointed in equal measure. He had his arms bunched across his chest and his chin held high, but he was a little pink across the bridge of his nose.
Clint tried to bang his head back against the chair; but he’d forgotten it was a bean bag chair, so his head just bounced back against the squishy surface and sent him almost faceplanting into the tray.
“Aw, bean bag!”
Bucky laughed out loud at his scampering, and threw an arm around Steve’s shoulders, knocking their hips together. Steve flushed hotter, but ducked closer all the same.
。°。°。°。°。°。° 。
The first time all the Avengers managed to congregate at The Coffeehouse, they played twenty questions with Bucky. As they did the second and third time.
It turned out that sex-on-legs Bucky Boo was basically a cupcake - the single most endearing person in the history of ever.
His full name was James Buchanan Barnes. He called himself Bucky because he’d had something like 7 Jameses in his neighbourhood when he was a kid, and he’d wanted to be different. Besides, his little sister Becca couldn’t manage to properly pronounce his middle name with her lisp. So Bwucky it was.
He liked chocolate, especially fruit fondue (a revelation that made Steve blush). Could hold his vodka, but wriggled his nose at wine. He nibbled on his bottom lip when in thought, had a strange habit of circling or rubbing his own wrist when he was nervous, and didn’t put product on his hair Tony, honest. Stop asking already.
He was born with a talent for baking, but was currently taking cooking lessons to help with his tendency to burn even water when he tried cooking savoury stuff. He could play the guitar, had a green thumb that was firmly - and hilariously - limited to flowering succulents, and was endearingly tongue-in-cheek about being, or having ever been, a professional stripper.
Or a naked calendar’s model. (Tony had asked. Obviously. For the sake of truth, he’d also asked Bucky if he was interested in making one of such calendars at the moment. Bucky had only smirked in response.)
He was fun, he was wicked, he was kind. And he seemed to have made a good impression on the Avengers, much to Steve’s own delight. He gained something like a gazillion brownie points alone the time he said that he hadn’t know one had to have a favourite Avenger; but that Black Widow and Hawkeye had all his eternal respect, because fighting with the godly and the enhanced while you’re a mere human? That means you’ve got guts and skills for miles.
“Pffft. Nope. That’s the politically correct answer,” Tony replied, peering over his red sunglasses at Bucky. The seven of them were cozying it up at The Coffeehouse, sharing pastries at the most secluded table it had to offer. Not that there were any other patrons, considering that Tony had booked the whole place for the day. “Everyone’s favourite Avengers is the Hulk. I mean come, on.”
“No one’s favorite Avengers is the Hulk, Tony,” Bruce gently rebuked him.
“Mine is.”
“Your favourite Avenger is Iron Man. You said so in an interview yesterday.”
“But--”
“Well,” Bucky admitted, ignoring Tony when he slumped dramatically against the table and groaned into his arms. “I do admire you lots, Dr Banner. The hand you’ve been dealt was too shitty for words, and still you fight for what’s right. You’re good people. Don’t listen to anybody who will make you doubt yourself. I know it might get hard sometimes, but you. are. a. Hero.” The intent, almost burning look in his eyes gave way to self-consciousness; Bucky settled back in his chair, rubbing a thumb on the inside of wrist and looking a little embarrassed. “Uh. Well. It’s… I know the word hero gets thrown around a lot these days, but that’s what you are. What you all are. It’s what I meant when I said one doesn’t have to have a favourite Avenger. You’re all great, why pick one over another?”
He ducked his head, licking his lips, and moved one shoulder up and down in a self-conscious shrug. A strand of hair slipped across his cheek and whispered along his chin. If asked, nobody would own to it, but several fingers itched to go and tuck it back.
Bruce looked dubious still, but touched enough by Bucky’s unexpected candor that it sent Tony into a renewed bout of whining.
Natasha picked up one of the aragostine pastries that Bucky had baked for them, and nibbled delicately on the corner. She hummed in satisfaction, and allowed herself a bigger bite.
“This one’s a keeper,” she said, brushing crumbs from the corner of her mouth.
Thor looked up from where he was trying to console Tony with some vigorous back rubbing.
“The boo passeth your judgment?” he asked, glee personified.
Steve, who’d been gazing adoringly at Bucky for the past however minutes, snapped back to attention at that.
“Beau?” he asked, frowning at his teammates. “Whose beau?” Because you could trust him to be clueless about the slang, but still recognize the French word it had derived from.
Natasha used her napkin to draw vague shapes in the air as she picked up another pastry.
“Yours, of course. It’s not hard to figure out that you and James are an item.”
“James?”
“I’m not calling him a stripper’s name,” Natasha said, brandishing the tail of the aragostine like a weapon. Steve huffed.
“What does “item” mean, anyway?”
“Two sweethearts,” she said pointedly over Tony’s muffled: “fuck buddies”
Steve went ramrod straight at that, and his face turned beet red. He floundered for a moment in shock; but when he finally settled down with his face arranged in a deep scowl, it was Captain America glaring out of the deep blue eyes, radiating power as well as judgment.
“I’m aware that modern men are afraid to be physically affectionate, but back in my time nothing of what Buck and I do would’ve made anyone bat an eye. I don’t understand why people these days can’t understand that - intimacy is not reserved only for lovers. I guess it’s pretty jarring to your modern people sensibilities, but public displays of affections between two males are not a clever way to brag about your escapades without saying the words.” He turned towards Bucky, eyes bright and grinning wide, and clapped him on the shoulder. “He ain’t my fella. He’s my best pal. Ain’t you, Buck?”
Something happened then.
Something terrible and unpredictable.
Bucky seemed to dim, all of a sudden, shrinking into an embarrassed, withdrawn shadow of himself.
“Yes,” he said softly, tugging helplessly at his own wrist all the while. “Best buds for life, Cap. That’s us.”
Bruce boggled.
Tony wailed.
Thor’s jaw dropped.
Clint all but fell from his chair.
And Natasha almost let the pastry drop.
“Oh.”
“My.”
“God?!?!”
。°。°。°。°。°。° 。
“I find this totally inconceivable.”
“That was horrendous. Poor Bucky.”
“I don’t get it. What’s his angle? Cap isn’t cruel by nature. But no one can be that emotionally obtuse.”
“He’s in denial. He’s wading in the Mariana Trench of denial. He’s drowning in it. Inhale denial in the lungs, and then exhale denial out of the lungs. He’s Denial-Man.”
“That was really insensitive of him.”
“Maybe he’s just… not ready to be out?”
“Doesn’t he trust us? I don’t feel the trust here. None at all, nossir.”
“Don’t take it personally, Tony. It looked like he wasn’t out even to Bucky.”
“Is Cappie out to himself, at least?”
“Oh, he’s well aware of what he feels for James,” Natasha muttered, batting Clint away from the pastries she’d hoarded and taken back to the Tower. In her defence, Bucky was a sublime baker. “And of what James feels for him. Which brings me back to the original question. Why deny himself a relationship, considering how--” she gestured.
“-besotted,” Thor supplied.
“--they are?”
“I would suggest a magical interference. But those are not as frequent on Midgard as they are in my realm.”
“No, no, that was calculated,” Natasha denied. She took a deep breath, and then released it slowly in an effort to gather her thoughts. “Is it about his image? Is it about not wanting the media to go after him? Is it about fear of rejection?” she mumbled.
“Well, whatever spurred it, you all know what we gotta do, don’t you?” Tony said, vaguely ominous.
“I veto whatever kidnapping, teen party game, or any harebrained scheme you concocted that might involve making them angry, confused, scared or jealous,” Natasha answered, not sparing him a glance.
Tony rolled his eyes.
“Oh, how little faith you have in me. I’m not always about the theatrics you know?”
“What did you have in mind, then?”
“Simple. We intensify surveillance; make contact when Steve is not there. Slowly, we bring Bucky Boo into the fold. Once he’s firmly one of us, we can provide the nudge they both need to finally face their feelings and come to a resolution.”
“That… sounds suspiciously sensible.”
“Because it is.”
“That,” Clint grinned, “was Tony-speech for Operation: Matchmaking is A-Go! Wasn’t it?”
The shrug Tony regaled them with was too effortlessly nonchalant to be genuine.
“Neither statement denies the other.”
They didn’t, really.
So Operation: Matchmaking was officially A-Go.
。°。°。°。°。°。° 。
So it came to happen that the cozy, quaint Coffeehouse in Manhattan suddenly became the safe haven of not just one, but basically each and every Avenger.
After Steve, Clint was still the one who spent most time there, and was soon promoted to taste-tester for Bucky’s pastries, much to his own delight. Thor liked to lounge back in the book sections, fascinated with Midgardian lore, history and fiction alike. Bruce liked to sit in the sun, cradling a cup of tea and listening to the ambiance music; with Tony tinkering with his phone on the seat beside him, fingers moving frantically fast but looking oddly content at the same time. Natasha had claimed one of the stools at the bar as her own, and liked to perch there and people-gaze, concocting absurd and laughable stories for every person wading silently beyond the shop’s window like fish in an aquarium.
After the initial bafflement at being circled by all the Avengers like a piece of meat in a shark tank, Bucky slowly opened up.
He was friendly enough before, but something in him had felt remote, like he was humoring them up to a point, unable to comprehend that their interest in him might be genuine, and not just a byproduct of his friendship with Steve.
As the months passed though, whatever reticence he’d had melted like snow in the first warmth of spring. He started to joke around with them, winked and cajoled, baked and laughed and slowly, slowly, trusted.
Which is why Tony wanted it put on record for the future generations that his plan totally could’ve worked.
Like, totally.
It’s just.
Aliens, you know?
They never seemed to happen when you thought they might.
The assholes.
。°。°。°。°。°。° 。
Predictably, Clint was sitting in a beanbag chair at The Coffeehouse when the tremors began. The floor beneath his feet started to shake in quick, short bursts, lifting up and down like the chest of a heaving giant.
Ba-DUMP! Ba-DUMP! Ba-DUMP!
Bucky looked up sharply from the Espresso machine, eyes finding Clint’s own over the head of the screeching, confused patrons. Clint looked back helplessly, touching his comm bud even as he scrambled to his feet. He thought he heard a brief burst of static, more sigh that sound. But then the line went deader than dead, which shouldn’t have been possible, considering the comm was the latest StarkTech. Before he could process it, he was already on the other side of the squirming patrons and pushing out in the streets, calling tensely into the comm.
“Avengers, this is Hawkeye. ID code delta-bravo-omega-seven. JARVIS, patch me in.”
Only silence answered him. The first prickles of worry licked at the base of his spine, cold as ice.
“Nat? Nat, you there? Cap? Stark?? Does anyone copy?!”
“Clint.”
It took him a moment to realize that the voice hadn’t come from a comm channel. Bucky was standing beside him, eyebrows furrowed low over worry-filled eyes, lips pressed into a pale line.
“What’s happening?”
Clint raked his fingers through his hair.
“Damned if I know? I think something’s jamming the signal. I can’t get through.”
A stronger tremor almost sent them toppling, forcing them to reach out and hold onto one another to keep their balance. The ground began to vibrate, and both their heads pivoted as one towards Avengers Tower. Even from a distance, it was easy to see the light flickering across the chrome surface. They both watched in dawning horror as billows of dark smoke reared up like cumbersome wraiths from the Tower, spreading ominously across the sky.
Bucky was still sucking in quick, shocked bursts of breath, eyes stuck on the burning Tower, watching like everything were in slow motion, when Clint suddenly pulled him to his feet.
“Okay. Run for cover. I think you’re going to be safe here, but you’d better move as far away from the Tower as you can,” he ordered.
Bucky’s reaction couldn’t have been more abrupt if he’d been doused with ice. He rounded on Clint with a determination like a bear whose baby had been taken.
“No. No way. Steve’s there.” He tipped his head towards the Tower. “You going? Well, then I’m comin’ with, pal.”
The tone of his voice gave Clint pause. He stood stock still, gauging Bucky for what felt like hours to the other man, though it was only seconds. Clint had reached for the collapsible bow in his bag without a conscious thought, and now his fist was squelching around it in a tightening circle. But no, this wasn’t Clint, easygoing and awkward Clint, with the quick wit and infectious grin. This was Hawkeye, and he looked somewhat menacing, standing as still as a boulder in the streets, as people streamed in panicked rivers around him.
When his expression showed no sign of softening, Bucky felt the sweat gathering at the small of his back. His own breathing hurt him, like spikes in his throat. What was Clint doing? What was he thinking? Steve was in danger. Steve was under attack. Steve was probably doing something heroic and hard-headed and totally idiotic as per usual, risking his life and--
Clint’s clenched jaw twitched. He took a slow, deep breath, still looking Bucky over like a hawk about to sweep down on prey.
And then the breath all but exploded, noisy and sudden, out of his mouth.
“Aw, man. I truly don’t wanna be the one to get the Boo killed--”
“The what?” Bucky asked, startled out of his own tense stance.
“--but I get the feeling you’re gonna get to the Tower whether I take you or not,” Clint barreled over him, rummaging through his bag for a moment. He fished out a second comm, and threw it at Bucky, whistling when it was caught without even looking. “Nice. Now, put that in - you never know if the communications are gonna get back up - get behind me, and stay there. The whole time. I don’t have a spare vest, so if I say duck, you duck, and if I say run, you run like a bat out of hell. Don’t look back. Don’t detour. Don’t try any heroics. Capisce?”
“You don't have to baby me! I am--”
“Were. You were a soldier. I know. And a stubborn guy whose boyfriend's life is on the line. Which is why I’m even contemplating bringing you along -ohmygodwhatamIeventhinking- but we don’t have time to waste, and I’d rather you stay where I can keep an eye on you. Got it?”
Bucky’s eyes flashed something fierce, but he slipped the ear comm in. Tension strummed across his body, making Clint cock his head, considering him anew.
Bucky was silent for a moment, then the tension drained from his face, replaced by a brief flicker of desperation. Of worry. Then acceptance.
That was when, at a nod from Clint, they turned and ran.
。°。°。°。°。°。° 。
Clint didn’t bother with stealth or finesse.
He jogged south for half a minute, keeping the Tower in sight. Swerved abruptly as soon as he saw a huge SUV parked haphazardly on a crosswalk. Hot-wiring the vehicle was a matter of seconds (“Dear Absentee Owner, I requisition this car in the name of Justice and World Peace!” “Clint!” “Well, okay, in the name of Hawkeye and SHIELD!” “Clint, just shut up and drive!”).
Fishtailing away from the curb, he swerved and speeded down the largest road in sight, barely caring if he was in the right lane at all. He aimed for the Tower in the distance like a heat-seeking missile, and floored it. (He soccer-mommed Bucky a few times, shoving his arm across Bucky’s chest when he had to screech to a halt or swerve abruptly into a side street, but. They pretended it didn’t happen.)
As they got closer to the Tower, the traffic lights started flickering. A curtain of dark smoke hung low and thick, and the air was sweltering hot. The noise was horrible. Weapons firing. Shouts. Explosions. Glass shattering. Flames crackling. Steam hissing from broken pipes. Metal shrieking.
They could see something huge and cumbersome move in the distance. A little closer they could glimpse dozens of skittering, otherworldly shapes, all-black and greasy-looking, moving too fast to be recognizable. Around them, but still a safe distance from the Tower there moved assorted agents, policemen, SHIELD, army soldiers and firemen, barely coordinated as they ran about, but looking determined.
As the SUV got closer to the fight, something red and gold flashed high above them, speeding towards the ground like a shooting star. It landed with a frightful boom against the side of a building before they could fully realize that they knew who that was.
An explosive bellow followed, and Clint barely had time to hit the brakes before the Hulk landed smack in front of their car, issued another despaired roar and leapt away once more, going straight for to the crater where Iron Man had landed.
Strange, insectoid creatures crowded after him, hissing and spitting. A powerful sweep of the arm sent them scattering like gnats; but more creatures came, and more besides. The Hulk was forced to stall, and growing more and more frantic as the creatures kept him from reaching his fallen teammate.
“Shit,” Clint swore. “Shit, shit, shit, I didn’t expect a Code Green!”
“But you expected the aliens?!” Bucky threw back incredulously.
“Well, not really but--”
Right at that moment, Steve bulldozed out from behind a building, head down, sprinting breathlessly, tendrils of smoke clinging to his shoulders and torso. The blue of his uniform was streaked with dirt, looked singed and torn in parts. The cowl was gone, and his hair was tousled and filthy.
Natasha ran parallel to him through the debris and smoke, weaving in and out of view like a shadow on water. She waited for her wristguards to charge, then sent several shockwaves back towards whatever was pursuing Steve. She never once slowed down.
A sharp neigh-like sound soared from the smoke cloud, and then a bigger creature, still vaguely insectoid and with a shining black carapace, but much bigger than an elephant swung dolefully from behind the same building, paused to shake its bald head, then started to move again. Slowly at first, then gaining traction, like a train speeding out from a station. And just like a train, it moved in a straight line, bowling over whatever stood in front of it.
And what stood before it now was the SUV.
It all happened in a matter of seconds.
Clint managed to move the car, but the speeding creature caught the edge of the bumper and sent the SUV careening through the air. It turned and turned in the air, then crashed wheels-up, skidding a few meters along the pavement before thudding to a halt against another car.
Bruised and bumped, Clint rolled out of the SUV, scrambled to his feet and rushed back to it, while both Natasha and a swarm of SHIELD agents kept the aliens away from the crash site. The Hulk roared on in the distance. Thunder rolled across the sky, drawing veins of light against the smoke. There were choppers in the air. Underfoot, the ground shook like a drum.
Clint dropped to his knees, tugging frantically at whatever part of the wreck he could reach, chanting:
“No, no, no, don’t tell me I killed the Boo, don’t tell me I killed the Boo, don’t tell me I--”
A powerful kick made the lateral widow burst, sending shards tinkling all across the pavement. Bucky wriggled his way out of the wreckage, collapsing beside Clint with a long groan.
“Don’t… call… me… Boo,” he said through gritted teeth. He was holding onto his left shoulder hard enough that his fingers had turned bone-white with tension, and he was careful not to jostle his arm; but otherwise looked to be in one piece.
Clint all but collapsed in hysterical relief.
“Whatever you say Bucky Boo.”
Bucky swatted half-heartedly at him, but his attention quickly snapped to the Super Soldier running at full tilt towards them, eyes frantic, cheeks turned ashen with tremendous fear.
“Bucky!”
“Steve!” Bucky called back in relief, scrambling up to his feet to get to him. He stumbled, almost falling over a couple of times, unable to move properly since he was still clinging onto his arm as though terrified it might fall off.
The shield clanged to the ground as they collided together, arms reaching, tugging, grabbling desperately, automatically going around one another and squeezing; squeezing like they thought that if they tried hard enough, they might be able to crawl under each other’s skin and become one single entity, something brimming full and whole and free of the fear that was consuming them both.
Steve cradled Bucky’s head with unsteady hands, fingers sinking into the long hair and tugging until their foreheads touched. He exhaled shakily in relief, half drunk on the feeling of Bucky’s breath wafting, warm and tremulous, against his own chilled skin.
“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky…”
Bucky held onto Steve’s wrist with one hand, pushing closer. Dragging his nose along Steve’s cheek until he could sink his head in the curve of Steve’s neck, breathing him in.
“What were you thinking,” Steve said over the top of Bucky’s head, voice tight and muscles trembling. “Why did you bring Bucky here?!”
Bucky, who’d been about to answer, snapped his mouth shut, edging his face backwards enough to peer up at Steve’s furious countenance.
“In my defence,” Clint’s voice wafted up from somewhere behind Bucky’s shoulder. “Bucky looked like he would’ve have come here whether I was with him or not.”
“Bucky,” the one in question cut in, flicking Steve’s ear to startle him into letting go, “can talk for himself.” He stepped out of Steve’s embrace, and locked eyes with him. “Bucky,” he repeated, his voice assuming a hard edge, “can even think and decide for himself, imagine that. Bucky couldn’t stay away when he knew you’d be in the middle of the chaos, being a reckless idiot. Bucky,” he said one more time, voice softening like honey in the summer heat, eyes going gentle with emotion. “Was worried about you and wanted to be by your side.”
Something inside Steve went marshmallow-squishy and tender, but his smile still looked sick with worry around the edges.
“Bucky is a knucklehead that should stop talking about himself in the third person,” he whispered, which earned him an eyeroll worthy of an Oscar.
“Well, Steve’s a douchecanoe who somehow lost his headgear in the middle of a battle zone and uses himself as bait for giant roaches from space, so we’re not that ill-assorted, are we now?” a grin creeped across his mouth, but his hand went back to his arm, clamping down forcefully around the ball of his shoulder. An unexplainable emotion flickered through his eyes.
“What’s wrong with your arm?”
“Nothing is wrong with it. It’s fine.” Bucky answered much too quickly, angling his body so that it hid his arm from view.
Steve’s gut clenched with worry. He reached out, but--
“Hey, Honey Boo! Fancy meeting you here!” a voice interrupted.
Clint, Steve and Bucky all pivoted towards the new voice.
The Hulk was stomping closer, Iron Man slung like a sack of potatoes across his shoulder. All that was visible of him were his legs and heavily armoured derriere, but he still raised a waving hand.
“‘M fine, thanks for asking!” he crowed cheerfully when the silence stretched a bit too long.
“Metal Man not fine,” Hulk grumbled. “Metal Man did stupid and fell from sky, so Hulk smash.”
“Awwwww, buddy. I'd say I'm touched. If I were totally sure you were talking about smashing those things to avenge me and not smashing lil’ ol’ moi for being reckless.”
Hulk bared his teeth in what could have been a grin as easily as a grimace of anger. It went totally wasted on Tony either way, considering he was still hanging face-to-butt over Hulk’s shoulder.
Natasha crested a heap of rubble, throwing Clint first his bow and then a quiver.
“I'm sorry, but are you having a tea party here? Am I intruding?”
“We're having a ball!” Tony cried, wiggling.
Natasha looked momentarily nonplussed.
“Is he concussed?”
“Metal Man head went crack against wall,” Hulk confirmed.
“I'M FINE,” Tony wriggled indignantly on his perch. “JARVIS tell them I'm fine.”
“Sir isn't in any immediate danger from his crash landing,” the AI answered diplomatically. It felt strange, hearing his voice come from inside the suit rather than their comms. It sounded tinny and much too small.
“We’ve downed most of the hostiles,” Natasha’s voice cut through the uneasy tension like a knife. “But a second wave is already on SHIELD radars and closing in fast. The only thing that seems to do any damage to these creatures is high-voltage electricity. With Iron Man down, our only reliable source of power is Thor, but he’s moved towards the bay to meet them head on and keep the fight away from the civilians. We can’t expect him to stop them all. We’re on our own.”
“They’re like beeeeeeeeeeeessss!” Tony interrupted, flailing.
“Don’t know man, they look more like roaches to me,” Clint shot back.
“No, no, bees!” Tony insisted. He fussed and wiggled until Hulk dropped him on his feet, where he promptly swayed like a drunken sailor. “They do the thingie the bees do and the ants do and uh, termites, too?”
“The hive?” A frown appeared on Steve’s face. “We already knew they have a hive Tony, they kind of dropped it on the Tower?”
“That, but also not that, Capsicle.”
“Not the hive…” Bucky caught on, “but the hive mind?”
“That!” Tony snapped his fingers. His gauntlet wasn’t conductive to the endeavour, and the concussion wasn’t helping either. He lost a few precious seconds trying, bottom lip jutted out mournfully, but he had no luck.
“That means that if we shoot down the Queen all the others drop down as well, right?” Clint already had the bow notched and an arrow ready to fire.
They understood why a moment later, when they saw the gigantic creature that had upturned the SUV skittering towards them on too-many legs, squelching softly as it went.
When Clint’s first arrow hit its target, the arrowhead exploded and a spiderweb of nomex ropes exploded in all directions, entangling the creature for nothing but seconds.
The second arrow exploded, but the fire didn’t take on the glossy carapace.
The third released a burst of electricity, and even if the creature did rear back, shrieking something fierce, it still advanced, plowing into vehicles and debris.
Natasha aimed both wristbands at the Queen and fired a tremendous charge. Clint dropped a second electric arrow and a third, while Tony tried and failed to hit her with a plasma blast, until JARVIS took over the aiming system and recalibrated it onto the proper target.
Hulk dropped his head and charged the Queen like a bull, roaring loud enough to echo in the bones. Captain America sprang after him and threw his shield. It bounced uselessly between the Queen’s eyes, then her maws, the side of her head, her chest. She swung her head violently on the sixth throw, and instead of ricocheting back into the Captain’s hands, the shield was thrown to the ground with a resounding clank, leaving him defenceless. He’d caught her attention though, and she roared in his direction before turning her heaving weight towards him, hissing like steam.
Instinctively, Steve clutched Bucky to his chest, cocooning his own body around Bucky’s in an effort to protect him.
But
Bucky
slipped from under Steve’s arms, moving like oil,
and in a single heartbeat was standing in front of him, facing against the monster that was rushing at them - at him - that was in front of them already - rearing up, maws open and dripping, shrieking like the damned - and Steve screamed, he must’ve screamed, even if the sound of his own rushing blood was the only thing he could ear - and Bucky bent his knees - puny, puny human, what do you think you’re going, facing a mountain? - braced his feet - raised his injured arm - and -
- slammed it into the Queen’s chest, arresting her attack, pinning her where she was. Applying pressure with his elbow, like it was effortless, like it was a ballet, Bucky tilted her a few inches up and backwards and held her there, impossibly, immovable and statuesque, as she trashed at the end of his fingertips like an hooked worm.
A second went past. His arm issued a strident whirring noise, then suddenly crackled, electricity dancing along the length of it, coalescing into a bright glow. A burning stench filled the air right before an electrical wave burst from the arm and through her.
When Steve was finally able to blink the bright spots from his eyes, aliens were dropping from the air, Bucky was still standing protectively before him, and the Queen lay dead at his feet. There were several more arrows in her body, and charred wounds were not just Bucky, but also Iron Man and the Widow had hit her with electricity in her final moments.
Steve dragged his eyes up. Bucky had turned towards him. His shirt was burned through up to the shoulder, his left arm was left bare and flickering intermittently, like a faulty hologram. Underneath the pale skin, the sheen of burnished metal was made visible in bursts - Steve could glimpse a series of smooth, interlocking plates, alien-looking but also strangely beautiful. The sheepish, hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar look on Bucky’s face was both incongruous and endearing and Steve had no idea whether to laugh or cry or fall to his knees like a pilgrim in a sanctuary so he just stared and stared and stared in complete awe until he found himself blurting out: “Marry me,” like the perfectly functional human being he so clearly wasn’t.
Immediately, the look on Bucky’s face went from sheepish to bewildered.
“What?”
Steve’s cheeks felt like they were bursting into flames.
“I. Uh. I. Nothing. Just. Nothing.”
“No, no, no, no,” Bucky said, striding over, complicated and beautiful metal arm in full display, one shining finger pointed menacingly at Steve’s nose. “Steven Grant Rogers you better not be taking that back, or Lord help me---”
“I’m not taking it back!” His eyes blew wide. “Wait, you don’t want me to take it back?”
That brought Bucky up short.
“What? No! I mean - I want you to explain, not take back. I mean!! Wanting you to explain instead than take back is not the same as not wanting you to take it back, and--” Bucky spluttered. “Wait, you don’t want to take it back?!”
“I don’t!”
“Why don’t you?!”
“Why, do you want me to?”
“No! I mean, yes, but no, but--!” An aggrieved burst of air blew out from Bucky’s mouth. “It doesn’t make sense! You know it doesn’t! We’re not even together!”
“I know!”
“You can’t ask me to marry you before you ask me out on a date!”
“I know!”
“You’ve never asked me on a date!”
“I know!!”
“Then why did you just ask me to marry you when you’ve never asked me on a date?!” The look in his eyes could’ve stripped the paint right off Steve’s shield. Steve threw up his hands.
“Because you were amazing!”
Bucky narrowed his eyes.
“But not amazing enough to date, apparently.”
“Of course you’re amazing enough to date Buck, I’m stupid in love with you, but you can’t expect me to think straight when faced with something like that! It just came out on its own!” Amazingly, he was gesturing at the dead creature and not at the metal arm, like Bucky had kind of expected him to.
Well.
Like he would have expected. You know. Hadn’t his brain melted out from his ears.
He managed to stare at Steve for a full ten seconds before he heard himself say, faint under his own beating heart:
“...you’re what with me?”
“I’m--”
In quick succession: Steve was hit with realization. Steve paled. Steve flushed to the roots of his hair. Steve flailed. Steve paled again. Steve stammered. Steve capitulated and slumped in on himself.
“--stupid in love with you,” he admitted, voice sheepish and red enough in the cheeks to be seen from the moon.
Bucky made a sound like a strangled cat, but strangely enough, Steve correctly deciphered the emotion for what it was and ducked his head, suddenly bashful and glowing with pleasure.
“What happened to being best buds?” Bucky sounded breathless to his own ears. His heart was beating a wild tattoo against his ribcage.
Blue eyes peered up at him from under absurdly pale lashes.
“We are,” he said. And then once more, when he saw Bucky swallow heavily: “we are. Bucky you are everything I didn’t know I wanted. Everything I missed from my time, everything I love about the present. Somehow you’re all of that, and more. But I wasn’t ready,” he pleaded.
“I wasn’t ready,” he repeated, eyes suddenly misty. “I’d just lost… everything. My friends. My family. My one chance at love. My own life. Everything around me was unfamiliar and hostile and hazy. I didn’t care about anything. Until that day we met… I was barely existing. Sleepwalking through each day, fully expecting to be dead and trapped in some sort of limbo and just waiting to stumble into the closest exit.”
“Steve…”
“And then I met you, and you were shining with all the life you contained. You were like a beacon. You are the one who woke me up. Not whoever found me in the ice,” he reached up, cupping Bucky’s face. “And I loved you for that, James Buchanan Barnes. I’ve loved you all this time. But you deserved more than gratitude and clinginess. You deserved more than being a crutch for half a phantom. More than a piece from a heart that was broken. You deserved it whole. You deserve the world, and I thought I wasn’t ready.”
“But now you are?” Bucky croaked out softly, feeling a warm wave of affection wash through him.
Steve grinned and bent to press their mouths together, lingering, unassuming and patient, until Bucky’s lips parted under his own, kissing him back until they were breathless.
“You’re in love with me,” Bucky said once they parted, said it like it was just now hitting him.
“I’m in love with you,” Steve confirmed, still grinning nonsensically.
“Steve, I…”
“It’s okay,” Steve cut him, grin fading as his eyes lost most of their shine. “It’s okay if you don’t love me back.
“Steve…”
“It’s okay if you never will, too. I just--”
“Steve.”
“--figured you should know and--”
“Steve!” Bucky had to physically clamp a metal palm over Steve’s mouth. Emotion rose inside him, different from the helpless adoration of moments before, but still gooey and warm and powerful enough to threaten sending him to his knees. Oh, this wonderful, silly man. Deserving of everything he might ever wish, and yet always expecting nothing, nothing at all for himself, not a kernel, not even a crumble of happiness.
“You dingy face,” Bucky murmured fondly. “I’m trying to tell you that I love you, too.”
His confession went to Steve's head like bubbles from champagne, and his eyes blew wide as if he’d been hoping, but couldn’t quite believe the words he was hearing anyway. When Bucky removed his hand, the smile on Steve's face was dazzling to look at.
“You love me,” he said, breathless, relieved, delighted, and like his heart was about to burst from it all. His hands settled on Bucky’s hips like they belonged there and tugged him closer. “I love you and you love me,” he murmured, voice pitched low and intimate, for Bucky’s ears only, and watched as a quiet happiness suffused his fella's face, making it glow.
“And don't you forget it,” Bucky murmured back.
Their lips met softly. Once, twice, three times. Bucky’s fingers skimmed gently along Steve’s wide shoulders, scratched the back of his neck, his scalp. Steve's thumbs rubbing circles on the bare skin of Bucky’s hips, tracing the soft, vulnerable V line at his groin. And still their lips parted and met, short kisses giving way to longer ones, interspersed with nuzzling and whispers, every touch a promise, every breath a reassurance.
They were still leaning together, entwined like vines in their little private cocoon, when Bruce morphed back from being the Hulk, sweat-drenched and feeling like his skin was steaming the way a hot grill doused with water would.
He gratefully accepted the eyeglasses when Natasha produced them seemingly from thin air, and was only mildly surprised to see Tony sprawled face down in his lap like a dozing cat. He'd woken up to stranger situations before, really.
“Tony’s plan worked?” he asked, automatically petting Tony’s hair when the man started making demanding noises. “They confessed?” There was a bump under Bruce's fingertips the size of an egg, but he could feel little to no blood on Tony's skin, so he stashed away any worry for later.
Natasha made a noncommittal hum in response. She caught the energy drink Clint threw at her, probably salvaged from the Tower's ground level machine; took a couple of measured sips and carefully twisted the cap back on. She launched the bottle high in the air, and was utterly unsurprised when Thor landed with a slam next to her, bottle in hand, chugging down the dubious, bluish liquid with as much enthusiasm as if it were the finest mead Asgard had to offer.
“Aren't we overjoyed with the outcome?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Shouldn't we celebrate that our efforts came to fruition?”
“I don't think our efforts have anything to do with that,” Clint answered around whatever he had crammed in his mouth. Natasha spared a moment to imagine the WORDS they'd have if Clint was hoarding Bucky’s baking again without sharing, then shook herself.
“Is no one going to say it?”
“Uh. They look really cute?” Bruce ventured, clueless as to what the proper answer might be.
Tony muffled something against Bruce's thigh that might've been “go team” if the weak air punch was any indication.
“I volunteer to be the one to tie the red cord at their handfasting ceremony,” Thor decided after a pensive moment. “It shall be a marriage to remember for centuries to come.”
“If he moves in the Tower, I call dibs on Bucky’s pastries,” Clint blurted.
Natasha rolled her eyes. As if.
“The metal arm?” She nudged. “Is no one going to remark on the fact that James has a fully functional metal arm that can release an EMP blast and is equipped with holographic camouflage technology?”
“HE HAS A WHAT?!” Tony shouted incredulously. His head sprang up, a move he deeply, deeply regretted a second later. He flinched violently and slumped back down in Bruce's lap, clutching his pounding temples and muttering “ouch, ouch, ouch”.
“A metal arm, Tony,” he was told by some unidentified voice.
He encircled Bruce’s waist with his arms, buried his pout against his belly, and started muttering morosely about how he always missed the fun stuff. Why did they allow him to miss the fun stuff? Weren't they his friends? Didn't they care? This was a metal arm they were talking about here. A metal arm. With a holographic cover. And an EMP blaster. It was the kind of wet dream stuff that could cause Tony to spontaneously cre-
“Aaaaaaand we're stopping you right there, right now,” Clint said, coming over to haul Tony to his feet and slip under his arm for support. Thor came and propped Tony's other arm around his own shoulders, while Natasha held out a hand to help Bruce to his feet.
Slowly, the battered, bruised Avengers walked away into the sunset.
Behind them, oblivious and happy, Bucky and Steve were still kissing.
And kissing.
And kissing.
It looked like they wouldn't be done for a long time to come.
- 終わり