Chapter Text
When Steve entered a room, you wondered how anyone could tear their eyes away from him. Suit clad, well groomed and smiling as if at complete ease, the super soldier was a vision who’d effortlessly retained his 40s charm. Seeing him in situations like Tony’s party only enhanced the strain you felt slowly overwhelming your friendship, and your eyes locked on his form as he so naturally conversed with the guests.
“Tissue?” A voice from behind made you jump, and you whirled around to see Sam with a smirk painted across his lips.
You narrowed your eyes, switching quickly into a relaxed and nonchalant demeanour. “What for?”
Sam’s gaze flickered momentarily to an occupied Steve behind you, who was now being swarmed by a hoard of adoring fans, full of big smiles and high pitched tones. “For all the drooling you’re doing.”
Words failed you momentarily, your mouth clamping shut tightly as Sam’s laughter lines creased at your reaction.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” You dismissed, forcing a smile and rolling your eyes, as if it weren’t too late to be seen right through. Alcohol always lowered your guard, which was why you only ever felt comfortable drinking around people you knew well.
Was it you, or was it getting warmer? You shifted your weight, fidgeting as you stole a glance at Steve chatting to a pretty brunette. She was laughing, hands lightly hitting Steve’s arm as if he’d said the funniest thing in the world. Deadpan, you turned back to Sam. “I need a drink.”
“Yeah, you do.” He grinned, slapping a hand to your back to guide you towards the bar.
Nat was sat at the bar, chatting up one of Tony’s guests who you recognised as a wealthy businessman from Manhattan. He seemed enraptured, hanging off Nat’s every word, and you knew she was playing a game. You’d known Nat long enough to differentiate her genuine interest from acting, you just wondered what her angle was with this guy.
Your approach shifted her attention, and she smiled wickedly as Sam brought you over next to where they were sitting. He ordered you both the same drink, but you were too busy making silent conversation with Nat to catch what it was. She was looking at you with concern, an eyebrow quirked in an unspoken question. Is everything okay?
A half smile was the best you could manage, nodding stiffly as the barman set down a cocktail glass before you.
“Hey– Hey!” Sam punched your shoulder lightly, “I know you and Natasha have some freaky psychic bond shit, but don’t leave me out of it. What’s up? Like, really.”
You swirled the drink around absently, shaking your head, “nothing, Sam. Let me just drink until my head’s dizzy, will you?”
He couldn’t help but smile at that, not one to deny someone a little alcohol induced fun. “Right, but I’m keeping an eye on you, Y/L/N.” Sam took a swig of his drink, almost finishing it in one go. You nodded noncommittally and followed suit, soon enough practically stacking up the empty glasses as you and Sam burned your way through a selection of cocktails and liqueurs.
You didn’t usually mean to get so drunk; years of relying on keen sense and being alert meant drinking had only recently ever been for leisure. Letting go was an unbelievably sweet feeling, especially around people you'd learnt (slowly) you could trust. The DJ Tony had hired played an old R&B song you’d always loved and suddenly you were convincing Wanda to hit the dance floor with you. You were doing shots with Maria, drinking games with Clint, heated debates about fast food chains and sports games with Rhodey.
Steve was keeping a close eye on you. He wasn’t as slick as he might’ve thought he was, and you didn’t miss his eyes latching onto you as Clint steadied you against the sofa, or Wanda looped an arm around you to keep you from tripping over. You knew he was looking out for you, like the caring, ironically oblivious, all-American hero he genuinely was. But your bitterness over his lack of interaction wounded you further and further up until you were collapsing onto the sofa beside a cuddled up Tony and Pepper.
“Hey, can we get Y/N some water please?” Tony called, gesturing to a member of his staff as your head lulled against his shoulder.
“Don’t need water,” you yawned, kicking off your heels and resting your feet on the coffee table.
“Yeah,” he scoffed as a woman handed him a clear glass, “I think you need sleep. Bionic man, little help?”
You snorted drunkenly, “ Bionic man? I don’t know any bionic men. Oh, wait! Like Iron Man? Are you changing your superhero name? I always said–”
A figure loomed over you, casting a dark shadow and clutching your discarded heels in his– oh . The metal of his arm groaned quietly as he held the shoes tighter, his eyes fixed tersely on you.
“The Winter Soldier,” you sighed, trying to push yourself up off the sofa, “where’s the rest of your squad?”
Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed.
“You know, summer, spring, autumn-”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, cause no one’s made that joke before.” You only laughed, intoxicated hysteria making practically anything funny.
“I thought Nat was supposed to look after her.” Bucky looked through you to Tony, who raised his hands in defence.
“Have you tried controlling her? Romanoff does the best job, but she’s not her handler, Barnes. Y/N is an adult, her mistakes are her own. Just take her to her room, will you?”
Bucky’s shoulders tensed, but in one swift movement he’d swept you into his arms. You shrieked as your feet left the air, and if you’d have been more sober he’d have probably received a punch to the nose for setting a hand on you, but you’d mark him down one for later.
You passed Steve whose forehead was creased with concern, but was too polite to break from his current conversations. Stupid Steve , you cursed in your head, stupid attractive Steve, stupid caring nice Steve.
Living quarters were on the lower floor of the Avengers base. Yours were next door to Nat’s, who rarely slept in hers the few times she stayed at the compound longer than a couple of days. Bucky set you back down on the floor, and your head instantly began to spin as he propped you up against his side to scan your hand for entry to your room. . He smelled like Steve, you noted suddenly, figuring it wasn’t really that strange that the two of them may share aftershave. It was a comforting smell, one you found yourself leaning into until your cheek was snuggled against the fabric of Bucky’s shirt.
“I’m gonna get you into bed now, okay doll?” His voice was so much gentler than it had been at the party, and he used his flesh arm to guide you towards the bed you’d left unmade that morning. It almost didn’t feel like the Bucky you knew – granted, quite little of – was in the room with you now, but a Bucky less tainted by his past.
He pushed back your covers before you slid onto the sheet, still dressed to the nines but your eyelids already heavily weighing down on you.
“Barnes,” you yawned, scrunching your nose, “stay with me?”
Bucky didn’t move, his arms tight by his side as you stared up at him with wide eyes. Too long passed; he neither made for the door nor complied with your invitation. The air between you was thick with drunken lethargy and hesitation.
“Bucky?”
His name from your mouth stirred him awake, his brow furrowing as he turned away from you and headed for the door. Part of you felt disappointed, wanting company in your vulnerable state, but you couldn’t force Bucky to do anything, that much was always clear. He switched off the light on his way out, careful to shut the door without making much noise.
Wrapping yourself up in the sheets, you tossed and turned, leaving the mess your makeup would make of the pillows for tomorrow’s problems. Steve crept back into your mind, his charismatic smiles and easy touches, none of which had been directed at you tonight. It was stupid to be hung up on him, and dangerous to be so obvious about it. You hadn’t been raised to be so weak when it came to your feelings, and you wondered how Nat never seemed to be compromised by emotions. She’d always been just that bit better than you, even in the Red Room.
You brushed your overthinking aside assertively, pulling the sheets close to your chest with the smell of Bucky still lingering on you.