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“It’s amazing don’t you think?” Steve's voice used to be so high back then, sweet with the excitement of a child “He created almost three hundred paintings, three hundred and only in three years, Buck!”
They were shuffling through books, Bucky was mainly observing, taking in Steve’s words as he smoked, the humid and hot air of New York making the linen green shirt stick to his skin. Afternoons like this made it easy to forget about the war looming over their head. Maybe, if he was lucky, they could spend the entirety of the day without the mention of it, but knowing Rogers… Bucky doubted such a thing was possible.
“Oh this one” Steve went on, basically hissing the words “This is by far my favorite, look at this, man”
“Let me see, knucklehead” Buck growled as Steve simultaneously tried to shove the book towards Barnes' face but couldn’t tear his own grip away. Art did that to him, dazzling the boy beyond comprehension. Stevie was like that with most things, whenever he loved something he did so with every fiber of his being. The stubbornness of his head just happens to account for his heart too.
The painting was beautiful, a small garden covered with sunflowers, plants tall in a dull green, the tint rusty from the book being passed from hand to hand. Every art book in the library was like this, torn apart by curiosity. Bucky had a hard time sharing Steve enthusiasm, tho. Something about art always escaped him, slipping from his grasp and eyes, it eluded him. Some days he simply blamed it on not being good enough for a pleasure so intricate. Too cross, maybe. But Steve loved art, so he tried, he squinted his eyes and studied the garden like it could even mean anything to him. He smiled and nodded as the boy rambled about clouds, shadows. There was beauty in his words but they hardly came from Monet’s painting…
“Buck?”
The incessant beat of the music slither it's way back into Bucky’s ears, the world around him flickering in tones of purple, pink and blue. Bodies dancing and stomping on the marble floors in new careless ways. Nobody danced like they did in the 40’, nobody held hands or twirled, which left Barnes with a hollow pain he couldn't quite place.
“Dude?” Repeated the voice, forcing him to tear his eyes away from the painting. Steve’s favorite, sunflowers and little blue kids. Oh this one. Sam was looking at him with a wired up frown, fucking Sam was always looking at him like that, like he could snap at any minute. Worse part; Bucky didn’t blame him. It was hella annoying still. For someone who constantly pointed out Bucky’s own staring problem Wilson did a lot of looking. The music was too loud to talk without screaming and Barnes didn’t feel like raising his voice, let alone get close to Sam’s ear, so he just moved his head a little so Wilson would say whatever it was that bugged him.
“You look out of it,” Simply commented the other man, lacking his usual tip toeing “You good?”
It was the fucking thouthsand time Wilson ask him the same question ‘ are you good?’ ‘are you okay?’ ‘you good?’ . One after the other in an endless cycle of distrust Bucky hated more than appropriate. It was Zemo, he gathered, Sam didn’t believe he could hold himself around the Baron.
“You gonna keep asking that?” Bucky blurted out, eyes going back to the painting, not entirely interested in watching Sam struggle. God damn, why did Sam behave like that? He was doing okay. Mostly. Why did Sam have to act like Bucky was made of glass? He wasn’t, he was strong and resilient, his own blood entangled with the serum, rushing through his body, pumping right out of his steady heart. Even his bones were melted with vibranium. Point being; he was hard to break.
“If you keep zoning out every five minute, yeah more likely than not I will” Snap Sam, always leveling with his bad moods “I can’t ask shit to you, jesus”
“I’m not zoning out” Grumbled Bucky, low enough that Wilson surely didn’t hear him. The man seemed to gather the idea of his whisper because he rolled his eyes, looking around awkwardly. “I don’t go burdening you with a million questions”
“No, you don’t. But you may as well shove that shield up my ass by the amount of times you bring it up” Sam was screaming, people barely pay them attention. Everyone screamed, like everyone danced and touched and drank and… It was a lot. Bucky shook his head, clearing it from the overload of information, good grief it was hard to function with so much friendly chaos. It didn’t edge him, didn’t trigger him, but- But it felt weirdly human, a thing Bucky had a hard time remembering he, indeed, was. “You can ask me anything, you know”
Bucky frowned, at a loss with Sam’s words “Uh?”
“You can ask me whatever you want, Buck” Sam said once again, smiling a bit at the end. No hardness in it, just sweet and welcoming.
Ugh, Bucky hated him.
“I don’t have any questions”
It was a fat lie. But he didn’t like giving in, less so with Sam. Their competitive nature seemed to flourish around the other, clumsily meeting in between in a bundle of bickering and unfriendly faces. It was childish, to be fair, but Bucky was a sore loser.
“Okay, you know what? I’m gonna get a drink, I can’t deal with you sober all the time”
Bucky shrugged, visually unbothered by The Falcon ditching him. Whatever, they were grown ups, there was no need to be tailing the other like puppys. If anything this was exactly what he wanted, to be left alone, treated as the mostly stable guy he was. After not five minutes he realized being alone at a party was not as fun as it was in the 40’. Back in the day, when Steve would always find a way to distract himself into an alleyway to fight some asshole of the day; he would just approach a pretty girl, talk her ear sweetly and dance around with her to eventually just mess around with her. It was fun, sweet, lively. Now every girl seemed unapproachable, dressed too nice, too sharp, too confident in parallel to himself who… Well, was the exact opposite to all those things. The lights were quite annoying too, he noticed. Something about the constant flickering and flashing was starting to get on his nerves. He was too old for this shit. The painting was painful too, more so the urge to steal it, to take it away and hang it somewhere where he could look at it every day for… For what? To remember his lost friend? The friend who was so great he outgrown him? No. He didn’t need to think about that. What he needed was to get the hell away from the fucking Monet, maybe immitate Sam and get himself a strong drink. He caught Zemo by the corner of his eye, dancing by himself, it was funnier than it should. He chuckled, looking at the ceiling, so this was his life now? Watching over the fucker who almost got him killed and finding relief in how bad he danced?
It was pathetic, really.
“Hey,” A hoarse voice made their presence known, the ruffle of fabric and the heat of a body moving closer made Bucky tense right up “You wanna a drink?”
Barnes turned around, a man- not older than Sam- was looking at him with a friendly smile, there was some edge to it, probably caused by the glass in his hand. Bucky looked at him with care, trying to decide if he was about to get into a fight… It didn’t seem like it. The clothes were nice, a bright shade of green and his hands looked too soft for a killer. “Pardon me?”
Some of the confidence dismantled as the man moved closer, his mouth lingering against Bucky's ear as he repeated himself, a thick accent coming through “Just wondering if you wanted a drink,” He moved away, the smile again on his face. What was his deal? “I’m Nico, by the way”
Bucky ignored the extended hand, brows still furrow “I’m good, thanks”
“Is just a drink,” The man said, not necessarily insisting, not in a threatening way at least, it seemed he was trying to joke to get Bucky’s attention for another second. Was he distracting him? Where was Sam? Was Zemo planning something? Sam, where was Sam--
“Ei,” A gentle hand fell on his shoulder, he didn’t need to turn to know it was Sam, he knew his presence more than well by now “What’s the matter?”
“I was just trying to convince your friend to have a drink with me” Said the other without missing a beat, a bright grin plastered over his face “You don’t mind don’t you?”
Bucky frown deepen. What? He glare at Sam, who sported such a unfriendly expression it was almost comical “I already brought him one, sorry”
It was true, Sam slid a glass on Bucky's vibranium hand, his arm going around Bucky’s lower back… What the- The man looked at the pair and nodded and-- Oh, he was flirting. Fuck Bucky was rusted. The epiphany shook him a little, if anything out of shame of not noticing beforehand. Not to mention Sam realized he didn’t notice and was helping him out of the situation so smoothly it was infuriating.
Goddamn, he smirk now, looking at his feet and pointing the glass towards the man, trying to convey some of his old charm “Maybe some other time, Nico”
Apparently he hadn’t completely lost it because the man’s eyes grew stormy, eager to take whatever Barnes was ready to give him, licking his lips and bowing just once, eyes lingering longer than necessary before going away. Sam immediately pulled his arm away, a huffled laugh leaving his lips.
“Did I just cockblock you?” Mutter Sam, eyes squint and mouth into an offended sneer.
Why was he offended? There was no way Wilson gave a flying fuck about Bucky flirting with a dude, if anything he suspected Sam would be a lot more suprised if he tried that with a girl.
“No,” Barnes replied, with more ease; being hit on still felt good. Reassuring that he was a human made of flesh and bone. And some vibranium, he guessed. “Thanks for the drink, tho.”
“It’s not free,” Sam confess, mischief clear as day “You gotta tell me what’s up with the painting”
The only thing more aggraviating than Sam being stupid was him being smart. There were a few courses of action for situations like this; being cold and dismissive- that never worked with Sam, who just pushed him with one joke and he was already flaming. And lying, that seemed wrong, Steve was Sam’s friend too. Hiding away and hoarding the sweeter memories seemed...Shitty.
“It was Steve’s favorite” The words were low, probably hard to catch in the middle of a party like this. Sam heard them somehow, brown eyes lighting up, beaming with this new found information, glancing back at the sunflowers.
“It makes sense,” Said The Falcon, cocking his head to the side, a cheerful smile making Barnes feel less wrong about sharing his memories of Steve with someone else. It made no sense, to be protective over little moments like those and still…
“He used to always take the same book from the library,” Bucky continued on talking, hiding his free hand inside his pocket. “Old dusty thing. A bunch of European art on it. He loved it. I don’t think he would’ve been thrilled about his current state.”
“He liked Sharon well enough, he would’ve learned to like it” Sam commented with a wide grin that Barnes didn’t share back. He should try, at least, to fake some sort of happiness when it comes to Steve, like Sam did. But it hurted too much, the echo of abandonment electrifying every single one of his bones. He wasn’t ready to pretend yet.
Sam's eyes filled with worry like he caught the flicker in Bucky’s expression but before he could annoy the old man with a series of uncomfortable questions, his phone rang.
It was barely hearable in the pack place but Bucky caught the vibration and the monotonous sound coming right from Sam’s pocket. The Falcon pull the iphone out, looking at the name in the screen, rolling his eyes and snorting “Good god”
“Who is it?”
The sharp eyebrow raise, glaring at Bucky with a global expression of none of your fucking busness. Usually the soldier would’ve back off but this was Sam so-
“What happened with ‘you can ask whatever you want’?” Bucky inquired with irony “Same girl that almost got us killed with Selby?”
The mention made his teammate grimace, putting the phone away before breathing out heavily “Is not some girl. Is my sister, Sarah” The man looked wiry, like he wasn’t sure if he should share more information with Buck “We been fighting about the family boat”
“What?”
Bucky never imagined Sam to be the type to fight for things , let alone a boat. What the fuck did Sam wanted a boat for?
“Why the fuck are you fighting for a boat ?” Bucky asked, confused.
“It’s not just a boat” Sam interrupted him, like he already had this conversation and it wasn’t getting bored of repeating the same words “It’s where we grow up, it’s part of the family basically. My sister wants to sell it. And it’s kinda falling apart too, so. Yeah”
“Seems fair she makes the call” Bucky argue without controlling himself, half being honest half antagonizing his teammate “She’s the one dealing with it while you travel thru Europe”
The ouraged in the avenger face was borderline funny, brown eyes sparklyn with anger, as if Bucky had touched the exact sore spot.
“Getting my ass kicked thru Europe, you mean. Is not like I’m visiting the fucking Luvre” He frown, eyes squinted with disbelief “Besides, I can help. After all of this is done…”
“This is never done, Sam” Bucky said, voice flat and dark “Believe me”
Sam shrugged, feet moving slightly like he wanted to dance but was well aware he shouldn’t. Or couldn’t, not at least with Bucky. Maybe he could try his luck with Zemo, the man seemed to be enjoying himself. Barnes envy him. I used to love dancing.
“Used to?”
“Uh?”
“Why used to?”
Bucky needed a second to realize he had spoken out loud. Sometimes it happens, after many years being alone, the company still surprises him. He gulped down his entire drink, he needed it.
“Well, dancing has changed” everything has changed. Except those fucking Monet paintings apparently. You can always count on art to dig into both fresh and old wounds.
Sam nodded nonchalant, his left hand slipping into Bucky’s, pulling at him. Taking both of their glasses and putting them in a passing tray “Come on, now”
It was just a second, a fraction of time where he got ready to fight because; why else would Sam touch him? They were used to pulling each other out of dangerous places. He recalled even jumping in front of the man back when they fought the spider boy. Taking the majority of the hit. It was natural somehow. Maybe because both of them learnt how to do that with Steve and- Well, it passed very easily to the other. Steve loved Sam, so Bucky took care of him. Steve also loved Bucky, so Sam took care of him. It was just like that. Nothing else. So when their fingers entangled by pure instinct Bucky assumed something was wrong. Then he caugh Sam’s grin and the worry disperse, the man was just fucking with him. “What are we doing now?”
Sam didn’t reply, he dragged Bucky to the middle of the dance floor only letting go when they were buried by strangers. They should be watching Zemo, Buck thought, but… But Sam’s hand were now on his shoulders, shaking him “Loosen up, cyborg head”
Bucky did so, scoffing “This is not gonna work,” He grumbled as Sam leaned in closer, his breath smelling like whiskey and mint, the expensive perfume Sharon gave him entrancing Bucky a bit. “A little trust, now move with me”
Barnes grimaced as Sam started to dance softly, second natured- of course Sam was one of those people that just look like they own the place… Bucky used to look like that too, he recall, moving around mindlessly, smirking and laughing, dazzle in the golden lighting of the decaying 40’, his throat always burning with cheap alcohol, hands full with Steve jacket as someone the latter pissed off made them ran for their life, both of them cracking up, breathless. They were always breathless back then.
Sam was close now, maybe that’s the only reason Barnes train of thought came back to the present. Sam was properly close, his hands sliding from Bucky’s shoulder to his elbows and then changing so they were place against the man’s torso “Movement, like this”
The words sounded coded, but Bucky followed them, dizzy on human touch. Dancing had always come easy to him, he loved music, loved seeing people play live, instruments and sweat, notes crashing the night like lightings. This music didn’t come easy to him, tho. It was strange, misplaced. Sam did, tho. Somehow. The hands were warm and the brown eyes were happy as the falcon realized Bucky was not about to push him away, he smelled good too, fresh and clean. It was nicer than standing alone in awkward silence. So he tried, he let the other move him a little, the led being stolen from him and passed away which should freak him out. By nature. Instinct. But it didn’t, because, as much as Sam annoyed the living hell out of him- and he did- the world seem safe around him. That was one of the many of the reasons he deserved the shield, Sam shifted everything with just being there, he was bright, secure, a good man. Sam cared about others, he saw potential and was patient. Blinded sometimes by impulse, but always seeking for better, for changed. Bucky liked that about Sam. As annoying as he was, which was plenty of annoying. It was overwhelming, tho, being in the receiving end of all that expectation, all that care… More so when Wilson lean in so close, smiling as the song changed “I love this song”
Bucky grin back, his own hand naturally finding a comfortable space in Sam’s lower back, it wasn’t easy but… But old habits die hard, he supposed, so he scott the other man a bit closer, his own mouth inching closer to Sam’s ear, and said just to spite him “This song is terrible, Wilson”
“Shut up, man” Sam argued, laughing with a rattling sound that made Bucky shiver. “It’s a classic”
You, you got what I need but you say he's just a friend
And you say he's just a friend, oh baby
You, got what I need but you say he's just a friend
But you say he's just a friend, oh baby
You, got what I need but you say he's just a friend
Bucky laughed as Sam sang off key, unsure as to why, but the song was actually kinda good. Not like his 40’ songs, it was happy, thrilling, vibrating with life and some edge he was not entirely sure he recognized. It was clearly mixed with something else, a track similar to all the others. Remix, that’s what Shuri said when he found a very weird version of a Sinatra song. He hated when Wilson was right. Their dance, whatever it was, became something more loose, they let go of each other eventually, or Sam let go of him when it became clear Bucky could dance by his own means, and Bucky had no excuses to keep his hold on the falcon. The music kept on playing. It was strange, like all new things. The memory of Steve awkwardly dancing with him or around him flash before his eyes, all details so painfully unlike the ones in front of him. The yellow lights that always used to bring out Steve’s hollow cheeks now changed for the cold tricolor shower that coated Sam’s dark skin with a enchanting nebulous of shadows and highlights, the music beating and purring like heart beats replacing what once was jazz pouring out of those shady Brooklyn bars, the people that in his time tried to keep some catholic distance where now skin on skin and the movements, that was a good change Bucky gathered… Not that the others weren’t, they very much were, but the movements… The erratic, filled with liquor and nicotine twirls and twists from his past were now replaced for a slow pace that dragged like honey, sweet and tense. Hot, that what it was, Bucky realized chuckling, it was just hot, honestly.
There was also the fact that Sam sang every lyric, how the fuck did he knew them all? The other man had no clue, to this point Bucky just assumed he was bullshiting his luck around.
I want that jet lag from fuckin' and flyin'
Shoot a child in your mouth while I'm ridin'
Jesus fuck that was graphic, Bucky thought as Sam mouthed the lyrics, he started feeling hotter than before. Yeah, that type of shit wouldn’t have happened with Steve, that was for sure. A guilt riddle voice whispered you prefer this. He needed to hush it so he moved forwards, almost jumping when Sam took this as an invitation to reclaim Bucky’s waist, hands gripping at the fabric of his suit, his own hands quickly went to Sam’s back.
“You are taller,” He blurted, unsure as to why.
“Is the hells” Sam admitted with a smile, his breath tingling. They were too close now, Bucky realized it was like two trains racing towards each other, the pilots death and the breaks broken, ready to crash and destroy everything with them. Nothing was gonna happen but the thought was there, the vague idea that if he moved just an inch closer, if he lined his mouth correctly...
“Not to interrupt your moment,” Zemo said, voice charged with amusement “But Sharon is looking for us”
They both reacted at the same time, moving away with a certain fall to reality. It’s not nice when the bad guy who you were supposed to watch over has to tell you to stop fucking around and get to work. Zemo didn’t seem bothered, a cat-like smile tugging at the corners of his lips “Shall we?”
As they followed him Bucky remembered the boat, that distant concept of a home that Sam seemed so eager to keep. He wondered what he would do to have a piece of those days where he could launch around with Steve, under the New York heat, humid and hot but safe in their own corner of the world. A house, a home. Not just a roof over his head. The picture of such a place, of somewhere warm, washed with the smell of water and rust metal, the idea that, maybe, he could take a sneak peek at something so private for Sam…
“I’ll help you” The words were loud, decided.
Sam just stared at him, confused “Uh?”
“With the boat, if you need someone to fix it up with. I’ll help you”
“You would?” Sam asked, a shy smile attempting to come through.
“Yeah, why not”
They looked at each other for a moment and Bucky just knew that he would love that boat in the same ways he used to love art. Because Sam cared- in his annoying way- and now so did Buck- in his own annoying way.