#post ws

Steve regretted the rental almost immediately, but he didn’t want to admit that to Sam, so he feigned that he chose the Beetle for nostalgia. There was little trunk space and even less leg room, but Sam climbed inside with his usual humor and uncanny knack for reminding Steve how much worse it could actually be.

That didn’t mean that Sam was above <i>bickering</i>.

“Can we not with the top forty?”

“What? It‘s music.“

“<i>This</i> is <i>not</i> music.”

“Sure sounds like it to me.” This morning was no different from most of the others. Ever since they climbed back into the cramped VW bug at the crack of dawn, with a fresh lead on their missing person, Steve drove them down endless stretches of autumn-brown grass, corn fields and cow pastures with the windows rolled up against the road noise, but with the two of them locked in - held captive - with the saccharine, pitchy strains of Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber. Sam was just about ready to rip his ears off of his head.

Sam swiveled his head around from the passenger seat and gave him a jaundiced look. “Steve.“

Steve faced him, giving Sam the full power of that little divot between his brows. “You‘re forgetting ‘The List.‘“

Steve huffed. “No, I‘m not. Natasha put ‘Trouble Man‘ on my Spotify list. I‘ve got it covered.“

“You do realize that you can pull up your Spotify on his car’s stereo, right?”

Steve gave Sam a rusty chuckle. “Not on this clunker. Back in my day, you were lucky if you got the baseball game, the weather report, and the commercial for Powdered Milk Biscuits tuned in on the radio while you were on the road. These babies were made for reliability, not for frills.”

“Maybe back in <i>your</i> day.“ Sam pushed one of the preselected station buttons on the antiquated radio console. “But this ain‘t your daddy‘s Volkswagen, Rogers. Get a load of <i>this</i>.”

The console clicked, and the entire face of the stereo projected out from the dash, illuminating the interior and replacing the controls with a set of levers and controls that Steve <i>knew</i> didn’t come standard the last time he drove a Beetle.

Sam grinned at Steve’s incredulous look and plugged the cable into the port of his smartphone, and the adapter into the stereo. He swiped through a few screens on his phone, and seconds later, Stevie Wonder’s “Superstitious“ flooded the cramped interior. Sam drummed out the bass line with his fingers against his denim-clad knees.

“Right up there with the polio vaccine, isn‘t it?“

“Shaddup, Wilson.“

“… writing‘s on the wall,“ Sam crooned as they took the off-ramp for the service station. Another three-quarters of a mile, and they climbed out at a questionable looking AM/PM whose windows were splashed with faded sports posters and Marlboro ads. Sam took the cooler out of the hatch and dumped out the fetid water that had been ice the night before, along with a half a bottle of Brisk iced tea that Steve had lost interest in and forgotten about. They took turns with the neglected mens’ room and restocked; Sam didn’t have the benefit of Steve‘s enhanced metabolism, and he stuck with a box of granola bars and a couple of bags of pretzels. Steve took a chance on one of the foot-long hot dogs, unconcerned with their likely freshness, or his arteries. He picked up a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos out of curiosity; minutes later, he stopped, rolled down the window, and threw the almost full bag into an open trash can at the end of the intersection. Sam gave him a smug look and offered him the pretzels, and they continued down the route given to them by Sam’s contact at Fort Belvoir.

They were on schedule to meet Sam’s brother Gideon at his modest apartment and cool their heels. Sam needed to run a diagnostic on his wing pack and make sure the fittings weren’t damaged during the fire fight at their last checkpoint, which turned out to be a HYDRA compound. Steve was about the happiest Sam had seen him since they started their trip after the scuffle, once they broke into the mainframe and wiped the old files. Using Sitwell’s old passcodes, they found what they were looking for:

Bucky’s tracking signal, still moving and visible from HYDRA‘s satellite feed.

Sam grew accustomed to the hard, uncomfortable hotel beds - no worse than sleeping on the ground, or in a sand flea-infested tent, all things considered - and the cheap gas station coffee. Once in a while, they pretended to sightsee like a couple of vacationing tourists. Steve sent Natasha a postcard from the Grand Canyon the month before, just to give her tangible proof that they were still above the ground. And, maybe, just maybe, to give her a laugh.

And he grew all too used to Steve’s silences, teeming with all of the things he didn’t say, that Sam could already guess.

Sam changed the station to a playlist that he created with Steve in mind. Bing Crosby would never be his favorite, not by any stretch. But it was worth it to see that soft, fond smile blossom on Rogers’ face for a moment. Sam lied to himself that it was exclusively for him.

*

Steve’s enhanced stamina meant that he was on point to drive more often than Sam, for longer periods before needing Sam to spell him behind the wheel. The benefit was getting to watch Sam while he slept. Not that he failed to give Sam shit about it, because he <i>had</i> to; it was a prerequisite to their friendship. Sam’s head kept jerking up like a Funko Pop bobblehead as he slept, and he occasionally murmured things that Steve often threatened to use as blackmail.

But Sam was cute when he slept. Steve itched to get his pencils and a pad of newsprint to sketch that face as shadows caressed his skin. In his sleep, Sam clutched the bar on the door, as though he didn’t trust Steve’s driving while his eyes were closed.

He was relaxed, and all of the tensions of their work bled out of his countenance when he was like this. His skin was smooth and luminous. Steve took in and appreciated small details like the cords of muscle in his throat. The long, curling dark lashes. The way his teeth caught his lower lip between them. Well-muscled biceps exposed by his rolled-up sleeves. Tiny flat moles under his eyes, not quite freckles. Enviably high cheekbones and a high, intelligent forehead. Sam’s looks were a distraction as it was; it was even harder when Steve heard him talking in that voice, laughing that chuckle. Watching that body move, even with mundane tasks.

The sun was disappearing behind the trees, and the GPS told them that their destination was five hundred feet ahead on the right. Steve tossed the empty Gatorade bottle into the back seat, wishing he had another one for Sam. His mouth was going to taste like paste after riding with the A/C blowing on him for so long.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Hey.” Steve felt his lips curl into a smile as Sam glanced up at him, dazed and groggy, but he gave him that smile that he loved in return, the one that made his gut clench and warmth fizz in his chest. Sam’s lips were chapped, but that didn’t stop them from tempting Steve or from imagining how they felt.

Gideon’s apartment had been comfortable, but the visit itself was tense. Gideon had strong opinions about Captain America leading his brother back into armed conflict when he had a perfectly reasonable, worthwhile job at the VA. But he still pulled out a rollaway mattress and blankets and fed them a tasty pot of jambalaya. Gideon regaled them of his vacation in Bermuda and showed them his photos from his Instagram account, right before he showed them some news links online reporting the leaked data from the SHIELD security dump. Gideon reminded Sam sternly, “When do you get to just be a private citizen? When do you get to enjoy the peace you’ve fought so hard for?”

Sam turned to Steve in that instance and deadpanned, “When pigs fly.” Gideon also reminded Sam that he was due to call their mother, since she’d asked him no fewer than three times that week if he’d spoken to Sam, or mentioned her church sister’s daughter who just so happened to be single. Sam avoided the subject skillfully for the duration of the drive after hugging his brother goodbye.

“Didn’t have a more subtle suitcase, huh?” Sam nodded to Steve’s SHIELD duffel as he pulled their bags out of the trunk.

“What? I’m not gonna throw it away and let it go to waste!” That earned Steve a smirk and a brief roll of Sam’s eyes. Steve let him walk stiffly ahead of him while he carried in the burner phones and laptop. The parking lot was almost filled to capacity. Sam hoped that didn’t guarantee them a night of loud neighbors. Sam scrubbed his fingers through his short, coarse curls before he put on his cap and shades. Steve almost wished they had stayed at the “South of the Border” park and hotel where they picked up a few tchotchkes. Sam didn’t stop Steve from buying Nat the figurine of a donkey in a sombrero and mariachi outfit playing guitar, but he did question his taste.

Even in his shades and cap, Steve noticed a few teens, and even a few moms checking him out, and he ducked out of the lobby to use the bathroom. As he retreated, he heard Sam blandly asking if his veteran’s discount applied and if there was a continental breakfast included with the room. Her voice was cheerful as she thanked Sam for his service.

By the time Steve came back, Sam was already tucking his credit cards and ID back into his wallet, and he looked relieved to see Steve again, more than ready to get himself behind a locked door and enjoy his freedom from the confines of the Beetle. Steve clapped him on the back as they picked up their bags and headed outside. He felt the tension in Sam’s body with that brief gesture, and Sam shoulder-checked him, taking umbrage. Steve and Sam lumbered up the metal steps, legs heavy as lead.

After two years of working with Sam and sharing his pursuit of Bucky with him, an offer Steve often regretted, Steve knew Samuel Thomas Wilson intimately in a way that made the label of “friendship” laughable and woefully understated. They shared each other’s space easily, magnets from opposite poles. Steve fell into the constant habit of keeping Sam in his sights on missions, whether they were in transit or performing reconnaissance. Sam’s voice reached Steve from just over his shoulder or through an earwig, smooth, deep and comfortingly familiar, laced with a hint of irony every time. It grounded Steve, breaking through his dark thoughts. They often traveled shoulder to shoulder, leaning over the rails of a ferry boat or crammed into packed metro cars, sharing the pages of whatever local newspaper they found at the stands downtown. It never failed to impress Sam how many languages Steve could read and understand when they would get caught up with the news, and Steve blushed like a beet when Sam asked him if that scored him more action with the showgirls on his USO tours before Phillips actually allowed him to <i>punch</i> someone.

Sam smelled good. Steve picked up the faded remnant of his aftershave and whatever product he used in his hair.

“I hope the mattresses aren’t too soft,” Sam remarked as Steve keyed them inside. Steve grumbled his agreement and walked in first, letting his eyes adjust to the darkened suite before he set down the laptop and his duffel. He flicked on the light and stopped short, taking in the sight before him. He felt Sam run up against his back, obviously expecting him to journey further into the room.

“Uh.” It was all he could manage at the moment.

“What?” Sam’s voice sounded like he was ready for disappointment, but Steve wasn’t ready to give it to him.

“What if there’s only one of them, Wilson?”

“Wait… <i>what?</i>”

Sam’s voice sounded hoarse and disbelieving as they both eyed the king-sized bed dressed in a homely paisley comforter and stark, crisp white sheets. The edge was folded over, and two Andes mints winked up at them. Mocking them.

Just.

One.

Bed.

“Yeah,” Steve murmured. “Think they screwed up our reservation a little.” Because what else could he say? His palms felt clammy and embarrassment washed over him. His mind went in <i>so many inconvenient directions</i> as he stared at the bed.

Sam gave Steve his Sunday-best <i>Are you fucking kidding me?</i> face complete with a neck swivel and a hand on his hip. “That’s understating things a little.”

Steve expected that. His sigh was gusty, anyway.

“Wanna head back down…?”

Steve knew Sam was weighing the possibilities and mentally throwing most of them out. They were arriving late in the day. The parking lot was relatively full already, indicating that most of the rooms were probably booked. And it was a Friday night. Trying to change their room would likely be more trouble than it was worth, and Steven was mulling over how it would look if he headed down to the desk clerk to suggest changing the room. How would she react?

<i>Oh, wow! I’m afraid we gave you the honeymoon suite! Just figured you two were lovebirds!</i>

Sam looked exhausted. Changing rooms would be one more obstacle in the way of getting Sam the rest and peace he deserved. He had slight bags under his eyes and his posture was sagging a little.

“It could be worse,” Steve offered, rubbing his nape. Sam sighed heavily. “Hey, Wilson, just to let you know, I don’t snore.”

“No. To your credit, you don’t.” Sam took off his baseball cap and shades, setting them down on the side table in a silent acceptance of the room and the hassle of bunking together in closer quarters than they’d planned. “Just don’t Dutch oven me, and we’ll get along fine.”

Steve felt his face twisting into a smirk again. “I can’t make any promises. I don’t have ulcers ever since the serum, Sam. That doesn’t mean I don’t get <i>gas</i>.”

Sound of very distinct,clear buzz of engines roars through the air and in a speedy landing maneuver, acompact flying craft I recognize only too well touches the ground at thefarthest side of the large square.

Great. Whenever Idodge HYDRA I end up with the Avengers. Can’t a guy get a month just tohimself?! Hell, a week at least!

“Watch out!”

I was beingmetaphorical about the whole dodging business, but leave it to that flyingpiece of junk that destroyed poor granny’s stall to smash into me full force, sendingus flying sideways.

Red, gold, flyingand metal – I don’t need the Winter Soldier’s restless presence at the back ofmy mind to tell me who just almost knocked the lights outta me.

Tony Stark. The Iron Man. Threat level: High. Captureor kill.

HYDRA’s little memoneeds to be updated. Threat level high?! Romanov is a high level threat, CaptainAmerica is a high level threat…Iron Man is a damn menace, ultra hazard to one’slife and market stalls!

The dust clearsafter our unceremonious landing and I’m left staring into wild hazel eyes of mywould-be savior. Okay, so maybe he did save me, seeing that the spot on thepavement I’ve been standing on two seconds ago is now a big smoking hole in thepavement. But that doesn’t change the fact that his one thousand pounds worthof metal is now squishing me to death…if I was just a random pedestrian and nota supersoldier, I’d be flat as a pancake by now.

Those expressiveeyes widen slightly and is that a blush right there?! “Sorry!” he blurts out,rolling off to finally let me breathe. “You okay?” he kneels next to me, metalfingers resting against my chest in a subtle gesture to keep me laying down.

I almost wanna rollmy eyes and tell him I’m the Winter goddamn Soldier, I most definitely didn’tneed saving and he doesn’t have to worry about me in the least!

Thing is, I am notthe Winter Soldier. I am Bucky Barnes and Bucky Barnes likes what he’s seeingright now very, very much. Talkin’ in third person too…great. HYDRA’s memoreally is useless; it completely forgot to mention how handsome Tony Stark is.Especially up close. Should have been listed in the threat level, to be honest.Damn HYDRA…

Stark frowns andsnaps his fingers in front of me. “Hey gorgeous, you still with me or what? Areyou hurt? Can you get up? D’you need a hand?”

“If it’s your handin marriage then yes, I need one,” I say before my brain can register thewords.

A startled chuckleescapes his lips – stop thinkin’ abouthis lips, Bucky! – and the blush intensifies. “You hit your head there,didn’t ya? Anyway, I gotta go. Have a date with funky alien projectile bugs.”

“I’ll fight themfor you.”

“Why thank you, buthow about I do the fighting and you do the staying low and safe, hm?” hesuggests, getting up.

“My hero,” I smirkup at him, starting to enjoy his flustered reaction.

“Stop flirting withcivilians and start blasting these things off!” some bow and arrow weirdoshouts from the top of a nearby statue causing Stark to roll his eyes.

“On it, Katniss!JARVIS! Where’s my helmet!” he yells and with a wink he disappears back intothe fray.

I jump back to myfeet and scatter out of the square that has now become a battlefield. Not thatI’d be threatened by…real funky alien projectile bugs. I could easily introducethem to my metal fist, but that would without a doubt not go unnoticed by theAvengers. I couldn’t dodge Iron Man but I’d rather not come face to face withany more Avengers, especially those that could recognize me.

I watch the fightfrom a safe distance, gaze lingering more and more on the red and gold flyingsuit of armor. A strange…fluffy feeling settles in my stomach, making theWinter Soldier all uncomfortable and growly and I honestly couldn’t care less. Fora fleeting moment there, I finally felt like Bucky Barnes. Not something inbetween or forgotten, incomplete.

One hundred percentBucky.

That’s part of whatI’ve been looking for these past few months on the run. Myself. Of course fatehas a sense of humor and would throw exactly that right in my face…or rather itthrew Tony Stark in my face and the rest just suddenly clicked into place.

Time to go back toEurope. And then…who knows.

xxxTonyxxx

Son of a bitch. Sonof a…okay, it’s probably my fault that I haven’t studied the Winter Soldier filesthoroughly enough and so wouldn’t be able to recognize Bucky Barnes even if Icrashed right into him.

Because that’sexactly what happened! I crashed right into him and did not recognize him.Smashed riiiiiiight into the Winter Soldier, thinking I was saving him. Me. Savingthe Winter Soldier. From some nasty alien critters he could probably squishwith his pinky.

Nope, it was worsethan that. I thought I just saved a random…cute…civilian. Cute!

I thought the WinterSoldier was cute! Steve’s bestgoddamn friend Bucky Barnes!

Who turned up atthe Tower a couple of days ago, after almost a year on the run. And few monthsafter our little impromptu meet & greet in Canada. The hell was he doing inCanada?!

Not that itmatters. What matters is the fact that the former HYDRA assassin, who strikesfear even in Natasha ninja Romanov when it comes to it, waltzed into the Towerafter being cleared by SHIELD, his trusty best pal Steve right next to him and oncehe greeted all the other Avengers and turned to me, that little bastard grinnedlike a madman and said:

“Oh hey, it’s myhero from Ontario! Hi there.”

He even made itrhyme…I was done! So done, I was…blushinglike an idiot. Tony Stark, blushing like an idiot in front of everyone. And theman who caused it seemed to be enjoying every second of it.

Damn him!

If only it were justthat one time but oh nooooo. Ever since then, he obviously made it his personalmission to throw that Canadian incident at me every chance he got.

“Ah! Thanks for brewing the coffee, it’s amazing! Stilla hero, even this early in the morning.”

“That’s it? The joint’s been drivin’ me nuts for daysand you just smack it with a screwdriver a couple times and it’s as good asnew? You’re my hero.”

“I’m just saying, for the record, JARVIS is a godsend!I’d be so lost without him. Guess the kudos goes to the superhero that createdhim. Super in every way and a hero through and through.”

Every. Chance. He.Got.

And he got me blushinglike a crazy teenager every time.

My hero.

He keeps calling methat like I am some kinda savior of his sent from the God above! From what Iremember, one of those damn bugs slammed into me mid-air and I plummeted downlike a comet…that’s hardly a divine intervention.

And I doubt he evenneeded saving! I watched him train with Rogers yesterday, he does not need saving, alright?

So here I am,sipping on my morning coffee, wondering how this is my life now. Can’t even goone day without him…without him…flirtingwith me? Is that what he’s doing? Why would he be doing that? With me? He’s the one that can make Thor andhis biceps run for his money. And me? I’m…not thirty anymore. Barely funny,barely…desirable. He’s probably just making fun of me and here I am, the foolwho’d think he’s actually interested in -

“Can ya open thefridge for me?”

“Hm,” I hum,automatically opening the fridge doors without looking at the newcomer.

Yeah. He’s makingfun of me, that must be it. I know Steve never really got over his dislike forme but at least he’s not being cruel about it. Bucky’s fucking savage about it!

“Thanks…my hero,”the person currently stuffing the fridge with vegetables whispers and I almostspit the coffee right there and then.

“Oh for fuck’ssake, you two! Get a room already or somethin’,” Clint complains, shoving twomore bags into Bucky’s arms to unload into the fridge.

“Since when isanyone around here going grocery shopping? That’s what deliveries are for!” Istare at the bags, not meeting their eyes because of course I’m blushing again!

“Shopping’s relaxin’,I love it! The local market’s the best. They’ve got plums,” he adds with asmall smile.

“Of course they’vegot plums, what do you mean? They’ve got everything! Welcome to the 21stcentury, Brooklyn boy.”

“Lovin’ the 21stcentury. So many…wonders around here these days.”

“Oooookay, that’sit!” I push the fridge close, making the supersoldier jump away. “You, out!” Iwave at Clint, who lingers curiously on the spot. “Out, now, Birdbrain!”

“Fine! Jeez, I’mgoing,” he mumbles and vanishes out of the kitchen.

“And you!” I pointmy finger at the startled man. “Are you done making fun of me?”

His upward quirk oflips fades at that. “What? Wait, I’m…how am I making fun of you?”

“You serious?!What, with all the ‘Oh Tony, you’re my hero! My savior!’ stuff?! How am Isupposed to understand that other than you making fun of me, hm?”

He widens his eyes,putting the bags down on the floor. “You think that I’m making fun of you…wheneverI call you that?” he asks and actually looks horrified, which in turn makes me horrified.

Oh oh. Did I screwup again? My brain to mouth filter, I swear to God…

“Yeah…? Yes. Aren’tyou? Because then I’m at a loss as to why would you call…uh…,” I stutter, eyinghim suspiciously as he walks closer, that small smile returning. “Me…uh…call methat. Why would you call me that,” I clear my throat.

“Why would I?” hechuckles. “Here I thought I was being so obvious and cheesy and…old-fashioned.Steve actually said I was being – and I quote – fucking stupid. Yes, he saidthat.”

“Obvious…stupid…what?”I blink in confusion.

“Obviously,stupidly in love,” he shrugs and looks away. “You look so cute and…oblivious wheneverI bring up Canada and…the whole ‘my hero’ thing. The blush looks good on ya soI figured I wouldn’t stop, just so that I could see it over and over again.”His smile drops again and suddenly he’s the shy one in the room. “If it’sbothering you I’m just gonna - ”

I’m a genius… or soI thought, until I’ve apparently completely missed the fact that yes, BuckyBarnes was flirting with me this whole time! Some genius I am…well, there’sstill hope for me yet.

So I kiss the manmid-sentence, putting a stop to any more blasphemous words coming out of thisgorgeous mouth.

“Not bothering me.At. All,” I whisper against his lips.

“Yeah I uh…kindagot that from the…the kiss,” he whispers back. “So…do I still get to call youmy hero whenever I want to?”

“Depends…do I getto kiss you whenever I want to?”

“I sure hope youwill,” he smirks, but it lacks his usual confidence. It’s shy and oh…why hellothere.

Turns out I’m notthe only one looking cute while blushing. Gonna have to do this a lot moreoften then, too…for science.