#well ...

The mission had been a disaster, not because Steve hadn’t completed it, he had, the target was neutralized, civilians were safe and the damage was contained but it was one of those off-the-books missions, the kind he couldn’t let anyone in the government know he’d taken, no reports, no oversight, no backup.

And when the building came down around him, when he found himself coughing under rubble, ribs aching and vision almost lost, and with no official channels to fall back on, no one he could risk calling, not even Sam or anyone official…

He had stared at his phone, dirt was stinging his eyes, his thumb was hovering over the contacts, then his eyes were fixed on one name that made his heart skip a beat, he knew what it would mean, he knew that calling him was reckless, but in the end, he did, he called Bucky.

… And Bucky came.

No hesitation, no lecture, no wasted time, just a sharp “where are you?” and then he was there, pulling Steve out from under broken concrete with bare hands, keeping a low profile, so no one would recognize him.

It was madness and it was dangerous, because it put them both in more trouble than Steve wanted to think about, if someone knew.

Now he was in the congressman’s bathroom, in front of the sink, wiping dirt and dust and dried blood from his face and body… His uniform was a wreck, folded in a heap on the floor, he looked like hell.

The worst part? Was that tomorrow was supposedly his dinner with Bucky, THE dinner, the one he’d actually been looking forward to all week, after that make out session in Bucky’s office.

And instead of steak and a bottle of wine, Steve had dragged the man into this…

He pressed a towel to his jaw, trying to breathe evenly, you owe him thank you, a serious talk, he’s risking his career by keeping you here… Don’t screw this up.

But when he stepped out of the bathroom, every rehearsed word evaporated.

Bucky was in the kitchen, barefoot, shirt open, sleeves rolled, papers scattered everywhere, he was muttering lines under his breath while the smell of food filled the apartment as dinner was ready and Bucky was already taking few bites. And then it happened, sauce spilled right across his shirt.

“Goddammit!!” Bucky muttered, tugging the shirt off in one motion and tossing it aside, he didn’t stop, he didn’t even blink, he just kept reading from his stack of drafts in nothing but a white tank top that stretched tightly across his chest and shoulders, “The American people deserve-no, too stiff!! The people of this country deserve better…Yeah, this is better, stronger, more convincing!!”

Steve stood in the doorway, staring like an idiot.

He should say thank you for risking your career to save my life… He should say I’m sorry I pulled you into this… He should say I didn’t know who else to call, but I knew you’d come… But instead, all he thought was: this clumsy bastard!!

His throat worked, but no sound came out, watching Bucky frown at speech notes while sauce still clung to the edge of his collarbone was… well, it was hell.

Steve wanted to laugh, to tease, to say something just to earn that smug grin, he also wanted to cross the kitchen, grip Bucky’s wrist, and let gratitude spill out in the way his chest ached to express it.

Instead, he stood there in silence, towel twisting in his hands, before he threw it aside, his heart was beating fast and loud that he was worried Bucky might hear it.

Bucky muttered again, writing down a note, he was oblivious to Steve standing there staring at him, he was focused...

Steve bit down on a sigh, he might have ruined their dinner tomorrow night, he might have missed his chance… And yet, here he was, he was safe in Bucky’s apartment, staring at the man who had come when no one else could.