NOTES: Someone, I don't know who, gave the_wordbutler a fic prompt of Bucky and Steve being elementary school teachers and falling in love. I butted my way onto the bandwagon, and this series of words co-written by the pair of us was born.

In this chapter, we meet our main players in the in-service (staff only) days leading up to the opening day of the school year.


Bucky Barnes climbed out of his car and took a moment to observe his surroundings. The elementary school's parking lot was rapidly filling up. Even though the building was a new one to him, he took comfort in the familiar sights of a playground and a lot full of mini-vans and older sedans. Well, all the cars looked like that save the red, flashy sports car whose license plate read "STRK2".

Bucky pulled his messenger bag over his shoulder before grabbing the last box of things he needed to finish setting up his new second grade classroom out of the backseat. He hip-checked the door shut on his green Corolla and took a deep breath before heading into the building.

It was the first in-service day of the school year at his new school. He'd spent the last four years teaching fourth graders at another school in the district, but the social groups among the staff had clinched into cliques that didn't interact with each other, and the principal was clearly coasting his way to the maximum pension payments before retiring. By the end of last year, Bucky had been so frustrated that the only option he felt he had was to transfer to another school. Thankfully, his old college friend had let him know there was an opening for a second grade teacher at the school where she served as the P.E. teacher, and Bucky was able to earn his transfer. Not that Bucky believes tenure is the greatest of ideas (he's seen too many teachers become spontaneously lazy once they hit that mark), but job security was a nice thing to have in this economy and transferring out to a different district meant he'd have to start all over again. Even though it was a new building and staff, as soon as Bucky hit those doors, he'd be tenured for the start of his fifth year, and that was a nice, secure feeling to have.

Granted, switching schools had its downsides, too. It meant shifting from team lead over his intermediate grade down to second grade, and losing his extra title and barely-there bump in pay, but he didn't particularly care. It would be nice to have a break from extra meetings while adjusting. And he enjoyed the challenge of a new grade, a new building, and a new curriculum; he never wanted to be that teacher who settled on lesson plans and never updated them.

But all of it was still new. He'd logged a number of hours in his room in the last couple of weeks, but hadn't met too many new faces. He knew Natasha, of course, and owed her big time for helping him transfer over. He'd also met Jessica Drew, the team lead for second grade, but she'd been on her way out to make a Target run for supplies. She'd offered to have him tag along, but he had boxes to unpack. And he'd already gone himself—twice.

As he approached the office vestibule door, he started to shift the box in his arms so he could have a free hand when a voice behind him shouted, "I'll get that!" Bucky turned to see a man with dark curly hair, glasses, and a shy smile rushing up to the door. "Here," he said, "you've got your hands full."

"Thank you, uh—"

"Bruce. Bruce Banner. I'm one of the kindergarten teachers."

"Bruce," he acknowledged with a nod. "I'm Bucky. New to second grade."

The other man's eyes scrunched in slight confusion. "Bucky? I heard about a James."

Bucky rolled his eyes as he walked into the office. "I take it you're friends with Natasha. Call me Bucky; she's the only one who calls me James."

"Because Bucky is a stupid name," came a familiar voice.

He turned with a smile at the petite redhead. "Morning, Nat."

"About time you showed up, I've been waiting on you," she answered from the spot on the front counter she was perched on.

A moment of panic settled into his chest as he tried to nonchalantly yet franticly search the walls for a clock. Bruce chuckled behind him. "Don't worry. You're on time for your first day here. The Soviet just thinks that being anything less than a half hour early means you're running late."

Natasha shot Bruce a dirty look as he moved around the pair of them to a place deeper into the office before retorting, "Punctuality is appreciated by most people, Banner. And besides, James here was perpetually late in college. I'm surprised you made it this early, actually."

"Haha, very funny."

"Seriously, how many extra miles did you have to run for being late for ROTC in school?"

"And just when I thought about getting you a nice gift for getting me hired here."

"I accept cash and killer heels."

Bucky smiled, "I'll keep that in mind." He looked around the office. Their principal—Fury—was conversing with a tall redhead by the copier, and the busty brunette—Darcy, if he remembered correctly—who ran things in the front office was busy putting on finishing touches to her nails with a lime green polish pen. He felt his mouth quirk in confusion, and he leaned in towards Natasha. "What's the plan?"

"I'll help you put your stuff in your room, then we can hit up the breakfast spread in the cafeteria before meetings get started in the library."

"Breakfast spread?" Bucky asked.

Natasha rolled her eyes in response. "Of course that's the part you're focused on. Whenever we have in-service days, the PTA brings us breakfast."

"Nice."

"Depends on how you look at it," Bruce commented on his way back from the mailboxes. "On the one hand, it's great having a supportive PTA, but on the other hand I'm pretty sure it's just the first of many attempts by the president of the group to suck up to the staff as a preemptive apology for his kids' behavior."

"I'll second that theory," Natasha agreed with a dark tone in her voice. "I despise the Odinson boys."

"Rumor has it the youngest one is the worst of all," Bruce whispered conspiratorially.

"She'd have to be to handle her older brothers," Natasha replied.

"Henrik Odinson," Bucky said slowly. "That name's on my roster."

Natasha snorted. "Good luck with that. And he'll want you to call him Henry. He only gets the full Swedish name treatment when he's being yelled at by his mother, who is a saint for putting up with that family."

Bruce nodded in sympathy. "I had Henry two years ago. His parents liked me so much I have the middle one this year, and probably the sister next year. Lucky me."

"You know you can say no to that, right?" Natasha commented, but Bruce just shrugged. She patted his arm before hopping off the counter and purposefully bumping into Bucky. "Let's drop your stuff off, I'm starving."

As they made their way through the halls to his room, he was tempted to start listing off other names to Natasha to see what all he was up against, but he shook off the thought. He didn't want to start the year with prejudices. Granted, it was nice to have some warning about bad cases, but he didn't want to kick off the school year with a bias before he even shook a kid's hand on the first day. Yes, he shakes hands with his students on the first day. Shut up.

Once they arrived at his door, he propped the box in his arms between his hip and the wall so he could dig in his pockets for the key. He unlocked his door and set the box on his desk, taking a look around and tweaking his mental list for everything he needed to get done over the next two days before the kids arrived.

Movement to his right caught his eye. He turned his head to see dust cloths being removed from large tables with chairs on them in the room across the hall. But once his eyes were focused in that direction, it wasn't the swirling cream cloth floating through the air that held his attention; it was the person manipulating the material.

The shoulders were the first thing Bucky noticed—strong and broad and barely contained under the faded red cotton t-shirt. Through the windows, and there were plenty in the room, the sunshine made the man's blonde hair glow a golden hue. Bucky's eyes trailed on down the rest of the other man's physique and his mind came to two conclusions. One: his brain was starting to sound like one of those damn "bedroom books" his Aunt Diane was always reading (even at some family functions). Two: it was going to be simultaneously enticing and excruciating, having to teach across the hall from this person. He sent up a quick and silent prayer that whenever the man turned around that his face would be haggard, but no such luck. The other man had a jaw chiseled from stone, and a torso that even from this distance made Bucky's fingertips twitch.

If his brain had been functioning properly, he would have been quicker to pick up on signs that Natasha noticed his prolonged silence, but it wasn't. And before he knew it, the redhead was sashaying out of his room and into the hall. "Steve—come over here and meet James."

Steve walked into Bucky's room with a smile that could light a Christmas tree. And Bucky was frozen solid in place. One small, still functioning part of his brain flashed back to one of the girls in his class last year talking about what it was like to meet Justin Bieber, and Bucky had to give his head a little shake to get his neurons starting again.

"Steve Rogers—art teacher," the blonde man said as he extended a hand. "I'll apologize now for having kids rotating outside your room every forty-five minutes and for when glitter eventually wafts its way across the hall into your class."

"Bucky Barnes—second grade," he replied with a smile. Steve shook his hand—a good strong grip, but not too overbearing—and slid a look at Natasha. Bucky sighed and give an annoyed look at his old friend. "You've told them all to call me James, didn't you?"

"I refuse to call you that stupid name."

"I like that stupid name, and it's the only thing anyone's called me—save you and my drill instructors—my entire life."

"New year, new school, new you."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I'm fine with the current me, thank you."

Natasha shrugged before turning to Steve. "Have you eaten yet?"

The other man's blue eyes lit up at the mention of food. "No, but I heard Thor pulled out all the stops."

"Preemptive apology."

Steve gave a disapproving look to Natasha. "His kids aren't that bad."

Bucky fought back a smile when he saw a single red eyebrow raise in response before her mouth finished her reply. "Remember that one day you were out last year and Henry dumped red fingerpaint all over his hand, slammed the blade down on the paper cutter, and made Wilson think he'd chopped off all his fingers?"

Steve grimaced. "I didn't think I'd ever get Wade to sub for me again after that."

Natasha shook her head. "I told you all you had to do was bribe him back with promises of a six pack and a movie from the bargain bin at Wal-Mart." She paused to look up at the clock on the wall. "C'mon, we need to go now if we want to get food before Fury gets started."

Ten minutes later, Bucky seated himself at a table in the library with a plate containing a bagel and fruit. Natasha sat to his right with Steve on her other side. Bucky's brain slide its attention from Steve's body to the heaping pile of carbs (who eats a donut and a bagel?) sitting in front of the art teacher. Bucky wondered for a moment, while munching on a strawberry, how a man who looked to be about ninety-nine percent lean muscle could eat like that.

"Is that a strawberry?" a new voice at the table asked. Bucky looked up from his seat to see a man with dark hair and goatee eyeing his plate suspiciously. "It is, dammit. I told Fabio to keep strawberries out of the breakfast spread. But did he listen? No. Pepper!" And now the guy was shouting across the library. Bucky turned his head to see the tall redhead who was conversing with Fury in the office earlier, look up from her spot at what was clearly designated as the head table by the mounds of paperwork waiting to be distributed to the staff. "Hey, Pepper!"

"Yes, Tony?" she replied, practiced patience evident in her tone.

This Tony thrust an index finger in the direction of Bucky's plate. "Beware the strawberries. I don't want you to come over here and breathe the air and have an allergic reaction."

"That's not how my allergy works, really, but thank you for the head's up."

"Just being a protective and loving husband, dear."

"Will you sit down and quit annoying your wife," Bruce said as he took a seat next to the man with the goatee.

"Hey, I'm trying to look out for her wellbeing. That is not being annoying. And if I'm talking, it means I can control the subject of the conversation, and it won't be about that damn Fifty Shades and all its kinkery like it was non-stop at the end of last school year. I know way too much about the sexual fantasies of the women on staff here."

"Those books weren't that kinky," quipped a new voice belonging to pale man with glasses and dark hair who took the seat across from Bucky.

Tony groaned in pain. "Gross, Coulson. I don't need to know that much about you and Barton."

The man smiled and extended his hand across the table. "Phil Coulson, we've emailed a few times." Bucky nodded and shook his head. He tried to match the sexual overshare with the polite and mild-mannered emails he'd exchanged with the resident librarian regarding the school's Accelerated Reader program. It did not compute.

"Way to go, Phil," Tony quipped. "You fried the new guy's brain."

"Aww," whined a man in a purple t-shirt who sat down next to Phil, "that's supposed to be my job."

"What's yours is mine and all of that," Phil answered. "This is Clint," he commented to Bucky.

"Fifth grade. And you're James, right?" Clint asked.

"Bucky," he corrected. "Please call me Bucky."

"I'm going to need to know the story behind that nickname," responded a tall blonde woman who sat down to his left. "Carol Danvers," she said as she extended her hand. "I cover SpEd for fourth and fifth grade."

"Nice to meet you," Bucky responded.

Carol then turned to Clint, who was sitting across from her. "You talk to Jessica Cage yet?"

He rolled his eyes in response. "Yeah, she was waiting for me this morning to tell me. How did you find out already? I thought she was keeping it a secret for a while."

"I know everything, Clint," Carol answered with a smirk.

"Yeah, you are terrifying that way."

Bucky saw Phil's eyebrows knit together in concern, "What's going on?"

Clint pursed his lips together and paused before answering. "She's pregnant. She's going to out the last couple of months of the school year on maternity leave."

Phil cringed. "Losing your fifth grade math teacher right before state assessments? Ouch. Couldn't you have prevented her from doing that, being team lead and all?"

"Uh, no. What do you want from me? Tell her husband to have better timing with his sex life? The guy looks like he could throw a semi-truck over his shoulder and walk around with it. Pretty sure he'd punch me right into the ground. Is that what you want?"

"How much is your life insurance policy worth again?"

"Our love is dead, Phil."

"So," Tony—at least that's what Bucky thought his name was—drawled while leaning in with a wicked smile on his face. "Barton ended up with the Hill twins. Bets on how long it will be before he sends at least one of them to the office. I say two weeks."

There were various bets made ranging from "Three days—just to scare some sense into them" from Natasha, to Clint's own bet of "Never." The eyes turned to Bucky since he'd remained silent, and he shrugged his shoulders. "I need context."

"Twin boys who raise hell," Natasha explained. "They're raised by a single mom who's vice principal at the middle school next door. So not only are they normally trouble, but this is their last year to do it without being in their mom's school, which means they'll probably be ten times worse this year."

Bucky eyed Clint. "You don't think you'll send them at all?"

Clint's chin raised a bit at the challenge, and the resoluteness in his eyes immediately let Bucky know already that this staff would be a great one to work with, one determined to better their students. "No," he answered with great assurance.

Bucky paused before responding to Tony. "No bet."

"Wuss," Tony mocked. "Coulson?"

"I learned a long time ago not to bet against Clint."

That earned a smile of pride from the man. "Thanks."

"And, Tony, would you please stop slinging your mug everywhere. You spill coffee in my library again, and I'll run every single cord I can find in this school through the paper shredder."

"Geez, Phil, relax. Clint, your husband has serious anger issues."

Bucky nearly choked on his bagel at the word "husband". He tried to be as subtle as possible when looking across the table to confirm the bands present on each man's left hand.

"You have no idea. Just be grateful you've never forgotten to switch the laundry over and left his favorite t-shirts sitting in the washer overnight."

"They still smell sour," Phil grumbled.

Clint rolled his eyes. "It was two years ago, Phil. It hasn't happened since. If I buy you a rack of new shirts, will you please drop it?" Their private chat time was then ended by Fury calling everyone's attention. He made a point to introduce new people, which included a first grade teacher, a student teacher (some kid named Peter who was related to the music teacher), and Bucky—who had to tell everyone that he preferred being called that over James, much to Natasha's huff of displeasure.

They signed their various forms, reviewed the necessary information, and over the next few hours did all the boring meetings that were consuming too much time on teachers' schedules. Fury, at least, seemed to recognize this fact and did his best to be efficient with his time.

They broke at a little after twelve for an extended lunch break. "Alright," Tony declared, and Bucky was starting to pick up on the fact that the man enjoyed being the center of attention. "New guy gets to pick where we're going to lunch."

Bucky felt all eyes turn on him, and he leaned over to Nat. "Why do I feel like this is a test?"

"Because it is."

"Fantastic," he muttered. "Umm, Mexican okay with everyone?"

"Which place?" Tony asked, giving him a skeptical look.

"There's that hole in the wall place over off Thompson. Is that okay?"

"Congratulations," Tony proclaimed, "you have acceptable taste in enchiladas." He paused before cupping his hands around his mouth once more. "Pepper! Pepper, we're going to La Mesa." The redhead paused briefly in her conversation with the vice-principal, Sitwell, to give Tony a thumbs up.

"Will you please stop yelling across the room at her?" Bruce asked.

"Will you please stop wasting your breath trying to teach him manners?" Carol countered.

Bucky bit back a laugh as Tony flipped her off for the comment, but he failed at keeping his laughter quiet when Carol returned the gesture with both hands. The nine of them crammed themselves into two cars and made their way over to the little Mexican joint. As soon as they all sat down, the pretty redhead reached across the table and extended her hand to Bucky. "Hi, I'm Pepper, in case you didn't gather that from my husband shouting it constantly."

Tony leaned over into her personal space. "You love it when I'm shouting your name," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes. "We're in public, please behave." She turned her attention back to Bucky. "I'm school counselor. If you need anything—"

"She specializes in art therapy," Tony interrupted. "Draw her a picture of a house; she'll tell you all the ways your childhood was screwed up."

Pepper patted her husband's leg. "If you need anything, please let me know."

"I will, thank you."

Lunch was spent catching each other up on how they spent their summers: vacations, sleeping in, redecorating homes. Bucky tried his best to tuck away what facts he could: Phil and Clint had a bulldog named Birdie, Natasha took her annual trip to Chicago to spend an awkward week with her father, Steve's mother lived two hours away, and Bruce read scientific journals for fun.

"So," Bruce started , "you knew Natasha in college. How did you meet?"

"The ROTC dorm was next to the dorm for the student athletes, so we ran into each other on the way to and from classes," Bucky explained.

"You two ever bang?" Tony asked.

Pepper rolled her eyes. "Ignore him. You do not have to answer that."

"We had a few dates," Natasha answered, "but his roommate, Alex, was cuter."

"There was definite banging in that relationship," Bucky commented.

Natasha waved his comment off. "It's not our fault you were skipping class."

"Not every time. Seriously, was it that hard to look up and see if I was taking a nap in the top bunk before you started going at it?"

Natasha shrugged and went back to finishing her fish tacos.

"What was she like in college?" Clint asked.

"Yeah," Natasha said with a threatening tone in her voice, "why don't you tell them more stories about what I was like?"

Bucky paused to decide how big of a hole he wanted to dig for himself on his first day. "Her hair was longer."

Natasha smiled and saluted him with her glass of water in appreciation while the others groaned in disappointment. "That's bullshit, Barnes." Clint said. "I know she's terrifying, but we will get information out of you eventually. Natasha, how do we bribe him?"

"You want me to tell you how to bribe him in order to get dirt on me? Why would I do that?"

"Because you love me."

Natasha looked like she was going to roll her eyes, but then she got a look on her face that made Bucky's stomach drop. "He seems to like blondes."

Carol announced that she'd be willing to take one for the team, and Bucky felt eyes turn on him. He picked this moment to focus on pushing rice around his plate with a fork. Natasha's mantra of "new year, new school, new you" rang in his head, but the admission stuck in his throat.

"You're okay to hesitate," Steve said from his right. "I went out with her once; it was… intimidating."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment, Steve."

Bucky tried to laugh at the joke, but instead just felt like kicking himself. Of course, Steve would be straight. He wasn't sure whether that would make looking across the hall into the art room easier or harder this year.

He pushed that thought to the back of his head when Pepper announced that it was time for them to get back to school. She turned to Tony as they all stood to make their way out of the restaurant. "If you make fewer than five sexually charged commented during your presentation on the new online gradebook system, I'll give you a treat."

The look on Tony's face was the same as luring a four-year-old with a trip to Toys-R-Us. "Can we have sex in your office?"

"No. I counsel children in there. How many times do I have to tell you it's off-limits?"

"Guess that means we'll have to use my supply closet." He paused to raise his voice, "And not for the first time."

Phil sighed. "I've touched stuff in there."

"Yeah," Clint added with a wicked smirk on his face, "like my dick." There was a collective groan from the group as Phil reached forward and goosed Clint. "Damn straight," Clint crowed.

Tony turned and pointed a finger at the librarian. "As my team lead, Coulson, I'm going to need a purchase order to replace every piece of equipment in my closet."

"There's not enough money in the budget, and that closet has just as many doors leading to your computer lab as it does my library, so I don't see how it's 'your' closet."


A couple of hours later, Tony and Pepper bickered about the number of sexual comments he made, with her counting seven and Tony counting four-and-a-half. Once Tony was done with his spiel, Fury asked the newcomers to the building to hang back a moment before they too were dismissed to spend the rest of the remaining hours of the day working in their classroom.

The principal made sure to check in with each of them to see how they were doing after their first day, to ask if they had any questions, and to make sure they were fitting in okay. Bucky assured him he was doing fine and felt like he had things mostly under control. Fury gave him a bright smile that was a stark contrast to his all-black clothes and highly-intimidating eye patch, and Bucky left the library to make his way back to his room.

He took a moment on the way there to take in a deep breath. His siblings always mocked him for having OCD tendencies since a young age. And the few days before the school year started was the only time during the whole year that a school building felt and smelled clean. And it was quiet. After some of the discussions at lunch, Bucky needed the peace to try and calm his churning thoughts.

He walked into his room to find Natasha pacing around the space, inspecting the touches he'd put on his classroom. "Don't you have a gym to put in order?" he asked.

"Everything has been pre-bleached before the mongrels start peeing on my mats, and I already have things set up for tomorrow's dodge ball tournament." She caught the confused look on his face before explaining. "During the last in-service day before school starts, we blow off some steam by holding a staff-wide dodge ball tournament. Teams are formed by grade levels." She paused to look him up and down. "Need help with anything?"

Bucky ran through his mental task list before answering. He reached for some papers on his desk and handed them to her. "I'm in charge of handling the second grade part of the Accelerated Reader contest. I've gone through the other classrooms to make sure all their books are labeled correctly, but haven't gotten to mine yet." He pointed to the three bookshelves that lined the wall under the windows of his room. "Will you check 'em for me?"

"Sure," she answered before grabbing the papers and sheets of colored dot stickers and gracefully folding herself down on the floor to run a manicured nail over the thin book spines.

"And," he continued, "a crash course on people here would be great."

"Survivor's guide? I can handle that." She paused to put a different colored dot on an Amelia Bedelia book before continuing. "Let's start with the office. As long as you're doing your job well, Fury is pretty hands off. If a parent complains, unless you're being an idiot, he's going to have your back the whole time. At least until the parent leaves, and then he'll chew your ass out if necessary.

"Sitwell handles most of the disciplinary cases. He's fair with the kids. Like Fury he's pretty hands off with the staff, too, as long as you're doing your job well.

"Pepper is amazing, but that's pretty obvious by the fact that she can handle Tony as well as she does."

"They make an interesting couple. How long have they been together?"

"They started dating three years ago. Year before last they came back from winter break married, which blindsided everyone."

"They weren't engaged?"

"Nope. Rumors varied from a false positive on a pregnancy test to either one of them—or both—losing a bet to Tony just getting really bored one afternoon."

"Tony seems like the kind of person who would have to get plastered in order to agree to marriage."

Natasha shook her head. "Not the case." Bucky raised his eyebrows at her as a silent request for more information. She pursed her lips before continuing. "Tony's been sober for about fifteen years. He and Bruce met at an AA meeting eight years ago. Bruce is the one who got Tony hired here after everything went down with Tony's company."

"What happened there?"

She shook her head. "You only asked for the survivor's guide, and some things need to be told from the person they happened to. Let's see, oh—Darcy.

"Don't underestimate her. Ever. It will be the last mistake you make. She will make copies for you if you're in a pinch, but you better kiss her ass for the next week if you have to do that. She runs everyone's schedule in the office and handles all the front desk duties. She's amazing, but do not cross her."

"How do you get on her good side?"

"Nail polish and Starbucks."

"I'll make sure to pick up a macchiato on my way into work tomorrow."

"Smart move." She paused while flipping through papers before finally finding a certain Eric Carle title. "Who else?"

Bucky worked his jaw back and forth and decided why not before asking his next question. "Clint and Phil are married?"

"Five years in October."

"And the parents here… and the staff… they don't have any issues with that?"

"There were a few parents who tried to do something about it when they first got married, but that was the year before I came. But from what I heard, Fury told them that they weren't doing anything that was in violation of their contracts and their instruction wasn't affected by it. So the parents could either get over it, or there's a parochial school a mile and a half away." She paused to hold his eye contact before finishing her comment. "No one here will have a problem with it. You don't need to hide."

He nodded and looked back down at the paperwork he was sorting through. Being fourth out of six kids, he'd had to act tough if he wanted to fit in with his older and only brother's friends (and what little brother doesn't want to do that?). He'd had a reputation to maintain in high school, and had tried his best to do that by dating around. In college, he had tried to do the same with Natasha when they first met a few weeks into their freshmen year, but she saw past his façade. She was the first person he came out to over leftover pizza and vodka she'd smuggled out of her dad's house after a weekend trip home. He repeated the news to his family over Thanksgiving break. Like Natasha, his four sisters and mother hadn't been surprised by the news, and his brother and father handled it better than he thought they would. But despite that, he was ROTC and then Army, and Don't Ask Don't Tell wasn't struck down until he was finished and teaching. Despite being able to be open with who he was with his friends, he kept things quiet at work. He received offers for dates and set-ups from his fellow teachers, but always fell back on the excuse of not wanting to mix his personal and professional life as a safe way out.

He sighed and shook his head. "Give me some time to adjust here."

She nodded. "I swear to stay silent, but," she paused and made a show of looking across the hallway, "I know someone who might be interested."

Bucky looked across the hall at Steve, who was putting various art supplies into buckets on each large table. "Him? He said he went out with Carol."

Natasha nodded. "Her and about every other single woman here. He takes them out once, maybe twice, but always finds a reason to avoid moving things along."

"Maybe he doesn't want to date his co-workers," Bucky reasoned.

"Maybe he doesn't want to date his female co-workers."

Bucky shook his head. "That's for him to decide, and I'm not going to push it."

"Okay," Natasha answered.

"And you shouldn't push it either." He paused and waited for to respond, but she remained silent with a coy look in her eye. "Natasha, I do not need you to play yenta."

"I just want you to be happy, James."

He rolled his eyes. "Cut the crap; you just want to meddle. I have four sisters—I know how this game is played. Besides, who's making you happy these days?"

"I'm single," she answered, but Bucky swore he saw a quick quirk to the corner of her mouth that made him suspicious. She must have read his thoughts because she followed her admission with, "Are you going to call me a liar?"

"Seeing as how I like my balls where they are, no, I'm not."

They spent the next hour in relative silence, Natasha making her way through his bookshelves, and Bucky making sure everything was unpacked and in its proper place. He was triple-checking the layout of his desks and making a final mental draft of how he was going to set up his bulletin boards tomorrow when Steve knocked on the door.

"I'm heading out for the day. Just wanted to wish you guys a good night." He paused to lock eyes with Bucky. "It was nice to meet you. If you ever need anything, I'm right there," he said, pointing back to his own room.

"You too. I mean, if you need anything, too, you know—I'm here."

Steve smiled before leaving. Natasha made sure he was gone before she gave Bucky a look. "Smooth."

"Shut up."


"This is the worst teambuilding activity in the universe," Bucky decided, and then ducked out of the way of a dodge ball.

"Oooh, almost took down Barnes, but close only counts in—some kind of weird idiom." Darcy Lewis, the office manager slash secretary slash the person who can save your ass, remember that (a direct quote) hopped up onto the bleachers to get a better look at the action. Her obnoxiously-loud lime green t-shirt was almost blinding, and Bucky did not miss the MY CAT WILL EAT YOUR HONOR STUDET logo stretched across her ample— Well. She raised the bullhorn back to her mouth. "Weak play by Danvers, but maybe this is a chance to regroup," she announced. Bucky scooped up an abandoned ball. Across the center line, Carol licked her lips like a predatory cat and—

Bucky shifted the ball from one hand to another and wished that he'd qualified for "Specials 1"—namely, Natasha and Carol's team.

Natasha, Carol, and a variety of other non-classroom teachers—including Pepper (and every time she'd dipped to collect a ball, Tony'd cat-called from the bleachers), student teacher Peter Parker (out within ten seconds), Phil (out only because Clint'd snuck up to the baseline and goosed him), and the part-time speech therapist who'd attended specifically for the dodge ball tournament—prowled along the center line, watching Bucky. Well, watching Bucky and his teammates, technically—the second- and third-grade teachers formed a single team that morning, complete with a strategy meeting (really?) and warm-up stretches (also, really?)—but Bucky felt his skin crawl, anyway. His team held two of the six balls, was whittled down to three members, and seemed incapable of keeping up with the very intense, very fast Carol Danvers.

And the absolutely terrifying Natasha Romanov.

Along the sidelines, the other teachers cheered loudly, with Tony whistling at every opportunity. The fourth- and fifth-grade teachers, led by a stone-faced Clint Barton, had absolutely destroyed the kindergarten- and first-grade teachers; "Specials 2", consisting of Tony, Steve, Carol's special education subordinates, and music teacher May Parker, who'd first battled "Specials 1" in a ten-minute death match that'd left only Tony and Pepper (Pepper won) would be up against the fourth- and fifth-grade teachers, next. Bucky felt like he'd never truly understand the inner workings of the tournament, but that was probably okay.

Especially since Darcy shouted, "Is it a stand-still? Is it a draw? A hush falls over the gym, the tension mounting," and Bucky refocused on the game.

His to-do list, the one stuck to the desk in his classroom, was still a mile long, cluttered up with piecemeal tasks for the day. He'd managed, with Natasha's help, to organize the bookshelves and sort through the leftover worksheets and assignments in the cabinets, but nothing felt ready, yet. The uncertainty was still looming, even with his first-day assignments ready and the textbooks waiting to be neatly arranged on each desk, and—

"Incoming!" someone interrupted his distracted thoughts, and Bucky barely managed to duck out of a red rubber ball aimed squarely for his head. Natasha swore loudly in Russian and raced toward the far end of their half of the gym, an optimistic approach to avoiding Bucky's aim, but the damage was done; instead of the carefully-calculated standoff, the teams erupted into frantic, fast throws, rubber balls pinging off the walls and floor. Carol dove to her knees and caught a ball thrown by one of the third-grade teachers to much cursing; Bucky caught a ball on a rebound and winged it at Natasha, missing by all of six inches. Darcy's frantic shouts into the bullhorn rose up through the gym, recounting the action in a piece-meal, disorganized fashion:

"Danvers might catch—no, no, she jumps out of the way, Barnes is safe for now. But Potts-or-should-we-call-her-Stark—"

"Don't you dare!" Pepper threatened, picking herself up off the floor.

"—evades the next throw and—wait, here comes Drew, but Romanov and Danvers are closing in, Potts on backup, could it be—"

Bucky remembered bits and pieces of his army training as nightmarish, but decided in that instant that nothing in the army compared to Natasha and Carol Danvers, each armed with two dodge balls and grinning at him like lunatics.

"Ten bucks says they cream the new guy," Tony declared from the bleachers.

"I don't take bets I won't win," Phil replied, deadpan, and Bucky swallowed.

Three minutes later, as Bucky stretched out on the gym floor and downed the last few swallows out of his bottle of water, he glanced up to see Steve Rogers looming over him. Steve Rogers, blond and slightly sweat-sticky, his broad shoulders blocking out the glare from the bright overhead gym lights. Bucky forgot momentarily how to swallow and nearly choked on a mouthful of water.

"Good game," he said, and stretched out a hand.

"Thanks," Bucky replied. He gripped Steve's wrist and let the other man hoist him up. He tried to ignore the way his arms flexed, but he was only human. Across the gym, Carol led her team in a rousing victory cheer. He rolled his eyes. "Sore winners," he decided.

"Or you're a sore loser," Steve suggested. There was, however, something warm about it. Bucky pressed his lips together to stand on the smile. His other teammates were already in the bleachers, swapping bottles of water and planning strategy for their second-tier match against the kindergarten- and first-grade teachers. "We take this kind of seriously," he added after a couple seconds.

Bucky gave up on holding down his grin. "I noticed."

"Rogers!" Tony shouted. He stood on the sidelines, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Stop flirting, we have plans to hatch and bribes to collect!"

"Bribes?" Bucky echoed.

Steve shook his head. "Every year, Tony tries to pay Darcy to slip a couple extra balls into play."

"It work?"

"Not so far." He leaned in, almost conspiratorially. Bucky tried not to focus on things like sweaty t-shirts and personal space. "He doesn't know you can pay her off in sci-fi post-it notes."

"I'll—keep that in mind," Bucky replied dumbly, but then Steve grinned at him and trotted over to his team.

Just in time for Natasha to casually comment, "Do you need a neon sign?" from behind him.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Bucky turned around to face her. She looked like an ad for a no-show deodorant commercial: black tank-top, black sports bra, black capri-length yoga pants, black-and-red sneakers. Her curls were dark and damp with sweat. "Give it a rest," he reminded her.

"He might as well send up smoke signals," she retorted.

"I thought we agreed you'd drop it.

"Yeah, yesterday." She necked her water bottle, shrugging. "New day, new harassment."

"I don't think that's how it works."

"I do."

"You forget, I know your weakness," he replied. She frowned at him, her face tightening as his lips curled into a smile. "The thing you hate more than anything else in the world."

She scowled. "You wouldn't," she challenged.

"You wanna bet?"

"James, I am warning— Get the hell away from me, I swear—"

"Foul on the play!" Darcy's voice carried through the gym, but Bucky was laughing too hard to really pay attention. Natasha'd darted away, but he'd given chase, taking off after her around the gym. It was the same game they'd played in college after long workouts at the campus rec center (Bucky to keep in shape for ROTC, Natasha to round out the workouts she was regularly getting with Alex): avoiding sweaty hugs. Because Bucky'd once thrown an arm around her after a run, and she'd nearly slugged him in her effort to get away from his sweat-drenched t-shirt and gym shorts.

She'd sworn to castrate him with a cafeteria spork if he'd ever tried that again. Naturally, he'd tried every chance he'd gotten.

Natasha bounded up the bleachers, two rows at a time, to the laughter of just about the entire staff, and Bucky grinned even as he almost tripped and fell on his face. He had missed this, at his old school, the accidental camaraderie of being around people who got you. Of course, his old school lacked Natasha, her curls bobbing as she jumps off the third row and landed neatly on the gym floor.

Natasha, who'd understood him pretty much from the first time they met.

He followed, dropping down behind her while Darcy continued her running commentary—"I think I've seen dirty movies start this way, just with more sausage-related puns," she announced, and Tony and Clint both immediately provided several on her behalf—but he knew immediately his mistake. Because Natasha snapped her fingers, and Bruce, seated on the lowest row of the next bleacher over—tossed her a dodge ball. When she caught it smoothly, she whirled back around.

"Take one more step," she warned, holding it in her palm, "and I won't be responsible for what happens next."

Bucky grinned, slow and steady. "With witnesses?"

"We won't watch," Tony promised. He covered his eyes, then spread his fingers again. "Unless it's getting dirty. Will it get dirty? 'Cause if it does, we'll totally watch, maybe just catch a few snippets on our cell phones and—"

"You have a one-track mind," Pepper chided, sighing.

"Funny, you weren't complaining about it yester— Ow! Pep! I need that kidney!"

Bucky laughed, or at least chuckled, but Natasha kept watching him. Even and menacing, her face a perfect mask of challenge. He had one, maybe two more steps before she flung the ball at him; if he didn't dodge, he'd probably end up singing soprano.

"He's calculating his next move, ladies and gents," Darcy observed, her voice booming through the bullhorn. "Does he dare to eat a peach? Which is from a poem, I didn't just make that up, but I'm just— Wait, hold on, Barnes gets an assist from—"

And Bucky missed Darcy's next word, her crow of "Rogers!", because he was busy watching Steve reach over Natasha's shoulder and pluck the ball right out of her grip. His eyes met Bucky's for a moment, and then he smiled.

"Go get her," he encouraged.

Bucky'd never loved Natasha's full-body shudder as much as he did at that instant.


Most of the staff ducked out on the lunch hour to change clothes or celebrate the victory of Clint's team—"Third year running, bitches!" he announced in the parking lot, to which Tony returned, "Your husband threw the game for sex!"—which allowed Bucky precious time to work on his classroom. He stripped down to his sleeveless undershirt and swigged water as he worked, and the room started to perfectly materialize; he assembled the bare-bones of his work-display bulletin boards, hung the calendar, finished the desk nametags, wrote tomorrow's agenda on the board. He washed up in the bathroom because he lived too far from school to comfortably make it both to his apartment and back, and switched into a clean t-shirt he kept in the back of his car for after gym runs.

He was standing in the parking lot in his fresh t-shirt, just soaking up the late-summer rays, when Clint and Phil pulled up. Clint looked absolutely smug. "If you see Stark," he said as he climbed out, "tell him we had lunch sex."

Phil rolled his eyes. "We did not," he assured Bucky, "have lunch sex."

"Tony needs to think we had lunch sex."

Bucky rolled his eyes and, without thinking, said, "Tony needs to spend a lot less time worrying about other people's sex lives."

Clint burst out laughing, an overflowing sound, and clapped Bucky on the shoulder. "I'd say it's 'cause he needs to get some, but we all know that's a lie."

"He practically charts it in Excel," Phil added. He reached into the back of the car, and Clint released Bucky to grab the box he was hauling. When Bucky raised an eyebrow, he explained, "Donation books. We get a bunch every year from the local public libraries, or families whose kids've outgrown them."

"And you put them in our library?" Bucky asked.

"Nah," Clint replied. Phil grabbed a second box and then hip-checked the car door shut. "The ones that aren't too bad get chucked at the age-appropriate classroom, or the resource room, or whatever. The rest we either cobble into a used book sale—"

"About once every two years," Phil clarified.

"—or just slip the kids who maybe don't have many books." A blind man couldn't miss the soft expression that crossed Clint's face, right then. Bucky definitely didn't. "We get a lot of families around here who need the extra support," he explained as they walked into the building together. "Single parents, retired grandparents who took in the kids, folks who work three jobs but can't make ends meet, you name it."

"Plus, the group home," Phil added. Bucky glanced at him. "There's a foster care group home about three miles down the road," he explained, gesturing over his shoulder with his chin. "They usually end up here."

Clint nodded. "Not always happily."

"I'd bet," Bucky said half-dumbly, and held open the door for the two of them.

He settled back into a routine in his classroom after that, checking and re-checking his preparations for the next day. His college friends had sometimes mocked him, called him anal-retentive or OCD, but he'd always taken being an educator seriously; if given the option between perfecting his curriculum or watching some Real Housewives show on TV, he'd always picked his curriculum. He sat down at his desk and started flipping through his plans for the first week, only occasionally lifting his head as other people returned to campus. Bruce waved as he trotted down the hall toward the kindergarten classrooms, Darcy'd hollered a, "Last call for this month's supply order!" down the hallway, and Steve—

Steve returned, butcher paper cart in tow, in a t-shirt that looked at least a size too small.

Bucky decided that he hated irrational crushes. He also decided to organize textbooks rather than plan his curriculum, his back to the door.

Which is why he didn't hear Natasha come in until she threatened, "I should murder you in your sleep," an hour or two later.

She'd changed over the lunch hour into fresh clothes, her curls frizzy from what Bucky could only assume was a hasty shower. She leaned her shoulder against his doorway while he rolled his eyes. "You probably still hide your spare key in the crack between the doorframe and the wall."

Bucky paused where he was stacking textbooks—reader, reading workbook, math book, math workbook, writer's workshop activity book, first quarter science project notebook—on a desk. "You knew about that?"

"How do you think I got in to water your plants that one time?"

"You watered my plants?"

She snorted at him. "Child," she criticized, but Bucky didn't miss how warm it was.

"Jerk," he retorted, and returned to stacking.

She let him work, blissfully silent for a few long minutes, until she asked, "Are you coming tonight?"

He stopped and turned around to look at her. "Coming?"

"Did you get the 'invitation'?" The air quotes only added to the snide twist at the end of her voice. When he shook his head, she rolled her eyes. "Start checking your office box. Clint printed out a bunch of Comic Sans 'invitations' to Xavier's tonight. Victory drinks, the first two pitchers on he and Phil."

"Isn't Xavier's that terrible dive bar?"

"And a staff favorite." When Bucky glanced up from the books again, Carol loomed in the doorway next to Natasha. Her blonde hair was wild, like a banshee's. Bucky determined right then that he'd be working to stay in on her good side. "We always buy for the new guys. And then drink them under the table."

"Sounds promising," Bucky returned dryly.

"Sounds like the best fun you're going to have until Stark's Halloween party and his obscure pumpkin beer." Carol planted a hand on the other side of the doorway, just above Natasha's shoulder. Like a dare, almost. "So, you're coming?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

Carol frowned. "Your friend is shy," she informed Natasha. "We chew up and spit out shy."

Natasha nodded. "Tell me about it."

"I'm still right here."

"Then come," Natasha pressed. When he met her eyes, she mouthed new year, new you. He ground his teeth together to keep from reminding her to drop the entire . . . thing. "Show them how well you hold your liquor. Maybe you can out-drink Steve."

"Out-what me?" Steve called from across the hall.

Carol's whole face lit up. "Come over here!" she called, and the only thing that Bucky hated more than her gleeful dart across the hall was Natasha's knowing little smirk as she moved properly into his classroom and went to sit on his desk.

Bucky sighed and dropped his eyes to the books he was trying to organize, but he knew in his heart it was too late. Steve's stumbling apology and question about what was going on carried into the room, and his stomach twisted. An almost-crush was bad enough without the whole thing turning into—

"Bucky doesn't want to come to Xavier's," Carol reported, her voice carrying from the doorway, "but we want him to prove he can out-drink you."

—this.

"He probably can," Steve replied. It sounded almost self-deprecating. Bucky glanced up from the books for what felt like the fifth time and promptly wished he hadn't. Because Steve's tight shirt with Steve's worn jeans were honestly a crime against humanity. He forced himself to actually meet Steve's eyes, and Steve smiled. "They're convinced I'm a heavy-weight drinker," he explained.

"Because he is," Carol stressed. She spread out her hands like some kind of ring-leader. At the desk, Natasha grinned. "Did you tell him about the vodka incident?"

"Nope," Natasha returned in the same beat Bucky asked, "What vodka incident?" and Steve groaned and turned beet red.

"You have to hear about the vodka incident," Carol pressed. "Because that'll make the whole thing clear, why you have to prove yourself to us and why we all think Steve's got a liver made of—"

"Anybody seen Coulson?" another voice chimed in. Steve stepped out of the doorway to reveal Tony Stark. Tony Stark in a tank top that showed off a lot of arms and shoulders, actually. For the first time, Bucky saw just a tiny bit of the appeal. Emphasis, of course, on tiny. "C'mon, the guy's MIA, one of you've got to have seen him."

Natasha put down the pen she'd picked up from Bucky's desk and frowned at him. "Why?"

"I need someone to tell him that me and Pep had lunch sex."

Bucky frowned. "I think I'm supposed to tell you that he and Clint had lunch sex," he responded.

Carol cackled, Steve smiled and dipped his head, and Natasha rolled her eyes. Tony's face narrowed into a razor-sharp glare. Bucky resisted the urge to back up a half-step. "He said that, did he?"

"Clint said it. I think Phil said they didn't have lunch sex."

"So did they or didn't they?"

"You've met them," Natasha pointed out. "Assume they did."

"But that lacks detail. I need de—"

"Is it normal for him to worry so much about other people's sex lives?" Bucky asked no one in particular.

"Yes," Carol and Steve both answered.

"It's not worry," Tony corrected. He stepped into the room, his wind-milling gestures almost propelling him between Carol and Steve's shoulders. When he smacked into Carol, she slapped his arm hard enough that the skin-on-skin sound echoed. Tony barely flinched. "It's a contest."

Natasha sighed. "Here we go," she intoned.

"Long ago," Tony explained, coming all the way into the room and, eventually, looping an unwelcome arm around Bucky's shoulder, "they were the reigning couple. The king and queen of all things filthy."

Bucky attempted to shrug him off or twist away, but with no effect. Eventually, he just went ahead and glanced at him. "Which one was the queen?"

"Clint," Natasha answered.

"But now, they have healthy competition. Healthy, virile competition, if I may be so bold. Healthy, virile competition with plenty of free time and encyclopedic knowledge of every supply closet in—"

"If this is where the conversation is headed," Steve interrupted, holding up his hands, "I'm going back to my classroom. I have work to do, and I don't want to think about the art supply closet being—" He half-shuddered, and Bucky bit down on a grin.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Wuss," he returned. Then, he paused, glancing between Natasha, Carol, and Steve. Bucky watched his attention flit from person to person, but worse, he watched his expression grow increasingly suspicious. His eyebrows tightened. His lips creased into a smile. "Did I miss something?" he asked.

"Always," Natasha responded.

Carol snorted a half-laugh and shook her head. "The new guy doesn't want to go to Xavier's," she tattled. Bucky resisted a groan and ducked out of Tony's grip. He gathered up the stack of readers he'd been working through and moved to the next pod of desks. It didn't matter, though; he felt every one of their gazes on his back, Tony's especially. "We can't figure out if he's shy, or a lightweight, or what."

"I've seen him drink," Natasha offered. Bucky wished he'd amassed more Natasha-related blackmail on her years ago. "Not a lightweight."

"Then why not?" Tony demanded. "This is— Okay. Know when you were in fifth grade and went on outdoor education or whatever? With trust falls and ropes courses and low-tech geocaching? That's just like this, but with crappy booze and at least one sixty-year old in fishnets and—"

"Tony."

It was funny, in a way, how Steve's voice could sound stern and steady, almost like a parent chiding a child. Bucky twisted around to see Steve standing in the doorway, hands on his hips and eyes trained in on Tony like blue lasers. Tony blinked, frowned, and clapped his mouth shut.

"If he doesn't want to go," Steve said simply, "he doesn't have to. Especially not when tomorrow's his first day. Give him some—slack, or space.Something."

For a moment, Tony didn't move. He narrowed his eyes at Steve, waited for his hands to unball from his hips, and, when that didn't work, rolled his eyes. "Boy Scout," he accused.

"Bully," Steve replied, but Bucky thought he detected a hint of warmth. "Let it go."

"Whatever." Tony tossed up his hands and shook his head. "Labor Day party, though, he better be there. Halloween, too. Turkey Day, Non-Denominational Winter Holiday, New Year's Eve, Martin Luther—"

"I get it," Bucky assured him. He set the readers down on the nearest desk and turned to force a tight smile at Tony. Tony, not Steve, because he didn't trust himself to look at Steve without staring. He forced his eyes straight ahead. "Next party, I promise. I just want to be ready for tomorrow."

Tony shook his head. "Your work ethic is disgusting." But he crossed the classroom anyway. For a couple seconds, Bucky thought he noticed Tony mouthing something in Steve's direction, and Steve frowning in response; but the whole exchange took such a short period of time, he figured he was just hallucinating things. "If you see Coulson—"

"We know," Bucky, Steve, Carol, and Natasha all provided, and Tony finger-waved as he let himself out of the room.

Steve and Carol followed, arguing half-heartedly about whether Steve was coming—"You only live once," Carol informed him, to which Steve replied, "And that's why I avoid Xavier's"—while Natasha stayed firmly rooted on Bucky's desk.

He resumed stacking books, but felt her eyes on his back the whole time. When he reached the last pod, he sighed. "What?" he asked without looking at her.

"You're bad at resolutions."

"And you're bad at dropping things."

"Twenty bucks said he'd come if you came."

"Twenty bucks says you won't find out because I have too much to do." When he glanced over his shoulder, Natasha was standing only a few feet away from him, hands in her back pockets. He recognized her even, too-intense stare. He'd seen it a thousand times in college, and might just see it a thousand more times, bossing around students during gym class. "Really," he promised. "I just have a lot to do."

"Really," she echoes.

"Really."

They stood like that for full seconds, separated by an arm's length and staring one another down, until Natasha sighed and shook her head. "James, you are the only person I know who's afraid to be happy."

He rolled his eyes. "This from you."

"Yes," she answered. He frowned at the coolness in her voice. "This from me."

He considered asking what she meant—he didn't know, that was for sure—but she turned on her heel too quickly and strode smoothly out of the classroom, leaving him alone.


"You'll get used to them," Steve informed in the hallway that night.

The school closed down officially at about five p.m., but Bucky lingered. He'd tried not to dwell on the conversation with Natasha and the "invitation" to Xavier's that he'd found in his box, and he'd done a pretty good job of it. When he'd heard voices in the hallway around five-fifteen, he'd just shut his door and kept on working. He'd scrubbed down the countertop, he'd rearranged desks one last time, he'd run through a few lesson plans in his head. If anyone had noticed his absence, they hadn't said anything. Not even Natasha stopped by.

The hallway'd gone dark, and then the outside world, pitching into night before Bucky was really done working. Eventually, he'd abandoned his obsessive pre-planning—no amount of prep really could replace the thrown-to-the-wolves feeling of the first day, he knew—and packed up, leaving his classroom dark and empty.

Except when he stepped into the hallway, Steve Rogers was there, a messenger bag across his too-broad chest and a smile on his face.

"I'm pretty sure they can't be worse than Natasha," Bucky joked lightly. He fished out his keys and locked his classroom door, acutely aware that Steve was close, and watching him. He wasn't sure why he thought he could feel those eyes on him, but he did; he wasn't sure why Steve's proximity made his skin itch, but it did, too. "She's pretty much beaten me down into putty already."

Steve laughed, loud and warm. "You don't know Carol well enough, then."

"That bad?"

"Worse."

The crooked little twist to the end of Steve's grin made Bucky grin back at him. He threw his own bag over his shoulder and tried to think of a conversation-starter, but words sort of—failed. He stood there, instead, like a clueless lump, until he said, "You're not at Xavier's."

"What? Oh, no." Steve shook his head and cast his eyes at the floor. "I'm like you. I want to make sure everything's right for the first day. It's—stupid, maybe, since I've done the same thing for the last couple years in a row, but it's important to me."

"To have it right?"

"To make sure the kids feel welcome." There was something shy in his smile as they started walking down the hall together. Bucky stood on the warm feeling that pooled in his stomach. He wondered if he could blame it on hunger. "We get a lot of kids that kind of look at school as their safe space. I like to make sure it fits the bill."

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"You do?"

"Sure. I mean, home wasn't always my favorite place when I was a kid." He shrugged as they stepped into the foyer. Darcy'd spent the day putting up bulletin boards with important dates ad student birthdays. He glanced at the "History of Labor Day" section of the board, instead of at Steve. "I think a lot of good happens when a teacher cares."

When he glanced over at Steve, he caught him smiling. "Natasha said that's part of why you came here."

He blinked. "Natasha said that?"

"It took some cajoling by Tony to get it out of her, but yeah. It was the selling point, really, how much you care."

The cool evening air rushed around them as they pushed out through the school's front doors, but Bucky was pretty sure that wasn't why his face suddenly felt too warm. His car was the only one left in the parking lot other than an older-model sedan that looked like it'd seen better days. Steve's, he thought to himself, and couldn't help his smile.

"Don't trust too much Natasha told you," he warned as they stepped off the curb and into the parking lot. "She still thinks my name is James."

Steve grinned. "I thought of you as a James until you got here," he admitted, "but I think Bucky suits you better. Even if it annoys Natasha."

"Annoying Natasha is half the appeal," Bucky joked, and Steve laughed. It was warm and full, a laugh that almost overtook him, and Bucky—

Bucky stepped on the urge to laugh along with him or, worse, tell him exactly how attractive he was. Because in the parking lot lights, his hair shone golden blond and the shadows emphasized his smile.

New year, new Bucky Barnes.

In baby steps, maybe.

"Get some rest tonight," he said suddenly, and Bucky blinked. They stood in the middle of the parking lot, almost equidistant between their cars. "Tomorrow'll be a whirlwind."

Bucky snorted. "No kidding."

"In a good way." Steve chuckled a little, almost to himself, and then dipped his head. "Don't laugh, but I think about it a little like The Wizard of Oz. The tornado sweeps through, destroys everything, but it's for the best."

"You like The Wizard of Oz?"

"It's a classic."

"It's The Wizard of Oz. I haven't seen that crap since I was ten or something."

"Then you should see it again. It's different when you're older." Steve paused for a half-second, his eyes trained on Bucky. "I'll have you over sometime, and we'll watch it. You'll see."

Bucky swallowed and tried to ignore how thick his throat felt. He should've come up with a retort, some sort of cutting comment, but all he could think to say was, "Sure."

Steve's smile was genuine and too-warm, the kind of smile that pooled in Bucky's gut. He let out a half-shaky breath and waited for the other shoe to drop, the great big or I'll lend you the DVD caveat. None came. Instead, Steve reached out, patted him on the upper arm, and said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Definitely," Bucky replied. But he stood there, in the middle of the parking lot, and watched Steve's back retreat, then watched the muscles in his shoulders move as he peeled off his bag and climbed into the car.

New year, new school, new life.

New everything.

At least, maybe.