The Barton's dining room was warm and tranquil, its shadowy corners flicked with mellow light and dim with the promise of quiet secrets. The scents of dinner – roast chicken, mashed potatoes, the bread pudding for dessert – hung latent, cut by the sharp bite of whiskey and cordial humanity. Hydra may have taken down SHIELD, and the Accords may have dissolved the Avengers, but for now, at that moment, everything seemed possible and promising and a little less scary.
Even the Winter Soldier's menace was diminished, possibly because he was slouched comfortably in one of the dining room chairs, leaning his chin on his hand and staring contentedly out the kitchen window, where snowflakes could be seen swirling and dancing in the safety light's glow. He was scruffy and unkempt, but instead of exacerbating his threat, he merely looked, in his soft rumpled flannel shirt and too-short sweat pants, like a lost pit bull who had inexplicably found a home. Steve sat beside him, talking and laughing with his friends, and every once in a while glanced over at Barnes, giving a tentative, hopeful smile.
The crowd around the table erupted into another round of raucous laughter at something Clint had said. Fury laughed too, an unusual thing for him, and Natasha leaned over and whispered something in Laura's ear that made her giggle. The kids had long since gone to bed, and they were sharing stories … things that had gone wrong, in funny ways, during ops and missions.
Steve, of course, had led the conversation by recounting the time the Commandos had accidentally set fire to an SSR tent instead of a Hydra dump, resulting in a massive explosion that ignited the surrounding woods in a one-mile radius, and Colonel Philips threatening to ship them all to Guadalcanal. He glanced over at Barnes as everyone around the table laughed, but Barnes only looked at him, puzzled, and returned to his contemplation of the snow outside. He obviously had no memory of the incident, even though Steve had just mentioned that Bucky and Gabe had tried to be the voice of reason against Dum-Dum's and Morita's enthusiasm. A hurt look flickered across Steve's features, and he fetched a small sigh.
Fury launched into a covert op he had run as a young agent that had turned into his team finding and freeing a lab full of monkeys into the Congolese wilderness. The monkeys had expressed their gratitude by flinging fresh feces at their rescuers while the pursuing Hydra agents cursed, and a local village elder simply sat down and laughed at them. Even Barnes smiled a little at that one, eyes abstracted, watching the snow fall, and Steve's chuckle was derailed by his heart suddenly swelling until it ached.
Clint followed Fury's tale with a quick and dirty précis of a joint op he had run with Natasha. It had turned into a practical lesson about treating poison ivy in tender bodily locations. Laura winced, and Natasha shot Clint a dirty look while Steve and Fury laughed, and said:
"Really, Barton? You want to go down there?"
Clint grinned and took a slug of whiskey. "Yeah, Nat, gimme your best shot."
She narrowed her eyes and smiled a little. "Nouakchott," she said.
Clint blanched. "Oh, god."
"What?" chuckled Steve, looking from Clint to Natasha. He threw another sideways glance at Barnes. His friend's stare had unfocused, as though he had completely lost where he was, and was just drifting, bereft of thought or memory. But at least his expression was relaxed, the turbulent confusion and wrath allayed by warmth and food and safety. The dim glow from the window shone through Bucky's blue eyes, paling them to translucence, and touching his skin with ivory and gold. Steve hadn't seen him look like that since 1944, and supposed it was as much as he could hope for, all things considered.
"I remember that op," said Fury thoughtfully. "Pirates disguised as political dissidents. It was a clean mission." He narrowed his eye at them. "Wasn't it?" he pressed with a frown.
Nat's sideways grin was mischievous. "Well," she drawled, "bear in mind this was before he met Laura – "
"Oooo, do tell!" said Laura, eyes twinkling at her husband. "Clint almost never talks about pre-us."
"Not all ops were worth talking about," protested Clint, looking a little wild around the eyes. "Uh, guys, who wants more whiskey?" He stood up and started refilling glasses.
"Now, you hold on," protested Fury. "I remember that op, I remember it real good. There was nothing in yours and Romanoff's reports that suggested any shenanigans." He leaned forward and scowled at Clint. "Spill."
"Nope," said Clint stubbornly. He shook his finger at Natasha. "Not a word, Romanoff."
"Oh, come on," smiled Natasha. "No one could have possibly blamed you, Clint. He really did look like a woman."
Steve's shocked laugh rushed from his gut; it felt good. Clint's face was a thundercloud as he glared at Natasha, who just smiled and took a sip of her whiskey. Laura was doubled over, and Fury said, "Oh, no, oh NO. Barton, you do NOT have to extrapolate if you do not want to. Oh my god."
"Bucky and I captured a whole platoon of Nazis dressed as women, trying to slip past us out of Aachen," Steve chuckled, resting one hand on Barnes' shoulder. Barnes didn't even react, but still stared out the window, his mind obviously elsewhere. Steve's face fell.
Laura glanced between the two of them and said quickly, "Were they at least pretty?"
Steve gave her a grateful look. "A couple of them were," he said with a smile. "Weren't they, Bucky?" He shook Barnes' shoulder a little. Barnes turned his head, eyes tracking across the kitchen and down at the table, where he seemed mildly astonished to find two fingers of whiskey at his disposal. He picked up the glass and threw it back, then set it back on the table, turning it around and around in his fingers. He said nothing, did not even appear to have heard the exchange.
"Well," said Laura firmly, taking the whiskey bottle from her husband and refilling Barnes' glass, "I'm glad you caught them. That was a dirty move."
"They were desperate," said Steve, glancing again at Barnes a little sadly. "They knew the tide of the battle had turned against them."
"Coward's way out," rumbled Fury.
"Any port in a storm," argued Clint.
"Yeah, you would say that, wouldn't you, Clint?" said Natasha sweetly. "What did he say his name was again? Keera?" Clint's eyes shot daggers at her, but she remained unintimidated. "As I recall, he was wearing a lovely dress, and his shoes, Laura!" She took a sip, eyes twinkling at Laura over the rim of her glass. "Dolce!"
"Nice," said Laura with a grin. "Clint always did have good taste." She smiled at her husband, who glowered down at her, but kissed her forehead anyway.
"Nat's one to talk," grumbled Clint. He took a swallow of whiskey, closed one eye, and pointed at her. "Terengganu, Malaysia," he said deliberately, enjoying the words. "I don't recall ever having to leave a city faster."
Steve looked in surprise at Natasha. Her smile had faded, and a low blush crept up her cheeks. "Wasn't there the threat of some international incident?" queried Fury curiously, refilling his tumbler. "Something Barton ironed out for you?"
"It wasn't illegal," said Natasha stiffly, but despite her blush she had started to smile again.
"In America, it isn't," agreed Clint with a grin. "But they frown on sexual deviation in Malaysia. Don't they, Nat?"
"Good grief!" exclaimed Laura, staring at her friend. "What did you DO, Nat?"
Steve was blushing even more than Natasha, unprepared for a mental image that fetishized Black Widow any further in his mind. "I really don't think – "
"Aw, come on, Cap," Clint leered. "It wasn't THAT bad. A simple incident of ménage à trois with the Philippine ambassador and his wife."
Steve's face went blank, and Natasha said helpfully, "That means a three-"
"I know what it means," he said stiffly. His relaxed posture had tightened up, and he became all prickles and angles. Clint laughed.
"Lighten up, Cap!" he said, grinning. "It was all consensual, no harm, no foul."
Fury fixed Natasha with a severe stare, beneath which she morphed into an embarrassed school girl. "An international incident. For a threesome."
She tossed her hair over one shoulder. "It would have been rude to refuse," she said, with a resurgence of her bravado.
"Rude," repeated Fury. He held her gaze until she dropped it, then took a sip of whiskey. "Haven't heard of a threesome incident since Sitwell and those two girls from Accounting."
Clint made a face. "Gross. Didn't need that image in my head, boss. Thanks a lot."
"Gas," said Barnes suddenly.
The room fell silent, and they all turned to him. He hadn't said a word since coming out of cryo last week, had only stared out the windows, or down at his two hands, one old, one new, drifting through Wakanda and D.C. and the Barton's house like a bleak, joyless ghost. But now his eyebrows had pinched together, and he cocked his head to the side, concentrating.
"Bucky?" said Steve, concerned. He put a big, warm hand on Barnes' shoulder, could feel the joining of flesh and metal there, and his heart constricted. The Wakandan arm looked more real than his old one, but Steve knew he would always be able to tell where Bucky ended and his augmentation began, the rough periphery between human and machine.
"Gas lamp," said Barnes. "In the room … the pub." He frowned, then his eyes met Steve's, brow lowered, concentrating. "Threesome … Steve, didn't we –? "
Steve was on his feet in a nanosecond, standing so fast his chair fell over backwards. He hauled Barnes to his feet. "Okay, that's enough," he declared, scarlet.
"No, no, he's remembering something!" said Natasha, eyes lighting up, and Clint said, "Don't you even, Cap! Let the man talk!" He turned to Barnes, who thus far had only stared at Clint from beneath his brows. "All right, Sergeant Barnes," he said, clicking his glass on the table. "Threesome."
"There is nothing to tell," said Steve between gritted teeth. Barnes looked over at him, confused.
"We did," he said slowly. "I … remember."
"See? Very important," said Clint, and Laura laughed. "He's remembering something. This is progress; this is a medical breakthrough." Fury chuckled and shook his head, and Natasha's eyes were ablaze with mischief. "Spill it, Barnes!"
"We're going to bed," said Steve firmly, pulling Barnes away from the table.
"I bet you are," smirked Natasha. "But don't you need an extra party?"
"Okay, that's enough," said Steve, though they couldn't tell if he was angry or scared.
"I do remember," said Barnes, almost to himself. "It was in a room in that pub, the one in London we used to drink at. There was a gas lamp on the side table, and she had a blue dress …."
"Buck," said Steve desperately, red as a beet.
"No, no, this is good, go on," said Clint eagerly, and everyone leaned forward.
It took great effort, but Barnes worked his mouth a moment, then his lips quirked sideways. "Peggy," he said, with a note of satisfaction in his voice.
"WHAT?!" thundered Fury. Barnes just stared at him, and Steve, overcome with mortification, covered his eyes and turned away. "You had a three-way with DIRECTOR CARTER?"
"Oh, my god!" said Laura. Her husband was laughing so hard it was a miracle he was still on his chair, and Natasha's grin was bright enough to light the room.
"You two boys – " Fury was rendered temporarily speechless. Clint hooted, Natasha grinned sideways, and Laura, giggling despite herself, fixed a sympathetic eye on Steve's back, eloquent in its chagrin. "I worked with Director Carter," said Fury angrily. "And you two delinquents – "
"It was Peggy's idea," said Barnes softly. In the dim, mellow light of the dining room, there was a softness, an echo of the cavalier, handsome soldier he once had been.
"HER idea?!" exclaimed Fury, and Steve groaned into his hand.
Barnes looked at Fury a little blankly. His eyes unfocused, remembering, and his mouth twitched into a soft smile. "Well … she knew what I was thinking," he said thoughtfully. His smile spread. "God," he whispered. "She was beautiful."
"I will never get that image out of my head," declared Fury angrily. "Director Carter! My god, Cap, what were you thinking?"
"I was thinking I wanted to make my girlfriend happy," said Steve to the wall. His voice sounded petulant. "Of all things for you to remember, Buck – "
"Wait …." said Barnes, cocking his head again and lowering his brows. Clint, Laura, and Natasha leaned forward eagerly.
"What?" prompted Clint.
"There's more, isn't there?" demanded Natasha eagerly.
"Shut. Up," said Steve warningly, turning to Barnes. But Barnes stared at Steve hard, then his eyes went down to Steve's mouth and he said hesitantly: "Didn't we – " He reached out his right hand to Steve, like an invitation. "Peggy wanted us to –"
"OH my god," said Laura, covering her face, and her husband yelled, "JESUS!"
"Uh-uh, I am not listening anymore," said Fury determinedly, folding his arms over his chest and staring at the ceiling. "Nope. This conversation is not happening. I did not just hear this."
"Jesus!" Clint said again, and threw his head back, laughing.
"This is enough," said Steve firmly, his voice shaking a little. His eye caught Natasha's. She wasn't laughing, just smirking up at him through her lashes. Somehow, that was worse. "Bucky." He took Barnes' outstretched hand and pulled him from the kitchen. He could at least contain any future damage. "Bed."
Fury didn't bother to wish them good-night, still angrily casting his eyes heavenward as though Rogers and Barnes had engaged in their peccadilloes just to irk him. Clint sniggered into his hand, and the ladies whispered together for a moment, then separated, eyes sparkling. They heard the creak of the floor boards as the super-soldiers walked away.
"It's always the quiet ones, isn't it, Laura?" smiled Natasha.
Laura giggled. "God, I bet that was hot," she said. At her husband's shocked look, she said defensively: "What? I'm married, not dead, Clint."
"God bless America," declared Natasha, raising her glass, and Laura toasted her with a grin.
"Now, that's going a little too far," protested Clint.
"I agree," said Fury. "Hand over the whiskey, Hawkeye."
Natasha got up. "If I'm going to have more whiskey, I need to get rid of some first," she said. "Excuse me, gentlemen."
She found Steve and Barnes at the head of the stairs, just where the hallway branched out to the bedrooms. The Barton's house was big, but there had been some bed-shuffling to accommodate everyone. She was so quiet, creeping along on her stockinged feet, that they didn't hear her approach through the shadows. Steve had one hand hooked around the back of Barnes' neck and was speaking in an earnest undertone, gesturing with his other hand. Barnes stared at him, head cocked, mouth open a little, forehead furrowed in concentration. She would've given her favorite switchblade to know what Steve was saying.
She'd had just enough whiskey to admire the two stunning sets of chins and cheekbones, the broad curve of shoulders tapering down to trim hips. She took an indulgent moment to slide her eyes down the Winter Soldier's thighs. Despite everything, the cryo and the years on the run, they were just as thick and muscular as she remembered. She sidled up to them, hips swinging, her smile invitingly sideways.
Two pairs of beautiful blue eyes turned to her. Steve looked annoyed and still a little embarrassed, but Barnes' gaze flicked down her body and up again, lingering a little on her mouth. He turned out of Steve's grip, thinking. Finally his face cleared.
"Natalia," he said.
"Natasha," corrected Steve shortly.
"No, Steve, he's right," conceded Natasha. She looked Barnes up and down, pausing to admire the red, sensual curve of his upper lip. "Glad you finally remembered me, because I sure as hell remember you." She glanced over at Steve. "That's a surprising thing we have in common," she said. At his inquisitive look she added, "We've both got the same taste in men."
Steve stared disbelievingly at her as she descended the stairs. She paused halfway down, and looked up at them. My god, they were gorgeous.
"You two get lonely, I'm in the last room on the left," she said. And even in the dark, she could tell Steve was blushing.