Bucky had never been to a bloody interview in his life.
No, he didn't count getting into the military as an interview. The officials he'd met had only bothered with a medical and background check – wanting to make sure he wasn't some past drug dealer or a raging alcoholic, he guessed? – before they passed him a rifle and threw him into the middle of a war. They didn't want their soldiers to be geniuses, or the top of their class in high school. They only wanted their soldiers in the ideal incorruptible condition, with all four limbs, some rough semblance of intelligence and a lust for battle.
"Physical perfection, but not mental perfection," Steve would say, his brow furrowed and contempt plain in blue eyes. "They want you able to pull a trigger, sure, but not able to tell whether or not you should."
Damn punk had a way of voicing exactly what his conscience was thinking.
Bucky sighed, clenching his right hand and feeling his chest tighten in response. It had been like this all morning, like nervousness and excitement tearing at his guts, like fear and joy heating up his cheeks. He was looking forward to the opportunity, but at the same time he wanted to go home and hide instead. He wanted to change things, but he didn't want things to change.
It seemed that as soon as he labelled the emotion, it would switch sides and screw things up. He'd be proud he was getting out there, proud he was getting over his fear of the public and the world – and then his mind would point out that fear, reminding him why he had it in the first place.
He couldn't win.
" – a large cappuccino, and one poppy-lemon muffin. Awesome, is that all for today?" The guy behind the counter flashed a winning smile, checking his customer once more before typing up the order. It was a quick flurry of movement, and the soldier felt his head ache the longer he stared. "Okay, great, so that'll be seven dollars and ninety cents. Are you paying with cash or card?"
Bucky wasn't expected to be that cheerful, right? He was a pessimist rather than an optimist; a the glass is half empty kinda guy. He knew how to fake a smile, sure – he had family reunions annually, it was a needed skill – but it made his cheeks hurt. He usually didn't bother with anything more than his resting bitch face, at least that didn't take any effort.
"Bucky!"
The soldier turned in time to catch a blur of brown and red heading straight for him, his mind spinning to identify the attacker before they collided. It was luck alone that stopped war-trained instincts from lashing out, his hand moving to cradle rather than hurt when he managed to label the thick accent. "Bloody hell," he grunted, clutching the new weight against his chest. "Starshine, haven't I told you you're not allowed to sneak up on me like that?"
Wanda gave an apologetic smile, frilly apron leaving flour stains all over his shirt. "Bucky," she repeated warmly, accent putting emphasis on each letter in the strangest way. "I missed you, where have you been?"
"You know, around, here and there – always where I shouldn't be," he allowed, petting down wild bangs. "But I missed you too, darling."
The youth stared up at him, wide eyes unblinking. "If you miss me, then why not come? You walk past store to get to gym, yes? You could visit me before or after sessions," she grumbled childishly, tucking her face into his shirt. Her small frame was practically swallowed by his shoulders, and he was violently reminded how fragile she was. "I get lonely when store is quiet, and customers gone."
Guilt latched onto him at the words, scolding him for missing his usual visits. "Hey now, what do you mean lonely? You've got Stevie, don't you?" Bucky argued, smoothing his hand down the length of her back. "And you've got that, um, that guy over there, ah that – "
"Scott?"
" – yeah, Scott, good guy, I like him," Bucky coughed, smiling awkwardly. "Also, if you forget Natasha she might forget your next pay check."
Wanda sighed, smothering her amused smile. "You will come in once a week," she demanded, propping her chin up on his chest. The glare he received warned him against arguing, so he only quirked a brow, following the topic change easily. "You come in once a week, I make you free coffee?"
Bucky didn't bother checking his grin, victory written on every feature. "Starshine, we have a deal."
The younger girl pulled back, holding out one hand to cement their agreement. "Okay, we have deal," she repeated, words not quite falling comfortably from her tongue. The fumbling made him smile slightly, amused at her struggle. "I need to make coffee for customer, but you want one after, yes?"
He checked the store over quickly, flinching when he noticed even more people flooding through the doors. The lunch rush was beginning, and he was leaving. "That sounds brilliant," Bucky winked, slipping behind the counter and out into the back room. "I'll see you in a bit."
The kitchen, with its high ceiling and bright windows, helped him breathe a little easier – the panic building in his chest loosening. He could totally do this. The other employees would be happy to welcome him in, he was a good worker, and being a barista would mean little social interaction. People wouldn't pity him because of the arm, no, they would be amazed he still worked and earned his keep.
He could get respect – and all he had to do was swallow his pride for a few minutes
Bucky let the smile widened when a surprised sound reached his ears, eyes glancing to the nearest oven. "Hey there, punk," he greeted warmly, coming up to nudge the blond's side. "You wouldn't happen to be making sourdough would you, cause well, I didn't have lunch…"
Steve looked pleasantly surprised to see him, holding the bread pan with mitted hands. "You came?" he breathed out, looking heart-breakingly young and hopeful. It made him seem healthy almost, draining the pale pallor from his cheeks and adding laughter to his eyes. "You're actually gonna do this, then? I thought that maybe…"
"All talk, no walk?" Bucky wrinkled his nose. "Come on, have a little faith."
Hurrying to put the hot pan down, the blond shoved his side. "Hey, I have faith in you," Steve argued, pointing his lucky oven-mitts threateningly between blue eyes. "I also have insider knowledge on how you work however. I thought I'd be talking you down from a panic attack at some point today."
Bucky swallowed, giving an awkward cough-chuckle, hand coming up to rub at his nape. "Yeah, I thought you would be too," he admitted quietly, shrugging a shoulder. The blond's eyes shuttered, and he hurried to add; "But here I am, calm and zen, ready for anything."
"James? I didn't know you were coming today?"
The soldier turned to take in pale eyes and vivid red locks. "Okay, ready for anything, but that," Bucky murmured, catching the smaller man stifle his laugher with an oven mitt. "Natty, hey, yeah sorry, I should've warned you at therapy," he excused, wincing and giving her the most remorseful look he could conjure up. "You're not too busy, are you? I was kinda hoping to talk to you before the lunch rush, but I got a little distracted."
"It's okay," Natasha waved a hand. "But do you mind maybe popping back in about an hour? I'm needed out front."
Steve snapped into action, like a perfect little tin soldier. "I can help out the front, Nat, don't worry," he promised, grinning breathily at them both and scooting towards the archway. "You two have that talk."
They both watched the man scatter, disappearing through the door and leaving them in silence. Natasha opened her mouth, closed it, hesitated, quirked a brow, then opened it again. "Okay…" she muttered, drawing out the vowel. "He told me not to worry, but I'm worrying."
"Don't. You know him, he's a drama queen," Bucky rolled his eyes. "Also, one part golden labrador."
The red head gave a gentle exhale – basically hysterical laughter in her language – before gesturing to the open door nestled in the corner. "Well okay, let's have this talk then," Natasha instructed, lowering her brow to give him a curious, but challenging, look. "If you took time outta your day to come see me, it must be pretty serious. I know how busy you can be, dealing with hangovers and the like."
Bucky dropped into oversized armchair, still in its ridiculous shade of crimson. "Wow, I love you too," he snorted, splaying out comfortably with his legs over the side. "Listen, I… I just thought this was something we should talk about in person, away from therapy, you know?"
"In person? It is serious, then. You, oh god, you're not going to ask me out, are you?" Natasha teased, gasping dramatically. Before moving to sit behind her desk, she hesitated, looking to the door for a split second before slamming it shut. "I hate to break your heart like this, but I'm seeing someone."
Bucky poked out his tongue. "I hate to break your heart like this, but I think of you as more of a sister than – wait, you're seeing someone? You? The great get-on-my-level-peasant queen of sass?" he choked, watching her features contort in feigned annoyance. "I'm sorry, but I don't believe for a second you manage to talk someone into dating you, self-preservation would've stopped them."
Natasha was already scrolling through her phone, pushing it across the smooth wooden surface. "Bruce," she introduced, gesturing to the guy in the photo with bright eyes. Her arms folded firmly across her chest, angled chin lifted up. "He's a physicist, and he exists. Your move, Bucko."
The soldier bent over, snatching up the phone and studying the screen. Bruce was some dark-haired dork with thin rimmed glasses, his smile awkwardly adorable and collar buttoned all the way to the top. He was smiling at whoever stood behind the camera, not seeming to notice he was getting his photo taken or the fact his fly was undone.
Jesus.
Bucky risked a disbelieving look up. "You're dating him? He looks like a preppy science nerd," he joked, smiling to disarm any insult as he pushed the phone back. "He suits you perfectly. But you know I have to give him the fabled talk now, don't you? Sit him down, threaten certain part of his anatomy, twirl a baseball bat between my fingers. It's something that's been done all through the ages. I can't break tradition."
The approval, even as veiled as it was, made her smile. "I wouldn't ask you too," she rolled her eyes, canting her head at the photo. "He is a nerd, I won't lie. I'm still trying to convince him he doesn't have to wear dress pants every day, but he thinks I'm trying to trick him into skinny jeans."
"You are trying to trick him into skinny jeans."
"I am," Natasha nodded firmly. "But since when have I become so transparent? I'm slipping."
Bucky tucked his hand into his pocket, shaking his head. "Love does funny things to people, hence why I avoid it," he sighed, winking when she shot him a tired glare. "I'm happy for you, darling, really I am, but I gotta say I'm feeling a little let down. You and I made an oath to be single and bitter together at sixty, remember? I can't believe you'd abandon me like this."
Natasha put her phone away, tapping her fingers on the desk. "Bruce doesn't really know we're dating. I haven't abandoned you yet," she shrugged, brushing her curls away and smiling. "But don't try and distract me, I know your games. What's this important thing you needed to talk about?"
The soldier bit his lip, struggling with putting the problem into words.
Pale eyes darkened in worry, recognizing the nervous tic for what it was. "It's not about money, is it? Steve's been asking for his pay check's a little earlier this month, and I offered to loan him something, but you know him…"
"Too proud to accept help, yeah, I know him," Bucky moaned, tipping his head back and breathing a sigh, staring down the ceiling. He had to fight to make eye contact once more. "Nat, listen – it is about money. It's just, we've hit a – a speed bump, you know? The good luck is running dry."
The red head looked concerned instantly. "What happened?"
Bucky sighed, wanting nothing more than to tear a hand through his locks. "The hospital – the, the clinic thing Steve goes too? They're gonna stop any further treatment if he doesn't start paying what he owes," he murmured, blinking hard when exhaustion hit him. "I've tried helping before, but he doesn't listen to me, Nat. So, I… last night… I put my foot down. If I want to help him – if I want to help us both – I gotta stop taking no for an answer."
He was practically talking to his own head, trying to convince the lingering doubt, but the woman listened intently – nodding where it was appropriate and wincing where the words hurt. It was her story, her friend, as much as it was his, but…
Steve was his sun. Bucky orbited him, and without him, he'd die.
Bucky gave a grim smile. "I'm here to apply for your open barista position."
Natasha looked surprised, both brows up and lips slack. "You want to apply for…? You want – you want to work?" she checked, knowing that he'd spoken about living out the rest of his days on the pension in therapy. The soldier couldn't bear the thought of being in public without a glass in hand and a drunken fog over his mind. "James, are you sure?"
Blue eyes darted to a single hand, splaying out the fingers on his lap. "Yeah, I am," he promised. "I can kill two birds with one stone, you know? Steve needs some extra cash, and I need to stop being a coward. It works for everyone."
The practised laugh didn't fool the woman. "You can't force your mind to heal, James."
"Maybe not," Bucky admitted, tilting his head to the side and regarding the red headed owner. "But I can force this lazy ass body to heal, can't I? Come on, Natty, I'm perfect for this, and I won't let you down, you know I won't. You know me. Besides, my physical therapist has been nagging me to do something with myself for months now," he added, clicking his tongue in disagreement. "Making coffees should appease the nagging bitch."
Natasha snorted at the last comment. "What have you got against that poor woman," she muttered, rolling her eyes skyward and leaning back in her chair. "I swear, every week you come up with a new insult. Your dedication is aspiring, really, but I'm concerned."
Flicking the air between them, the soldier grunted. "The damn sloth always insists on touching and physical healing."
"Sounds like someone has a crush…"
"Sounds like someone has a lawsuit waiting," Bucky countered.
Natasha wrinkled her nose, fiddling with something in the drawer. "I'll write up a contract," she announced casually, humming under her breath as she thumbed through some pages. "I've been a little busy with Brock lately, but I should have it ready in a few days. Did you wanna hang around for the rest of the day? Maybe shadow Wanda a little, get a feel for the place? I can send you to a barista training course tomorrow, and have you working by next week. What say you?"
Bucky pushed to his feet, elation finally winning as the emotion controlling for his mind. "Aye, aye captain!" he cheered, assuming a rigid pose and slapping his hand against his forehead. "Request to eat something first, sir? I heard some sandwiches were being made, and then consequently heard my stomach rumbling."
"Strange coincidence that," Natasha pulled a face, features falling passive as she started concentrating on the paperwork. "Steve will be on his lunch break in ten, you should join him and then look around, meet the ghosts and the like."
"Ghosts?"
The red head looked up, doing a double take at the expression slackening his jaw. "You've been watching horror movies on your own again, haven't you?" she announced dryly. "Honestly, James?"
Bucky scratched at the stubble crowding his cheeks. "Does Casper count as a horror? Because then yes, I have."
"Get out before I throw you out."
Bucky blinked hard, but it still didn't stop the world from spinning. "Argh, are you serious?" he snarled, rolling over and punching his pillow with a closed fist. It didn't do much to help him sleep, but he pretended it did, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. He was a firm believer in the fake it until you make it way of life, even though he was starting to feel like a dick – sitting in the dark with his eyes closed and a growl on his lips.
He probably looked more like an angry ferret though. His long hair was ruffled and messy, sticking to his neck thanks to the heat, yet somehow managing to also stick three feet into the air – and his stubble was out of control, despite it only being twenty four odd hours since he last trimmed it back.
He was a mess.
The worst part though? The worst part was he didn't even know why.
Natasha had given him exactly what he wanted, almost without a fight. Steve had reacted positively, all bright eyes and awkward hugging limbs. Wanda had been even better, almost in tears at the thought of seeing him daily…
Yet here he was, pouting at the ceiling and missing hour upon hour of much needed sleep.
Bucky pushed up, running a hand down his features and letting out a sigh. "I need a drink," he murmured, kicking back the covers and stumbling towards the kitchen. He didn't have any alcohol in the house – it had been forbidden by something small, righteous and blond – but he had a new bag of instant coffee and the willingness to miss even more sleep if he had too. He'd make do.
Or he'd make some coffee, either or…
Fumbling through the kitchen was hard without any light. There were dangers lurking around every corner, be it the open cupboards at head height or the sharp corners at hip height – but he knew that as soon as he flicked on the damn switch, he'd wake up his flatmate. Steve was sensitive to the smallest fucking changes in their apartment, anything from sound to light. It was like living with a damn alarm system.
Not that he was complaining, or anything. Steve eradicated any need to buy a guard dog.
Bucky bumped into the counter – the worst pain alive, holy shit, he was dying – cursing up a creative storm, but otherwise managing to stay relatively quiet. It was all about knowing how to move, knowing what sounds not to make. If anyone could sneak through their apartment, it was him.
The light flickered on above him. "Bucky, what are you doing?"
If anyone could sneak through their apartment, it wasn't him.
The soldier slowly turned, cup in one hand and a lost expression on his face. "Stevie?" he squeaked, clearing his throat before offering up a bright smile. "Ah, why are you awake? I thought you were helping Natasha with the early bird shift today? Baking bread in the light of the sunrise and all that poetic rubbish," he teased gently, placing the mug down with a click and mussing his hair up even more.
Steve eyed him oddly. "You look like angry ferret," he announced – he knew it – shuffling forward until he could lean against the counter. "And not just any angry ferret – but like, one who found out his wife was cheating on him with his brother because he had a better car."
"Ferrets have cars?"
"You get what I mean," Steve defended.
It was the soldier's turn to stare in odd concern. "I really don't," Bucky mumbled.
Steve rolled his eyes. "There's a moral to the story."
"Always have the better car?"
"You're not helping."
"Neither are your ferret stories," Bucky snorted, not bothering to hide the fact he was both distracting the conversation, and making a caffeinated drink. He could feel the blond's eyes following him, could practically feel the righteous fury ebbing from him in waves. It was fight time.
Steve cleared his throat. "What you making?" he asked casually.
Bucky spared the man a glance, fighting against the urge to shift his weight between his feet. "Hopefully something that will send me into cardiac arrest after the first sip," he joked lamely, lifting the bag of instant coffee for evaluation. "I'm just kidding. I don't know what I'm making. Apparently, it's coffee, but it tastes more like shit. That's what I get for buying it cheap, right?"
Steve frowned. "Bucky, you – "
"But hey, with this new job, I won't have to buy the cheap shit, will I?" Bucky wrinkled his nose, hurrying to breathe in so he could continue with his words. "I can go out and buy like, the really good crap – or, even better, I can buy an espresso machine – or even better than that even better, I can just pop into work whenever the hell I want too and make myself a cup. Nat buys those really expensive coffee beans, doesn't she? Wanda showed me the bags today. I don't know what Columbia is, but I like it."
The blond darted a little closer, exasperated smile lingering on his lips. "Hey now, shut up," he murmured, closing the space between them and nudging his ribs. "I can barely stand you when you're quiet, let alone when you ramble."
Bucky sucked in a breath, staring at his best friend weakly. "What if I screw this up?"
Steve didn't even hesitate to pull him into a hug, his thin frame feeling safer than the belly of tank. "You've never screwed anything up," he announced fiercely, squeezing him once and managing to knock the air from his lungs despite frail arms. "And you never will, you hear? Natasha wouldn't let you on the team if she didn't think you can handle it, and you wouldn't have asked if you didn't think you could either."
Bucky slipped his arm around a thin waist. "Yeah, yeah. I know I can do it…" he muttered, trying to replicate the blond's confidence. "You really believe in me, don't you, punk?"
"Damn right I do, jerk," Steve clapped his shoulder. "Now, you ass, it's two in the morning. I have to get up in three hours and you – you have a barista course today," he enthused, stretching long arms above his head before giving up a sleepy grin. "If you don't get some sleep now, you never will. Not with all the coffee you'll be drinking."
Bucky chuckled as the blond awkwardly stumbled back to bed, hesitating only a second before dumping his mug down the drain and moving towards his own room.
Hey, hey, hey
Yeah, yeah, I know – I have other stories I should be writing, but I needed to write something beautifully cheesy and cliché. This is going to be a romantic comedy if you will, now that all the depressing crap is out of the way. I can't wait to write this. It's gonna be beautiful.
Taila xx
