CHAPTER TWO
BROOKLYN GARDENS ELEMENTARY SCHOOL: MONDAY, 0750 HOURS
The scent in the air was unfamiliar: disinfectant and Cheerios, and it wasn't masked by the apple-cinnamon air freshener that even Steve recognized as out of season. There were no words exchanged from Steve or Bucky to the scatted group of children whose eyes had turned on them. They disregarded the woman before them; she was in her late forties or early fifties, Steve guessed, her hair beginning to gray slightly among dusty brown. She had met them about thirty minutes earlier to show the Captain and Sergeant around the school. It seemed pretty basic, not easy to get lost in. Terri Holder was her name.
"Good morning," she said to the kids, hanging in the balance of forced pleasance and apprehension. Bucky figured he was responsible. If not strictly him, then the situation as a whole. Mrs. Holder was greeted with a chorus of 'Good morning's, though they were distant, and perhaps a bit mesmerized. (Some of them, at least.) "We all know that Ms. Erriks is out for the rest of the year, right?"
A unified group of nods.
"Can we say hi to Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes?" She stepped out of the way of Steve and Bucky, giving them a window of time to, in Steve's case, wave with a warm grin, and in Bucky's, offer a faint but welcoming smile.
"That isn't Mr. Rogers, that's Captain America!" one little voice yelled. Bucky was able to catch who it was: a scrawny blond boy with a Yankees snapback in his hands, who seemed on the verge of exploding. "And Bucky!"
"No it isn't," another boy said. "Where's his shield and his helmet?"
"Shh, shh, settle down. You can ask all of the questions you'd like in a moment. You," Mrs. Holder stated, getting the attention of the little blond. "You need to go put your hat in your cubby, okay? Go on." The two soldiers exchanged a glance; what the hell was a cubby? The boy pulled himself up on rail-thin legs and scrambled off toward a group of square shelves, stuffing the navy blue hat in with his lunchbox.
"Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes are going to be your teachers through the end of the year. I'm going to come in every once in a while to see how things are going, alright?" She received more nods before she took that as her chance to walk out while she still could. It was silent for a moment as the two men searched for a place to sit, though they eventually opted to lower themselves to be on the floor.
"Are you really our teachers?" a girl asked.
"Yeah. We'll have fun, I promise," Steve replied. He looked to his left, the blond having materialized at his side.
"Are you actually Captain America and Bucky? He doesn't look like Bucky." The Winter Soldier looked to his companion without a word. He couldn't tell himself that he wasn't anticipating anything that could catch him off-guard. "He is," Steve answered. "We'll bring in some of our stuff to show you tomorrow."
"Mr. Captain America?" A girl with a dirty blonde bob threw her hand in the air, nearly smacking the boy next to her on the way up. Steve pointed to her to take her question, raising an eyebrow. "Why are you and the man with the shiny arm our teachers?"
"The man with the shiny arm is Bucky." Steve was about to continue before he was interrupted.
"Can I call him Bucket?"
"No." It was the first time Barnes had spoken since walking in. "Just Bucky. Or Winter Soldier, or Mr. Barnes. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Anyway," Steve began, "we're here because our boss thinks we act like kindergarteners. We did our job in a way that was different from what we were told." He searched the faces of the kids in front of him. "Any questions?"
"When are we having free time?" The question came from a boy leaning against the back of his chair, holding a sixty-four pack of Crayolas with the protective instinct of a new mother. Bucky stood, walking over to the desk in the corner, by the window. He opened a folder, pulling out a small stack of paper held together by a green paperclip. "General lesson plan says thirty minutes of free time before math."
"You guys can have free time now. Don't be too loud, alright?" Bucky watched them get up and disperse about the room, to various tables and rugs. It was a bit early for them to be so judgmental as to form cliques, but he could see the makings of a few. Meanwhile, Steve shifted on to one knee, looking to the hatless boy who remained by him. "What's your name, little buddy?"
"Aiden." He offered the man a grin riddled with loose baby teeth, eyes bright. "You're my favorite superhero ever." It brought a broad but closed-lipped smile to Steve's face, but he wanted to get the gears in Aiden's head turning.
"Why not Iron Man? He can fly, and he's so smart! Or Thor?"
"Iron Man and Thor are cool, too. But you're the best 'cause you were little, but you're Captain America." Steve quickly examined the boy's legs with an understanding nod. "I wanna go on missions, like you do."
"Look at you; you're already on your way to being S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top agent." He stood, picking Aiden up beneath his arms and set him on his feet. Steve allowed a moment for him to get some stability before letting go. "You can wear your Yankees hat if you want to. I don't mind." He watched another smile come to pass before Aiden was gone, and returned to Bucky.
"I have an idea," Bucky stated in near monotone, locked in a staring contest with the clock on the opposite wall.
"Shoot," Steve replied, unbuttoning his sleeves to roll them up.
"You're better with kids. I'll handle time-outs, since we don't have the ability to use paddles without a lawsuit. We can teach and read and tell stories on little shifts. I do one thing, you do the next, and so on."
"That's fine. Don't do anything that's going to have parents going to the school board." Steve chuckled softly, rolling his sleeves up to the elbow. "There's something about emails that we have to mess with, and I can take care of that."
"They've got forty-five minutes to lie down and rest. I think then would be a good time." Bucky was followed by a brief fragment of time that contained no conversation before an angry declaration of small scale war rang out.
"Share!"
"No! Mine!"
"Alright, enforcer," Steve said to Bucky, though his focus was on two boys and a pack of crayons, his eyebrow cocked. "Your time has come." Bucky glared at the Star-Spangled Man With a Metal-Armed Backup Plan, walking over to the table with a blue basket in the middle.
"Just let me use your orange, you don't need it right now!"
"I need you to get your own orange." It was the same boy with the crayons that had asked about free time. He turned, grabbing his crayons and pulling them out of reach. Bucky walked around to lean against the edge of the table in front of them, looking them both over.
"Is something wrong here?" he inquired.
"Carter won't share his crayons!"
"It's Carson."
Bucky forced himself not to roll his eyes. Of all the colors in the box, this kid wanted plain orange? He wouldn't admit it, but he was thankful he never settled down and had kids. It wasn't as if he had the chance, but that was beside the point. "Tell me your name," he said to the boy demanding an opportunity to color.
"Michael."
"Alright, Michael. You won't get anything if you aren't respectful. Do you know what 'respectful' means?"
"Uh-huh." He received an acidic glare from Carson, but he was keeping eye contact with Bucky.
"Carson, will you share if he's respectful?"
"Nope." The boy shook his head, shifting back to face the man. Problem solved, Bucky thought.
"Michael, you can always go and get the box of crayons on the shelf."
"Do I have to?"
"If you want to color," Bucky answered simply. There was a second where the boy wanted to challenge him, but the conversation ended and he skulked off to the aforementioned box. Bucky turned his attention to Carson, running a hand through his hair. "Carson, right?"
"Just call me Carter, nobody gets my name right."
"You don't want me to get your name right?"
"Eh." Carson shrugged. "Cool arm. You're like a Power Ranger."
Bucky had absolutely no clue what he was referring to, but that was alright. "Thanks."
"Are you a Power Ranger?"
"No, I'm a soldier. And your teacher now, apparently." He waited for another question, but Carson returned to coloring with his obscene amount of crayons. The kid seemed to have a negative attention span, but that went for a majority of them. He supposed that could have gone a lot worse. No tantrum was always a good start. Bucky looked over to Steve before approaching him, his expression indiscernible.
"How'd it go?"
"Refresh me on how many more days we have to do this? And you didn't take roll," Bucky remarked.
"Forty-eight. You think Fury's gonna call us in for a mission until then?" Steve replied, grinning at Bucky.
"Name one time we were ever that lucky." In the silence that followed, occupied by Steve rolling his eyes, Bucky added, "Exactly. Never."