Sam announced. "We'll need to register a team. We'll need names. And sponsors."
"I'll get the sponsor." Natasha grabbed her phone.
"Sponsor? Shouldn't we get more than one? We need to raise a lot of cash."
"Everyone we know is either broke or Asgardian. I only know one rich guy and that's who I'm calling."
Sam turned to the computer with a flourish. "Alright let's get some names going. Nat, you're up first. How's this one? Navarosh Amantoa."
The room was quiet.
"No? Fine. How about, Shanata Voramano?"
The room was not quiet. Bucky's distinctive loud snicker drew a side-long glance from Natasha.
She instructed. "Try again."
"Got it. Savannah Roamota."
Bucky's outright laugh was cut short by a discreet elbow from Steve.
Natasha was grateful. For the elbow and the improved alias. "Works for me."
"Steve. You're up next."
Bucky sat up. "This should be good."
Sam took a deep breath before offering. "Grores Veets."
The room was quiet briefly.
"Grores? Grores! I love it." Bucky swung to straddle Steve and growled. "Oh, Grores! Deeper Grores, Fu..."
Steve's hand covered his mouth. "Next option."
"OK. Vergers Sote." Sam cringed as soon as he said it.
Bucky licked Steve's palm before pulling away to laugh. "Even better!" He started another gravelly voiced mocking but it was cut short when Steve dumped him on the coffee table.
It held up. Reinforced steel was the key. All the furniture had been modified from the time of Bucky's Big Breakdown. Anything that couldn't withstand being tossed against a wall was discarded.
It made Amazon shopping harder but the adjustment was worth it in the end.
"Here we go. Greves Roset."
"Works for me." Steve chimed in quickly.
Bucky was still cackling as he planned his evening's entertainment. All the annoying ways he could whisper Grores or Vergers or Greves in the middle of sex.
It was going to be a long night for Steve.
"Finally. Last but certainly not the least among us. Barnes."
Bucky stopped laughing. He remained supine on the coffee table though.
"Sucken Byarb."
Steve tried to not laugh. Bucky and sullen did not go well together. Laughing at him was a known trigger.
"No. That sucks."
"Next. Scrubby Kane."
Natasha nodded. "Scrubby works."
Steve remained neutral. It was his best tactic until Bucky's opinion could be read.
"No. Stupid. I am not a Scrubby."
Sam was getting frustrated. "One more then that's it, find your own alias. Last one. Cranks Yebub."
"Perfect!" Steve blurted out. It would cost him later. But now he had a comeback for the post-coital "Oh, Vergers!" whispers.
"NO! Not acceptable." Bucky was on his feet in a second from flat on his back.
Natasha admired his abdominal control. Hell, Sam admired it. Steve was already closely acquainted.
"I'll use my code name. Dodger." He stalked to the kitchen.
Steve gave some thought to more serious matters, like cleaning the bathroom, to refocus himself before tagging behind him.
Natasha headed for the fridge. She ignored Bucky as he leaned across the far end of the kitchen island.
Mostly she ignored him because Steve was wrapped tightly around his back with his hands discreetly buried somewhere on Bucky's bare skin.
Sometimes she just ignored him independent of whether Steve was attached or not.
"What are you boys up to now?" It was a rhetorical question. What they were up to was obvious.
Steve offered. "Nothing."
He was doomed really. He still had some 1940's sensibilities. Sex only in the bedroom. Cover the trash can. Don't litter.
Then Bucky came back. "We're engaged in foreplay. Get out of here."
She prolonged her search inside the fridge just to mess with their rhythm.
Followed by annoying small talk. "So we have a team name. Interested?"
"No." Bucky grabbed the paper towels to unroll them across the island and down the sides.
Steve remained the polite one. "Yeah. Sure." But he didn't give up his attached-to-Bucky position.
"Secret Avengers." She poured a glass of eggnog.
"Great idea. Now go away."
Steve looked concerned. "Is that a good idea? It's so obvious."
"Hide in plain sight. No one's going to think it's real Rogers, lighten up." She took a seat and proceeded to drink her eggnog, slowly.
Bucky killed time studying the uplifting pseudo-caligraphy message emblazoned across each and every sheet of the towels.
"What the hell is this on here?"
"A little light reading." Natasha retrieved the roll from the floor to study the prose from her end.
Sam wandered in. He didn't want to miss this. The paper towel message was his idea and his specific target was directly in the crosshairs. He tugged off a random sheet and read the message aloud.
"Each Morning is a New Opportunity to Shine. A Chance to Give the Past a Kick in the Pants and the Future a Bear Hug."
"Just for grumpy you, Barnes." Sam was proud of himself, "Always thinking of you, pal."
"I am not grumpy and I am definitely not your pal." He twisted around to face Steve, his hands wandering to pull hips closer, the throaty murmured declaration of "I am his pal and only his pal" was nearly lost in the deep throat kiss that ensued.
"Fine. Not your pal, but I'm Nat's pal, right?"
Natasha shrugged, sipped her eggnog and headed to the living room.
"Damn."
Later that night Bucky used all six rolls of paper towels to clean his guns. Even though you never use paper towels to clean guns. He made an exception this time.
Even later that night Natasha and Sam had to turn on the sound machine. Again. It was too annoying to listen to the mournful moans of "Greves" and "Scrubby!"
,
5K 12/1/17 World Aids Day here we come!
Sam was spearheading their efforts. "We're ready to go. Run as a team. That means Rogers you need to stay with us. Or run circles around us."
"Right Rogers. You need to stick close, no racing off by yourself." Bucky's anxiety was growing. He didn't like crowds, or people, or loud noises, except when fighting. He definitely didn't like losing sight of Steve.
Missions were different. He had a gun or three in his possession and a job to do. Running wasn't a job. It was something to be endured for the sake of the mission.
"Got it. I'll be right with you." Steve didn't like losing sight of him either.
Bucky frowned as he scanned Sam's approach with their entry paperwork. "What the hell are you wearing?"
Sam ignored him. He was pretty stoked about his and Natasha's matching spandex. He wasn't going to let Downer Dodger ruin his high.
"How come we don't match like that?" Bucky whispered when Steve tried to head for the restroom.
"Spandex? You want spandex?"
Bucky gave that a thought. "I can think of one situation where that would be interesting and it doesn't involve being in public."
Natasha wandered into their private conversation. "What? No Captain America sleep pants?"
"I couldn't find them."
Natasha winked at Steve. He shrugged. It was conveniently laundry day that morning.
"What's that about?" Bucky caught the little side action. His paranoia served a purpose most days. Kept him safe, alert to danger and threats and other subterfuge. Like Nat and Steve winking at one another in knowing ways.
"Something in my eye." She rubbed vigorously. "I'm shocked. No Cap gear."
"I'm wearing Cap gear. All day, every day. Cap gear." Bucky nuzzled in close to Steve's ear.
"I'm afraid to ask."
"On my underwear. Little tiny shields."
"How appropriate."
Steve frowned. "You don't even wear underwear."
Natasha retreated from the underwear conversation but added, "Gonna be a long 5K. Sorry. 6K."
Bucky mumbled. "Wearing them today. And they have little shields on them."
"Numbers. Here we go. Steve, you're number 43. Natasha's got 34, I've got 7 and Barnes you're 22."
Bucky stared with some disappointment at the white sheet of paper with the large block 22 on it. Everyone else pinned on their numbers. Nat and Sam started stretching.
Bucky stared more.
"You Ok?" Steve jogged tight circles around him.
"No."
"What's wrong? This is easy. 6K there and back. Home for dinner in under two hours."
"No. I can't go." Bucky held the paper like it was poisoned.
"What is it?"
"The number, Steve. I can't use that number."
He stopped jogging. "Take mine."
"That won't work. It has to be divisible by 3. You know that."
"It's just a number on a piece of paper."
"No, it's not. It's more than that."
"Come on, let's ask for a different number then." Steve led the way.
But registration was closed. "We gave them all out."
Bucky stood at the desk, holding his disappointing number 22.
Steve tugged him towards the restrooms. "We'll think of something. Let me take a leak. I'll be right back."
"Don't leave me."
"Buck. Stand right here. Two minutes."
Bucky stood dutifully in the assigned spot. His anxiety was a pain in the ass at times like this.
It stirred up the voice in his head. The one that made fun of him with snide remarks and reminded him of what a loser he was.
Thankfully the Voice had been mostly quiet over the last few months. Getting on track with redemptive work helped. Bucky was convinced that sex with Steve was the key. The optimized medication regime was at the bottom of the list.
Stress was never helpful.
"You can't even wear a non-three related number for two hours? What's the point of recovery if you're still stuck on threes?"
"Shit. Go away. I got this. Your help is not needed."
"Right. You're going to do what now? Go home? Wait at the bike? Cry? How about you trade numbers with someone."
He stared at the paper. Looked around. Looked for Steve. Back at the paper. He hated when the Voice had a good idea.
"Ah. Hi. Would you consider trading numbers with me?" His third target didn't run away immediately.
The first attempt at number trading was a lesson learned.
"Don't stare at a woman's chest, Soldier."
"I know that. I'm socially awkward not stupid. I'm staring at the numbers. Besides the only chest I'm interested in is Steve's."
The second target situation went south fast. He was a big brawny guy with a magnificent 3 on his chest.
"Perfect! Soldier. A solid single digit 3!"
Bucky asked for his number. Specifically, he said, "Hey, wanna trade numbers?"
Innocent enough. It went downhill from there.
"He asked for my number. I thought he meant the race numbers. How was I supposed to know he meant phone numbers?"
"You should've given it to him. He was hot."
Bucky hated the Voice for a lot of reasons.
He utilized his newly cultivated skill of discretion to walk away after the guy's hand started exploring his back, then hip then got a lot more personal.
"Not telling Steve about this one. He'll use the handcuffs again."
"I recall you really got off on those handcuffs. Maybe you should tell him."
The Hand of Hydra didn't generally utilize a soft approach but Steve had been a good influence.
The asset would have shoved the targets to the ground, ripped the number off their chest and thrown a crumpled number 22 at them.
The softer approach seemed to be working with the third target. A young wisp of a girl with a New York Rangers baseball cap, a long blonde French braid and a larger than life 33 on her chest. Applying the earlier feedback, he stared at her ball cap.
"Right. So I have a problem." He shifted his feet letting his anxiety flow downward.
The young woman eyed him with some suspicion.
"I have OCD." He blurted out before she could run screaming for the cops. Like the stupid second target guy did.
"I have anxiety and I can't wear this number 22. It won't work." He held it out like a dirty diaper.
She eyed him but didn't leave.
"I need the number 3 or divisible by 3. You have 33. That would work. So. Would you trade?"
He waited patiently for the big moment hoping he wouldn't have to throw her unconscious body in a dumpster so he could run this damn race with Steve and be done with it.
"Hey. Where were you? I came out and you were gone." Steve caught up with Bucky and the others at the back of the starting crowd.
"Oh, I was fine. Just walking around."
"I see you found a better number, 33. How'd that happen?"
"I traded with someone."
"Great. I didn't know that was allowed but great. As long as you're happy. I'm happy." Steve threw an arm around his shoulder and planted a quick kiss on his cheek despite being in public.
"Yeah well, I can be pretty persuasive." He mumbled.
A man on the PA system called out: "Alright everyone lets get this race started!"
