Bucky awkwardly fixed his apron, toying with the knotted string and obnoxiously frilled edges. "Okay, so tell me again why this is absolutely necessary?" he muttered, looking up to demand an answer from laughing eyes.

The red head only gestured to his body as a whole, other hand lifted to hide a toothy smile. "Your shirt is white, and coffee isn't. I'm trying to protect your only clean piece of clothing here," she argued lightly, wiggling in exaggerated excitement as the bell above the door tinkled. "Oh, sounds like you have a customer incoming. If I was you, I'd stop scowling. It scares people. Give me a smile so damn bright it'll penetrate sunglasses."

Bucky suppressed the urge to poke out his tongue – he failed, but it was the effort that mattered. "That's not a good enough reason to use the word penetration," he grumbled childishly.

Natasha grinned remorselessly. "Any reason is a good reason," she countered, peering over her shoulder. It took less than a second for the smile to widen beyond possibility, cheeks stretching enough to cause damage. "Oh, I'm not even sorry. This is going to be perfect."

The soldier tried to look around her, only catching a glimpse of dirty brown locks. "What?" he grunted, uselessly straining onto his toes. Whoever had made the red head grin so mischievously was about to become the bane of his existence, he just knew it. "What have you done?"

"Hey, you know the bowls we have for extra-large orders? Fill it with milk foam. No charge."

"Natasha, don't ignore me. What did you do?"

The red head gave him a wink and slunk away, ducking towards the back room before the soldier could make any more demands. Bucky wanted to follow but movement caught his attention, both eyes slamming to the man when he reached the counter. He was rather plain – attractive but plain – with a walkman bulking up his waistline and a beat making him dance around as he wandered closer.

Uncertainty settled in his stomach. Natasha must've been messing with him, trying to make him go on the alert…

Must've been, right?

The guy hit the counter, slapping both hands down and offering up a bright smile. "Hey mate," he greeted, seemingly happy to meet the one armed war veteran. "You know, I'm quite the regular here, but I don't think I've seen you before? First day or are you filling in for someone?"

Was he still smiling? Jesus. Bucky blinked, spending a split second too long trying to find out how the whole small talk thing worked. "Oh yeah, yeah. First day, and first customer," he admitted shamelessly, smiling back as mildly as he could. "I'm the new barista – replacing the other guy. You might know him. Permanent resting burnt-bitch face? Massive asshole? Annoyingly perfect hair?"

The guy cracked up, not necessarily laughing harder than he should've, but showing the mirth more openly than the soldier was used too. "I know him. Glad to see he's been replaced actually, he was such an asshole to us."

Us?

Bucky snorted. "You and me both, pal," he muttered.

"Well then..." The man spared the ground a look, fond smile taking over his polite greeting. "I guess since you're sticking around, I'll give you the proper introduction – see if he likes you and what not. He hated bitch face but that was with good reason," he explained, bending at the waist to fiddle with something on the floor. The solider was about three seconds away from awkwardly edging into the kitchen when something warm, brown, and covered in fuzz was dumped on the counter.

Huh.

Bucky blinked at the animal, confused for about half a minute before he took it in stride. His life had had weirder moments. "You have a pet raccoon," he realised calmly, staring at the curious creature before holding out a hand. It sniffed and nibbled, testing both his smell and taste.

"Don't call him a raccoon, or he'll eat you alive," the odd man warned hurriedly. As if to cement the fact he hated the term, the raccoon's needle like teeth pierced skin, small jaw working. "His name's Rocket, and I'm Peter."

Bucky didn't even wince, accepting the pain and scolding for what it was. "Bucky, pleasure to meet you," he nodded, already petting the furry ears with a smile. That was allowed, and beady eyes warned him against anything funny before closing in contentment. "Dude, I want one."

Peter gave him a shocked but amused look. "Dude, I know. They're the best pets ever," he gushed, placing both hands on the creature's stomach and petting it. He received a low growl, but didn't care much for the sound, apparently used to it. "This one is pretty snappy, but he's great."

How the hell could a racoon be snappy? Bucky asked as much, continuing to gently scratch between twin ears.

"If you call him a trash panda or a raccoon, he'll literally try to tear off one of your limbs," Peter chuckled before stopping short, eyes flicking to the obvious lack of an arm. "So, uh, avoid doing that or…" There was a vague hand movement thrown in. "Adios remaining arm, am I right?"

Bucky quirked a curious brow, not unhappy about the lame joke, but not amused either. "You're right," he allowed. He took back his only hand – he was about to need it – and the small animal chirped at the lost, catching a finger with a small paw. The soldier didn't move to shake it away, instead keeping his hand within reach, and looking back to the man. "Anyway, what can I get you two?"

Peter fished out a wallet, using his other hand to distract his pet. "I'd say the usual, but you don't know it," he pointed out sheepishly. "So, uh, can I have the chicken and brie panini, blueberry muffin, one large mocha and one large… well, warmed and frothed milk? In a bowl, if that's okay?"

Natasha's instructions make sense now…

Bucky rang up the order, his moving fingers a source of entertainment for the little guy. "Rocket, would you like full cream, skim or soy?" he asked, lowering his face slightly to address the animal. "Oh, and cinnamon or chocolate?"

"Well, full cream makes his tummy hurt," Peter cooed, scratching an ear and getting chomped for the effort. "He loves almond – there should be a special case in the fridge. He also happens to love chocolate and marshmallows. Just so you know."

The soldier checked and, son of a bitch there was a case, one with a crudely drawn – he tiled his head to the side – he assumed it was meant to be a raccoon drawn on the side, but it looked more like an overgrown rat. "Yeah, I think I found it," he admitted slowly, placing it beside the coffee machine for later use. "Just want it warm and frothy, huh?"

Peter grinned. "You got it."

Bucky hummed, checking over the order before scratching brown ears. "Okay then, we're sweet. That'll be fourteen ninety. Cash or card?"

As the man waved a card, already moving to swipe it through and waste some hard earned cash – not waste, there was nothing about his blondies' baking that was wasteful – the soldier heard something creak ominously behind him. Bucky could practically feel his instincts tense up, complaining that he wasn't turning to assess the new threat.

As subtly as he could, he peeked over his shoulder, meeting pale eyes in a sudden clash of colour. Natasha looked once to the customer, and then back to him, both brows lifting in approval. He could read what she was trying to say almost as clearly as he would've heard it.

Good work, James.

Bucky smiled, turning back to face the customer and his lazily chirping pet. "Great, thanks," he droned politely, tapping the small creature on the nose as he handed over the receipt. "Did you want your panini grilled, or the muffin heated? I swear the baking here gets better with temperature. I can't say the same thing about the drinks though. Hot or cold, my coffee still tastes like shit."

Peter snorted, shaking his head. "Loving that confidence," he teased, shifting to pick up the animal – oh god, it had a leash and harness, why? – and place it back on the ground. "Panini yes, muffin no. I only get it for Rocket. He picks out all the blueberries."

"Please tell me you don't waste the actual muffin?"

Peter looked genuinely horrified at the thought. "Hell no, that's a crime," he muttered, moving to walk towards one of the booths. Rocket skittered along the floor after him, happily trotting behind his heels.

Bucky chuckled, moving to put the order together – shoving a panini onto the grill and grinding some beans for the mochaccino. He'd practised enough over the past week that it was relatively easy with one arm, rather than a tedious struggle, but he still had to pay attention to how he moved. It was easier to muck up a cup than he thought, but rather than a pressure to be perfect, he felt calm. He felt that, yeah if he mucked up it would be bad, but it wouldn't be dangerous. He could close his eyes, count to ten, and restart.

It was so different than a battlefield, so much better, and – and did, did he really compare making coffee's to being a solider?

Bucky paused, looking up to the door before continuing to make the mochaccino. It was an odd thought. There was nothing even remotely similar between the situations, yet he couldn't help but make connections. It was beans or ammo, cups or guns, a bakery or a blood-soaked desert. Hell, it was marshmallows or bombs. Zero similarities yet everything seems to be on the same parallel.

He placed the finished mochaccino to the side, making sure to add a spoon, napkin and marshmallows along the rim. The panini was emitting a gorgeous smell, and with a quick check, he deigned it ready as well, placing it next to the cup. It was a juggling act – like making sure you aimed, fired and reloaded without getting hit back by the enemy. You had to make the drinks and the food without burning it or giving it too much time to cool down.

Zero similarities, but same parallels.

Bucky hummed as he lightly frothed up the milk, sprinkling a dusting of chocolate over it and making sure to add a few treats as well. Rocket would be his best friend within days, he swore it. "Alright, so one large mocha and one special for my man," he announced, gently balancing the second plate in the crook of his wrist. "I'll go get your meals, give me one second."

Peter grinned, catching sight of the multiple marshmallows lining both their cups. "Dude, are you trying to bribe my trash panda?"

"What? I'd never." Bucky jogged back to the counter, making sure both things were plated neatly before bringing them over to the booth. "Okay, and that's the wrap. How's the drink, Rocket?" he asked, nodding when he noticed twin tiny hands wrapped around the bowl.

The raccoon chirped back.

He seriously needed to invest in a pet, he could almost feel his heart melting. "That's good, I live to please," Bucky gave an absent pat to a scruffy neck, earning another purring grunt. "If you need anything more, shout out. I'll probably hang around out here, anyway. I'm only trained to make shitty coffees, not shitty cupcakes," he teased, grabbing a hidden marshmallow and waving it before a long snout.

Rocket almost died of excitement, hands grabbing it tightly and sharp teeth gnawing away happily.

Peter tipped his cup. "It tastes good enough to me. If bitch face made it, I could usually taste the hate, you know?" he sighed, stirring the contents around lazily. "But with this I can taste the disinterest. It's great."

Rolling blue eyes, the man waved a hand over his shoulder as he wandered away, not bothering to dignify the words with an answer. His voice was a blessing after all, deep and gravely and – and that man did not deserve to hear it's low lilting tones. Bucky snorted, tipping his chin up as he moved to double check the coffee machine, ensuring every crook and nanny was clean. It was his new baby, after all.

The door behind him opened as he was running a cloth over metal, bringing forward the shifting smell of baking bread. "Buck? Everything okay?"

Bucky smothered a smile, wiping a hand over his lips. "Steve, I'm okay, stop stressing out back there," he scolded, turning to quirk up a brow. "Just served my first customer, and… and made friends with a raccoon? Although I'm not sure that last bit actually happened yet."

Steve lit up, blue eyes bright. "Oh, Peter's here?" he questioned excitably, looking around before waving wildly. "Let me guess, blueberry muffin?"

The soldier nodded. "Ding, ding, ding," he announced, turning around to get back to wiping down the machine. He'd only used it once, and okay, he only had one arm, but he wanted to keep it entertained between customers. "We have a winner."

Steve smiled back indulgently, tapping his fingers against the wall. "So, uh…" he cleared his throat, one hand coming up to rub across his neck and tug on the shorter hairs there. It was one of his more infamous nervous ticks. "Um, how are you going so far? Day one, customer one. It's pretty big."

Bucky closed his eyes, luckily standing with his back to the smaller man. He should've known the blond would be overprotective – he's spent months with the firm decision set in his mind, certain he'd never get back into the workforce, certain he couldn't handle it. Then he decided he could and he would. There was no build up, no life changing moment. He'd just said okay.

Steve probably didn't think his resolve would last.

Joke was on him then. Bucky planned on lasting in that small bakery until the end of days.

"Listen punk I'm – " The bell above the doorway chimed, and the words died in his throat, forgotten already. "Did you mean day one, customer two?" Bucky chuckled, turning to check how his joke sat with the blond. He'd been hoping for a smile back, maybe a courteous snort, but the door was already swinging shut behind the smaller man. The soldier sighed, dropping his head. "Damn."

"You know, I was just thinking the same thing," a new voice intoned, sounding dangerously smooth. "Damn."

Bucky took in a small breath before he peered up curiously, mutedly interested in whoever the hell was flirting with the one-armed barista. The deep brown eyes he met however, were like a punch to his gut. Fuck. "Well, aren't you sweet?" he droned, cocking out a hip. "But I hate to tell you, if you wanna make me blush you're gonna have to try a lot harder than that."

The new man grinned, white teeth practically sparkling. "I always love a good challenge," he purred, leaning against the counter with a pleased gleam to his eye. It was either a testament to how hot this guy was, or how desperate the soldier was, when he felt his stomach clench tightly. "It's been a while since I've had to work for it, but I think you're worth it."

"Oh god, give me a break," Natasha popped up, appearing out of nowhere to both scare the shit out of him, and also simultaneously cockblock him. They were gonna have a long talk later. "Stark, would you leave my new barista alone? I can't have you scaring him away. He's the best I could find."

Stark gave him an open, lazy, once over. "I don't doubt it. If his coffee's taste half as good as he looks…"

Natasha actually gagged, for once in her life not looking completely refined. "You repulse me," she realised with startling clarity, not bothering to give the man any more of her attention and instead looking to the other. "If he creeps you out, James, spray him with holy water. That's bound to get rid of him. I have to shoot to the bank real quick, okay? I'll be back before your lunch break."

Bucky quirked up a brow. "Damn, I left my bottle of holy water in my other apron…"

"Castrate him then. Steve will happily lend you a bread knife."

Both men watched the woman sway away, red curls bouncing and terrifying smile on point. Bucky wasn't sure he was relieved the woman was technically on his side, or worried she now saw him as an easy target. Time would tell.

Stark shivered dramatically, reminding the brunet he was still there. "Oh god, she scares me. I feel like one second she's my friend, and then the next I'm clinging onto life by a sarcastic thread, you know?" he muttered, turning those big doe like eyes on the soldier. "But at least now I understand what that movie meant when they said the devils wear Prada…"

Bucky snorted out a laugh. "Excuse you, she prefers Gucci."

"Expensive lass," Stark chortled. "What about you, what do you prefer?"

The soldier smiled softly, giving a half-hearted shrug. "Me? I prefer it when my customers order…"

Stark studied him in silence for a few minutes, eyes roaming before he let out a soft exhaling laugh. "Okay, I like you. You've got sass. The last guy was just all ass," he rolled his eyes, winking. "See what I did there? Rhyming. Anyway, cappuccino with a double shot of espresso and full cream milk. If you add whipped cream, I know you like me. When's your lunch break?"

The rush of words was like listening to rain hitting a window – inconsistent, calming and distracting as all hell. "I take it you want a large?" he murmured, watching the boundless energy. It had to be from caffeine. "Anything else?" Bucky finished, purposefully avoiding the last question.

Stark canted his head to the side. "Just your number."

"Great, that'll be six fifty," Bucky announced, hitting the till so it let out that obnoxious ting that showed the order was finished. "Takeaway?"

The brunet leant further against the counter now, holding out a note and giving the most charming smile he could manage. "I'll have it here, thanks. What's your name? Come on, you have to tell me that, don't you? Natasha called you James…"

"Don't call me – only my parents call me that," he grumbled, digging through the cash register to find his change. "Please, it's Bucky."

The man shot out his hand, waiting patiently until fingers locked with his own. It was a warm, friendly shake – miles away from the overly intimate clammy thing he'd been expecting. "Pleased to meet you Bucky," he grinned. "I'm Tony."

Okay, we all knew who it was – I gave a last name – but come on that was an awesome ending. I have a headache.

Taila xx