Author's Note: Sort of a transitional chapter here, but hope you enjoy! Building up to some things to come, heh.
As per usual, thanks to my beta nighttimelights! Also, don't forget to drop a review if you enjoyed, they really make my day and help me write!
The Times They Are A-Changin'
Chapter Six: Suit Up
Knowing there were precious few other places in the compound he could go and be guaranteed peace, Bucky headed to his room and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned heavily against it for a moment, breathing deeply in an attempt to slow the torrent of emotion that surged through him.
It was too much. Too much after so long feeling nothing at all…
Desperate for a distraction, Bucky's eyes went to the gun locker standing in one corner of his room. The Avengers had their own armaments room, but everyone had a few weapons that were theirs alone that they kept in their quarters. Bucky had more than most.
Stepping over to it, the ex-soldier tugged open the door and looked at the contents. His rifle stood where he'd left it, but even he had to admit that cleaning the thing two days in a row without even using it was a bit much. So he went for his collection of pistols instead.
Once he'd laid out his cleaning kit and gotten started, Bucky found himself glad that he had gone for the smaller firearms to clean. The pieces were were small and the mechanisms particularly finicky, forcing him to exert extra effort and concentration as he worked.
Though the distraction would have normally been more than enough, Bucky found himself still mulling over the afternoon in the back of his head. The ex-soldier was forced to snatch for a crucial pin when his grip tightened reflexively at the sudden recollection Steve's solid weight in his arms as he dipped him, and the way Bucky's body had folded over him to support the man.
He sighed heavily, then pushed the though from his mind and went back to work. His focus didn't last long though, and his peace of mind was ambushed by errant memories again before he'd even started on his second pistol.
He had heard the pounding of his friend's heart when he'd landed on the man, Bucky realized belatedly. It had beat a tattoo against the man's chest that matched his own quick pulse, Steve's good natured laugh playing a counterpoint, even the memory of which made the ex-soldier's stomach tighten. His friend had been warm and solid beneath him before they'd disentangled, and Bucky was surprised (and frankly terrified) to realize that he would have been perfectly happy to remain where they had landed indefinitely.
Trying his very best to suppress this and similar thoughts about his oldest friend, Bucky proceeded to clean every pistol in his locker piece by piece in an attempt to reign in his uncharacteristically unruly emotions.
By the time he got to the last one it was dark outside and the ex-soldier had been forced to turn on the overhead light. He sat cross-legged on the carpet with his back against the door, which allowed him to hear someone coming down the hallway before they were in sight of his room. They were moving quietly, but Bucky recognized Steve's tread too readily for it to go unnoticed in the silence of his bedroom.
Acting on panicked impulse, the man reached up behind him and flipped the light switch, plunging his room into darkness. A moment later, he heard Steve come to a stop in front of his door, and then hesitate. He could practically see his friend shift his weight indecisively in his mind's eye as he raised a hand to knock, only to stop short.
Bucky held his breath, waiting for Steve to make his next move.
The knock, when it came, was light and tenuous, as though the man delivering it wasn't entirely certain that he wanted it to be heard. Bucky did, though, and he flinched, wishing Steve had simply left when he saw his light was out so he could feel a little less guilty about hiding.
"Bucky?"
Steve's voice was low and quiet as the ex-soldier propped his elbows on his knees and pressed his face into his hands. When he received no answer, Bucky could hear his sigh, followed by a quiet thump that told him Steve had dropped his forehead to let it rest against the cool steel.
After a minute that seemed to stretch forever, Bucky heard Steve push off the door and murmur, "Goodnight, Buck."
When his friend's footsteps faded, Bucky lifted his head from his hands, feeling a coward at the sense of relief that swept through him. Though he had spent years trying to outrun Steve after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., this was his first time outright avoiding him since coming back into his (more or less) right mind.
It felt…wrong, but safer than the alternative. What the alternative was, exactly, he couldn't quite say.
"Still no sign of Bucky?"
Standing in front of the full length mirror that hung inside his closet, Steve turned to glance at Natasha, who waited in his open doorway. He was in the middle of tying his tie when she entered at his invitation.
"No," he replied, trying, and failing, not to sigh as he turned his attention back to the task at hand.
"We're sure he's still in the building?" She asked after a moment of silence, during which she sat herself on the edge of his bed and began pulling on a pair of strappy silver heels.
He nodded in response as he slipped the blue silk of his tie over and under itself, then pulled it taut to form a perfect half-windsor and said, "Or so Wanda insists."
"You didn't ask her where to find him?" Natasha asked, glancing up from her shoes and crooking an eyebrow at him as she made a little gesture with her hand to imply the use of the other woman's powers.
"No, if he's working this hard to avoid people, it's probably best to let him be for now," Steve answered reluctantly.
"That wasn't what you thought before you and Sam managed to drag him back here kicking and screaming," the spy mused as she got to her feet and straightened out the skirt of her dress with a deft flick.
Tony's charity ball was a black tie affair, though luckily not one that required a tuxedo. Suits he could (reluctantly) deal with, but tuxedos, in Steve's opinion, ought to be banned by the Geneva convention. He had to admit, though, that Natasha looked downright ravishing in her evening gown. It was a strapless affair that hugged her figure down to her hips where the long silk skirt flowed gracefully around her legs with every step she took. It was simple in design, but the dazzling color of the fabric more than made up for it. At first glance, her dress seemed to be a simple, though lovely, shade of sapphire. With every move and shift of the light though, shimmering waves of gold and emerald appeared and then faded away again, like a peacock's plumage.
"That was different," Steve replied sternly, looking at Natasha's reflection in the mirror as he buttoned his suit jacket and tugged his shirt-sleeves into place at his wrists. "Well," he asked, spreading his hands to allow the woman a better look, "Do I pass muster?"
The spy looked properly chastened until Steve invited her critique on his appearance, at which point she pursed her lips thoughtfully and circled him for an inspection.
"Not bad, Rogers, not bad," she acquiesced with a sly smile as she came to a stop before him once more and brushed an invisible bit of lint from his tie. Its sapphire hue matched her dress perfectly, though did not possess the same gold and green undertones.
It was probably for the best, she reasoned, flashy simply wasn't the Captain's style.
"Told you the English cut would be a good one for you," Natasha added as she looked him up and down, nodding thoughtfully to herself. "It was worth the trip to the tailor, huh?"
Steve made a noncommittal noise as he turned his eyes back to the mirror, giving himself a last once over to make sure everything was in place. The last thing he needed was Tony giving him flack for his appearance.
For all he'd never put much thought into what he wore (he'd been far too poor in his youth, and once he'd enlisted, his uniform was all he'd never really needed), the man had to admit that Natasha's choice of suit looked good on him. The tailor they'd gone to in New York had looked fit to faint at the site of the physique he would be outfitting, leading him to mutter excitedly to himself in rapid Italian as he took Steve's measurements.
The super-soldier was as trim and well-muscled as ever, but the suit did things to enhance his best features that even he had to marvel at. It was truly a masterpiece of the textile arts.
"I know they say 'don't mess with perfection'," Natasha remarked with a wicked grin as she joined him in looking at his reflection, "But I don't think 'they' ever saw you in this suit."
"Natasha," Steve grumbled. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, he turned and went in search of his shoes, which he had taken care to polish before donning his suit.
He slipped them on and as he tied them, Natasha asked, "So, what are you doing about your hair?"
"My hair?" He repeated, glancing up, halfway through his task.
The spy crooked an eyebrow at him, the gesture both a question and a command.
Are you seriously not going to do something with your hair? Go do something with your hair, the look said.
"If this wasn't a charity ball..." Steve muttered unhappily to himself with a sigh as he finished tying his shoes and stalked into the bathroom.
Natasha chuckled quietly to herself as the bathroom door shut smartly behind the man. While she waited, the redhead looked around the room thoughtfully.
She'd been in Steve's personal quarters many a time. Everyone had, really. The Captain maintained a rather literal open door policy with all of the Avengers, though he did have an actual office in the main branch of the compound where he would meet with the extended staff that acted as their support team.
There were barracks on the grounds for overnight staff to kip in as needed, but the Avengers all maintained full-time quarters in what had been dubbed the 'dorm wing' of the compound by all involved. This private section also included the joined kitchen and dining room, gym, and relaxation area that had become known as 'the rumpus room'. Steve's persistent use of the dated term had inevitably caught on, completely overriding the original 'living room' title. He'd received no end of teasing for it at first, but the name had stuck.
The number of rooms available outnumbered their actual membership so far, but they all liked to think that they would add to the team eventually, and it was nice to know they had room to expand as needed. The rooms themselves were modest, with basic furniture provided, and each room held a private bathroom as well.
Steve's quarters had seen quite a bit of personalization since he'd been one of the first to actually move into the facility. The default furniture, with its clean, modern lines had all been replaced by wood pieces that looked antique, but sturdy.
… Much like Steve himself, Natasha mused with a smile as she trailed a finely manicured hand over the dark blue comforter that covered the bed.
The mattress was far too firm for her taste, but the overstuffed sofa in one corner was nice, though she didn't dare sit on it now for fear of wrinkling her gown.
A heavy looking desk dominated one wall, and it was against its spotless surface that Natasha leaned as she waited for her friend to finish getting ready. The entire room left not a pin out of place, with the possible exception of Steve's infamous shield, which leaned against the wall by the door within easy reach of its master at all times. Cap's obsessive neatness never ceased to amuse the woman, though it never surprised, considering his military career. No doubt Bucky's would be organized much the same, if in a less personal manner.
The spy had caught only the briefest glances of the other man's room in passing, as he kept rather the opposite of an open door policy. In fact, as far as she knew, Steve was the only person who was ever allowed in Bucky's room.
Steve and Bucky...now there was an interesting jigsaw puzzle that only seemed to get more complicated the longer you looked at it.
While the first Avenger was a dear friend, Natasha knew that Steve loved Bucky. The question was, just what kind of love? The depth of dedication the pair had for one another was breath-taking, the lengths to which they would go for each other, awe-inspiring; but it did seem to flout the normal definition of love.
She had once asked Steve if he trusted her with his life, and he had said that he did, which meant the world to her. Still, she knew she couldn't begin to touch what the man and Bucky had between them; a bond forged in fire and blood that would send one plunging into the heart of hell itself to carry the other out if necessary.
So, where did that leave their relationship? Powerful but complicated, Natasha figured, and possibly changing with time (or the times, rather).
The door to the bathroom opened, and the spy looked around as Steve stepped out and said "There. Happy now?"
The woman tilted her head to one side, a smirk tugging at her full lips as she considered the state of his blond hair. He had applied some sort of oil or gel, then run a comb through it, leaving it sleek and thoroughly tamed, with nary a strand out of place. The style no doubt hailed from his military days in the early forties, but fortunately for him, the look had been making a comeback recently. Either way, combined with the suit, her friend looked quite dashing.
"It'll do," she said, smile turning into a grin as Steve turned his eyes heavenward in relief "Alright, let's get out of here, then, " she continued and grabbed up her clutch as the man went to the door, waiting for her.
She saw him glance at his shield and immediately said, "Leave it, Steve," as she sashayed past him. "You're looking good, but not good enough to need a shield to keep the ladies off you."
"I wasn't actually going to bring it," he said, sounding hurt as he flipped off the light and closed the door behind him with a snap. "It's just...habit."
"Uh-huh," she said with a snort as they strolled down the hall together, then made their way to the compound's main lobby to meet the others.
Sam, Wanda, and Vision were already there, dressed to the nines and waiting on them. James, Hope, and Scott had agreed to meet them at the ball later since they all had places of their own that they would be coming from.
"Sorry, guys, Steve had to primp," Natasha apologized as they joined the rest of the group.
"I di-" the blond caught himself mid objection and huffed, deciding he didn't have the energy to argue the point with the spy. Instead, he turned to Vision and asked, "You're sure you don't want to come?"
"Quite," the man mused with a thoughtful smile. "But I thank you for the invitation. Please be sure to send Mr. Stark my apologies."
"Of course," Steve said. As much as he hated leaving their teammate behind, Vision was still slowly integrating himself with human society, and had confessed that he didn't think he was quite ready for a ball. "I leave the place in your capable hands, then," he added and gave the man a firm handshake.
"Try not to burn it down," Natasha teased as she looped her arm through Steve's and led him out the door, leaving the others to follow.
"I assure you, I will not," Vision replied, tone completely serious.
"She is only joking, Vision, we trust you," Wanda said with a smile up at him.
"Oh, no need to worry. I am quite aware," he replied with a chuckle, then gave the witch a slight bow. "Have a pleasant evening."
"I think I will. I've never been to a charity ball before," the woman admitted as Sam gallantly offered her his arm and lead her out the door after the others.
"Well, Tony knows how to throw a party," the man said with a chuckle, "But I wouldn't get your hopes up too high. No Cinderellas on the guest list tonight, I think."
"Speak for yourself," Natasha called back as they approached the shiny black SUV that was parked out front waiting for them. "I'm pretty sure Steve turns into a pumpkin if he's not in bed by midnight."
"If you keep this up, Nat, I swear I will step on your toes every chance I get tonight," Steve threatened blandly as he opened the car door for her.
"Heaven forbid," she gasped as she stepped up into the vehicle and slid across the seat to make room. She laid off on her teasing, though, smiling at Wanda and complimenting her on her crimson dress as the younger woman slipped in to sit next to her.
Sam took the driver's seat, and Steve turned to look back at the compound one last time before getting in himself. Feeling eyes on him, the super-soldier turned his gaze to the roof to spot a dark silhouette against the starry sky watching him. Immediately recognizing its owner, Steve raised a hand in farewell.
After a moment's hesitation, Bucky waved in turn, and watched as the car pulled away into the night.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Once again, if you enjoyed, do please take a few seconds to drop a review! It makes my day hearing what you guys think!