A/N: So I somehow managed to write Bucky channeling his inner Elliot Spencer (from Leverage) and don't hate it.

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Take Out

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Bingo #6 cooking

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The obnoxious screaming of the smoke alarm almost covered the sound of the front door opening.

"Steve?"

I sighed heavily but called back, "Kitchen. Get the window would you?" I pulled the pan from the oven, shoved it in the sink and turned on the water in hopes of dousing the smoke. "FRIDAY can you kill the alarm and up the intake flow."

"Of course. Should I adjust the temperature to compensate for the open window?"

I glanced over at Buck who shook his head. "Nah, we'll manage until the smoke has cleared out." I stared down at the still smoking ruins that had been the meal I'd slaved over all afternoon. "I swear to you I followed the recipe to the letter."

Bucky chuckled. "Doesn't matter, you cannot cook for shit."

"Hey, I'm not that bad."

"Yes, you are. There's a reason we never let you handle the food back in the day." He glanced over at my failing effort at dinner. "What was that supposed to be anyway?"

"Lasagna," I told him with a frown. "I used to campfire cook all the time for the Howlies."

He snorted. "Only when we couldn't stop you. You have no idea how many burnt on the outside yet raw on the inside rabbits we had to suffer through."

I turned off the water and spun about with a huff. "You never said anything. Any of you."

Bucky opened the fridge and began to rummage around. "Because you were the Captain, Captain, and could break us with your little finger if we made you cranky."

I frowned thinking back to those days. "Is that why you'd always send me for extra firewood?"

He didn't even bother to pretend to prevaricate. "Yes. We always had enough wood for the fire and food we could actually eat."

And I'd had absolutely no clue. "Not like you're any better," I grumbled.

"Uh, maybe not back then but..."

He dumped the armful of items on the counter. Assorted vegetables, leftover chicken from a couple days ago that had been unexciting but, you know, food. He grabbed a knife from the block and proceeded to make short work of the carrots, dicing them with a swift efficiency that shocked me. Not that he wasn't known for his knife work, I just hadn't associated it with preparing meals.

"But?" I prompted.

"Grab the big four-quart pot and fill three quarters of the way with water, would you."

I did as he asked while waiting for the reply to my question. When it failed to be forthcoming in a timely manner I cleared my throat. "Where'd you learn to cook?"

He paused the knife's movement for an instant, his shoulders hunching as if trying to hide, before he shook it off. I got it, he'd done things in his past, as The Winter Soldier, that he was far from proud of, but they were part of him still.

"Learned it for a job," he mumbled, making certain to not look at me, though that was probably also due to the sharp implement in his hands. Losing a finger not exactly an experience anyone wanted to have. He slid the carrots into the pot and moved on to his next victim.

"But you were an assassin."

He shrugged. "Not every job involved a long distance shot with a high powered rifle. Some were more... personal."

"Ah." Sometimes, some deaths committed more to make a point than eliminate a specific target. Hydra played the manipulation game well, and I suspected there had been times a target needed to be persuaded to toe the line. Eliminating someone close to them could be an effective way of doing so.

"No snarky commentary?" Bucky asked as he grabbed a clean towel to wipe down the knife. He picked up the pot and carried it to the stove, cranking the heat to bring it to a boil. He added salt and pepper then began going through the cabinets looking for something. "Don't you have any real spices?"

I gave him a wry grin. "Can't cook, remember?"

He huffed out a breath.

"I've a few in that one." I pointed to a cabinet to his right.

He found the spice set and pulled it out to discover it unopened. He shot me a look of desperation as if wondering how I had managed to survive without him. He ripped off the plastic wrapping and muttered to himself about the quality of the products within. He must have deemed them worthy as he began sprinkling them into the warming water. Realizing the smoke had cleared out I took a moment to close the window, FRIDAY adjusting the airflow in the room back to normal without my prompting.

I returned to find Buck staring forlornly at the leftover chicken. "Do you really still boil everything? Never mind I know the answer is yes." He proceeded to pull the chicken apart into chunks. "I wish you had some flour on hand, I'd make dumplings."

My eyes widened. "Dumplings. That must have been one hell of a mission."

He tipped his head to concede the point. "My handlers had a way of making sure I learned fast and retained the information in case it was needed again. There's lots of odd things I know how to do, cooking just happens to be one I sometimes enjoy using."

"I get the impression there are others you do not." He didn't talk much about his time with Hydra, so any tidbit he let spill I made note of.

"That would be accurate." Making it undoubtedly clear he would not elaborate on the matter any more tonight. He added the chicken to the pot, turned down the temperature and then set a timer. "Should be ready in about thirty."

The scents from the pot already making my mouth water. "And I was supposed to be cooking for you."

He shook his head, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Next time just order take out. It'll be safer for all of us."

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finis