So, Infinity War comes out next week, and the fear that something bad is going to happen to my babies is stressing me out and reminding me why I started this fic in the first place. Because after everything they've been through, these boys deserve to be happy. And if I have to write an AU for them to get that, then I will. So this is just good, clean fluff. Some nice, light moments for me, for you and for the boys.
There's also an exploding microwave, because I mentioned that a few chapters back and thought it would be fun.
It was a little easier to see now that Sam had opened all the windows in the living room and given the smoke somewhere to go. It was also easier to hear now that the smoke alarm had stopped going off—although the reason it had stopped was that it was in about seventeen pieces because Bucky had punched it. Landlord wasn't going to be too happy about that. What had not improved was the smell now permeating the apartment. It smelled like burned fish. Why the hell it smelled like burned fish was anybody's guess since Steve had been microwaving pasta.
"So," Sam said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter. Bucky was waving the remaining smoke toward a window with a dishtowel. Steve had the good sense to look ashamed of himself. "What did you even do?"
Steve shrugged. "I don't know. I was heating the pasta, it started making a weird noise, and when I opened the door to check on it…everything just caught on fire."
"That microwave should not have done that," Sam insisted. "It's less than a year old. There is no good reason for it to be catching on fire."
"Yes, there is," Bucky said from behind them. He'd returned to the kitchen and had opened up the sad shell of what had once been a microwave. They turned around to see him smirking and holding up a carbonized lump of something that had probably been the pasta. Sticking up out of the lump was something long and thin and charred, but still recognizable.
"Oh, hell, no," Sam groaned.
"What?" Steve asked.
"What?" Sam repeated incredulously. "What? How are you gonna put a fork in the microwave, Steve?!"
Steve shrugged again, looking like he was sure he'd done something wrong but couldn't figure out what. "I guess I left it in the bowl?"
"You left it in the bowl? Wh—" Sam sputtered, at a loss. All evidence was pointing to the fact that, despite Sam having seen him do it in the past, Steve had no idea how to actually use a microwave.
"You can't put metal in the microwave, Stevie," Bucky explained, still grinning a little. "Even I know that."
"Oh, don't you start," Sam said, rounding on Bucky. Where did he get off finding this so funny? "Not after what you did to the toaster."
Bucky smirked. "Can't put metal in the toaster either," he said, looking up at Steve. "Though, in my defense," he said, turning back to Sam. "That was the first time I'd ever used a toaster."
Sam threw his head back and groaned. "You old guys are killing me, seriously. Does everything in this apartment need an instruction manual?"
"To be fair, the toaster thing was an accident," Steve said.
Defending Bucky was like a reflex for Steve, and Sam had to roll his eyes and suppress the urge to tell him to stop it. "He put his hand in the toaster. His metal hand. Why would you even do that?"
"You've asked me this before," Bucky said, unperturbed. He was using the aforementioned metal hand to try to chip the fork out of the blackened lump of pasta. "The bread broke, I tried to get it out. Things exploded, I bought you a new toaster. Besides, you're supposed to be yelling at Steve right now, not me."
Sam shook his head. "I always thought that working with the Avengers and going up against some crazy, super-powered bad guy was gonna be what got me, but no. No, it's gonna be you two. I'm gonna die in my sleep because one of you is gonna send the whole place up in flames trying to use a hairdryer in the bathtub or something."
"You're not supposed to do that?" Steve asked innocently. Bucky snickered.
"Dude, look at this mess," Sam sighed, choosing to ignore the comment. The microwave was completely ruined, a charred, blackened shell that was still smoking a little bit. The counter below where it had sat and the cabinet above were scorched, and sooty streaks of black ran down the side of the fridge. The offending appliance was currently on the floor, where it had landed after shooting off the counter, chipping the tile and slamming into the dishwasher and knocking it open. On the one hand, the water from inside the dishwasher had put out the fire. Yay. On the other hand, there was now sooty, soapy water all over the kitchen and creeping toward the living room. Partially cleaned dishes floated forlornly across the floor.
"I'm sorry. Really, I am. I'll clean it up," Steve promised. "And I'll buy a new microwave."
"One that you will not put metal in," Sam reminded him, accepting the peace offering.
"Never," Steve said, crossing his heart.
"Got it!" Bucky said triumphantly, brandishing the newly freed fork.
They got some towels and got to work barricading the water in the kitchen and keeping it off the carpet. Steve got a mop and started on the floor after picking up the loose dishes and putting them in the sink. Bucky carried the dead microwave outside–a little grumpily, since Sam wouldn't let him just drop it out the window into the dumpster waiting three floors below.
"I gotta ask," Sam started, watching Steve work. "How do you not know not to put metal in the microwave?"
Steve sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, okay, I—"
"No, no, I'm not mad," Sam cut him off. Well, maybe just a little. But it had been an honest, if strange, mistake. "I'm just curious. Like, that's microwave safety 101. You've been out of the ice for, what, three years? Four? How did you never come across that information?"
"I never had a microwave," Steve replied with a shrug.
"Really?" Sam asked, surprised. "Not even when you had your own place?"
Steve shook his head. "I first learned how to cook without one. Never got around to buying one."
"Huh," Sam mused. Steve had learned so much about the modern world, Sam kind of took it for granted that he'd caught up on everything like that. He chuckled a little.
"Don't tell Tony about this," Steve warned, looking up from his mopping.
"Aw, come on, man, why not?" Sam asked, not having any actual intention of doing so. Tony still liked to call Steve 'Capsicle'. If he heard about the microwave thing, it would follow Steve to his grave. He chuckled again as Steve glared at him. "Don't worry, I won't. I just think it's funny, is all. Of the two of you, I would've pegged Barnes to be the one to do this kind of thing."
"Thanks, man," Bucky said, coming back into the room.
Sam shrugged. "Hey," he asked as something occurred to him. "How did you know not to put metal in a microwave?"
"What, I can't know things?" Bucky asked.
"It just doesn't seem like the kind of thing that would be up your alley. Domestic stuff, you know?" Not that Bucky couldn't learn, he was just still very new at this returning-to-civilization thing. All sorts of household appliances that Sam took for granted—washing machine, TV, electric stove…almost anything with a plug, really—had been brand new to Bucky. Hell, they'd even had to remind him how the shower worked when he first got here.
Bucky tilted his head in agreement. Sam realized after he'd said it that his comment could have too easily reminded Bucky about Hydra and the reason he didn't know any of that stuff, so he was glad he hadn't taken it the wrong way. "It came up in a mission," Bucky admitted.
"Wh—" Sam looked at Steve, who looked just as puzzled as he did. "Microwave safety came up in a mission?"
"Cairo," Bucky said, referring to one of his earlier missions with the team from a few months ago. "We needed a distraction, I was out of grenades. It was Barton's idea."
Steve's eyes went wide. "That's how you caused that explosion?!"
Bucky grinned. "We put, like, seven of those dinky little tin coffee cups and all the spoons we could find in the microwave in the breakroom." His smile widened. "It was a hell of a firework show."
