Bucky

"See you later," Bucky called down the stairs as Steve was getting ready to leave.

"Have a good day at work!" Steve called back.

Bucky loved the domesticity of Steve, his whole honey-I'm-home mentality.

"Yes, dear," Bucky said. He snickered when the door closed, rather loudly. He waited for the sound of the lock clicking before he kicked his shoes off and fell back on his bed. He had plans. Big plans involving not moving for approximately ten hours.

He was asleep for all of twenty minutes when the lock clicked downstairs. He froze.

No. No way.

"Hey, Buck, you still here?"

Bucky didn't move, didn't breathe.

Steve mumbled something too quiet to carry all the way up here, and there was a loud thud, a mild curse, and the sounds of clanking metal downstairs.

Bucky stared, wide-eyed, at the ceiling. If Steve found him here, what would he even say? I was fired?

But then what?

The floorboards downstairs creaked and he almost relaxed, but then there were footsteps coming up the stairs. His stairs.

Shit.

He quickly scrambled out of bed, sneaking catlike along the wall where the floorboards didn't creak as much. He stood next to the door, and prayed Steve didn't swing it open with excessive force; he was quite fond of his face.

But then the footsteps stopped, and retreated. The front door opened, closed, and was locked again.

Bucky blinked.

Was Steve going to invade his privacy?

Maybe he was just checking to see if Bucky was still there?

Maybe he was going to raid my panty drawer, he thought, smirking.

He stepped away from the door. He didn't actually feel like staying pent up inside, but dare he even risk being seen out of the house, not working?

Bucky waited all of five minutes before he was out the door, locking the bakery behind him-Steve had given him a key, of course (he had to wonder how much Steve actually trusted him and why)-and hoofing it to the nearest payphone.

When he finally found it, he picked the phone up off of the reciever and tucked it between his neck and shoulder, before inserting the change and dialing the number.

He was expecting the usual greeting, in Russian, but the voice that answered wasn't a lovely woman's voice but an automated one, in English:

"We're sorry, the line you are trying to reach has been disconnected. Please hang up and try again."

Bucky did just that, seven times.

He slowly hung the phone up, for the last time, staring at the ground. That was the only way... the only way for him to access his funds. They send the cash... but now...

Did that mean someone knew where he was? Did someone know he put all of his savings into those accounts?

He was shut out. Worse than that, the number was gone. No number, no access. He had no way of getting in touch and no money to physically travel over there.

Not that he needed money; he'd survived on less. But now...

Now that he was actually trying to make a life, he felt suddenly vulnerable. Like he couldn't do the things that he knew he could. He felt like an exposed nerve, because someone knows.

His head snapped up.

That one asshole.

The fire, the accounts... Someone was trying to wipe him out.

That was his cue to leave, get the hell out of dodge. And here he was, stubbornly digging his heels in because no, this was his town now and his bakery and his attic and he doesn't want to leave. Except he had just lost millions. He was penniless.

"Oh, god," he moaned, and he fell back against the brownstone building behind him. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and took deep breaths; in... and out. In... and out.

He had no more cash. Whatever he had left after the fire he gave to Steve; it was only enough for a month's worth of rent.

No, no. You're well-equipped for this sort of thing. Remember Mumbai?

He took another deep breath. He just had to tell Steve... Tell him what? That he was fired? What did he expect Steve to do about it?

Well, he'd have to tell him anyways... When he actually got a job he'd have different hours, and of course he'd have to explain that.

Right, right. Right.

He pushed himself off of the wall, glaring at the payphone like it was the reason for all of his troubles-like losing millions-before he made his way back to the bakery, planning his speech for Steve the next morning about how had lost his job and was now penniless.

Well, shit.

-x-

Steve

When Steve entered the bakery the next day, it was like he could see the cloud hanging over Bucky's head. But even weirder than that was that Bucky was awake and waiting for him down in the kitchen.

Steve opened his mouth to speak but Bucky just said, "I was fired yesterday."

Steve blinked. "Oh."

Bucky avoided his gaze, scowling at the ground, arms folded tightly over his chest. "I'll look for a job, a-another one, but I don't have any money right now." His scowl deepened.

Steve swallowed. Bucky looked... scary.

"That's fine," Steve says, trying to make his tone sound as reassuring as possible.

Bucky just shook his head and tightened his arms around his chest.

And then in a weird stroke of irony, Bucky looked up at him right when the lightbulb flashed over Steve's head.

"Work here," Steve said.

Bucky blinked. "What."

"Work here," Steve said, with a shrug.

"Steve," he said, like he was talking to a child who just couldn't understand how water was wet, "my pay would just go into rent. I would literally just be giving you back your money."

Steve shrugged again, like this was the easiest thing he's ever had to think about. "No rent."

Bucky blinked again. "What."

Steve put his hands on his hips and leaned forward, reiterating very slowly so he made sure Bucky understood, but also copying his behavior that first morning. "No rent."

Bucky just stared at him, but Steve was just glad that glare was gone.

He straightened and slipped his apron over his head, pulling trays of dough out of the fridge while talking to Bucky.

"I wouldn't be able to pay you much, but with the free rent, that's understandable, right?" he asked, weighing a tray in each hand like he was weighing the options.

Bucky was still just staring at him, and his expression changed into something like... admiration. Adoration, maybe?

"You're something else, Rogers," he said. "Give me a place to stay and a job, you'd think I was completely helpless."

Steve smirked. "Oh, you are," he said, nodding earnestly. Bucky's jaw went slack and Steve suddenly wanted to kiss that stupid look off his face. Whoa, there, buddy. Reel it in.

"Steve," Bucky said, shocked. "That was mean."

Instead of kissing that look off his face, Steve covered it up by throwing an apron at him.

"Get to work," Steve said.