Eighteen Hours Post-Cody

James Buchanan Barnes had never really had a dog.

Sure, there were the mutts (in packs or solo) patrolling the streets of Brooklyn, scavenging what they could to survive and reproducing at a rate to make a rabbit jealous, but they didn't belong to anyone. Bucky rarely saw any of those dogs for more than a year or so before the hard street life won out and continued to keep their mortality rate high.

The dogs kept by Hydra could hardly be called pets either. Half-starved to maximize their aggression and kept in dark, cramped kennels, Bucky (in his lucid moments) felt more on a par and kindred with a demented German or Belgian Shepherd than his human handlers. Incidentally, the Winter Soldier and the dogs tended to have the same handlers who treated the enslaved Sergeant Barnes with no human distinction from the growling, snarling canine unit.

So now… Some years later… Parked on the floor of his own little hut with a cushion wedged under his behind, Bucky didn't really know what to expect. Back propped against the wall, he found himself sucked into the hypnosis of such deep brown eyes; almost black. The doleful and vulnerable mutt in the basket marked the human parked at his side; the one that routinely appeared to check on him with the scents of a myriad of other animals masking his own.

The ex-Winter Soldier hesitated, watching the dog watching him; a dog of undetermined origins. Elsa's zoned out remarks from the night before resonated regarding potential diseases, sudden aggression in reaction to unknown people or surroundings, and just a general caution any sensible person would apply to an animal they were not familiar with. However, the shared, bridging, understanding gaze with this magnificent creature reminded Bucky of… something. Or… someone.

Someone else who had been misunderstood. Someone else who had been feared. Someone else who had been left to die; granted, in somewhat juxtaposed circumstances.

To that end, the White Wolf couldn't help himself.

"You're really somethin', aren't ya, fella?" He murmured, giving into the temptation of fascination as he outstretched his only hand to chance a stroke of the length of the dog's head; his massive black head, punctuated by tan markings and stiffly pricked ears. Not unlike those Hydra used; used being the appropriate word, abused being an even better one. "You're huge, how'd she lift you?"

One stroke turned to two, then two turned to three, and from there, Bucky lost count. It seemed he was not the only one to derive enjoyment (and, dare he think it, therapy) from it; instead of ripping off his second hand like the beast could have, he simply nestled against the basket and closed his eyes.

"Y'know what? I'm not surprised. She's amazing. You'll see that for yourself soon enough." Reaching in over the side of the wicker bed to maintain the mutually beneficial strokes, Bucky already felt a connection; pre-destined, if anything ever was. "Poor guy, you were so messed up with pain, then anaesthetic, you didn't know what was goin' on. Don't worry though, we've got ya. My girl got to ya just in time."

Still somewhat caked with dust and mud, Bucky had expected the fur greeting his flesh to be prickly or sharp but beyond the initial layer of debris, he found his new companion to be just as soft in coat as he seemed in spirit; making the petting all the more addictive. In another step of affectionate introduction, the still-unnamed animal manoeuvred himself just enough (Bucky watched, remembering the advice, and slowing his strokes warily to gage the dog's potential actions) to subject this strange human to the inspection of a cold, wet nose. Satisfied, he moved onto the next: extending his tongue to slather his cagey guardian's wrist.

"I'm Bucky, by the way." Does one introduce themselves to a dog? Why not? Particularly a dog that Bucky could already feel himself growing attached to, a dog he had already declared he was keeping? It's only polite after all, his mother had always taught him to be polite to someone new.

Of course, as said mammoth leap in bonding forged itself was when Elsa chose to call; the phone vibrating against his leg and prompting an investigatory diversion of the dog's attention. Torn between disrupting (possibly damaging progress) and speaking to his adored little vet, Bucky opted for somewhere between the two. Withdrawing his hand swiftly enough to answer the phone and lodge it between his ear and his shoulder, he mediated then by returning his hand to the black and tan's head where both of them appeared to want it.

"Just a second, pal. Hey. Spare minute?" Her absence, when it re-registered with him throughout the day by a break in his routine (when busyness lapsed and his mind wandered) or a phone call like this one, tended to sting; sting to such an extent that he forlornly checked the time, waiting in earnest for the rumble of the jeep on the driveway.

"I just pulled in to have a bite to eat. How is he?" God, I could listen to you forever. He thought, blissful at the two paradisiac sensations of Elsa in his ear and his dog's fur under his hand. Even if it's just reciting a grocery list.

"He's good, we're bonding." Unable to restrain the smile (and, if we're honest, unwilling to), the thump of a heavy tail rewarded him; his beloved's voice on the other end of the phone cemented the grin. "He licked my hand, Els."

"That's a good sign. I was worried last night, I wasn't sure how he might be, but he let me check him out this morning with no issues. I felt terribly guilty for leaving him."

"But not for leavin' me?"

"You weren't dumped at the side of the road to bleed to death, only to be picked up by random humans who could have been the same humans to leave you there." If Bucky had any doubt as to Elsa's explanation for stopping and calling, the evidence of a full mouth threaded through that butterfly-inducing accent sounded over the speaker. "But I do miss you, if that's any consolation."

Smug and shy all at once, Bucky's only hand never relented in its strokes of the beast's head; the head it had reoriented to rest against the side of the basket for the ease of the human's reach. Not only that, but the White Wolf read it as a show of trust and comfort; to leave his guard down while in his senses but still defenceless.

"All I wanted to hear."

"I always miss you, you know that." The pause, Bucky assumed, was to accommodate a swig of water (her tea would be long gone by now); an absolute necessity for anyone in the blistering Wakandan sun for any length of time. "Anyway, I gave him painkillers this morning before I left, he should be due another two about now. Can you look after that?"

"Okay, what do I do?" The ex-Winter Soldier, reshuffling his shoulder to keep the phone propped to his ear without relenting the strokes of joint enjoyment, had to press; just to be sure. If this task was anything like getting a pregnant Connie regular again (though, to be fair, that had mostly been Elsa), it should not have been too taxing. The dog, as it would happen, would have an even easier administration than the goat.

"They're on the counter in a little clear bag. Give him two in a slice of something. You didn't finish the lunch meat in the fridge, did you?"

Bucky didn't need to think, but it did remind him to eat if listening to her do so didn't.

"No. I was gonna have the leftovers from yesterday."

"If you're sure. Just wrap the tablets up in the meat and give it to him. He's a bit grabby so just ensure you put it down close to his mouth; I don't want him straining himself to grab. Poor fellow, food must have been a scarcity; it's going to take a lot of reassurance for him to figure out that's no longer the case. And decent, regular meals."

Stretching and craning to take in the contents of the kitchen counter without moving from his trusted position, the White Wolf quickly located the tiny bag in question; what was expected of him became clear but questions remained.

"They just for pain, Els, or….?"

"Yes, but they'll help him sleep too, stop him moving around, therefore aggravating the wound. And set your mind at ease too, no doubt, while you're trying to get things done." Ain't that the truth, I'm in and outta here to check on 'im so much, everything's taking me forever.

"I'm going to try and finish a bit early if I can." His Lioness continued, before Bucky could chime in. "Spend a bit of time with him, get to know him, see if there's anything else that needs treating. I don't think a worm or a flee dose would go astray. And yes, darling-" Proving once more that the little vet could read his mind, as if she could see the playfully indignant drop of his jaw or hear the impishly unimpressed bark of bravado cooking in his chest, she clarified. "To spend time with you as well. Also, you need to think about what you want to call him."

"It's funny, I was just thinkin' about that."

"Oh?"

"Y'know how I've been followin' the baseball back home lately? Now that I can?"

"Yes, love. I can hear it in your earbuds after lights out." The joy of re-discovering baseball after so long had come with technology and Elsa's guiding hand in navigating the appropriate apps to keep him up to date, minute by minute, with the action of New York's baseball scene; time difference be damned. So to hear it potentially disturbed her, she who had made it possible, after a long day sent a spark of guilty panic up his spine; jolting him physically against the wall of the hut with the desperation to rectify it.

"Shit, really? Sorry, baby, I didn't-"

"Don't be silly, you have a lot of catching up to do with the baseball-" The baseball. Easily known she's never sat through a game in her life. I'll fix that though. I swear, I'll fix it. In Yankee Stadium. With beer. And Hot dogs. And- "It's good for you to have a hobby. It doesn't affect me anyway, I'm usually too tired. And it's not like it's every night."

"No." Bucky agreed coyly, his tone alone eliciting a tut from the speaker, knowing him and his mannerisms well enough to know where the conversation would be heading. "Most nights are for somethin' else… And if I'm pickin' between that and baseball, I ain't pickin' baseball."

"Charming."

"Hey, that's a compliment! You're up against the Yankees! And it's not like I'm gonna listen to baseball instead'a cuddle after!"

"Consider me flattered, darling." While Elsa's flirty undertones may have surpassed Bucky's in their subtlety, he recognized them for what they were all the same; indulging in the idiotic grin that only a few weeks previous, he would have chastised himself mercilessly for.

"Yeah, well, anyway… I think I have his name."

As promised, Elsa had managed to wrangle an early finish and when she did, Bucky was waiting on the driveway for his sating, quenching kiss. As soon as he wrenched the ancient jeep door from its holding, his patience was rewarded.

"So, what did you eat today?"

When the little vet, immersed in checking the stitches of their new addition, did not receive an answer in any sort of a reasonable span of time, she looked up to where her fresh (but absolutely tuned to her) partner busied himself to avoid the question. He should have known by then (but would learn quickly) that her job primed and sharpened her for prying an answer out of someone; be it a farmer or pet owner who had not quite followed her advice, or her boyfriend who had her anxious that he was not eating as he should be.

Bucky, making a meal out of boiling the kettle for the cup of tea that would hopefully distract her further, would draw out the details to cover the absence of a substantial answer: Classic evasion tactics.

"I had toast for breakfast with you-"

"And coffee, yes. Nothing else after I left? What about lunch?"

Shit…

"Uhh... The beef, beans and rice that were left over?" He recalled, dragging it out in the hope that she would get bored and move on. No such luck, if that expectant lift in her eyebrows told him anything. "And uhh... one of the curry pouches you bought. And water. Lots of water. I'm pissin' like a racehorse."

"That's not a whole lot for your size and your activity level, love." Doing her best to avoid scolding a grown man and resisting the creep of disapproval (lest he think her angry or irritated) into her voice and features, the fact remained: He was a grown man, a whole lot of active man in need of maintaining in his physique, and Elsa was concerned. "Any snacks in between?"

"Nah, don't wanna overdo it." The throwaway remark, casual as he poured milk into each of the two cups, earned him a thin-lipped grimace of borderline frustration as Elsa began changing the dressing of the (sleeping) dog's wound.

That may have only been part of it. The rest of it, Bucky suspected in the privacy of his own mind, came from living on a shoestring during his last spell of independence: Bucharest. Now... he did not need to be so frivolous when he had money, food and resources at his disposal that he did not back then. More importantly, what he had now as opposed to then was a partner; even more to the point, a partner who actually gave a shit about him.

"It would take a lot more than that to overdo it with everything you do, James." Opting for gentility with undertones of imploring in a bid to explain it without condescension, Elsa sat back on the balls of her feet and heightened her beseeching gaze to where he watched the process from the kitchen. "You're using so much energy and the heat will take it out of you as well. Drinking the water is a start, yes, but you need to replace what the sweat takes away also: mainly your salt. You're burning through calories you don't even have and it's going to catch up with you. You need to have a snack in between, sweetheart, you'll pan out if you don't. Just something to keep you going."

You really care, don't you? He found himself thinking, marking her (almost) desperate eyes with his while he tried to unravel it, understand it: Why she cared so much. Times like this, times where she caught him so utterly off guard with basic concern for his wellbeing, tended to stir the same feelings of inadequacy and questionable self-worth as on the flight to Siberia with Steve. The trouble and sacrifice his oldest friend had gone to to protect him had unsettled him and now, here was a smaller brunette following in his footsteps.

"What if we do some batch cooking this weekend?" Bucky realized he must have been staring; otherwise the benevolent suggestion might not have come with such an inquiring tilt of her chocolate head. Or, she tried to renew the conversation without drawing attention to that fact that he was, absolutely, staring.

I think I love you. I really think I do. Are you actually mine? Is this really happening for me?

"Some baking?" She pressed with sweet encouragement, sparing him the embarrassment; it seemed the staring problem had not been solved by making her his. "Set up some decent snacks for the week?"

Naturally, Bucky could do little else but laugh; no matter what the subject, the rumble of a chuckle in his chest always felt good after so long of feeling little else but fear and dejection. Even anger had been an ill-affordable luxury. Now though, with the wrinkles of amusement still crinkling the corners of his eyes, the cheekiness Elsa adored reared its head once more.

"Baby, do I look like I know how to bake? And I don't think I even know what batch cooking is."

"You don't, love, but I do." Turns out, James Buchanan Barnes was not the only stray for Elsa to look upon kindly, affectionately, or fondly; not when she stroked the dog (who was not even conscious for her to be endeared by his responses like Bucky had been) with tenderness unmatched. No wonder he cherished her to no bloody end. "Do you like peanut butter?"

"I love peanut butter."

"Excellent. We can throw together some flapjacks, maybe? The peanut butter and the oats will help energy-wise... Some berries... Blueberries? Raspberries? Bananas? Honey? Dark chocolate? Nuts? Seeds?"

"Love all those too."

"See? It's all coming together." Finding her feet, the little vet (very much satisfied with the mutt's condition) reclaimed her unsubstantial height and made for her White Wolf, who willed her to him with an open arm. Another kiss, another embrace, another long moment of just forehead-to-forehead connection, eyes closed, noses lined, to just enjoy each other before dinner preparation started. "I have some baking tins at the apartment; I'll get them tomorrow. We can make some muffins, some granola bars... There's just one problem."

"What's that?"

"You'll have to eat them in here. Because if the goats catch scent of them, you won't have a moment's peace."

"That's… Yeah, I didn't think of that."

"And you have chickens. Maybe some eggs with your toast wouldn't be a bad set-up in the morning either."

"So…?"

Bucky, standing at the stove, rounded confusedly on his partner mid-stir; the perplexity weaved into every pore, tweaking every facial muscle prompting a soft titter as she chopped.

"Help me out, Els. So, what?" He would not be left in the dark for too much longer; not when his Lioness skirted around his right flank to scrape more freshly chopped peppers into the pan with a satisfying sizzle. Tonight's dinner? Pork noodle stir fry. Heavy on the noodles for the ex-Winter Soldier. Dessert? Depends on how quickly they got cleaned up.

"You never told me the dog's name."

How did I forget that? Over the hissing he commanded with a simple wooden spoon, the White Wolf allowed himself the private moment of nostalgia and bittersweet remembrance; Elsa, as always, was patient.

"The first baseball game I can remember goin' to was with my dad; I think I might've been… four? Five?"

"Now that's a long time ago."

"Hey, you asked me out."

"And I have yet to regret it, sweetheart; age is just a number and all of that."

"It was the early twenties, I don't remember the exact year but… It was The Yankees vs The Cubs. Chicago Cubs." He added for her benefit, clarifying under the assumption that someone without baseball on the brain (Elsa being one of them) would not know where the Cubs hailed from. Continuing to stir (fry) as he basked in that foggy but clear memory, Bucky went on. "It looked like it was gonna finish on a tie game but this new pitcher, wet behind the ears, stepped up and… I guess no one really expected anythin', him bein' fresh and all but… last minute, this kid whipped one like I've never seen since…"

Elsa, quiet in her observations, indulged in a flutter of the butterflies in her stomach and captivated simper; how could she not? When he recalled these things with such a flourish and excitement, reliving them as best he could without actually being there? Hopefully, he would be able to someday to rekindle that passion to its former glory as opposed to second-hand remoteness; technology filling in to second-best the experience. It would do for now, but it would only be so long before he would be itching to return to Yankee Stadium.

"His name was Merle Cody." Bucky went on, completely oblivious to his girlfriend's infatuation stoked by his delighted fervour. "Went on to have a great career after that, bounced around various teams but he always said the Yankees gave him his big break. He retired just before the war, I dunno if he got drafted or not… probably did…"

"I don't know, darling, he doesn't look like much of a Merle." Elsa mused, pausing her chopping once again (so as not to remove a finger in distraction) to place the name and see if it stuck: it didn't.

"Yeah, I was thinkin' that too." The larger of the two brunettes admitted, casting a glance only for it to land beside hers on the wicker basket by the fireplace. "So… I think I'm gonna go with Cody."

That stuck.

"Cody… Now, that's much better."