A/N: Sorry for the delay, but this is a very very long one. 7500+ words, so you've been warned. But it's the day Steve comes over for dinner and a movie. It's sort of a strange day haha
By the time you woke up Saturday morning, you felt right as rain again. Of course, this was due in no small part to Bucky absolutely hounding you in his brooding, sometimes angry way to take it easy. There had even been a few times when he'd forced you to sit on the couch and handed you a mug of tea. Bucky did not know how you took your tea and the first time you had nearly choked on all the sugary sludge in the bottom. He had frowned at your reaction, despite you trying to explain it to him gently. The next time he sat you down, he brought the steaming mug with the bottle of honey on the side and watched you fix it up yourself. The third time, your tea was already perfect when he handed it to you.
Despite feeling so much better, the situation had gotten you on a bit of a tea kick, especially with the mornings getting chillier, so you put the kettle on when you got to the kitchen before going off to find Bucky. When you discovered him sitting at the table, you had to hold in your laughter. He was hunched over a bowl of cereal loaded down with berries and the cat was lounging across his shoulders as though he were a sunny window ledge and not a person trying to eat. She pulled some of his hair between her paws, chomping on it a bit before batting it away.
"Good morning," you chuckled as you sat next to him.
"Morning." He looked up at you after finishing his spoonful, the cat undeterred by the shifting of his neck and shoulders. "You sound better. Cough gone?"
"Yeah, I think so. Thanks," you replied. Trying to keep a straight face, you nodded toward the cat. "I like that you're trying out new accessories. This one really brings out the color of your eyes."
Bucky blinked at you a moment in confusion. When he followed your line of sight, the cat pawed his cheek gently. A long suffering look was shot your way, though you caught the corner of his mouth twitch up as he clucked his tongue a few times and it set the cat to purring loudly. It struck you just how gentle and adorable this little interaction was, another of those moments that the hard lines of his face were just a little softer, his eyes just a little brighter. You knew full well that you were staring, how could anyone blame you? But when he flashed you a sly little smirk, gone in a split second, you told yourself it was just the thought of breakfast that fluttered through your stomach.
"So," you teased gently, propping your chin in your palm as you watched him go back to eating. "Today's the big day. You excited?"
The way his face fell, you could have kicked yourself. Such wonderful progress dashed. The stiff edge was back to his features, chewing almost maliciously at his mouthful of food. Still, his voice was surprisingly neutral when he looked up at you. "Not exactly the word I'd use."
"Are you sure you want to go through with it?" You reached out to press your fingers to the cool metal of his forearm in a reassuring gesture. "There's still plenty of time to cancel."
"I can do this," he stated firmly, though it sounded more like a mantra to keep himself going as his fingers curled closed.
His determination brought a smile to your face. "I have no doubt you can and will do this, Bucky Barnes. But if at any point it's too much for you, just say the word and I will step in and end it. I will physically pick Steve up and throw him out on his ass if I have to."
"Was a time that would've been a lot easier," he huffed out in a laughing tone, eyes a little far away. "He might've fought ya, but..."
Bucky let out an almost pained sigh as his focus returned to the bowl in front of him. "Wouldn't be so easy now."
"Hey," you said gently, dropping a hand over his and giving it a little squeeze. "This has gotta be harder on you than I could ever imagine, but I'll be here with you, okay? It may not mean a lot or anything at all, but-"
"It means something," he retorted quietly before shoving another spoonful of cereal in his mouth, avoiding eye contact.
You weren't sure how to respond to that. Thankfully, you were saved by the screeching whistle of the tea kettle on the stove. Glancing back at his face to find him intent on his food, you stood to leave. The cat gave you an expectant meow as you began to move away. You turned back to scratch behind her ears and leaned down to give her an over dramatic smack of your lips to the yellow patch of fur at the crown of her head. When Bucky tilted his head to look up at you sideways, you could see the agitation and worry there, its own unspoken cry for comfort. You reached to cup his opposite cheek and on pure impulse leaned in to press a lightning quick kiss into his hair. His back stiffened, eyes a little wide, even as you gave him a reassuring smile before rushing off to the kitchen to stop the kettle shrieking. A moment later, the cat came bounding in after you to help with the tea.
Bucky went about his usual routine that day. A few times you snuck glimpses of him training in the yard through the kitchen window, so fast and agile and ferocious, while you nervously checked and rechecked that you had everything ready to prepare dinner. Steve had been over a few times before, but never to sit down for a meal. And he was coming alone, much to Sam's annoyance, and not just because Wilson was a fan of your cooking. You understood your friend's concern, but he understood your reasoning too. So, it would just be the three for dinner. You and two super soldiers from World War 2. It really was an absurd science fiction novel just waiting to happen.
When you called Steve earlier that week to invite him over, he had seemed too much in shock by the prospect to offer you an idea of what he might want to eat. You asked Bucky for suggestions and he'd gone quiet a few moments, that thoughtful look on his face you had been seeing a little more often recently, like something had bobbed up to the surface of his mind and he was trying his best to reel it in despite it fighting. When he finally began to answer, it sounded more like a question. "Sunday dinner?"
"Okay," you had smiled, giving him a nod of encouragement, wanting him to keep going with his thought process. "Like a big family meal?"
He nodded in return, voice becoming more certain as he continued. "Whole chicken, potatoes, carrots, stuffing, rolls... and Brussels sprouts."
"Sounds good," you had beamed at him. It was fascinating and wonderful when he had those moments, when you could tell he was gaining back a little piece of himself. And as always, you were more than happy to make something extra special for him.
So, now you were in your kitchen, making up a nice old-fashioned meal like little Suzy Homemaker, humming to yourself because it helped calm the nervousness buzzing around your head. Bucky had stayed outside longer than normal, probably to work off his own nervous energy, and by the time he was showered and dressed the chicken and root vegetables were already in the oven. He came back through the kitchen at one point, stopping to peek over your shoulder as you cooked off bacon for the Brussels sprouts dish you were making.
"Need help," he asked, voice a little tense.
You turned to speak, but the sight of him stopped you. Bucky was standing there in a pair of black slacks and a light gray dress shirt, just a fraction too small so the fabric was pulled taut across his chest and shoulders, sleeve cuffs rolled neat and tight just below his elbows, with his hair clean and brushed and ridiculously soft looking. You hadn't even known he owned dress clothes, let alone something so… stylish. His confused frown had you blinking to regain your senses.
"No, thanks. Everything's almost done," you shook your head. Bucky's frown subsided, but he still had a questioning expression. With a soft sigh, you offered him a grin. "You look nice, Bucky. Real sharp."
His eyes widened ever so slightly, glancing down at himself before looking back up to you. "Company's comin over. You're cookin up somethin special. Least I could do is look presentable."
"That's a bit old-fashioned, don't you think," you smirked, though the decided casualness of his statement was not lost on you. You could imagine that's how he spoke before everything happened, when he was just a kid, probably swaggering around the streets of Brooklyn like he owned the damned place. But he fixed you with that look of tired disbelief again and you giggled despite yourself. "I'm just giving you trouble, old man. I like it, the whole thing. And you do look very handsome."
"Thanks, kid," was his low response, gaze falling from yours quickly as he started for the living room. "Let me know if you need help."
On instinct, you reached out to gently touch him as he brushed past you. When your fingers slid up the bare skin of his forearm, Bucky stopped abruptly and his spine shot straight. He looked from where you were touching him to your face, something like pain flashing through his eyes.
"Bucky, are you okay," you asked, concerned with his sudden change in mood. It certainly wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but it always worried you. It was a sick beating in your heart like you had done something wrong.
"He'll be here soon," Bucky replied, minute twitches in his muscles giving away his nervousness. He tilted his head to look around you. "Bacon's burning."
You were momentarily confused, but spun in time to see the edges of the bacon just starting to turn black. "Shit!"
There was a soft chuckle before Bucky left you to salvage what you could. Luckily, it wasn't too bad and soon all that was left was to wait for the chicken to finish resting after being pulled out of the oven. You joined Bucky in the living room, sitting on the opposite end of the couch with one of your old books while he was on the laptop. Not two pages in, you heard a car pulling into your driveway.
Bucky was on his feet in an instant, laptop discarded on the coffee table. You went to the window, but it really only could have been Steve. As soon as his car door swung open, you turned back around with an encouraging smile. Bucky was standing just behind the end of the couch, tense with his jaw working, attention turned to the floor. A knock sounded at the door and the barest of flinches around his eyes pulled at your heart.
"Just a minute," you called out, moving over to Bucky. You dipped your head to make eye contact with him, offering him a mischievous grin and a raised eyebrow. "Like I said before, one word and we'll see how far that big bald eagle can fly."
It was a split second before understanding etched his face. He sighed at your antics, some of the tension dropping from his shoulders. "Just let him in. It's not polite to keep a guest waiting."
You shot Bucky a grin as you went to answer the door. Steve had a grocery bag tucked in the elbow of one arm and a polite smile on his face that did little to mask the disquiet in his eyes. "Hi. Hope I'm not too early."
"Nope, right on time," you replied, pushing open the screen door and waving him in.
"I brought some beer and wine to have with dinner." Steve motioned at the armload he carried. "I wasn't much help in meal ideas, figured the drinks could be on me."
"Thanks. Very thoughtful," was your chuckled response as you took the offered wares. "You can just put your jacket on one of the hooks if you like."
Steve gave a gracious nod before peeling his outer layer off. You almost let out an exasperated laugh when you realized he was also dressed nicely, with khakis and a navy blue shirt, sleeves rolled up just as smartly as Bucky's. But you found yourself holding your breath when Steve turned around and the two men were face to face.
"Hey, Buck," Steve held his hand out with a somewhat nervous half-smile.
Bucky hesitated a moment, looking torn. That warring in his eyes again. You were about to step in when he finally squared his shoulders and took the offered hand with a single, firm shake. "Steve."
Everything in the room seemed to relax a bit, not the least of which were Steve's tense demeanor and your heartbeat. With a relieved smile, you dug through the bag in your hand to pull out two beers.
"Must have been a memo about dressing up for dinner," you joked, handing a bottle to each of them as you approached. "Gotta say, it never crossed my desk."
Steve cracked open his bottle with a shrug. "I was always told if you're invited for a nice dinner, you always bring something to share and you should at least look presentable."
With a surprised blink, you glanced over at Bucky. He gave you a quick, knowing look as he took a drink. You sighed in amused defeat. "I suppose I better go change."
"Doesn't really apply to you," Steve countered in a jovial tone. It made you smile to see him acting a little lighter around you. Certainly, he'd always been polite, probably because you had become caretaker to the last connection to his life before all the chaos. But it was nice that he was starting to become friendly with you. "It's your house, you wear what you want."
"Oh no," you chuckled, wagging your finger at him sarcastically. "I'm not sitting down to eat with two sharp-dressed men while I'm looking like a slob in yoga pants and an old t-shirt."
"You look fine like you are," Bucky stated as though it were a cold hard fact before bringing the bottle to his lips again.
The strange little compliment surprised you. For a brief moment, you wondered if it was him asking you not to leave him alone with Steve, but there were no worsened signs of agitation or apprehension in him. A peek at Steve revealed him tilting his head in the barest hint of curiosity. At least you hadn't been the only one to find the quiet remark a bit unusual.
"Well, thank you, Bucky," you smiled appreciatively. "But I'll only be a minute. You wanna set the table?"
With a nod, he silently turned and left for the kitchen. You met your guest's questioning look with your hands turned up in a dramatic shrug. "Why don't you make yourself at home, Steve? I'll be right back and we can eat."
"Sure," he nodded a little awkwardly as you headed for your room, depositing the bag on the dining room table.
There wasn't much in the way of dress clothes in your closet, and what you did have was mostly for going out, despite not having been out in quite some time. Settling for just a pair of nice jeans and a blouse, you reconvened with your dinner party. The place settings were on the table already, Bucky standing at the kitchen counter as you past, and once you hit the living room you saw Steve sitting on the edge of the loveseat, beer bottle dangling from his fingers casually. He gave you a somewhat sheepish smirk when he saw you and stood when you gestured for him to follow.
You joined Bucky in the kitchen to discover he had already carved the chicken and placed it neatly on the platter you had set out. There was no doubting his knife skills, but the less deadly application for them was much more pleasant, especially considering how clean the bones were picked. "Looks great, Buck. Thanks!"
"You're welcome," he replied, corner of his lips quirking upward as you leaned your hip against the counter beside him. He picked up his beer bottle for another swig, eyes giving you a quick once over.
"Need any help carrying stuff to the table," Steve asked from the kitchen entryway.
Admittedly, his voice startled you. You hadn't realized just how intently you were watching Bucky's face as he drank, the long curve of his neck when his head tilted back. Shaking the thought away, you smiled over your shoulder. "You're a guest, Steve. You go pick a place to sit."
"I don't mind helping out," he countered, taking a few steps toward you and Bucky. "Least I can do is carry a bowl or plate."
"Go sit," Bucky said and his voice was a subdued command. But he gave Steve a small, reassuring nod. "We got this, Rogers."
You looked over just in time to see Steve give a pleased snort of amusement and a little nod. Not paying attention, you went to pick up the ceramic dish of root vegetables with your bare hands. It was still too hot and you immediately dropped it the few inches back to the counter with a surprised and pained yelp before it could burn your skin. Bucky's face snapped back to yours in concern, body suddenly rigid and alert.
"It was hot, is all," you explained with great chagrin.
It seemed to soothe him some, but his eyes zipped from you to Steve, down at himself and to the hot dish, finally resting on you again, all at dizzying speed. Then, he raised his left hand, wiggling his metal fingers just slightly, and in a deadpan voice said "Forget you didn't have one of these, kid?"
Your mouth fell open in shock even as he picked up the dish in said hand. Your eyes shot to Steve for a second who seemed equally aghast. But Bucky looked almost agitated when your gaze returned to him, like he was disappointed. You suddenly realized he may have been hoping for a better reaction to his attempt at levity and a warm ache settled in your chest.
"Well, we can't all be so handy, old man," you huffed a laugh at him, hoping your delayed response didn't cause him any embarrassment. You were rewarded with that lightning flash mischievous smirk of his before it vanished in the blink of an eye. He was back to a sobered expression when he handed you the platter and one of the cooler bowls, gathering everything else in his arms to carry.
Steve had a curious smile on his face when you turned toward him, and you grimaced in dismay. "No offense about the old man comment."
"None taken," he shook his head and raised a hand as if to wave the idea away, but his smile grew as he moved to allow you and Bucky to pass on your way to the dining room. You and Bucky ended up in your usual seats, your housemate at the head of the table, with Steve across from you. Rogers gave an appraising look at the spread and took a deep breath through his nose. "Everything looks and smells delicious. Been a while since I've had a home-cooked meal like this."
"Well, Bucky suggested the menu," you replied as the three of you passed around the dishes for everyone to fill their plates. "Family dinner with all the fixin's. Like Sunday supper on Saturday night."
"It seemed kinda... familiar," Bucky added, eyes a bit distant. They focused again, gaze darting to Steve, then away in an instant, a thoughtful squint to them.
"Yeah," Steve chuckled softly, lifting his chin with a slight nod. "Yeah, it does."
Bucky nodded in kind, though a pained look ghosted over his face for a split second before he shoved a forkful of stuffing into his mouth. The room was quiet for a while as everyone began to eat, a bit of awkwardness in the air as though none of you knew quite how to make small talk with the others. You decided you would be the first to cave under the silence, but when you took a breath to speak your throat suddenly tickled. With just enough time to bring your napkin up to cover your mouth, you turned your head away from the table to cough a few times.
"Sorry, fellas," you said after seeing the concerned looks from both men. Steve's was curious, but Bucky's was a hard set mouth and soft eyes. "Getting over the flu. The cough is always the last thing to go."
There was a bit of unease to Steve's expression, but he still smiled. "Yeah, I remember that. You gonna be alright?"
"Oh yeah," you nodded in assurance. "Bucky actually took great care of me. Nursed me back to health."
Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Bucky made a flippant interjection after swallowing his mouthful of food. "She's almost as bad a patient as you."
Both your attention and Steve's immediately snapped to the man between the two of you. There was a question in Steve's eyes, a hope, but it faded as he watched his friend. Bucky had stilled, a startled expression on his face as he glanced between both of you. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as his brow furrowed in thought. Resting his forearms on the table, he turned his face down to his plate so that his hair half concealed him.
"I..." Despite his curtain of hair, you could still see him flinch a bit as he began to speak, like it physically hurt to drag the air from his lungs to form words. You wanted to reach out to him, but didn't dare interrupt as he continued. "Sometimes I remember you. As a kid. Sick all the time and scrawny, getting your ass handed to ya at least once a week. Jesus, you were ten pounds of ornery in a five pound bag and didn't weigh a hundred soaking wet. You couldn't... wouldn't take care of yourself..."
He raised his head, hand reaching up to brush the hair back from his face in one easy swipe as he took a deep, steadying breath. After a slow exhale, he huffed with a weak smile and looked at Steve. "Guess I don't have to worry about that anymore."
"No, I suppose you don't, Buck," Steve replied quietly, shaking his head a little. The sadness that colored his eyes was heartbreaking. He glanced your way, then down at his own plate as if searching for a distraction. Clearing his throat, he asked, "You think you could pass me the -"
Before Steve was half way through with his request, Bucky was reaching out. He grabbed the bowl of Brussels sprouts from in front of you and set it down next to Steve's arm, like a peace offering. Steve's eyes widened.
"They were your favorite," Bucky said with a tiny shrug, voice rough around the edges. He was poised to put another forkful of food in his mouth, but he paused and gave an almost amused shake of his head. "Only guy I ever knew wanted Brussels sprouts with just about every meal."
"What can I say," Steve replied, chuckling under his breath. And if you had thought you'd ever seen Steve smile before, you were sorely mistaken, because his face lit up so bright you found yourself blinking while he took a large scoop from the bowl. "Just thought they tasted good."
"Boiled Brussels sprouts don't taste good." Bucky's lip curled up in mild disgust as he finished chewing. You couldn't help your own grin at the small gesture, but then he picked up one of the Brussels sprouts on his fork, contemplating it severely for a moment, before his expression softened and his eyes slid over to regard you. "These are delicious, though. These could grow on me."
"It's all very delicious," Steve smiled over at you with an appreciative nod. But something told you he wasn't only talking about the food when he added, "Thank you."
The rest of dinner was less tense. Bucky was still quiet, but he had eased some. When all three of you had eaten your fill, despite your protests, both men insisted on helping clear the table. However, you put your foot down at them washing dishes, partly because you wanted the pots and pans to soak and partly because you didn't want to explain the Bucky-fist sized dent in the edge of the sink. Instead, you ordered them off to the living room with a devious little smile.
"I've got a treat for us, but it's a surprise," you answered their questioning looks. Steve shrugged casually and turned for the living room, but Bucky lingered. With a lighthearted huff, you started nudging him backwards gently with your fingers on his chest. "Go on, scoot! Outta my kitchen!"
Bucky shuffled a half step back, taken off guard. Then one of his brows arched up, silent laughter glinting in his eyes as an impish smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, as though it amused him, you being a little forceful. He pressed forward a bit, and, spurred on by his unusual playfulness, you flattened your palms on his chest to push with a grinning scoff. Obviously he was strong enough to stop you if he really wanted, but he let you back him up a few more inches before he relented and stepped away, throwing you a smile as he rounded the corner to follow Steve.
Once he was out of sight, you gleefully went about gathering up everything you needed from the fridge, including the nice frosty glasses you'd stuffed in the freezer that morning. It was only a few minutes until you had the three glasses filled. And damned if you didn't feel a little like you stepped back in time when you placed them on a serving tray and carried them into the living room, only to have both men politely stand up when they noticed you enter.
"Oh, sit back down, gentleman," you scolded with a smile. They complied as you came around the corner of the armchair where Steve sat.
Steve's eyebrows shot up in pleasant surprise when you set the tray down on the coffee table, doing your best not to slosh the foam on top. "Chocolate egg creams?"
"Yes, sir," you snickered proudly, handing a glass over to him. "Thought you Brooklyn boys might enjoy something a little old-fashioned."
Handing another to Bucky, you saw that spark of recognition in his eyes. His smile widened as he looked up at you and despite the chill of the glass you felt his warm fingers brush against yours as he took the drink. The third you picked up and brought with you while you moved to sit at Bucky's left on the couch, but you had barely settled when you saw Steve pull the glass from his lips, a third of the drink already gone, to reveal a thick line of milk foam caught across his upper lip with a grin plastered on his face.
"Oh my god, Steve," you cried out, voice nearly a squeal at the absurd sight of him. Something about the thoroughly confused look on his face set you to laughing uncontrollably. On impulse, you turned to bury your face in the closest available object to try and hamper the sound you were making. Said object just so happened to be Bucky's shoulder, though the soft fabric stretched across metal did little to muffle the noise. A moment later, you felt Bucky move and heard a sputtering, followed by Steve's laughter. But when you heard a third gentle chuckle join the cacophony of sound, you sat bolt upright on the couch.
Steve's mustache was gone, but he was almost doubled over, one hand propped on a knee and the other clutching his empty glass to his chest over his heart, smiling so wide his eyes were nearly closed. Bucky had a few wet spots on the front of his shirt having dripped from his chin that he was wiping at with his arm. And his entire upper lip and part of his nose were coated in foam. He was still chuckling, the act making his nose scrunch up and the skin around his eyes crinkle. You started laughing again, this time more subdued, when he looked over at you, licking the foam from his upper lip like a little kid.
"You better hurry up and drink that," Bucky nodded toward your glass as he swiped his right hand across the remaining mess on his face.
"C'mon, Buck," Steve chided as he set his glass back on the tray. "People can savor their drinks if they want."
"Not that old argument again, Stevie," Bucky waved him off jovially, barely looking over. You saw Steve still at the nickname, but did your best not to react because Bucky seemed to be on a roll and you didn't want to jar him out of it. He leaned toward you, almost conspiratorially. "You gotta drink 'em fast otherwise they go flat. Then you might as well just be drinkin' chocolate milk. No straws, though, right?"
He looked to Steve for confirmation and Rogers obliged with a knowing shake of his head. "No straws. Takes away half the fun."
Bucky turned back to you and gave a curt nod. "Ya see? Now, get to drinkin'!"
You rolled your eyes at him, but brought the glass to your lips and started gulping down the drink quickly. Pausing to take a breath, you saw the cat jump onto the back of Steve's seat with a loud meow. She had been scarce since breakfast, probably sensing something was going on in the house, but now she wanted to join the party. Steve leaned back to take a look at her and she tentatively took a step onto his shoulder before hopping down into his lap.
"Hey there," he smiled, brushing a hand down her back as she sniffed one of his shirt buttons.
"Behind the ears," Bucky informed as he put his empty glass on the coffee table and gestured casually at the side of his head. Steve scratched where instructed and it set the cat to purring loudly, rubbing her cheeks against his shirt. She stretched up onto his chest to start kneading her paws there while he continued to pet her. But being a somewhat fickle thing, she soon hopped away right onto the coffee table.
"Potato, no," you said, loud and stern, when she tried to stick her whole face down into Bucky's glass.
This brought the attention of both men to you, though you still had to reach out and move the glass away from the misbehaving cat. Bucky was giving you an uncertain look even as the cat climbed into his lap. "Potato?"
"Yeah," you nodded, confused at his questioning tone as you stood to gather the glasses. Then a thought struck you, and you gave an embarrassed groan. "Bucky, have you not known her name this whole time?"
He shook his head with a little shrug, raising his left hand so the cat could pet herself as she pleased against his fingers. "Just called her Cat."
As if on cue, she stretched up to rub her cheek against Bucky's before jumping onto his shoulder to stretch behind his neck much like you had seen this morning. Bucky smiled and clucked his tongue at the purring mass before reaching up to tug at her ears. A glance at Steve showed him trying hard to suppress a laugh, but you could still hear it when he asked "So, why Potato?"
"Well..." you began, standing up to start gathering the empty glasses. "First, she can be dumber than a sack of potatoes sometimes. You have no idea how many times I've had to pull her off of door jambs and bookcases because she got up and couldn't get down."
You caught Bucky shaking his head in amused disagreement when Steve looked over at him. But you rolled your eyes and continued. "Second, she sorta looks like a mound of mashed potatoes when she's all balled up. But mostly, it's because I found her as a feral kitten in my grandma's old potato bin outside. I was out doing chores and I heard her crying in there. She was old enough to be on her own, without momma cat, but she was acting kinda helpless, so I took her in."
"Oh, so you make it a habit of taking in strays," Bucky joked quietly as the cat jumped over to the arm of Steve's chair for further investigation of his drumming fingers. If he noticed the sudden shock on Steve's face, he didn't react to it.
"You could say that. And so far, I'm one for two in domesticating them. But I ain't done with you yet, Bucky Barnes," you teased with a wink and you saw that flash of a smirk before you left for the kitchen with the dishes.
The boys were still preoccupied with the cat when you returned. Bucky had brought out the bag of treats and the two of them were tossing them in her direction for her to catch. No wonder she had been getting a little heftier recently. Chuckling to yourself, you headed over to the entertainment center to turn on the TV.
"Sticking around for a movie, Steve," you asked, turning back to the pair. It had been discussed during your phone call to invite him over, but you figured you would give him an out, just in case there was some superhero business to attend to, or he was just uncomfortable staying longer. Though, with as much he seemed to be enjoying himself, you were sure you already knew the answer.
"If it's alright with you," he replied, stealing a glance at Bucky, who had gotten Potato to sit up on her haunches to beg for a treat. Bucky obliged, looking over to Steve, then you with a nod. "Movie sounds good."
"Okay, what do we wanna watch," you smiled. "There's Netflix or I've got a lot of DVDs."
"Lady's choice," was Steve's genial answer. And Bucky just shrugged, as per usual.
With a laughing sigh, you skimmed through your shelves of movies, trying to pick something that might go over well. You passed up any dramas, too boring and would probably be a mood killer. Shoot-em-up actions and horror-thrillers probably weren't a good idea for the evening either, considering your present company. But some of your comedies wouldn't make much sense to the pair of them. Then your eyes lighted on one in particular and that devious smile returned.
"Hey, Steve," you looked over your shoulder at him. "Have you seen The Princess Bride, yet?"
"Can't say I have," he shook his head, handing a treat over to the cat.
Pulling it from the shelf, you turned to see Bucky tilting his head to look up at you with a brow raised in anticipation. You swallowed the lump in your throat, but continued to smile. "It's sort of a modern classic, I guess. A little humor, a little adventure, some fencing, fantasy stuff. Been a while since I've seen it. What do ya say?"
You were met with nods of approval and you happily set everything up to watch the movie. Grabbing the remote, you settled in beside Bucky once more to press play. Their reactions were of equal interest to you as the movie itself, so you kept an eye on them as things happened.
Bucky snorted gently in amusement at Grandpa's line. "When I was your age, television was called books."
"Look at the size of that guy," Steve muttered at the sight of Fezzik. You grinned when he added, "Kinda reminds me of someone I know."
At the first close-up of The Man in Black, Bucky shot you a look. Obviously he'd figured out it was Westley in disguise. Both men seemed completely enthralled with the swordfight between Inigo and Westley. You could imagine them as boys watching the likes of Errol Flynn swashbuckling at the cinema, faces lit up by the light of the screen. There was even some snickering at the hand-to-hand combat.
"All right. Where is the poison?" Westley began the battle of wits with Vizzini, but Bucky called out "In his nose!"
This caused Steve to sputter out a short laugh that made Bucky smile triumphantly. And both gave a bit of a somber nod at "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something."
Everything seemed to be going very well. Maybe they didn't get the nostalgic feeling that came with the movie for people of your generation, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Content in your great choice of films, you excused yourself to the bathroom and told them to keep watching. By the time you returned, they had gotten to the part where Buttercup wakes up from her dream with the old woman yelling at her for leaving Westley. You were a little confused at Bucky's sudden unease as you sat down next to him, until a few scenes later when you saw Count Rugen heading down into the Pit of Despair and rolling Westley to "The Machine" and you remembered Bucky waking up in your bed screaming just a few days before.
"Oh shit!" How had you forgotten this scene? Your eyes widened at Bucky, whose face had darkened though his gaze turned to lock with yours momentarily from the corners of his eyes, muscles tensed to twitching. Steve gave you a confused look at your outburst just as you were reaching for the remote. "Okay. I'm gonna change-"
Almost quicker than you could register, Bucky's left hand shot forward, sleeve making a hideous tearing sound at the shoulder seam, metal fingers gouging into the wood surface of the coffee table around the remote to block you. How he managed to not crush it in his grasp, you didn't know. He stayed in that position a moment, body coiled like an animal about to pounce, chest rising and falling with ragged breath as the movie continued to play and Westley jerked and spasmed in pain.
"Buck," Steve spoke in a low question, having moved to the edge of his seat. Bucky's face whipped violently in his direction. You couldn't see his expression, but something there brought a look of pained sympathy to Steve's face.
You moved to sit on the coffee table next to him, heart thundering in your chest while you tried to soothe him. "Bucky, it's okay. I'm sorry. We'll turn it off..."
"I can do this," he ground out through gritted teeth as his face turned back to the table beneath him. They were the same words he'd said that morning about meeting with Steve, the same determination. He was not far away in his mind like he sometimes got, at least not in that instant. Bucky was trying. He was trying so hard.
"I have no doubt you can and will do this, Bucky Barnes," you echoed your response from much earlier in the day. "But it gets worse in the movie. The next scene is so much worse."
"There's a happy ending, right," he asked, his voice dark and quiet. Something in it stunned you to silence, but when you didn't answer, Bucky finally looked up at your face. "Isn't there a happy ending?"
"Yeah, Bucky," you smiled gently. Instinctively, you reached out to cover the back of his metal hand with your palm. "Of course there's a happy ending."
The strained vibration of his muscles eased a bit as he nodded, slowly leaning back into his seat. Metal fingers curled around the remote to drag it with him. A sense of control was something he needed, and what better object to hang onto. He grimaced a little when his eyes focused on Steve, and he looked away quickly. "Sorry."
"Don't be," Steve replied with a solemn shake of his head. "Are you sure you wanna-"
"Yes," Bucky bit out, finally settling back on the couch, though his spine was still rigid.
You had moved back to the cushion beside him just as Prince Humperdinck was heading down into the Pit of Despair. Bucky's whole body flinched at the machine being thrown to its highest setting and the agonizing sound the tore out of Westley was so much like Bucky's from nights before that you reached out to tuck your hand around his elbow for comfort. His eyes fell to where you touched him before moving to meet your gaze. Those hard lines were back on his face again, jaw tight and brow knit, pain and exhaustion in his eyes, and it hurt knowing you'd managed to chase away all that soft playfulness from not 20 minutes before.
The three of you weathered the rest of the movie in silence, Steve slipping worried glances in Bucky's direction from time to time and you doing your best to avoid eye contact. Though Bucky did relax some as the film progressed, especially after the visit to Miracle Max. By no means was he back to where he was before you'd put the DVD in, but by the time the credits rolled, he was breathing regularly again and had released his death grip on the remote. In fact, he handed it back to you, wrapping his cool metallic fingers around yours for a split second as you grabbed it from him before letting you go.
"I should probably be heading back," Steve finally broke the silence, stretching a little as he stood. "It's getting late and it's a long drive."
Bucky stood as well, seeming a little uncertain, but he was the one to offer his hand. "I... I'll see you later, Steve."
Steve gave a reassuring smile and a firm handshake. "You bet, Buck."
You grabbed Steve's coat for him even as Bucky headed in the opposite direction. It had gotten dark outside, so you flipped on the porch light as you followed your guest out into the cool night air. He was already down the steps when you worked up the courage to speak.
"So much for a fun, relaxing movie," you tested the waters as you leaned against the bannister, unsure of how Steve would react to you after the incident with Bucky. He turned toward you with a dismissive shrug, but there wasn't any harsh judgment to his look. "Well, at least now I know why Barton says 'Have fun storming the castle' before just about every mission."
"I'm sorry I ruined the mood," you chuckled feebly. "I seriously screwed the pooch on that one."
"You couldn't have known that would happen," Steve waved you off, though there was a lot of sympathy in his voice.
"I should have thought of it. Should have remembered that scene," you shook your head with an exasperated groan. "God, things were going so well tonight."
"They were," he smiled fondly. "Saw some of my old friend tonight. I know he'll never be the exact same, no one can be after everything. But he seems to be doing so much better. You gotta be doin something right."
"Bucky's the one doing the real work. I'm just offering support," you countered, taking a moment to rub a hand over your bare arms to warm them a little.
Steve regarded you a moment before speaking again. "Sam told me about your sister."
"Yeah," you snorted, hoping the flinch you felt had just been internal. "I suppose that doesn't really inspire much confidence in me."
"You're wrong on that one," he replied. When you blinked up at him in mild shock, he propped his hands on his hips and gave a frustrated huff. "I should be the one helping Bucky. He's my friend, my responsibility. But the others just don't trust him yet. And... honestly, I wouldn't know the first thing about how to help. So, I'm glad he's got someone like you. Someone who treats him like a human being instead of a... a monster. Someone who gives a damn about what happens to him."
"I live to help," you shrugged with a smirk, for some reason a little uncomfortable with the small praise. "And that boy could use all the help he can get."
Steve chuckled under his breath, nodding. "Thanks for dinner. It really was delicious."
"Any time," you smiled. "Good night, Steve. Have a safe trip back."
"Night," he waved before turning to head toward his car.
You stood on the porch as he got in and drove away. It was an old family quirk to wait until someone got to the end of the driveway, keep an eye on them until they left your acreage and got back to the outside world. After a final wave, you headed back in. Bucky had already cloistered himself in his bedroom.
