The familiar crunch of gravel outside the house let you know that Steve had arrived to pick up Bucky. A week had practically flown by, despite how little ever happened at the house. Bucky did physical training in the morning, the two of you shared meals and movies and sometimes just quiet time together doing your own things. Thinking back on when you first met him, it was amazing how comfortable the two of you had become in each other's presence. Even the nightmares and panic episodes didn't seem to punctuate the time so harshly anymore. They were by no means gone, but he had become much better about letting you help. Sometimes it was enough just to sit close, shoulders or hands or knees touching, until he gained his bearings once more.
"Steve's here," you called out to Bucky from the living room. Of course, he probably already knew the car was pulling up. Supersoldier hearing and all that.
Moving to the front window, you peeked out into the dying afternoon sunlight to watch the car make its way down the drive. Bucky's footsteps sounded as he came up behind you, hand reaching past your shoulder to pull the curtains back so he could look out too. The move brought him close, chest just inches from your arm, creating an almost comforting warmth against the drafty glass. Glancing over, you saw him in his slacks and dark blue shirt once again. That color always reflected in his eyes when he wore it. You didn't even try hiding your smile when you checked to confirm it was just as true this time.
"Go through your wardrobe rotation already, old man," you snickered at him, nudging his ribs gently with the side of your elbow.
He turned his head to look at you, smallest hint of tension in his jaw and neck, but still gave you a little smirk. "We're going out tonight. Thought I'd dress decent."
"Oh yeah," you asked, delighted. Noticing a wrinkle in his collar, you absent-mindedly reached up to adjust it as you heard the car roll to a stop. "Where to?"
"No clue," he shook his head slightly while your fingers brushed his soft, clean hair from his shirt and smoothed the fabric at his shoulders.
"Bet you guys'll have fun though," you smiled. A quick appraisal of him and you nodded in satisfaction. "You'll have to tell me all about it when you get back."
The crease between his brows began to deepen, face looking thoughtful as he gazed at you intently. You were about to question him when a knock came at the door. With a reassuring pat on his chest, you carefully brushed past him to answer. When you opened the door, you expected a broad-chested blond with a lopsided grin. What you got was Sam Wilson, all dressed up, trying to look cool with a smug smirk. You let out a surprised laugh as he came crowding inside the house, arms wide, hands motioning for you to bring it in.
"Hey, stranger," you chuckled gleefully, wrapping your arms around him for a tight hug. You gave him a few sound pats on the back as he swayed with you a bit. "Ain't seen you for a month or more. How've you been?"
"Same old, same old," he pulled away with a shrug to move toward the living room, revealing Steve right behind him, equally well-attired, boyish grin in place as usual. "Fighting the good fight."
"Yeah, sure," you rolled your eyes, shoving at him playfully. Turning your attention to Steve, you ushered him in with an emphatic wave. "Hey, Steve! Good to see you again."
"Likewise," he ducked his head in greeting. As he stepped inside past you, you gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder which garnered a somehow even kinder expression from him. "How's the week been?"
It was the same every time you met. Certainly, Steve was becoming more relaxed and comfortable around you, especially since having him over for dinner, and it sounded like a cordial enough question. But you knew in the set of his eyes that his real concern, first and foremost, was how Bucky was doing. You could hardly begrudge him that. Still, with a knowing smirk, you answered in sarcastic formality "Good. Quiet. Nothing to report, Cap'n."
Steve shot you an almost disapproving look, though after a gentle huff it melted into a chagrined smile. Nodding in understanding and maybe amusement, he returned your familiar gesture, hand squeezing your shoulder lightly before you shut the door. You followed a few paces behind him into the living room just in time to see Bucky and Sam drop a handshake. That surprised you a little as well, then again, of course Sam was probably helping out when Bucky went on visits more than you knew anything about.
"Bucky, you didn't tell me Sam was going too," you spoke in a playful chide as you moved to lean against the back of the couch. When his only response was a half-apologetic shrug, you shook your head in mock exasperation and looked between all three of the men. "So, where you fellas headed? If you don't mind my asking, that is. Don't want to endanger any top secret, boys-only operation."
"Actually, Sam suggested a place a couple towns over-" Steve began, confident and casual, but was cut off by Sam clearing his throat. His brows pinched together and he looked a little lost. His eyes flickered to Bucky, but there was no answer to be found there either. Just a stoic expression, maybe a hint of wariness as he looked between every other face in the room.
"The Hall," you asked Sam, knowing full well that's exactly what Steve was talking about. Crossing your arms at your chest, you raised an eyebrow at him, lips pursing in disapproval only when he gave you that wide-eyed innocent look like he didn't want to answer.
"Okay, yes. The Hall," he finally admitted with a nod. Steve gave a curious tilt to his head, a silent demand for clarification, which Sam answered. "We used to go there with her sister."
It was interesting to see Steve straighten so abruptly, eyes wide and mouth partially open in surprise for a moment before throwing you an awkward, distressed look. Bucky's lips seemed to thin a little, gaze narrowing at the side of Sam's head in annoyance for a long beat until his attention turned to you again, all soft concern and questioning. Asking if you were alright. And Sam, as capable and imposing a man as he could be, looked practically sheepish between the two supersoldiers, though the unspoken apology written on his face was sincere. You couldn't help your broad smile as you looked at the three absolute goobers standing in your living room.
"Three of the biggest badasses in the world concerned about little ole me, huh," you rolled your eyes with an entertained snort. This seemed to relieve some of the built-up tension and you did your best to dispel the rest by laughing at the sheer absurdity of it. "Guys, seriously, it's fine. I was just giving Sam here a little shit. The Hall is a great place to hang out. Best wings around. Oooh, and those rarebit fries? Mmmm… to die for!"
"You sure," Sam asked, giving you that look of his when he thought you might be covering something up. It always made you stop and question yourself, just to see if he was right. But this time, it really was unwarranted. "Because if it upsets you, all you gotta do is say so."
"Honestly, it doesn't," you replied brightly. Pointing at the men on either side of him, you added, "In fact, now that I'm thinking about it, that old jukebox they have there probably has songs these two geezers would know. They'll love it."
You were glad to see Steve take your little joke in stride. He turned a wry smirk your way, something in the quirk of his eyebrow looking almost appreciative. But it was Bucky who pulled the room's attention when he gave a quiet huff of amusement. Suddenly finding himself under everyone's albeit friendly scrutiny, he seemed to grow slightly uncomfortable. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, thoughtful gaze sliding from Steve to Sam before resting on you, corners of his lips pitching upward.
"You should come out with us," he finally spoke, that soft expression easing across his features, no matter how discreet.
You blinked rapidly, willing the burning sensation from your cheeks and hoping the minor shock in your two guests' faces distracted them enough to keep from noticing. "Oh, Bucky, that's sweet of you, but I don't want to impose on your guys' night out."
"No imposition at all," Steve countered quickly when Bucky looked to him for support. A jovial smile brightened his face as he gave a reassuring nod, offering up a hand in a welcoming gesture. "Really, we'd love for you to join us."
"Would you guys just get out of here," you rolled your eyes, waving them off though you were grateful for the invite, even after the fact. Yet, the three men seemed entirely undeterred by your haphazard refusal. Sam even had the audacity to fold his arms across his chest and raise an eyebrow at you, mirroring your earlier expression. Clucking your tongue, you motioned your hand to indicate your clothing. "Come on, does it look like I'm dressed for a night out?"
"We'll wait," Sam chimed in, unfolding his arms with a shrug to walk over to the couch and take a seat.
You opened your mouth to protest, maybe call him a traitor because he knew impromptu plans often annoyed you, but your jaw dropped further when you saw Steve move to follow suit. Lips turned down in mischievous approval, he carefully stepped around Sam's legs to join him on the opposite end of the couch, just barely glancing your way. Bucky began making his way around the back of the couch, closing in on you in only a few strides. Your eyes narrowed at him in mock frustration when he paused in front of you.
"We could probably both use a night outta the house, doll," he implored, small grin a bit smug. But there was something under that facade of casual bravado, a rigidity to his muscles, a minute tightness to that smile, a silent plea you knew all too well in his eyes.
Before you could reach a hand for him, a move so instinctive to you now, he had already looked away. An edge of wickedness replaced the need in his gaze as he smirked and continued on his journey. He rounded to the armchair before plopping down with a nonchalant thud of his sturdy frame. Then he went about making a great show of settling in, stretching his legs out to prop his heels on the coffee table in front of him. His hands came up to lace fingers behind his head as he sat back and he raised an eyebrow at you in challenge.
Anchoring your fists on your hips, you turned a quick glare on each of the men in your living room, though Sam and Steve pretended not to see it. You sighed deeply, shaking your head in annoyance. "Fine, ya jerks. I'll get changed to go out, but I'm gonna take my sweet time doing it."
It was an idle threat though. You knew that the moment you turned to make your way down the hallway, ignoring the minor triumph that flashed over Bucky's face. The nervous entreaty of Bucky's expression might have convinced you, but a spark of excitement had flared up inside you, no doubt fueled by the idea of a bit of fun at an old haunt. Of course, that goading look of Bucky's and the quirk of his lips as he drawled out the word doll had absolutely nothing to do with it. No, obviously that was not the cause of your eagerness as you flipped through the hangers in your closet.
The night was supposed to get chilly, so you pulled out the pretty long sleeve dress you had, made out of a decently cozy fabric. Skirt free-flowing and ending just above your knees, your thigh-highs and garter belt seemed appropriate for keeping your legs warm. Once the belt was in place, you rolled up the heavy, opaque material of the stockings to slide over your feet and fondly remembered your grandma. It had been an old adage of hers that thigh highs and a good garter belt could turn a guy gaga, something she claimed to know first-hand from her younger years. As you clipped the stays in place, you tried not to wonder if that had been true for Bucky in those days.
You neatly fixed your hair up and out of your face before putting on some makeup. Considering there were people waiting and you were a little impatient to be finished, you went classic lip and eyeliner combo. It was something you'd practiced often not too terribly long ago, so you made relatively quick work of it. After finally stepping into your heels, a little wobbly at first as it had been a while since you last wore them, you took a moment to admire yourself in the mirror. You smoothed down a few wrinkles in your dress and smiled a bit.
The sound of your heels on the darkened hallway floor seemed to silence the guests in your living room. When you turned to close the door behind you, you felt the front right stay of your hosiery fall loose at the movement. You let out a small, aggrieved sigh as you pulled up the hem of your skirt far enough to tighten the satiny strap. Skirt falling back into place once you were satisfied everything would stay put, you were startled to look up and find Bucky's eyes on you. His position in the armchair afforded him a clear view of the hallway. And judging by his wide eyes and somewhat slack jaw, he'd also had a clear view of you bothering with your undergarments. He could probably see the blush of your cheeks too as you offered a pained smile and mouthed sorry as you continued down the hall.
"You okay, Buck," Steve asked just from out of your view, voice concerned.
Bucky finally tore his gaze from you, tongue darting quickly over his lips and clearing his throat as he nodded with a knit brow. "Yeah. Fine."
He hastily got to his feet a second before you entered the living room, just in time to see the other two men follow suit. They both turned to look at you, Steve offering a polite smile, but Sam's face spread in a wide, ridiculous grin. He tried to cover it with a stern look, chin jutting up a bit as he pointed an accusatory finger in your direction. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with my friend?"
"Oh, please," you scoffed with a haughty air, confidence bolstered by being so well received. "As though you boys are the only ones who know how to dress for a night out."
"Okay, okay," he chuckled, raising his hands in a placating manner before clapping them closed and rubbing them together quickly as he looked at everyone around him. "What are we standing around waiting for? Let's get the hell outta here."
Steve glanced at you with a long-suffering look that mirrored your own as he shook his head and followed Sam toward the door. You gave him an understanding nod, picking up your purse at the coat hooks to sling across body. Keys in hand, you excitedly ushered the men out so you could lock the place up behind you. Steve and Sam's footsteps rumbled across the porch and down the stairs at a fair clip, but Bucky stopped just outside the door and waited, jacket swung over his right shoulder by the collar, watching as you secured the house like he always did when you left together.
You checked over your shoulder to see the other two already at the car before giving Bucky an embarrassed smile, leaning closer to speak in a low voice once the deadbolt was turned. "Sorry about that impromptu show in the hallway. Didn't know you were looking."
"Definitely not the worst thing I ever seen," he replied, voice just as conspiratorial, though the corners of his lips tipped up in a suggestive little smirk.
"Ass," you retorted, half entertained and half scandalized, and entirely grateful he wasn't making a big deal of it. You still shouldered into him in playful warning as you turned for the stairs which brought a grin to his face.
"Here, let me help," Bucky offered, crook of his left arm held out for you casually after moving his jacket to fold over his right arm.
"You trying to be a gentleman, Bucky Barnes," you teased even as you tucked your arm around his elbow to begin your descent.
He shook his head slightly, definitive, though you could still see an impish light to his eyes. "Nah, just wouldn't want you to roll an ankle in those heels, is all."
"Ugh, thanks," you laughed quietly. Glancing over to the two waiting at the car, you leaned in towards Bucky again to add "If I fall on my ass in these, Sam will never let me hear the end of it."
Your heart stuttered a little in your chest at the sight of Bucky's dimples when he gave a toothy grin and chuckled low, a few strands of hair falling down into his face as he helped ease you down the last step onto the path to the driveway. He combed them back with the fingers of his free hand, jacket bunching a little awkwardly in the crook of his elbow, but didn't make a move to retract his left from you. Instead, he urged you down the short walkway and helped you negotiate the gravel drive, smooth and easy, like he'd done it a million times before.
By the time you reached them, Steve had gotten into the driver's seat and Sam shot you a knowing smirk over the roof of the car as he slid into the back. Bucky grabbed the handle to open the rear passenger side door before you even had a chance to reach for it. You raised an eyebrow at him in amused accusation. Not trying to act like a gentleman, huh? The feigned unknowing innocence of his expression was almost too much when you started to lower yourself into the car.
Once you were situated, Bucky closed the door for you and hopped into the passenger seat. Steve put the car in gear, heading back to the road as you were pulling your seatbelt into place. The silence was suddenly interrupted by Sam coughing. It drew everyone's attention, even Steve's, who was trying to check on him through the rearview mirror. "Everything okay back there?"
"Oh, yeah," Sam nodded, clearing his throat and moving his hand in an exaggerated wave in front of his face. But you could see the smile tugging at his lips and hear the joke in his voice as he continued. "Must be the dust kicked up from all this chivalry."
You were just taking a breath to respond when you saw Bucky lean back between the front seats a little. He was buckling in, adjusting the strap across his chest, all while giving Sam a slight glare with his brow knit. Then, after snorting derisively, he said in a serious tone "Not my fault the guy with amnesia's the only one who remembers how to treat a lady."
The whole car seemed taken aback for a second, Steve shooting a disapproving glare at the side of Bucky's head and Sam blinking in surprise before looking mildly affronted by the accusation. You were the first to sputter out a laugh, recognizing the crinkle at the corner of Bucky's eyes even as he turned to sit back in his seat and look out the side window. From your position, you could see his reflection in the glass, a pleased smile on his face that spread as the whole car joined you, even Sam with a chagrined shake of his head.
"So, this place we're going," Steve eventually asked after everyone had settled, turning onto the main paved road. "The Hall? What sorta name is that?"
"Used to be an old dance hall," you answered as you drummed your fingers on the seat between you and Sam. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you maneuvered yourself between the two front seats, reaching for Sam's iPod you'd spotted at the console. Glancing between the two men, you couldn't help the wicked little smirk that crossed your face. "Probably from back when you two shits were spring chickens."
Steve's eyes widened at that, throwing Bucky an amused grin over your head. "She usually like this?"
"Can't take her anywhere," Bucky replied with a shake of his head. You thought there might have been a bit of fondness in the glancing smile he gave you and in his voice when he looked over at Steve. "But she's a decent cook, so I let it slide."
Mouth falling open in a scoff, you shoved at Bucky's shoulder with your forearm, garnering a quiet chuckle from him, before handing the iPod back to Sam as you continued the story. "Anyway, it was a dance hall, but went abandoned for a long time. A few years back this whole area went through one of those revitalization deals where people were buying up old buildings to renovate. So, someone turned it into sort of a bar and grill. But they liked some of that historical appeal, so they left part of the dance floor intact and kept the jukebox."
"Food's pretty damn good, drinks are even better," Sam added, fingers already flicking through all the songs he had while you moved back to your seat to buckle in again. "Music's not the worst either. Could use a little more MoTown, but nothing's perfect."
"Speaking of music," you ventured, raising an eyebrow at him because you both knew he was taking too damned long to pick something.
Soon the car was filled with deep bass notes and guitar rifts. Nothing less than the best from Sam Wilson's iPod. You'd heard most of them enough that eventually you and Sam started singing along in the backseat. Of course, this earned you both more than a few glances from Steve and Bucky, especially when crooning along to The Miracles or The Temptations with a little too much gusto. But it made the ride seem a lot shorter and soon the car was nearing its destination.
The place looked a little busy and you saw the barest, uneasy shift of Bucky in his seat. Steve drove down the street a bit looking for parking, but there didn't seem to be anything close by. Unbuckling again, you leaned forward, placing a soothing hand on Bucky's shoulder even as you addressed Steve with a gracious smile. "Think you could let me out here while you find a spot? Don't want to walk too far in these heels."
"Sure," Steve nodded, checking the mirrors to make sure he wasn't blocking anyone before pulling to a stop.
"I'll go with her," was Bucky's brusque announcement, and it hardly surprised you. He made eye contact with you over his shoulder, something about it telling you to stay put as he undid his seatbelt and reached for the doorhandle.
Sam raised an eyebrow at you, looking as though he was holding back from saying something smart, so you gave him a childish scrunch of your face just when Bucky was opening your door for you. Swinging your legs out, you took Bucky's offered hand to help leverage you to your feet. It took a split second to realize that it wasn't the feel of cool metal on your fingers like you were expecting, but warm skin that sent just as electric and strange a start through you. But once you were up and out of the way, he let go to close the car door behind you and gingerly slap the roof of the car. As they pulled away, you noticed that Sam had opted to stay with Steve.
The night was cool and damp, rain earlier that day having left its mark in puddles and run-off all over the place. Between two parked cars, you hopped a little stream to reach the curb, Bucky following close behind. You were almost a full block away from The Hall, a few other people just visible milling about outside the doors. Bucky had taken up the position on your right, between you and the street, but paused a moment to tug at his cuffs with slightly agitated movements, like he always seemed to do when confronted with public places, hooking his jacket over his rigid right shoulder in an effort to look casual. And, like you always did, you reached your hand out to entwine your fingers with his metal ones as you started to walk together.
"Probably gonna be loud and busy in there tonight, judging from all these cars," you commented, giving his hand an extra little squeeze though you could feel some of his tension melting with every step. "You sure you're good with this?"
"I'm in good company," he replied. The tightness of his lips loosened into a small, appreciative smile as he looked over at you.
You nodded, grinning and leaning in conspiratorially with your free hand hooking around his elbow. "Okay, but you know the drill. One word and I'll have you out of here. Even if I have to fireman carry you back to the car."
Bucky's sudden burst of laughter, an honest to goodness laughter, could've warmed you against the chilly night air alone, even only lasting a few fleeting heartbeats. He gave you a disbelieving shake of his head. "Sweetheart, there's no way you're gettin me off the ground, let alone carryin me anywhere."
"Never underestimate a woman in heels," you countered, though he might have been right. You hugged his arm close to your chest against the gust of wind that blew past and pouted up at him. "I'm a lot stronger than I look, you know."
"Lot colder than you look, too. C'mere," he clucked his tongue in a gentle admonishment, pulling you to a stop to swing his jacket out toward you. "The hell didn't you bring a coat, huh?"
"I'm fine, Bucky, really. It's only a little further. Besides," you let out a gentle breath before resting your hand on his chest near his left shoulder, where you knew skin and metal met beneath the fabric. His eyes turned questioning, looking from your face to where you touched him. "You should be wearing it. The cold bothers you."
When Bucky stilled a moment, you thought you might have upset him, bringing up what he'd told you that night after dinner with Steve, huddled together in your bed. But then he looked back up at you, shoulders relaxing, lines of his face softened, corners of his lips quirked up just a bit. "I ain't cold right now, doll. Honest. Now c'mere, let me get this on you."
"Fine," you sighed, rolling your eyes sarcastically as you worked your arm into the too-long sleeve. Still, you gave him a teasing smirk and flicked your finger against his left hand, producing a gentle ting. "But only to indulge you playing the knight in shining ARMor."
"Hoooo, kitten's got claws, huh," he chuckled, good-natured, helping you into the other sleeve. He pulled the jacket closed around you, its high collar falling across your cheekbones and its broad shoulders sagging around yours. Tipping his head back a little, he gave you an appraising look down the length of his nose and tugged at the lapels as he grinned. "There now, don't you look like all kindsa trouble?"
You were fairly certain you looked like an idiot in an oversized coat as opposed to any kind of trouble. Jutting your chin up over the collar, you ignored the stuttering in your heart at his suave little gesture, instead opting to stick your tongue out at him and hoping like hell you could blame ruddy cheeks on the night breeze. Obviously that must have been why his were a little flushed with color as he tilted his head toward your destination. Even through the thick material of his jacket, you could feel Bucky's hand hovering just above the small of your back, guiding you down the sidewalk once more. It was gentlemanly, almost comforting, reminding you of a week ago when he'd consoled you over too much scotch and too many bad memories.
The puddles that littered the dips in the sidewalk were mostly easy to avoid, step around or give a quick little hop to get over, holding his hand for balance. But there was a particularly large one a few yards from the entrance that made you stop short to study it a moment and figure out the best way to negotiate the obstacle. It was in a dip of broken pavement, the other side not looking particularly sturdy or even and just far enough away a small hop wouldn't do it. You turned toward Bucky, having decided it best to cross onto the street to get around, only to have him flash an evil smirk as he reached his hands into the jacket you wore.
"What are you- no, no, NO," you protested when his fingers gripped into your sides. But it was too late, he was already lifting you off the ground, taking a step through the puddle in his already scuffed shoes. You barely had the presence of mind to snap your mouth closed against the shriek of fear and exhilaration that bubbled up from your chest, hands gripping tightly into his arms. Bucky deposited you easily on the other side, none the worse for wear.
"Oh, you fucking asshole," you spat, any harshness nullified by the nervous laughter in your voice as you shoved at him feebly.
"What," he shrugged innocently, though you could see a silent chuckle shaking his shoulders. "Just helped you across. Didn't scare ya, did I?"
"You startled the shit outta me, that's all," you growled somewhat playful and shoved at him again. He let himself be pushed back a quarter step, lips twitching as though they were trying to hold back a bigger grin. You jabbed a finger at his chest accusingly. "But I owe you for that. Don't know when or where or how, but I fucking owe you for that, Barnes."
He only snickered low, reaching over to snake his left hand with your right, tugging you gently toward The Hall's entrance. The few people who had been standing out there were already walking inside, heavy doors letting out some of the music and ambient noise before shutting. You were prepared to wait outside, a bit thankful for Bucky and his jacket against the cold breeze, but it wasn't long before you saw Sam and Steve rounding the corner of the building towards you.
"Hey, sorry it took so long guys," Steve began as the two of them got closer. His eyes fell on you, then the jacket, obviously recognizing it, before giving a small grin as he looked to Bucky. "Ready to head in?"
With no objections being raised, you all made your way inside. Though, when Bucky went to grab the door for everyone, Sam stepped up beside you and ducked his head in close to yours, teasing. "Y'know, that jacket looks real familiar."
"Didn't you get schooled well enough in the car, Wilson," you countered, voice equally low and teasing, nudging your elbow into his ribs. He only smirked at you before pulling away to greet the hostess. You waited a second for Bucky to come in, seeing his calculating gaze scan the surroundings. No doubt mentally preparing escape routes and plans of attack should something arise. Steve had done it too, though his had been more a sweeping glance and his jaw and eyes weren't quite so tight and twitchy.
Sam was actually leading the hostess when you took Bucky's jacket off to hand back, Wilson confident and smiling and maybe a little flirty with the woman as he asked for a certain available table in the dining area set up beside the bar. You knew exactly what he was going for too, a strategic spot where one could keep their back toward a dead wall and their eyes on a majority of the area. A place that could make it easier on an anxious soldier. He'd done the same thing when going out with you and your sister. Everyone else left that particular seat open, like an impromptu little dance that had gone unspoken, but understood between you. If Bucky noticed, he said nothing and took the seat, with you moving instinctively to sit at his left, arguably the most vulnerable spot with your back to the entrance. Not that it bothered you, being surrounded by three of the best well-trained men alive meant you really didn't have to worry too much.
It was a little while before the waitress arrived, plenty of time for the four of you to peruse the menu and chat quietly. She was another very pretty young woman named Meg with a bright smile plastered on her face and her easy, cheery disposition gave the impression of a well-seasoned server. But when she rested her hand on Bucky's right shoulder with a familiar air, leaning close with a wider smile, you felt yourself bristle a little inside. Maybe it was made worse by how little Bucky seemed to mind. It was ridiculous, of course, entirely uncalled for. She was a server, making money on tips, and sweeter service meant sweeter tips. Besides, why should you care if someone were being flirtatious with Bucky? He needed to interact with the world outside your house and a cute, coquettish girl could probably make that a lot easier. You pushed it to the back of your mind as you handed your menu in, hearing Meg repeat the orders to make sure she got them right.
You were all chatting when a runner brought your orders out. Well, three of you were while Bucky just replied or commented here and there, understandably distracted. You watched him sometimes, from the corner of your eye, waiting for any indication that he might be uncomfortable and want to leave. And sure enough, you caught Sam doing that a time or two as well, though sometimes it was you he was checking on. You would give him a smile, silently reassuring him that you were just fine. There were memories sure, of your sister with a beer in her hand and a smile on her face or dancing on the floor with Sam or some other guy she'd pulled from the bar. Good memories and the company you had with you now didn't let your mind slip into bad ones.
In fact, you were there so many times with her that you'd come to know the standard music playlist by heart. Someone could choose something else from the jukebox at random, but there were always songs playing for people to enjoy. Everyone was nearing the end of their plates when you caught the song that was almost over and a grin spread across your face in anticipation. The men seemed to notice, looking over at you curiously.
"You remember what song comes next, right," you chuckled at Sam across the table.
He tilted his head as if to hear the current song better before smiling wistfully to himself and nodding. "Yeah, I remember. The Four Seasons Can't Take My Eyes Off of You."
"For old time's sake," you asked, because he knew damned good and well it was a favorite of your sister's and they'd danced to it every time it played.
Sam pushed his chair back and stood, straightening his shirt in exaggerated movements. Steve looked thoroughly confused, especially when Sam crossed behind him to stand beside your chair and offer you a hand. In a mocking prim voice, he said "It would be rude of me to refuse a lady a dance."
"Well, if a lady asks you, tell her she has to wait her turn, because I asked first," you joked, taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet. You glanced back at Bucky only to find his brow creased a little. Giving him and Steve both a gentle smile, you added "We'll be right back, gentleman."
The familiar opening horns were just starting when Sam pulled you onto the floor amidst the other couples, hooking his right arm around your back to pull you close. You rested your left hand at his shoulder as the two of you began to shuffle around a bit. Once the rhythm was quickly found, you took advantage of having him alone to chat. "How've you been holding up, Sam? Everything good with you?"
"Hey, saving the world can be stressful, but it has its perks," he shrugged, spinning you around carefully. "People are pretty grateful, get to eat free some places... if they recognize you. Get to save all the damsels in distress I can carry."
"Sam," you shot back in a warning tone. "That's not what I mean. I know you've got all that Peer Specialist training, but that doesn't make things just go away."
"You're right, you're right," he nodded. "And I appreciate you worrying about me, but I promise, I'm doing good. So are you, by the way."
You leaned back to smile at him curiously, letting him lead you through the music. "What do you mean?"
"With Barnes," he informed, a playful edge to his voice. "I see you thawing out that Winter Soldier."
"Oh god," you groaned, rolling your eyes as you laughed. But you glanced over his shoulder where you could see Bucky sitting at the table. He seemed a little agitated, talking to Steve across from him.
"I mean it," Sam countered and you were thankful he was shuffling again instead of spinning you. "Can't say we're the best of buddies, but he's been letting me talk to him when he visits Steve. I can see him making progress."
You hadn't realized you were watching Bucky the whole time Sam was talking until those gray eyes looked up to meet yours. Even from that distance, you could see some of the tension in his features subside and you offered a smile, feeling your cheeks heat up like some little kid for having been caught, before looking back at Sam. "You know he's doing all the hard work, Sam. I'm just a quiet place to stay and someone to look after him until he can move on."
"What in the hell have I told you about selling yourself so short," Sam scolded you, turning you both around as the music swelled into the first chorus. "Do you really think that's all... You know what, we'll talk about this later because he's coming this way."
"Wait, what," you blinked, confused by his sudden change of conversation. "What are you talking about?'
"Y'know, tall, dark, and metal-armed," he replied, nodding his head over your shoulder. "He's walking over here and I'm pretty sure he's going to ask to cut in."
Just the idea of it had your heart thudding wild in your chest despite yourself, but your first instinct was to snark "What, and you're gonna pass me off like a church collection plate?"
"Hey, man," he shook his head defensively, smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm not standing in the way of any man that looks at you the way he does."
Before you had a chance to respond to that bizarre statement, violins were replacing the horns in the music and Sam spun you sharply, letting go of your hand and twisting away fluidly. The move revealed Bucky approaching, just as promised, only a few steps away. Momentum from the turn combined with a gentle push at the small of your back propelled you forward to collide firmly with Bucky's chest. He caught you, arm around your waist, before you could stumble too far back, reeling you back to him as a gentle little gasp of surprise escaped your throat.
"Nice save," Sam congratulated with a wily grin. Though you leveled him with an unimpressed look when he feigned bewilderment. "What are you doing up here, though, Barnes?"
"Was gonna ask to cut in," Bucky answered, eyes barely darting to him before finding your gaze again. His tongue skimmed over his lips and something in his face seemed almost... nervous. "That is, if the lady doesn't object."
You rolled your eyes with a smile, waving Sam away if for no other reason than you were tired of the smug look he was flashing you from behind Bucky's shoulder. Offering up your hand, you recalled your last discussion of dancing and decided to tease him a bit. "So, did the steps come back to you during the week?"
"Nah," he shook his head slightly, sliding his right to the small of your back and carefully gripping your hand in his metal fingers. A gentle smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "But I figured I couldn't be any worse at it than Wilson."
Bucky was already starting to guide you along to the music as you chuckled. His movements were somewhat stiff at first, uncertain. Whether it was from lack of practice or not knowing the music, or both, you couldn't tell. But he managed well enough and you could hardly complain. A part of you was just so happy to have him out there with you, seeing him try to have fun, even giving an exasperated snort with any missteps. You could almost imagine that Sam was right. That you'd had anything to do with how well Bucky had come along. So far from those first days when he'd been more like a shadow than a man.
The music ended sooner than you cared for and more abruptly than you remembered. There was the familiar noise of someone actually picking a song, drawing your attention to the jukebox. You looked over just in time to see Sam and Steve walking away from the machine. They both sported rather self-satisfied faces that seemed to purposefully avoid the dance floor on their way back to the table. You were about to say something, but the sound of strings filled the air in a familiar melody. A thoughtful noise from Bucky had you turning back to him, realizing the two of you were still in a position for dancing, pressed close, barely a breath apart.
"I know this song," he remarked, eyes distant, concentrating a moment, before focusing on you again.
"The Way You Look Tonight," you filled in the title, though it was a version you hadn't heard in a long time. "Did you wanna take another turn?"
A boyish grin split his face even as he began to lead you again, the lyrics just starting up. "Well, I'm no Fred Astaire."
"That's alright," you laughed, shuffling with him easy. "I'm no Ginger Rogers."
This time around, Bucky seemed much more confident. The dance was fluid and graceful, like he was feeling the music instead of just listening, picking up as the song went on. It was so easy to let yourself go with him. Between the warm command of his hand splayed low on your back and the solid feel of his chest against your pounding heart and the nearly effortless way he twirled the both of you around, you were feeling a little dizzy and breathless in the best of ways. A quick glance told you maybe he was enjoying himself too. You could almost see that young Army sergeant from his tattered photo in the light of his eyes and the curve of his lips.
"You do look beautiful tonight, all dolled up like this," Bucky commented near your cheek in that matter-of-fact tone of his, somewhat subdued by his lowered voice, by gentleness, when the instrumental part took over the song. He leaned back to look at your face, offering a smile.
"You don't clean up so bad yourself, hot stuff," you teased back, trying to suppress the shiver in your spine from his breath on your skin and the sound of his voice.
Reaching up, you tucked an ever-errant lock back into place. You left your hand rested at his neck, fingertips wrapped in the ends of his hair, when he tugged you in impossibly closer for another few spins as the music swelled. And you hoped he couldn't feel the blooming heat in your face when his cheek came back so close to yours. But you didn't have to worry about it much longer. The song ended too soon after that, much too soon, Bucky slowing your movements down with the tempo until the two of you glided to a halt. Yet, you didn't pull away immediately, something inside you wanting to just keep dancing the night away. Surely, only politeness could explain why Bucky made no move to separate himself from you either.
"You see," you finally spoke, voice croaky in your dry, winded throat. You forced yourself to look him in the eye as you smiled. "Not quite as bad as you expected, huh?"
"S'pose not," he shook his head with a smirk. His gaze scoured the features of your face a moment before he added. "Didn't step on your toes, did I?"
"Not enough to break any," you shrugged playfully. He gave a little chuckle even as you managed a partial step back, hand sliding down from his shoulder a bit reluctantly. "C'mon, I could use something to wet my whistle after all that exercise."
He nodded with a gentle snort, lacing his fingers with yours, metal sections warmed from your skin, as you both headed back for the table. Sam and Steve were there, seemingly engrossed in conversation, but you had the distinct impression they had been watching the dance floor while the two of you were out there. Your suspicion was validated when Steve fixed a raised eyebrow at his old friend over the beer bottle he had to his lips.
"Mighty fancy footwork there, Buck," he snickered once he'd set the bottle down.
"You had a lotta practice in the last 75 years, Stevie," Bucky shot back smoothly, grinning, as he took a seat. "Or 95 for that matter?"
Sam's eyes widened, looking like he was trying to hold back laughter until he saw Steve's reaction, but he let loose with it when Rogers gave a thoroughly amused tilt of his head, hands up in surrender. "You got me."
"The server been around recently," you asked once the laughter died down. There hadn't been much of your drink left when you went to dance and it was quickly gone when you returned.
"Not in a while," Sam shook his head, taking a swig of his own drink. Judging by the disappointing look he gave his bottle, he was almost empty as well. "But it's pretty busy."
"Well, gentleman," you sighed as you stood, finally feeling the ache in your feet from dancing in heels. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to go freshen up. I'll see if I can't find her on the way back."
No objections offered, you picked your way between the groups of people, seated and standing, making your way to the restrooms. There was surprisingly little wait for a stall, and once finished you took a moment to check yourself in the mirror as you washed your hands. Some of your lip color was worn off from eating and drinking, but otherwise is looked alright. After a quick dry, you resecured your hair before putting your water-chilled hands on the back of your neck to help cool your skin, still warm from the exertion of dancing. Dress smoothed down and lips carefully rubbed together to redistribute the color, you were good to go. Though, you did silently wish you'd worn different shoes as you made your way out of the restroom.
Once back out, you looked over at your table and could see your drink had not been refilled. Bucky's eyes turned up to you from across the room, making you smile before you turned to try finding your server. It was no lie that the place was pretty busy. Not necessarily packed, but there was plenty going on and plenty of people to wait on. You were nearly at the bar when you saw Meg the server come through the double doors leading to the kitchen with what looked like to-go boxes in hand. The two of you made eye contact and she started to plaster that service-industry smile back on her face when a guy sitting on a stool at the end of the bar swung out and hooked an arm around her midsection, dragging her back toward the bar with him.
"Okay, real funny, pal," you heard her say with a strained voice, obviously none too amused as she fought against his grasp to right herself as you drew closer. It never even occurred to you to stop. "Now let me go. I've got work to do."
"I got somethin you can work on," the guy slurred out, drunk and sickening as he pawed at her harsher. She dropped the boxes in her hand and put more effort into getting away, pushing and slapping at his chest.
"Hey," you snapped hotly when you were right on the two of them. Why no one else had noticed or said anything, you weren't sure, but you certainly weren't going to ignore it. "She said let her go."
"Mind your own business, bitch," the guy threw laughingly over his shoulder at you, his hands moving to grip roughly for her ass to pull her into his lap.
Running on instinct, you gripped both hands at that same shoulder and pulled him around toward you on the swiveled stool seat. "Let. Her. Go!"
The unexpected turn loosened his grip on her and you moved to put yourself between them, shoving her out of harm's way as her eyes went round. The guy went to grab for your waist this time, babbling something about you getting in his way, and you spun around sharply, elbow up and cracking him hard across the face. With an angry growl, one hand flying to his face, he shoved at you with the other, sending you stumbling backwards to hit the ground hard. Not half a second later, you were scrabbling to your feet, ready to come up swinging if you had to, but noises from behind you had you pausing to look back.
In the midst of your minor scuffle, you hadn't registered the sound of chairs being overturned. Or the startled shouts of concern from the crowd as people were being unceremoniously forced aside with brute strength to create a path. You hadn't heard much of anything outside the rush of blood in your ears until Steve's distressed cry of "Bucky!"
Your blood ran cold when the crowd parted, because the man who emerged wasn't Bucky. At least, not entirely Bucky. He was more like the weapon you'd heard about, the one Sam and Natasha and Steve and even Bucky himself were terrified of. Dark, cold anger etched his face, mouth screwed down in a deep grimace, such a stark contrast from 10 minutes before it made your chest ache. He wasn't running, but his determined stride ate up the distance just the same as he beelined past you to the drunk still holding his nose in pain, Steve still a few yards behind.
"Hey, man," the guy slurred angrily. "Y'need to keep a leash on your bit-"
A violent, mechanical whirring silenced the man a split second before a metal hand was around his throat. Without missing a beat in his step, Bucky pulled the man along with him, toes barely dragging the ground, to slam him back against the wall beside the kitchen doors. The strangled noises were nearly cut off by Bucky's constricting fingers. You were a step behind him as he raised his right fist, snarling something in another language. Russian maybe, but you couldn't be sure. All you knew for certain was that the other two had failed to overtake him yet and that Bucky had murder in his eyes.
"Bucky," you said, desperate to keep your voice even. You hooked a hand in his right elbow and felt his whole body flinch to stillness at the touch. "Bucky, hey. It's me. Can you hear me? Look at me, Bucky."
Steve had reached you by then, worried and disheveled, Sam on his heels, but both hung back as you rounded in front of Bucky, putting your hand on his chest as he finally tore his attention from the man in his grasp to look at you. "Bucky, let him go. It'll be alright. We'll take care of him. Just put him down."
Something changed in his eyes then, recognition, realization. His fist dropped slowly and you could hear the mechanical noise in his arm as his grip loosened enough for the man behind you to crumple to the ground in a sputtering cough. In your peripheral, you caught Sam rushing past you to check on the guy, but you didn't look away from Bucky's face. He whispered your name followed by more Russian, voice pained as his eyes turned frantic, wild. His chest began to heave beneath your touch and you raised your other hand to his cheek in an effort to calm him.
"Shhh, shhhhh. Bucky, breathe. C'mon, breathe," you urged, even as you heard Sam from behind you say "Guy's alive. Conscious, but pretty banged up. Broken nose, bruising at his neck, but he seems to be breathing okay right now."
Bucky broke away from you then with a somewhat frenzied shake of his head as he turned nearly headlong into Steve. Rogers must have seen the distress in his face, because he gripped Bucky's shoulders with a concerned look. "Buck? You alright? Let's get you outside, get ya some air."
You went to follow the two of them through the crowd of dazed onlookers, so worried about Bucky, but Sam grabbed your arm gently to stop you. When you looked up at him concerned, he said "Just give them a few minutes. Let him cool down. Steve's got this."
"Okay," you nodded with a little sob, suddenly feeling everything that happened hit you all at once now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Your head and feet and elbow started to throb, hollow ache in your chest as your heartbeat returned to normal. Bucky had looked happy before, so happy, but now… "Shit Sam, I fucked up. All this is my fault. God, I fuck everything up."
"We'll talk about how much this is not your fault later, okay," Sam soothed with a shake of his head. "Right now, let's get the situation with this guy squared away."
You nodded again, taking one last look at Steve and Bucky disappearing toward the back door, before you wiped at the tears forming in your eyes and turned to survey the damage for yourself.
