Okay, I'm reeling from this discovery. I don't know if any of you have seen this, but Sebastian Stan is auctioning off a zoom date to raise money for Claire's Place Foundation for cystic fibrosis research. I watched Claire Wineland's YouTube videos as research for this series. Steve literally mentions her in chapter 18 of After Gravesen (not by name, but I remember at least one or two of you caught the reference). And now there's a real-life connection between her and Bucky Barnes...my mind is blown to smithereens.
Chapter 18: Bucky's Birthday
Friday night, Bucky's actual birthday, the soccer team took him and Steve out for dinner and drinks. Bucky might've been used to it by now, but Steve still got overwhelmed by the sheer amount of energy that exuded from the team when they were all together. There was a lot of jeering and back-slapping. It was actually kind of refreshing. Steve's own coworkers were naturally more somber and serious, though that probably had something to do with their chosen line of work. He'd gone out exactly once for an evening with the rest of the pediatric unit; nurses, social workers, and the like, and they'd spent the entire time trying to come up with a topic of conversation other than work.
The soccer team, on the other hand, had no shortage of conversation topics. Steve enjoyed just listening as they debated whether cereal with milk should be classified as a cold soup, weighed the merits of different types of artificial ankle, and told stories about their pets. Bucky seemed particularly interested in hearing about Jack's cat, who'd apparently developed a habit of getting herself stuck under the sofa.
"I swear, she has no long-term memory. Every day she sees the sofa and does not think about the six other times she's gotten stuck."
"Poor Matilda," Bucky said. "Have you tried blocking the spot where she climbs in?"
"That's the thing. She's smart enough to move anything I put there to try and keep her out, but not smart enough to extricate herself once she's in."
"I think it's time to get a new couch," Dino stated.
"No way. That's a nice couch!"
"Then it's time to get a new cat," Josiah said. The entire table erupted into laughter. Things only got more entertaining as the boys' intoxication levels climbed up. Steve stuck to water, since he knew he'd be driving Bucky home, but he definitely didn't need to be drunk to enjoy himself tonight.
"Steve, you should give him the present," Josiah urged once the reveling reached a plateau. Steve handed over the bright blue package.
Bucky unwrapped the gift and held it up. Josiah reached over and held it up by the other side so he could see the design on the front. Steve watched his reaction closely, biting back premature laughter. His eyes widened and his face broke into one of those patented Bucky Barnes smiles, the kind that always made Steve's heart race. "First of all, I'm definitely a ten," he proclaimed.
"Nuh-uh," Walker countered.
"Shut up. You're a four at best!"
"Hey! Olivia disagrees."
"John, she's not with you for you looks," Lemar said earnestly.
He slammed a hand on the table so hard their drinks rattled. "This is bullying!"
"Come on Bucky, let's see the shirt," Hector and Jerome called.
"You guys didn't help pick it out?"
"No. It was all Steve."
Bucky fixed his eyes on Steve. "You did this?"
"They didn't have any that said eleven out of ten."
Bucky honest-to-God blushed. "Who did the sleeve?"
"That was me," Josiah said. "Steve asked me to."
"This honestly might be better than the "It cost an arm and a leg" one."
"Show us!" Jacques demanded.
Bucky and Josiah turned the shirt around to show the rest of the team. It read, "Looks: 9/10, Personality: 8/10, Arms: 1/2." Steve came across it while trying to find one that said "Armed and Dangerous" but decided this was even better.
"Steve, your sense of amputee humor is on point," Bucky said.
"Thank you. Living with you, it was only a matter of time before I learned."
Josiah put a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "You've taught him well."
They didn't get home until around one in the morning. Luckily, Steve thought to do his evening monitoring before they left. "I'm not waking up early to work out after that," Bucky told him.
"That's okay. We can both take the day off."
"Sounds good."
~0~
On Saturday, Steve got Bucky all to himself. Waking up next to him instead of an empty bed, as he'd done for the past two weeks, filled him with unimaginable joy. Steve didn't ever want to get up, but he knew Bucky would sleep in and he wanted to have breakfast ready for him when he awoke. The luxury of sleeping in didn't exist for him; he had to wake up in time to take his meds on schedule, and once he was up he never was able to fall back asleep. He quietly slipped out of bed, got dressed, checked his BP, temperature, weight, and lung function, and headed into the kitchen to get started.
Thursday after work, he'd gone shopping to get everything he needed for today. Two weeks away from him only made him more excited to celebrate Bucky's birthday. Over a month ago, he'd asked if Bucky wanted a get-together like they had for Steve's, but he said no, requesting a day for the just the two of them. It had actually taken quite a bit of convincing by his teammates just to get him to go out last night.
Steve opened the blinds and started throwing together waffle mix. By the time Bucky shuffled into the kitchen, still in pajama pants and a shirt he stole from Steve—easily identifiable because of its intact left sleeve—he'd already cooked three of them, the first of which he ate on the spot because he was hungry.
"Why'd you steal my shirt?" Steve asked.
Bucky shrugged, and Steve swore he saw him wince with the motion, but his expression returned to blank almost immediately. "All mine were dirty."
"All of them?"
"Yep."
"Did you do any laundry while you were at Josiah's?"
Bucky sat down at the kitchen table. "Nope."
"Of course," Steve sighed. Bucky reverted to full college boy mode when he spent too much time with Josiah. "I'll throw a load in later this morning."
"Absolutely not. They're probably covered in germs. I'm washing them twice."
"If you insist. In that case, will you do that now while I finish with these waffles?"
"Sure."
Steve mixed chocolate chips into the last of the mix, estimating it would probably make four or five more. While the next waffle of the batch cooked, Steve dug out toppings from the fridge. He chopped up strawberries and set whipped cream, butter, chocolate syrup, and maple syrup on the kitchen table. Bucky dragged a sack of clothes down to the basement and came back up a few minutes later, immediately dashing to the bathroom to wash his hand for a full minute and a half. When he returned to the kitchen, his eyes lit up at the sight of the spread on the table.
"Dessert waffles? Is it my birthday?"
"Yeah, it is. Did you forget?"
"No, I was making a joke."
"Sit down and eat. This last one is almost done."
Bucky didn't waste any time digging in. By the time Steve pulled the last waffle out of the iron and sat down, he'd already scarfed down one. Steve patiently waited his turn for the syrup as Bucky took his time pouring little drops into each square of the waffle one by one.
"Are you finished?" Steve asked.
"Don't rush me."
"It's all going to the same place."
"I don't make fun of your waffle habits, do I?"
"I don't have waffle habits worthy of ridicule."
"Yes you do. I just don't call you out on it."
"What's wrong with the way I eat waffles?"
"You butter them. Butter is for toast and biscuits."
"That's ridiculous. Toast and biscuits are just waffle-adjacent. All are suitable for butter."
Bucky pointed a fork at him. "Lies."
"Listen, when your body can't digest fat properly." He rattled his bottle of enzymes for emphasis. "You put butter on fucking everything."
"Touché."
"So what do you want to do today? I had some ideas, but it's your day so I wanted to ask you first."
"Honestly? I really want to take a long walk together. Maybe go to that park, watch all the playground drama unfold from a safe distance."
"That sounds amazing." About half a mile from their house was a good-sized park with an impressive playground at its epicenter. On Mondays and Wednesdays, their morning run took them right through it. Oftentimes there were dog walkers around, but they were easy to avoid and Steve wasn't as sensitive as he used to be back before anti-rejection meds suppressed his immune system.
He shooed Bucky out of the kitchen so he could wash all the dishes himself. "It's your birthday breakfast, I'm not going to make you clean up." Bucky got dressed, and actually found a shirt of his that was clean: the new one he'd gotten last night. Steve cleaned off the waffle iron and tossed the rest of the dirtied plates and utensils in the dishwasher. They put on light jackets, walked out the front door, and headed for the park.
"Hi Mr. Hodge!" Bucky waved to their neighbor two doors down, outside working on his front landscaping.
"Hello Bucky, Steve," he called back. Steve waved politely before grabbing Bucky's hand. They walked about half a block in silence, entwined hands swinging between them.
"So, you've been twenty-three for about half a day now. How's it feel?" Steve asked.
"An awful lot like twenty-two."
Steve laughed dryly. "That's usually the case. Now there's no more milestones. Driving at sixteen, voting at eighteen, drinking at twenty-one. After that it's just a long, monotonous march until social security at sixty-whatever."
"That's pretty bleak. I don't consider myself on a long, monotonous march. They don't call it the Roaring Twenties for nothing."
He glanced over at Bucky to gauge his expression, searching for any indication of sarcasm. There was none. "Bucky, do you really think the Roaring Twenties applies to a person's age?"
"It doesn't?"
"It's the nineteen twenties. A period of economic and technological prosperity in the wake of World War I."
"Okay, Mr. I-actually-paid-attention-in-history-class."
"I did pay attention in history class."
"Well, for most of high school, I had to ration my attention span because of chemobrain, and I didn't spend much of it on history."
Steve squeezed his hand. "Good thing you have me, then."
Bucky squeezed back. "You bet."
They arrived at the park and chose an empty bench with a good view of the playground. It was warm for an early March morning, and the playground bustled with activity, children of all ages running, climbing, and jumping while their parents and stroller-bound siblings sat in the shade around the periphery. In the open fields to their right, a person played fetch with a boisterous black-and-white dog. Bucky dropped his head onto Steve's shoulder and let out a contented sigh.
Steve noticed it within minutes. They'd sat in this park before, and it was inevitable that kids would stare at them, at Bucky. He didn't really mind that, knowing they were just curious. But today, one of the moms was staring. Most people at least tried to be subtle, but she didn't even adjust her gaze when a kid yelled, "Mom!" It must not have been her kid.
"That lady's staring at us," he muttered to Bucky.
"Yeah, whatever."
"It doesn't bother you?"
"I'm used to it. She's either staring because I'm visibly disabled or because we're two dudes chilling on a park bench pressed together thigh to shoulder because we are gay."
"I thought you were bi."
"I was trying to match the vine."
"I know."
"Steve, I can feel the rage bubbling up in your chest. Just let the woman be. Hell, maybe she's single and she's jealous of both of us, wishing we were straight and single so she'd have a chance."
Steve chuckled. "Maybe. I have an idea, though."
"What's that?"
"What if we stare back?" So far, he'd been ignoring her, letting his gaze flit around the playground and pretending he didn't notice.
"She won't last three seconds."
"Okay, ready? One, two, three." On three, they both looked up and locked eyes with the woman. She averted her gaze immediately. They kept staring. It took about a minute for her to realize they were still looking at her. She stood up and moved to another bench. Steve and Bucky burst out laughing.
"It's not easy to be eyeballed when you're not used to it," Bucky said.
"I'll say."
"That's what I'm going to do every time from now on."
"How often does it happen?" Steve asked genuinely.
"Only when I'm in a public place that's not frequented by the same small group of people all the time. Like here, or the grocery store."
"Makes sense."
"This one time, the person behind me in line at checkout said, 'Let me help you with that,' and literally cut in front of me to put my bags in the cart for me. I was like, 'I know you're trying to be nice, but how rude!'"
"That's ridiculous. They didn't even ask first?"
"Nope. Just assumed I'd appreciate the help."
"I'm so sorry."
Bucky shrugged. "There are worse things to deal with."
Steve caught sight of an altercation occurring on the monkey bars. "Like asshole teenagers," he grumbled.
Bucky picked his head up and looked around. "What?"
"Those guys took over the bars," Steve explained. He gestured to the monkey bars, which a bunch of high school boys had climbed atop of, effectively blocking them from use. A line of little kids had already formed, and the girl at the front was asking them politely to get down and give someone else a turn. Steve looked to the masses of parents around the playground, but none of them seemed at all bothered by what was happening. The boy atop the bars told the girl to go play somewhere else.
He rose, but Bucky grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him back down. "Steve, for the love of God, do not go picking a fight with a teenager. It's beneath you."
"I'm not gonna pick a fight."
"Yes you are. That's what you do."
"Well what are we supposed to do?"
"Nothing. Nobody's getting hurt. It's not a big deal."
"To those kids it is."
"Everything's a big deal to kids. They throw tantrums when they don't get the color sticker they want."
"This feels like a bigger deal than that."
"Fine, you really want to try and fix this? Let's walk over together and assess the situation."
"Okay."
They marched over to the monkey bars, where now three kids were arguing with the older boys to get off the bars. "Excuse me," Bucky said calmly. "Mind explaining what's going on here?"
"They won't share," the little girl accused. She had blond hair and eyes almost the exact same shade of blue as Steve's.
The boys atop the bars all rolled their eyes and grumbled something about "bratty kids."
"Listen guys," Steve began. "I know you're really proud of yourselves for being able to climb up there all by yourself, but these other kids would like a turn and I think you can find a more appropriate spot to set up shop."
Okay, maybe his choice of language had been a little harsh. But they probably deserved it.
"What are you, the playground cops?" He looked right at Bucky. "I didn't know they hired cripples."
Steve fumed and took a step forward to rip this kid's head off, but Bucky thrust his arm out to block him from advancing. "Look guys, we don't want any trouble."
"This one looks like he does," another jeered, pointing to Steve. He tried to school his expression into a less wrathful one.
"You can call me all the names you want; that doesn't change the fact that you're the ones hanging out on a children's playground on a Saturday morning. I may only have one arm, but I have more dignity than this."
Well and truly called out, the boys hopped down and scuttled away. Steve still managed to hear one of them remark, "He's a mean cripple," and strongly resisted the urge to chase them down and beat him to a pulp. The little girl and some of the other kids thanked them and reformed the line for the monkey bars, now moving smoothly. Bucky guided Steve back to their bench.
"How are you always so fucking calm?" Steve asked.
"I just choose whose opinions I value and whose I don't give a shit about. Those boys fall firmly into the 'I don't give a shit' category."
"As they should. I've just never been very good at letting things roll off my back."
"I know, Steve. I know. Believe me, I've seen it firsthand. But I'd rather be called cripple than Mama Smurf."
"Not gonna lie, I don't hate Wheezy Smurf."
"You don't?"
"It's kinda cute. Like Sneezy the dwarf from Snow White."
"You're right; it is kinda cute." Bucky bopped him on the nose. "Like you."
"Oh shut up. You're the one who just told a bunch of high schoolers they have no dignity."
"You find that cute?"
"Not cute, exactly. I think hot might be a more apt description."
Bucky scooted a tad closer and nudged Steve's hip with his own.
"We're in public," Steve warned him. "There's children here."
"Relax, I'm not gonna do anything. Not until we get home, at least."
"Is that what you want for your birthday?"
"I thought my present was the shirt."
"You can have a second one, if you want." Steve hip-nudged him back.
"In that case, I want a Ferrari."
"Ah…no. But if you want to go fast, we can take the motorcycle out."
"Deal."
