Bucky adjusted his shirt for what felt like the fiftieth time. It didn't feel right on his skin. It was almost too tight across his shoulders. And it had not been the ideal decision for a motorcycle ride. Or maybe it was the unease that settled over him as he stood in front of the small two bedroom home amongst the perfectly cut lawn and the tidy landscaping. He felt out of place in the world that Steve had built for himself. Bucky was like a thumb print in the corner of a painted masterpiece.
Laughter rose from the other side of the door. Taking in a breath, Bucky raised his hand and knocked. The voices hushed and he heard the beat of familiar footsteps. The knob turned and the door swung open. It still caught him off guard. The silver hair. The deeper timbre of his voice. The stiffness only age can weigh on the body of a super soldier.
"Good to see ya, Buck."
Bucky smiled, reaching his hand out to clasp his friend's. "Always."
"I thought you were bringing the new girl?" Called a voice from beyond the doorway.
Around the dining room table sat Clint Barton, smirking like a mad man, Bruce Banner, James Rhodes and Scott Lang. Several open beers stood sentinel on the table in front of them.
"Man. Good to see you too, guys." Bucky chuckled, unzipping his jacket.
"We see you every week. You are no longer exciting," Bruce shrugged, smiling widely.
"Ouch," Steve said, popping the top of a bottle and handing it to him.
"I came on the bike." Bucky said, shaking his head. "They should be right behind me."
"How do you like her?" Rhodey asked.
Buck shrugged, taking a drink of his beer. He made a face. "God. Lite beer. Who brought this?"
"Look. Okay." Scott threw his hands up. "They keep changing the logo. I can't tell what's what anymore!"
"Excuses" Clint chided.
"She's alright. A little full of herself for my taste."
"So she's got some spunk. Can't complain about that." Steve said, bringing his glass of water to his lips. "I always liked a girl with a back bone."
The front door swung open, the entrant never so much as knocking.
"Alright! The party has officially arrived and he brought the good stuff!" Sam gripped a bottle of whiskey by its neck and held it up over his head in triumph.
Everybody in the room seemed to shift forward in an attempt to subtlety get a better view of the front door. Bucky was the only one standing in clear sight of the doorway, and when he heard heels on the concrete steps he glanced up.
Her eyes were still down cast on the steps, watching where each heel landed. The shirt she wore resembled little more than a silk slip, in his opinion. The delicate straps almost seeming out of place over the harsh black lines of her tattoo and the defined musculature of her shoulders. The only bit of decency he felt the outfit maintained was the fact that despite how her skirt clung to her like a second skin, it did at least reach her knees.
Steve, ever the gentleman, moved forward. "It's great to finally meet you..."
"Miranda Eavers," she supplied, grasping his hand and giving it a hearty shake.
She squared her shoulders and straightened her spine, like a warrior preparing for battle, and looked at the men around the table. She smoothed a hand over the silken material of her shirt. "Well. I was told we dress nice for dinner with Steve. I feel I've over dressed."
"You look fine," Steve said, offering her a chair.
She moved to take it, then paused. "Is something burning?"
"Oh shit!"
All seven inhabitants of the dining room watched as their oldest companion dashed from the room. Miranda pointed after him. "Ya know, he's pretty spry for an old guy."
Further cursing came to them from down the hall. The men exchanged glances.
"Are none of you going to…" She asked slowly. No one made any attempt to move. "Okay."
Her heels clicked on the hardwood floors as she stepped into the doorway through which Steve had disappeared.
"What's wrong?" Bucky heard her ask as he followed a few seconds later.
Steve sighed. "Well. You are supposed to broil it to melt and toast the cheese. I apparently had it too close to the broiler."
Bucky couldn't stop the bark of laughter as Steve dropped the casserole dish onto the grates of the stovetop burners. It was thoroughly charred, a thin trail of smoke rising from its center.
Miranda leaned in close, inspecting it. "How domestic of you."
Steve sighed again, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. "This was one of Peggy's favorite dishes. She usually made it."
Miranda straightened, and Bucky prepared himself for her insensitive comment, to cut it off before it had even started, but instead she reached for the serving spoon on the counter. "Maybe not all of it is ruined?"
She scooped out a heaping helping of charred pasta. The face she made did not instill confidence. Deflating, Steve threw the dish towel onto the counter.
Bucky leaned in, "Nope. That looks pretty much trashed."
"Helpful." Steve rubbed his forehead. Exasperated. "Pizza it is then, I guess."
"Steve hates pizza," Bucky supplied, taking a drink of his beer.
"Who hates pizza?" Miranda exclaimed.
"I don't hate pizza. I just, it doesn't feel like it's a proper meal for such a gathering."
"Well," Miranda settled her hands on her hips. "Let's not get dire then shall we? What else do you have in this joint?"
Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance. "You are welcome to whatever if you think you can salvage this."
Miranda opened the fridge. "Well. You have chicken. You can fix anything with chicken."
"Is there anything…" Steve began to ask but she cut him off.
"All I need from you is something I can use as an apron. You go enjoy your guests."
"You are one of my guests. I should cook. You just instruct."
"No." She insisted. "I've got this."
Bucky allowed himself to be ushered from the room, taking a seat beside Steve and accepting the offering of a second beer. The conversation in the room did not skip a beat at their appearance. Steve was clearly unhappy with the arrangement and kept stealing glances towards the kitchen.
"Ya know," Rhodey's voice quieted and he flicked a beer cap at Bucky. "You guys left out the part where she's smoking hot."
"You think so?" Bucky asked absently, a metal finger tapping down on the cap, stopping it in its place.
"Oh yes," Clint interjected. When all eyes shifted to him, he laughed. "Come on. I'm married. Not blind."
"Unfortunately, it does not pay to mix business with pleasure," Sam smirked, pouring another finger of whiskey into his glass.
A chorus of laughs filled the room.
Again Steve glanced toward the kitchen, and this time Bucky let his gaze follow. He could hear the quiet sounds of movement in the kitchen.
Bucky set his hand on his friend's knee. "I will go check on her and see how it's going."
Before Steve could respond, Bucky stood up and moved quietly down the hall. She had her back to him, and he took great care to go unnoticed as he leaned against the threshold of the entrance into the kitchen. She was crouched down in front of the oven, inspecting the dish inside. She looked strangely content. More so than he had seen her so far.
"Yes Bucky?"
He blinked. She had an uncanny ability of knowing when he was there. Even when he took great pains to be silent. "Do, uh, you need any help?"
The expression of quiet contentment still softened her features as she looked up at him. Then she stood, wiped her hands on her apron, and looked around the small kitchen.
"Um, I do need to start the rice. You could do that?"
"Trusting me with the big stuff, I see."
She laughed, and it was as if the sound surprised even her. He felt a strange flutter in his chest at the sight of her smile. A true smile. "You are funny, Barnes."
Smiling back, he pushed off the threshold and moved across the room to the stove. "So what do I do here?" He asked, setting down his beer.
"Well. Start by reading the directions."
He made a face at her.
"Hey. You are too old for me to hold your hand." She punched him lightly in the arm. His metal arm. "You got this."
He laughed, shaking his head. He liked this version of her. One that he could tolerate. One that didn't have her barbs laid out like land mines. Leave it to Steve. Always brings out the best in everyone.
"If I screw this up, it's on you, Eavers."
"Shit, Eavers. You make a mean piece of chicken," Sam said, leaning back in his chair. "It's been an hour and I'm still thinking about going back for that last piece."
She smiled down at the bottle in her hand, shrugging a shoulder from where she sat on the sideboard against the wall beside the table. She had been quiet tonight. So far.
"That's what I need," Sam continued. "A woman who can cook me a good meal at the end of the day."
"How very 1930s of you, Sam," Miranda downed the last of her bottle. "Do you and Bucky sit about discussing the perfectly suppressed woman."
Bucky narrowed his eyes at her. He had thought maybe, just maybe, they would be able to get along tonight.
"Hey!" Steve interjected. "Bucky and I grew up in the same decade, you know."
"Yes. But unlike him, you are a gentleman."
The men in the room howled in response to her comment and her eyes shifted to Bucky's, smirking. She was gunning for a rise out of him. Two could play that game.
"I don't think it's a sin that I feel a woman should act like a lady," Bucky said absently, before his blue gaze flicked to her. "No need to be so bitter, Eavers. I know that disappoints you."
She laughed a wicked laugh.
"And I have been told on multiple occasions that there are times women do not want you to be a gentleman," Sam interjected. "If you know what I mean."
The men whooped with laugher and Miranda made a gagging sound. "God, does stuff like that work on women these days?"
"I've had plenty a sleepless night, thank you." Sam winked at her over his glass.
"And I'm sure those women are real jems," Miranda's smile was sickly sweet as she raised her empty bottle to him.
"What about you, Miranda? You gettin' any side action?" Scott asked.
Miranda rolled her eyes. "What I do in my personal life is none of your business, Lang."
"Oh come on. A girl who looks like you has gotta have men lined up out the door," Rhodey commented.
She shook her head, then looked directly at Bucky. "A lady does not kiss and tell."
"So there is someone?" Bucky had not realized he was going to ask the question until the words were out of his mouth.
Miranda shrugged a shoulder. "Nah. I'm more a one and done kind of girl".
"Now are we talking 'one night stand' or 'one true love' here?" Clint set an elbow on the table, leaning in. "We need specifics here."
What Bucky had come to recognize as Miranda's trademark smirk settled over her features. She leaned back against the wall behind her, crossing her arms. "I think I'll leave you to ponder that one, Barton."