I absolutely can't drop the idea of a friendship between these blossoming.

also, drunk steve reappears, because it's too fun to not include.

enjoy.

Bucky watches Natasha as she indulges Steve with her attention to whatever story he's trying to tell. Emphasis on the trying his mind supplies as he sees his childhood friend lose his train of thought part way through the story. Again. Who would've thought the great Captain America was a lightweight? he muses with a shake of his head. He sees Nat flick her gaze over to meet his own for a second. They share knowing smiles before she rolls her eyes and looks back over to Steve, who hadn't noticed her break in attention. That she's put up with Steve's drunken story for as long as she has is a testament to her patience and their deep friendship. He'd given up trying to follow the story five minutes ago, electing to enjoy the last bit of his drink instead. He'd known Steve and Nat were close friends, having seen for himself the tight bond between them in Wakanda before the battle. And then after the second battle against Thanos, Steve had broken down trying to tell him how she'd sacrificed herself. If it hadn't already been clear, that moment sealed how much the redhead meant to him. But seeing them together now after years apart was like seeing old friends back together, chatting as though no time had passed at all.

Bucky finishes off his beer and then slides it to the middle of the table, joining the impressive number of bottles and glasses they three of them had amassed. The collection is a testament to how long they'd been at the pub, how much they'd all been enjoying the evening, and how much Steve enjoyed his newfound ability to get buzzed nowadays. But as much as he'd probably enjoy watching Natasha continue to put up with Steve's drunken, nonsensical stories, he knows they should all be heading home.

"We should probably get you home, Steve," Bucky says, interrupting his wandering story much to the visible relief of Natasha.

Predictably, Steve frowns deeply at the idea. "But I'm not finished with my story."

Bucky chuckles. "She's not goin' anywhere. You can tell her next time, punk."

"But I'm havin' fun! We're havin' fun! Right, Nat?" he slurs as he turns clumsily to face Natasha again.

She chuckles and reaches a hand across the table to squeeze Steve's arm fondly. "Yeah, but you know what they say...all good things must come to an end." Steve's frown deepens and Natasha slides her gaze over to meet Bucky's without moving her head, her smile widening as she rolls her eyes again. "Don't worry, Steve. We can do this again."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she confirms, giving Steve's arm a reassuring squeeze. "Right, James?"

"Right," he says quickly, eager to get the process of getting Steve home started. If it took half as long as the last time, it wasn't gonna be a quick trip.

"You promise?"

Natasha rolls her eyes again at Steve's childish response. "It is a very good thing you couldn't get drunk while we were alive." Steve opens his mouth to protest, but Natasha cuts him off. "Yes, Steve. I promise."

"Well, okay then," he agrees, pushing off the table abruptly to get up. Bucky and Natasha both watch as he makes his way slowly over to the door and begins to put on his coat rather clumsily.

Bucky looks back at Nat and catches her gaze again. "You want us to walk you home?"

Her eyes are dancing with amusement at his offer as she responds. "I think you're gonna have your hands full enough with wrangling Steve."

He grins sheepishly because she's right. Not to mention that they're in some sort of heaven so it's not like she's gonna get mugged, and even if she did it's not like she'd need any help since she's the Black Widow. Why did I even offer? he wonders before conceding the point with a tilt of his head, "You're probably right about that."

Her lips twist into a smirk. "No, I'm definitely right," she corrects.

He flashes a crooked smile. "Be that as it may, I thought I'd offer all the same."

"Ah, so chivalry's not dead after all," she quips as she gets up and leans forward to peck his cheek with a kiss. "Thank you, James."

"O' course," he answers, hesitating for a second as he weighs whether to ask the question that he'd been considering for a good portion of the night since it popped into his head.

She tilts her head, having easily spotted his delay. "Something on your mind?"

May as well go for it... "Your offer to cook with me still good?"

"If you want it to be," she answers with a grin and something in her tone that he can't quite place.

He remembers her words from a few weeks before at their impromptu dinner, 'Oh, you're much more fun to play with than Steve' and realizes that she's definitely enjoying trying to make him uncomfortable.

"I do," he answers, deliberately dismissing her flirty banter. I don't blush as easily as Steve, Romanoff, he thinks to himself. "I sort of agreed to have my parents over for dinner next week."

She shakes her head in amusement. "James Barnes hosting a dinner party. Who would've thought?"

"Not my ma, that's for sure," he supplies with a laugh. "She was as surprised as I was that I offered, I think."

She echoes his laughter with her own. "So, you need to cook something and assure them you don't live off takeout?"

"Seems pointless given that food can just appear here...but yeah, somethin' like that."

"Well, I think we can manage that."

"Yeah?"

"Go ahead and take the esteemed Captain home before he becomes a part of the floor," she instructs with a slight nod toward the door. His gaze follows hers to find Steve leaning heavily against the door frame, deep in conversation with someone, though judging by their expression he doubts his friend is making much sense. "Call me tomorrow. We'll set up a time."

"Thank you," he says. "Really. I owe you big time."

"I'm adding it to the tab," she dismisses with a wave.

He stops and turns around with a frown. "Tab?"

"Well, you did shoot me. Twice," she explains, holding up two fingers to emphasize her point. Her expression stays serious for just a moment before a grin spreads. She's clearly still enjoying teasing him.

Two can play at that game. "As I recall you did some damage of your own driving your elbow into my head a few times. Plus, you shot a grenade at me," he counters.

"Yeah, but I didn't actually hit you," she answers with a nonchalant shrug and a small shake of her head.

"Not my fault your aim is bad."

Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open just a little before her lips stretch into an amused grin. "Hit your goggles just fine, thanks."

"I'm just saying, I managed to land two shots on the body. It's okay, though...not everyone is cut out for marksmanship."

"This is how you try to convince me to help you?" she retorts, one brow arching in emphasis.

"Nice redirection."

She stays quiet for a moment while holding his gaze. Her expression is amused and yet still intense in a way he can't quite pin down. The moment stretches on with their eyes locked and then suddenly her gaze flicks to the scene behind him. "As fun as this has been, you better go. If you leave Steve alone any longer, he's gonna be a permanent part of the floor," she says with a nod toward the door.

He turns and glances at the door again, finding Steve still leaning heavily against the wall but slumped down much further. The great Captain America, drunk as a skunk. Again. Who knew he'd be so keen to get plastered?

"I'll call you tomorrow," he promises before turning on his heel and heading toward the door.

Bucky knocks on the door before taking a long drink from his coffee, wincing from both the strength of the drink and the hangover that it was supposed to be helping to abate. He'd been a little disappointed to discover early on in his time in the afterlife that hangovers were still a thing in life after death, but not so disappointed that he stopped enjoying nights out at the pub altogether. Still, this hangover was lingering much longer than usual and making him reconsider his choice to keep tagging along on Steve's nights out at the pub.

"Hey," Nat says brightly with a smile as she opens the door.

He takes a moment to let his gaze take in her remarkably not hungover state. She's too damn chipper and he frowns because if his memory served him, she'd easily drunk both he and Steve under the table the previous night. How the hell is she not as miserable as I am?

"Hey."

"Rough morning?" she asks sweetly, a little smirk playing on her lips.

Oh, so it was gonna be like that… "I hate you a little bit right now."

The smirk on her lips grows. "Only a little?"

His gaze narrows. "It's growing by the minute."

"You're gonna hate me less when I give you my hangover cure."

His eyebrows rise, intrigued by the notion. "Hangover cure?"

"Mmhmm. Don't ask me what's in it though. That's a trade secret."

"Deal," he agrees quickly because there couldn't possibly be anything to make his hangover worse.

She gestures for him to enter, swinging the door open a bit more as she turns on her heel and leads him toward the kitchen. "So, how'd you manage to get on the hook for hosting a dinner anyway?"

"You know, I'm really not sure," he answers honestly, closing the door behind him. It had been a bit of a blur...one minute he'd been enjoying some time with his parents, the next he was agreeing to having them over for dinner. "I'm pretty sure my ma had something to do with it though."

Natasha grins. "Don't feel bad. In my experience, there's only one group of people more adept at manipulation than mothers."

"Who's that?"

She grins. "Grandmothers."

"You're definitely right about that one," he agrees with a laugh. Both his grandmothers had been formidable and capable of impressive passive aggressive manipulation in the small amount of time he'd known them.

"I would have thought you'd caught on by now that I'm right more often than not."

"I'll keep that in mind," he answers drily as he takes a seat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, watching as she retrieves a container of an oddly coloured drink from the fridge.

"Good," she says while pouring some of the drink into a glass before sliding it over to him.

"Do I want to know how you came upon this concoction?" he asks, giving it a quick sniff and frowning.

She grins and he's almost certain there's an element of mischievousness in her smile. "Probably not."

"Bottoms up then, I guess."

"Sips," she corrects as she reaches out a hand to physically stop his action. "It's easier that way, I promise."

He does as instructed and takes a small sip, wincing at the taste. "Oh god, that's awful."

"Didn't say it was gonna taste like sunshine and rainbows."

"Still, a warning woulda been nice."

"I told you to take sips. And besides, it's worth it."

"Here's hoping, because otherwise this is an awful prank to pull on someone."

She chuckles as she leans her forearms onto the counter between them. "So, what can I teach you how to cook?"

"Well," he says, wincing after having taken another sip, "to be honest I'm not sure. What says, 'I'm fully capable of cooking for myself and I don't live off takeout?'"

"What do your parents like?" she volleys back.

He thinks back to his childhood, filled with budget friendly and long-lasting meals, and dismisses them all because they didn't have to worry about those kinds of things here in the afterlife and were instead free to indulge. He's sure they've probably been enjoying their food far more here than on Earth, but he still wants to make something less budget conscious and more luxurious for them. "I don't think they were all that picky. Food variety was slim pickings back then."

"Well, you could do a chili. Those are pretty easy, but when done well are a crowd pleaser."

"Maybe," he hedges. Chili just didn't feel like a good fit...

Her eyes narrow as they read his expression. "Okay, so you're thinking a bit fancier."

He grins crookedly. "That obvious?"

"Only to me," she teases. "We can do something more complex. How about a good steak, with some veggies and fresh bread?"

"That's fancy?" It's only after the words have left his mouth that he feels a bit like an idiot, shooting down the suggestion of someone who was helping him.

Thankfully, she's not put off by his comment. "Making simple things taste luxurious is the mark of a true chef," she answers with a smirk.

He shakes his head after taking another sip. "You know, you were much humbler when Steve and I cooked with you."

"Mmhmm," she hums while rolling her eyes. "We could do the paella. It's not too hard, but isn't something a lot of people have had, so it might be something new for them."

"Maybe…"

"You have to give me something here, James."

He laughs. "Sorry, I just never imagined I'd be in this position."

"Believe me, I never thought I'd be teaching someone who's shot me how to cook."

He catches the glint of teasing in her eye before his guilt can manifest and he grins instead. "Let's do the steak."

"Good choice. Let's throw together the dough for the bread here, and then we can drop it off at your place on our way."

His brow furrows into a frown. "On our way where?"

"To the store," she explains, an amused glint in her eyes again.

His frown deepens. "Why are we going to the grocery store? I thought one of the perks of the afterlife was that food just appeared for you."

She arches an eyebrow. "Says the man who's learning to cook…"

He tips his head in concession. "Good point."

"No more questioning the teacher," she says with a grin, wagging a finger playfully.

The grin stretches across his face before he can think to say anything.

"Now, let's get started on the bread dough."

"You've got to give me the secret recipe for whatever that concoction was, because my hangover is completely gone," he says as he pushes open the door to his house.

"Sorry, like I said, trade secret."

"That's just mean, keeping that from your friends."

She chuckles. "You could always stop drinking, that'd solve the issue too."

"Sam and Steve never mentioned you being cruel, you know."

He hears a soft chuckle as he puts down the bags of ingredients onto the counter before turning to face her. He finds her gaze sweeping over his small kitchen as she sips at the smoothie she'd grabbed while they were out. He'd opted to go with another coffee after finishing the rest of the surprisingly effective but very mysterious hangover cure.

"Nice place," she says with an appreciative nod. She'd stayed in the car while he dropped off the bowl of dough earlier, so it was her first look into his home. Strangely, he finds himself curious as to what she thinks.

"Yeah, it's not too shabby."

"Could use some upgrading on the decor though," she says with a wink.

He shrugs. "Can't say I ever really noticed."

"You didn't notice the blank walls?" she retorts drily, one eyebrow arches to emphasize her disbelief.

He glances around. "They've got paint on them," he defends.

She scoffs. "Next project, I'm taking you shopping for some decorations."

"I know enough about women from the 21st century to know that letting you loose in a store with no limit on spending is a bad idea."

"That's a complete stereotype and I resent it," she replies as she closes the distance between them.

It's his turn to arch a brow. "You're telling me you aren't going to fill cart after cart with stuff?"

"When your place looks like this, you'll need that much stuff."

"Another deft sidestep, Romanoff, but don't think I didn't notice."

"You want your mother coming in and chastising you for 'not having really moved in?'"

He tilts his head as he considers her point. "Fine. But we're not going overboard. Simple, you hear me?" he says while pointing a finger at her meaningfully

She knocks his hand away as she steps even closer. "I am completely capable of doing understated, or have you forgotten I spent most of my life as a spy?"

"You're not a spy anymore," he counters as he looks down at her, realizing they're standing rather close and he's not sure why.

"Well spotted, former soldier," she volleys back with a little smirk before she steps around him and hops up onto a stool at the counter.

He shakes his head with a little smile and refocuses them onto the task at hand as he walks back into the main kitchen area behind the counter. "Alright Master Yoda, where do we start?" Nat's eyes widen slightly, and he can't help but grin widely at actually being able to surprise her. "What, you really think that between Sam and Shuri I hadn't seen Star Wars?"

"I hadn't thought of Shuri," she admits, "but that does make sense."

"Her commentary about it was more entertaining than the movies."

Nat laughs. "I bet it was."

"Now...guide me, Obi-Wan."

"Hang on," she says while holding up a finger, "am I Yoda or Obi-Wan?"

"Which do you want to be?"

"Well who says I'm a Jedi at all?" she retorts, head tilting with a smile playing on her lips.

Oh, she does enjoy a good bit of banter, doesn't she? His brow furrows in mock concern. "Discussion of Star Wars characters...this is getting too personal, I think."

She chuckles lightly and then it's her turn to refocus them. "Okay, now that the dough is rising, we can start on the real prep," she instructs as she gets up to join him in the main kitchen area.

"Should I be taking notes?"

She reaches over to grab the smoothie, hops up to sit on the counter, and takes a long sip before she answers him. "I'll leave you some notes, just pay attention and do what I tell you."

He nods and gives her a mock salute which she swats away immediately with a look of faux warning. She begins to guide him through the process of preparing the components for the meal and he listens intently. He realizes very quickly that she's a good teacher and has a knack for knowing when he needs more information and when he's ready to move on. Probably a result of making a living reading people for decades, he muses.

"So," he says as he leans back against the counter, crosses his arms, and turns his head to face her, "do you like cooking?"

"Yeah, I guess," she answers from where she's now seated on one of the breakfast stools. She'd moved back there from her perch on the counter once they'd reached the point where it was just a matter of waiting for the sides to be a bit closer to being done before he began cooking the steaks. "It started out as something I had to learn so I didn't have to live on takeout when I wasn't at HQ, and then it became something I chose to do."

"Reclaiming your agency," he replies knowingly. He knows all about doing things for yourself just because you can. He'd been simultaneously overwhelmed and overjoyed at having the opportunity to choose things for himself after Shuri got all the nonsense out of his head, and he'd relished the chance to relearn the things he liked and disliked.

"Exactly. But I got sick of eating the same meals, so I branched out. Clint's wife, Laura, taught me a bunch, and I picked up some others over the years when I had some free time."

"Steve and Sam mentioned you and Barton were close," he says carefully. It's been more than a few years since her death, but he knows those wounds aren't ones easily healed. "I met him and his wife - they seemed like good people."

She nods. "The best."

"His kids seemed very fond of you," he adds, remembering the stories he'd overheard them telling Steve about her.

She smiles, but he spots the flash of emotion in her eyes. "Kids were never something in the cards for me. I mean...spy and assassin doesn't exactly scream stable home, you know? But somehow, against all odds, I became an aunt to these amazing kids, and they loved me just as Auntie Nat, without knowing anything else about me. That was enough for them. And it-" She pauses for a moment and Bucky can see the emotion in her expression. "I think that healed me in a way I hadn't realized I needed to be."

He nods solemnly. He's surprised by the depth of her answer and is humbled by the trust she's showing him. It was unfathomable to him that they'd only spent a bit of time together, and yet somehow things felt so...easy between them. "Must have been hard to leave them behind."

She looks down at her hands for a moment before she lets her eyes rise to meet his gaze again. "Letting go of Clint's hand on that cliff was the easiest decision I've ever made," she says firmly, "and the hardest thing I've ever done."

He nods solemnly again. The depth of her love for her friends and family was not surprising to him. He'd heard from Steve about her sacrifice, even if the details had been a bit sparse. Still, hearing it from her hit differently.

"Anyway," she says, sitting up straighter, "I think we can start the steaks now."

"Alright, now take them out of the pan and leave them to rest."

"How long?"

She tilts her head back and forth considering her answer. "Five, maybe seven minutes, then you can serve."

He nods in understanding. "And that's it?"

"Yep."

"Well that wasn't so bad."

She chuckles. "I told you it was doable."

"Only thanks to you," he says seriously. "I owe you big time, Nat."

She waves it off. "My pleasure."

"No, I mean it. You barely know me and yet you're helping me cook and apparently decorate my place…" he trails off. "Why?"

"Why not?"

"Well, for one, I shot you. And for another, I shot you again," he answers with a little smile. His tone is light and teasing, but there's an element of truth to his words that he knows she recognizes.

"And I shot at you, not to mention I got a few good hits in on your head with my elbow. We can go 'round in circles playing the blame game, but...we're dead. This is a second chance to live and I don't want to do that holding grudges against people that don't deserve it. You weren't in control then anymore than I was in my years with the Red Room."

Her words linger in the space between them, and he's not quite sure how to respond. He glances at the pots with the garlic mashed potatoes and balsamic carrots, the bread, and the resting steaks before checking the time. That's a lot of food to waste...

"Hey, you wanna stay for lunch?"

Her brows rise slowly as her expression lightens. "Well I don't know...what did you have in mind?"

"How about a delicious freshly cooked steak, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted balsamic carrots, sauteed mushrooms, and freshly baked bread?"

"Well, with a menu like that, how can I refuse?"

He laughs and then gestures to the table. "Please, have a seat," he says, putting on a formal tone. "Your waiter will be right with you."

She shakes her head and laughs as she sits in the chair that he's pulled out for her. He gives her a wink before turning on his heel and heading back into the kitchen to retrieve some plates and cutlery. She reaches out for the plates in his hands when he returns to the table, but he pulls them away. "Least I can do to repay you is spoil you a little. So just sit there, look pretty, and let me get things ready for lunch."

"Yes, sir," she replies, holding up her hands and leaning back. He doesn't miss the warm smile on her face.

It takes several more trips to finish setting up the table and bringing over the food. He takes a seat across the table from her once he's done and blows out a heavy exhale. "I'd offer you some wine, but it's a little early in the day, and I think we both met our alcohol quota last night."

"Water's fine," she replies.

"Then I think we're good to go," he says holding up his glass. "To your foolish decision to agree to be my cooking teacher."

"And to the start of your culinary career," she adds with a grin.

Amused by drunk Steve? Enjoyed the banter between Nat and Bucky?

As always, any thoughts, comments, or feedback are welcomed - I always love seeing what y'all think!

(And an aside: I didn't intend for there to be such a long break on this one, but writing time's been tough to carve out as of late. Apologies!)