Summary: The Totally-Not-A-Date has arrived and Sam meets Steve.

Notes: Does Sam approve of Steve? Of COURSE he approves, I mean, have you SEEN Steve?

-o-

"You ready to cash in that drinking promise?" Bucky greeted when Steve called him at "the usual" time on Saturday.

"You know it," Steve tried his best not to sound like he felt, full of nerves and hopes. "At least I guess I can tear myself away from my busy schedule long enough."

"See you in a few, Steve," Bucky said after a laugh, then a question that caught him off-guard and immediately set the worries rushing through his mind. "Do you mind if I bring a friend? He came by to visit and I think you'll get along."

"Oh, sure, yeah, that's fine," he stammered, wondering if Bucky was trying to bring a buffer-someone to use as an excuse to leave early. He attempted to reassure himself with the theory that Bucky wasn't that type of person.

"Great. See ya."

Steve spent way too long getting ready but still reached the bar first. He found it small but inviting. The bar counter took up a considerable amount of what would've otherwise been decent real estate, but an area behind it opened up into a larger room, full of tables, chairs, and a section of empty dance floor. A small raised stage stood in the corner for singers and bands.

Blue lights had been strung up everywhere, draping from the ceiling and glowing from the walls, but it wasn't cheesy or overdone. Steve wondered if he should look for him in there but he decided he'd better stick to the front room, in case Bucky thought he'd been stood up.

It wasn't long before Bucky arrived with his friend. His leather jacket was slung over his right shoulder and the dim lighting bounced off his exposed arm, and he looked wonderful. Steve wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to go without saying or doing something to give him away but it didn't matter at this moment. Bucky sat at the stool next to Steve's and immediately ordered a double whiskey for both of them.

The third man sat beside Bucky and ordered his own drink, a beer. He was leaner but just as muscular as Bucky and wore a thin goatee with closely-cut hair. His warm, friendly smile suggested mischief-and Steve felt a little guilty for only just now taking his eyes off Bucky long enough to really acknowledge him.

"Sam, this is Steve, uh-?" Bucky faltered as they simultaneously realized he had never actually properly introduced himself with his last name.

"Rogers," Steve stuck his hand out across Bucky's chest, which Sam accepted with a grin and return of the firm shake.

During the interaction Steve didn't notice Bucky's eyes on him, but Sam did; he indicated only with a quick twist of the grin into a smirk, which Bucky did catch.

"Sam Wilson," he replied, raising his beer in added cheers. "Good to meet you. He won't shut up about you."

Steve's face flushed hot and Bucky quickly switched topics, a little too loudly to be subtle.

"Sam's another service buddy. Armed Forces paratrooper, helped Nat and me get outta where we were."

Bucky threw back a large gulp, eyed the low amount left in Steve's glass, and ordered two more before getting a second beer for Sam (since it was definitely not a date). "We couldn't have done it without him. Only reason I put up with him."

Sam laughed with a, "Thanks, feeling's mutual."

They chatted a bit longer about Bucky and Sam's background, how the latter had lived some of his childhood years in this town and came back after his honorable discharge. He'd convinced Nat and Bucky to move down as well, for which Steve felt indebted to Sam forever (and hoped it wouldn't be too long before he could tell him why he was grateful).

After some time between drinks to let Sam catch up, Bucky ordered a third round for Steve and him while Sam refused the liquor ("always a beer guy after that last dance with tequila," he shuddered and never offered to detail "that" time) and ordered his own third beer. Their orders and tabs were getting pretty mixed up at this point, but they weren't yet concerned. Steve decided he liked this place, as well as the company-though he hadn't had to think too hard on the company bit.

"Hey, I'm the one s'posed to be paying, for the record," Steve said with mock indignance, only to make sure Bucky knew (and maybe to remind himself a little that this was really happening).

"Don't worry, I got the first round and that one of Sam's," Bucky grinned, "but I told the bartender you'd get the rest. You're both on your own now."

"You might regret that, he's a heavyweight," Sam chimed in, raising his eyebrows at Bucky, "if you couldn't tell."

He nodded at Steve, eyeing his near-empty glass. "But apparently so are you."

He shrugged. "I can rack a tab."

"You must be looking to bankrupt yourself then," Sam laughed. "What's this deal about you paying, anyway? You win a bet for once in your life, Buck?"

Bucky met the remark with a scoff. "You wish, Wilson. Just 'cause you have a career in losing bets to me…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, Steve, you're just a nice guy, or…?"

Steve detected a bit of consistency in the friends Bucky picked and their more...straightforward personality traits.

"That's totally it."

The three talked more, then fell into silence as a band took the stage in the side room. Steve was starting to feel spinny by the fourth whiskey and took his time with it. He could picture Peggy's smug expression as he thought of her reaction to it all.

Someone started a conversation again, in which he participated but didn't feel invested. He was at the right level of inebriated and the right level of buried in his own thoughts to offer little more than the occasional agreement and minimal input. He felt a little guilty, but a majority of his guilt stemmed from the creativity his imagination was showing.

Sam stood at the end of the band's second song and placed down his cash and tip.

"Got an early start tomorrow," he said, shaking Steve's hand again.

"Great to meet you, Sam."

He and Bucky exchanged brief discussion of someone they knew and their see-you-laters, and something Sam whispered to Bucky which earned a punch to the arm. Then it was Steve and Bucky and a bar filling up with more and more people, but all Steve could think about was what he should say next. Luckily he didn't have to wonder too long.

"So, how long have you lived here?" Bucky asked once he'd finished off his own fourth whiskey (and all right, maybe he had one up on Steve because Steve hadn't even reached half of his fourth yet).

"How'd you know?"

"You don't sound like everyone else here. Spending time in a lot of different places gave me a good ear."

"Yeah, I see that," Steve grinned, pleased Bucky would want to know something about him.

It and the fact that he'd stayed when Sam left reaffirmed what Steve knew to be true: that Bucky wanted to spend time with him and that he wasn't just hoping for something that was false. Something in Sam's last grin had suggested he knew of Steve's hopes.

"I'm from Brooklyn originally. I grew up there but left after my mom died. Needed a new place to belong."

He finished off his drink at last and crunched an ice cube, gesturing to the bartender for the tab.

"My dad fought overseas in '91, actually, and died over there. My mom had been sad for a long time and I didn't make it easier. I was pretty sick for half my childhood and all sorts of great stuff."

He shook his head, casting a glimpse at Bucky's silver hand, wrapped around the glass carefully, the pressure seemingly light. Steve briefly wondered if he'd ever captured that in his drawings of him.

"I know you didn't ask for all that, sorry. Like you said...it's easy to talk to you." He swallowed another ice cube.

"I like knowing things about you, Steve." He wasn't sure if he'd imagined the drop in pitch of Bucky's voice-hard to tell with the music and other patrons' conversations. "It makes me feel like I'm not so weird for telling you my life stories."

"So you're calling me weird."

"Only if it makes me weird too," he cocked a crooked grin, different from the ones Steve had seen on him before. "I think anyone with an arm like this could be considered weird, if it makes ya feel better."

"So it gives you superpowers?"

"You could say that." He sounded less willing to talk about it than before so Steve quickly diverted, even though he didn't feel as skilled as Bucky in that area.

"You feeling anything?"

"A bit. How 'bout you, unexpected heavyweight?"

"Same. I took advantage of being able to lift anything more than a glass of water nowadays by working out, I guess it sped up my metabolism. Don't talk shit."

Bucky laughed.

"Not talking shit, it's impressive. Though," he raised his voice in response to the band's fourth song, louder and much more up-tempo, "whaddya think about getting out of here?"

"I think it sounds great."

Steve figured the din around them would disguise the shaking in his voice. They headed out into the night, Steve's legs feeling hard to control. They walked back to his apartment in near silence, cut by the occasional whistle by Bucky. His nerves were preventing him from making conversation again, but he wasn't sure where to pick back up anyway. Asking anything seemed like it was done just to provide background to the walk and he didn't want shallowness when it came to Bucky.

Finally they made it and Steve dropped his keys only once while fumbling for the lock, but he didn't miss the smirk that flew across his guest's face.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered.

When Bucky laughed he felt his breath roll against the back of his neck and shivered before he could stop it. Somehow he made it to the couch without making a complete ass of himself. Bucky settled beside him, clutching a bottle of water he'd grabbed from the fridge while Steve had been on his challenging journey to the sofa.

When did Steve Rogers ever think it would be a good idea to bring Bucky back when their inhibitions were low?

-o-