"Chapter Six"

Because Tony was a stalker-ish troll like that, he had already found out when and where Phil did his grocery shopping, and arranged it so that he was driving with Steve and Bucky in that vicinity one day. He was about to pass the store when he 'remembered' something he'd forgotten to order online, and pulled in to the parking lot. He was pleased to see Phil's car there, and hoped that neither Steve nor Bucky recognised it, considering that it was pretty distinct.

Going by the suspicious look Bucky shot him, it seemed that Tony was going to be rumbled in the next two minutes.

Well, it was all in the name of love.

"Okay, where's a list of what's in each aisle?" Steve said, looking around.

"No, Steve, that's no fun," Tony said, grabbing his arm. "I might see something else I've forgotten."

"Why wouldn't it be on your usual order?"

"Because… someone said something about wanting to try baking. I think. So we need ingredients." He was walking them along the ends of the aisles, looking for… "Hey, isn't that Phil?"

"No, it's… oh, yeah, it is," Steve said, perking up, and he waved. "Phil!"

Phil looked up, and his jaw dropped when he saw them. Gathering himself together pretty damn quickly, he pushed his trolley in their direction, pausing a couple of times to grab things off the shelf. Bucky skittered out of the way of other shoppers, whereas Tony seemed to have no problem in letting everyone move around him. Steve eventually had to yank him into the aisle, and smiled awkwardly when Phil met them.

"Hi, Phil," he said.

"Hello," Phil said, eyeing each of them. He averted his gaze nearly as soon as he met Bucky's eyes. "What brings you here?"

"Tony needed some things for baking."

"What are you looking for?"

"Oh, uh, you know… the usual," Tony said. "Eggs… no, we've got eggs. And some other things. Barton makes pancakes, you know."

"No, I didn't know," Phil said, glancing at Steve. Steve just looked baffled.

"Does he?" he asked.

"Yes, he does," Tony said, trying to give him a look to say 'play along'. "I can't remember what else goes in the recipe."

"What's the recipe?" Phil asked.

"Uh…"

"Mr. Stark, do you have any clue about baking? At all?"

"…No? But it's not for me. It's for someone else on the team."

Phil looked at him sharply, examining him. He raised an eyebrow.

"Just to be on the safe side, maybe you should get one of each types of flour, and sugar, and baking soda and baking powder, and extra eggs… and make sure that you get all-organic, because Dr. Banner prefers that."

Tony coughed. "Anyway. What a coincidence, seeing you here. I didn't know you lived in the area."

"I don't. It's just on the way home." Which Tony already knew, but then he was Tony Stark. Creator of JARVIS. "I'm surprised you wouldn't just place an express order on your phone for your nearest supermarket. It might even beat you back."

"That would just be doing the logical thing," Steve said, his eyes suddenly narrowed as he looked at Tony. Tony's innocent look wasn't as good as Bucky's.

"It was spur-of-the-moment," he claimed.

Phil scoffed softly, and then finally looked at Bucky again. "How are you doing, J— Sergeant Barnes? Settling in? Eating more?" Bucky nodded. "I'm glad to see you so well. You had me worried for a long time, and not just after you dropped out of contact."

"Phil, I haven't had a chance to thank you yet, for looking after Bucky," Steve said, and he held out his hand. Phil froze, and then shook it.

"That's okay, Captain Rogers," he said. "I would've done the same for anyone else. It's just the decent thing to do." Bucky hung his head as Phil and Steve let go. "Knowing me, I probably asked myself 'What Would Captain America Do?'"

Steve laughed. "Well, thanks for taking care of him," he said. "Without your friendly face, he might never have approached us."

"I, uh…" Bucky scuffed one boot on the floor. "I used the card Phil gave me, with Sam's number on it."

Phil smiled gently. Bucky peered at him, and gave a small smile in return.

"Take care of yourself," Phil said. He tightened his grip on the trolley handle. "Mr. Stark, baking items are in the previous aisle. You must have missed them."

He nodded to Steve and Bucky, and went on his way, while Tony coughed into his fist under Steve's stern gaze.

But later on, the captain had to admit that Bucky seemed better around Phil. Shy (which Steve had never seen from his friend before), but also like a flower starting to open up. Maybe matchmaking would be the right move after all?

Natasha went to The Everything Diner to have dinner by herself, after completing a mission. It involved recovering a hard drive with vital information, which had been stolen; but fortunately, not yet hacked. How someone had managed to steal it in the first place was anyone's guess. However, it was no longer Natasha's responsibility. She had put it in Nick Fury's hands, filed her report, and decided that she would prefer to eat alone tonight.

"Just you?" Bobbi asked. Natasha jerked her head in the affirmative. "Water?"

"Please."

"Anything else?"

"No. I'm driving." And she half-smiled.

Bobbi laughed softly, and gave her a menu. "Water it is. Won't be long."

"Thank you."

When she was ready, Jemma took her order. Natasha stopped her before she could leave.

"Is Phil here tonight?" she asked. "I believe he's changed his days."

"Only some of them," Jemma said. "He isn't here tonight."

"Are these new regular hours?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Because I need to… I'd like to know his new hours."

"Do you not like Melinda's cooking?"

"It's nothing to do with her," Natasha said. Not anymore, it wasn't. "It's because Stark came up with an idea."

"Oh?"

"He wants to set Phil up with someone, and for his matchmaking to work, we need to know when Phil is on duty here."

"Oh!" Jemma nodded, beaming. "That sounds marvellous! I must tell the others."

"Not if they can't keep their mouths shut," Natasha emphasised.

Jemma shook her head. "No, of course not. I'll write down the new timetable for you as soon as I get the chance."

Natasha watched as Jemma bounced off in her perky way. She rarely used the word 'adorable', yet it suited the wait-staff here.

She hummed, checking the messages on her phone. Mostly updates from Clint on his relationship with Steve, questions from Steve on what to do with Clint, and a few other texts she had been unable to access while working. She replied now, condensing her messages to Clint and Steve, and then tucking her phone away to put them all out of her mind.

"Here you are," Jemma said, dropping a piece of paper on Natasha's plate. It was a roughly drawn-up table with 'PC' marking each of the times that Phil was on, and 'MM' for Melinda's shifts. "I hope it helps."

"It does," Natasha said. "Thank you, Jemma."

The waitress's smile grew bigger, and she rocked back on her heels.

"Always happy to help you," she said, before hurrying to another table. Natasha shook her head, amused, and returned to memorising the staff roster.

Bucky played with his soup. It wasn't as good as Phil's. Then again, it came from a tin, and Phil was an actual chef, so there wasn't really a basis for comparison. Nevertheless, he tried to pretend that it filled the hole inside of him.

He was sitting in a state-of-the-art private kitchen, eating soup with real silverware from a real china bowl, only a room away from the world's largest television, in a clean, air-conditioned building watched over by miles of sentient coding. His best childhood friend was happy and healthy and in a steady relationship. Bucky himself had support, comfort, and endless food. He could study if he wanted to, even by correspondence. He'd probably join SHIELD, but it was nice to have options.

He had all this. And all he dreamed about was an ill-lit space behind a restaurant, the stoop of an apartment building, a small sofa in front of a normal-sized television.

All he dreamed about was the man he associated with these places.

'I would've done the same for anyone else'. In other words, Bucky wasn't special. He'd made Phil feel so awkward that the man changed the days he worked at The Everything Diner. He barely looked at Bucky when they bumped into each other at the supermarket (and he refused to believe that it was a coincidence). Would it have made a difference if Bucky told him who he was from the start? If he'd let Phil know that he was okay?

It was done now. Things couldn't go back to being the same. They hadn't been equal before; Bucky had pretty much been homeless, and Phil was a chef at a successful restaurant. Now Bucky was sitting at a table, being served by Phil's co-workers, and… it felt like a role reversal. He didn't like it. He wanted them to be equals.

Not that Bucky would've had a chance, anyhow. He was a mess. An unemployed former killing machine, who had worked – killed – for Captain America's enemy. All of Sam's meetings still couldn't help Bucky believe that anyone would want him as a friend, let alone something more. Anyone who considered him a friend was obviously the forgiving type, wanting to see the best in everyone. Which probably included Phil.

But Bucky couldn't see anything happening there.

He nearly splashed his soup when he dug his spoon into the thin liquid, misjudging his strength. He dropped the cutlery with a clatter, spattering some of the tomato broth onto the tabletop. It should have reminded him of blood, even though it wasn't the same colour, although close in consistency. Instead, all he could see was mediocre soup, and that it would never be as good as Phil's.

Nothing would.

"Sir," Phil said, shaking Fury's hand. He snorted.

"Call me Nick," he said. "You earned that right a dozen times over."

"Oh, well," Phil said, ducking his head. "You should call me Phil, by the same token."

"Noted," he said. "Sit down. Let's talk."

Phil perched on the edge of the café seat. They were near Fury's place of work, even though Phil still had no idea what that line of work was. Not military, because Fury wasn't in uniform. Security? But there'd be a uniform with that, too. He wasn't in a suit, so it couldn't have been government. Not unless he was some undercover agent, although Phil wouldn't put it past him. Fury had always had a fascination with the novels of Ian Fleming.

"Still can't tell me what you do?" Phil asked. Fury surveyed him.

"I'll confirm if you can guess right," he said.

"Okay," Phil said, picking up the paper menu. "But coffee first?"

"They're pretty good here. Not as good as the food you can whip up, but coffee is coffee, and it doesn't suck."

"You always had high standards." Fury chuckled. "Cake?"

"Now, that'd just spoil the image," Fury said.

"Not even chocolate mud?"

"…Maybe chocolate mud."

"I'll go place an order," Phil said, a twinkle in his eyes. "Strong black with two shots of syrup, cream on the side?"

"Your memory, Phil…"

He shrugged. "You love my memory."

"That I do. Get going."

Phil went and ordered their drinks, mud cake for Fury, and vanilla cheesecake for himself. It was pay at the end, so he took the number back to the table and placed it where the waiters could see it. Then he turned back to Fury.

"Are we being bugged?" Phil asked. Fury's lips twitched.

"You were always the smart one," he said. "I've got this." He held up a small device with a button, and pressed it. There were a couple of beeps nearby. "No more bugs."

"Fascinating," Phil said, staring at it until Fury had tucked it back inside his coat. "I'm guessing you're a spy of some kind. Field, or you'd be in uniform or a suit. CIA?" Fury shook his head. "Some other spy agency?"

"You're good."

Phil shrugged. "Maybe. Would I have heard about your people?"

"I doubt it, though you've met some of them."

He thought swiftly. "At The Everything Diner. With the Avengers and their friends."

"Mmm-hmm."

"This is you, so you've gotta be high up on the pecking order." Another nod. "Head of the organisation?"

"It's called SHIELD," Fury said. "I'm the director. Any people who'd be bugging us would already know that."

Phil studied him. "And anyone who could send me to have coffee with you."

"What can I say? I'm a cynical guy."

"I'd be insulted if you weren't suspicious of me," Phil said. Finally, their cakes arrived, and the coffee soon after. They remained silent for a few minutes, blowing on hot drinks and starting on the melt-in-the-mouth slices.

"Told you they were good here," Fury said. Phil rolled his eyes affectionately.

"I'm curious," he said. "Why are you telling me all this? You could've deflected, or claimed that it was classified. It's been a long time since we saw each other, and while we were good friends, almost like brothers, we haven't kept in touch. What's your endgame here?"

"I'm wondering about you and Barnes."

"James? I mean, Bucky? Why would you be wondering about us?"

"Is there an 'us'?"

Phil sighed, and sat further back. "No."

"Even though you want there to be?"

"Yeah. I'm hardly subtle about it."

"Colour me surprised, Cheese."

He gave Fury a withering look. "What about us, or the lack thereof?"

"How's he adjusted, compared to when you first met him? Does he seem all that different? C'mon, don't purse your lips like that."

"How do you expect me to react? That's personal, Nick. He… he was starved, mistrustful, and believed that everyone was after him. I'm sure he was still like that when he approached Sam."

"Yet apparently he also didn't shut up about the one person who'd been kind to him, giving him food and help," Fury said. A piece of cheesecake nearly fell out of Phil's mouth, and he quickly swallowed it down a suddenly-thick throat.

"Oh," he said eloquently.

"You might not think you had much of an impact on him, but I'm pretty damn sure you saved his life, on more than one level."

Phil patted his lips after he'd consumed the last bite of cake. "So you want to know all this why?"

"Because he could still be unstable, and if you're a stabling influence…"

"Then you want to utilise me if necessary."

"Right."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"One day you might not have a choice," Fury said. "Put it this way, Phil. If it was to help him, would you do it?" Phil nodded without hesitation. "I thought so."

"Don't… please don't tell him."

"Oh my God, this is like grade school," he muttered. "I won't go blabbing to your boy about your crush. You have my word on that, Phil."

"I'd ask 'on point of torture', but that could really happen to you, couldn't it?"

Fury changed the subject.

Oops. Went longer than I meant to. Erm, yes. I figured that if Fury was going to cave to any kind of baked good, it would have to be chocolate mud cake. It's a manly kind of cake. At least that's what he can say if anyone asks. :P

Review, por favor! It keeps me going, especially when I'm writing obscure pairings.