"Lumberjack"

Bucky Barnes didn't chop as much wood as his best friend, but he held his own, despite the prosthetic limb. It didn't hamper him as much as it used to, and he counted himself lucky that he'd got any work, let alone physical stuff like this. He didn't need to be treated with kid gloves, damn it! He needed to be left to his own devices, and that was that. Steve got it eventually, although he was more inclined to remind Bucky to drink water than remember to do it himself.

They were working on an estate owned by a man named Coulson, who hadn't batted an eye when Steve introduced him to Bucky, back from service overseas and itchin' to do something. And Bucky knew the guy had noticed his arm. But he didn't comment, other than to say that he hoped their whole team would be warm enough, and that if they weren't – or if they got too warm – to let him know.

It wasn't a huge estate, but Coulson recently inherited it, and needed workers to help clear the land. Barton had a team working on renovations around the house while Coulson worked in the office, apparently talking to lawyers and accountants to get the measure of the situation. Bucky figured he was a city boy who didn't know squat about getting his hands dirty.

His daughter Skye was cool, though. She was the one who brought out extra drinks and snacks, and made sure they took breaks. She provided them with sunscreen, and complained about her father – "Adopted father, the best a girl could get if he could just get off that damn phone sometime!" – being so busy.

"I'm sure he's only doing what he has to," Steve said. Skye blatantly looked him over, and Steve ducked his head, blushing. He was already flushed from the work, but any time someone showed him interest he got bashful. At least he had enough morals not to go for a minor, which Skye definitely was.

"Well, I'm gonna leave you to get back to work, try to get Dad to have lunch, or something resembling it." She jerked her thumb back over her shoulder. "Don't forget, it's cooler inside. You know, if taking off your shirts to work doesn't help."

She sauntered back into the house, and Bucky snorted into his energy drink as Steve looked at him helplessly.

"You're the one who used to get ogled," he whined. "Buck, what do I do?"

"Don't ask me," Bucky said. "Guys are a lot subtler at checking other guys out, `specially in the army, and no one seems to go for robot arms. If I wanna get laid, I'll have to go to a science convention, and I think I've had enough of fancy tech to last me ten lifetimes." He clapped a despondent-looking Steve on the shoulder. "Back to work, boss?"

Steve sighed. "Yeah."

Coulson came out to see them a few times that afternoon, since Skye had apparently succeeded in getting him to take a break. He spoke with everyone individually, even Bucky, making sure they were okay. It was more consideration than they usually got from home-owners. He should've been wearing a helmet when he was around the renovations, but he was pretty safe around Bucky and Steve and the others clearing the land.

Bucky's job at the moment was chopping up spare wood for when winter came, since there was a fireplace and a woodshed, and Coulson wasn't planning to sell the estate yet. According to Skye, at least, and she seemed pretty well-informed. Bucky thought anyone who'd give up this kind of place would be an idiot, but he reminded himself that Coulson was a city boy, and probably didn't have the first clue how to run a place this size. He could've always asked Barton for farming advice.

"Where did you get it?"

"Huh?" Bucky stared blankly, and Coulson gestured to the prosthesis. "Oh. A bomb went off, an' I was too close to it. Steve knows someone at Stark Industries."

"Ah, of course." Coulson nodded, hands still in his pockets. "Stark Industries. I should've known. They do good work."

"Yeah, well." Bucky didn't mention that Stark himself had worked on the arm, considering it a challenge. "Can I help ya with anythin' else?"

"No, sorry. I'll let you get back to work. Make sure you keep up your liquids."

Bucky nodded, and watched Coulson retreat to the house. Steve tutted.

"You could've been a bit friendlier," he said. "I know it's a touchy subject for you, but he's our boss. You're lucky he's the laidback type."

He reddened, but didn't reply.

They were still working for Coulson a week later, in spire of Bucky's stilted conversation whenever he had to talk to the man. But Coulson seemed easier with him, even talked to him longer than the other guys, and Bucky managed to come out of his shell enough to crack a few inappropriate jokes. They usually made Coulson laugh, sometimes turn pink in the cheeks, but he nearly always pulled a few smiles out of the guy.

Skye still came out to talk to them every day, and personally thanked Bucky – quite effusively, in hindsight – for cheering her dad up.

"I really can't thank you enough," she said. "I haven't seen him smile this much since Great-Aunt Bette left him this… mess." She looked around. "Okay, it's not a mess anymore, but you've seen pictures of what it was like before, right?"

"When we started out here?" Steve said, and Bucky was grateful that he was there.

"Even before that," she said. "When she bought the house and the land, it was a real dive." She pulled out her phone. "Dad's an only child, and he kind of accidentally adopted me, so we're all each other has. And this was before I was born." She showed Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Natasha pictures of a heap of a place, much worse than before they got there. Hell, Bucky only joined a week in, because Steve wanted to make the team invaluable to Coulson before asking if he'd take Bucky on as well.

"Who worked on it before?" Natasha asked, tilting her head to get a better look around Steve's hulking frame.

"Well, Dad did most of it, though I think he got friends to help the first time around," she said. "Then he was in the army, and when he got back…" She swiped along, past a photo of a much improved mansion, to one where it had clearly lost some of its glory. "Kept him occupied, along with some ex-army pals. Then there was the accident…" She trailed off again, this time looking into space. "That's how we met. I was in the other car. He didn't hold it against my parents, and I was there for his recovery, even after I was released. Then he took me on. I'm lucky to have him."

"Any more photos?" Sam asked, breaking the awkward silence, thank God.

"Much of the same," she said, swiping through a few more images, before and after, some close-ups of Coulson doing the same kind of work they were doing, along with a few other men and women helping out. Not so much of a city boy.

"Then why'd he hire us?" Bucky said. Skye raised her eyebrows. "Not that we're not grateful for the work, obviously, but it looks like he did a hell of a job before."

"`Cause of what he lost in the accident," she said.

"Not that it's any of our business," Steve said, nudging Bucky hard.

"I'm… gonna go back inside, see if Dad needs any help," Skye said. "Sorry to distract you. Don't mind me. But… thanks for… indulging him, I guess. He doesn't have many friends, and I'm basically the only person he's seen around these parts except for you guys. And I'm not much of a one for grown-up conversation." She shrugged, shoving her phone back into her jeans. "Especially you, Bucky. It's been great. I'm glad he has someone he can talk to about… things."

She hesitated, and then walked back up the hill. Bucky glanced at the others, and then shrugged.

Coulson and Skye had started making up bags or boxes of food for the team working away from the house, especially when they had to venture into the woods or otherwise deviate from the main work site. The next day there was a note addressed to Bucky slipped into his sandwich bag, and he frowned as he read it.

"Any of you guys get a message?" he asked, turning over the paper.

"Nope," Sam said. Natasha shook her head, and Steve pawed through his bag.

"I got nothing," he said. "You seriously got a message?" His expression darkened, and he tensed up. "They're not lettin' you go, are they?"

Bucky rolled. "Course not," he said. "It says 'Hope you're having a nice day. Love the jeans.'" He looked down at the ratty old things, which he wore because they were comfortable. Well, except for the way they clung to his calves, but Natasha said he had nice calves, and she danced in her spare time, so she probably knew what she was talking about. Sam laughed.

"I bet I know which part of the jeans they like best," he said. Natasha smirked.

"Your legs have nothing on your ass, in other words," she explained, when Bucky tipped his head in confusion. "I think you just got a secret admirer's note."

"Aw, man," Bucky muttered. "Skye."

"She's been paying you a lot more attention since you started being nice to her dad," Steve pointed out. "Better you than me."

"Wha— Why?"

"She's even less likely to get anywhere with you, considering your type."

"I like girls as well," he grumbled. "It's just… been awhile, is all."

"Coulson's daughter has a crush on you," Natasha sang, before taking a swig of water.

"You're all horrible friends, and I don't know why I hang out with you," he said.

"Maybe it's a one-off," Sam said, the only voice of reason. "Maybe we'll each get a note, and that'll be it. Something to keep our spirits up."

"Don't need my anythin' bein' kept up by jailbait," Bucky said. "This is a nice place to work. Not screwin' it up because of a twink with a crush." He grimaced when he looked at his replacement arm. "What does she even see in…? No, not goin' down that rabbit hole. No way."

"Suit yourself," Natasha said, dusting her hands as she stood up. "I'm getting back to work. If you'll excuse me, boys, knitting circles aren't my thing."

It wasn't the first note, as Sam predicted; but Bucky was the only one receiving them. Nearly every day there was a folded-over sticky note with some kind words, often with a flirtatious edge. Bucky considered saying something to Coulson about it, but he kept it to himself, not wanting to get Skye in trouble over something which would no longer be an issue after the work was finished.

Now that the porch had been completed, father and daughter were working on the garden, gloves up to their elbows. It was unseasonably warm, and they all stripped down to undershirts (except Skye, under her father's frown). Bucky wished he could've gone shirtless, but the place where prosthesis met skin was a mess.

The next note he received said that there was no need to be uncomfortable, and no one wanted Bucky to pass out from the heat. He pushed through, however, and the weather soon turned cool again. Coulson and Skye continued to sow seeds for winter plants, and the house looked more and more like a home. Bucky still thought Coulson would be crazy to sell up, especially since it turned out that he was capable of looking after the property, but since Bucky didn't know enough about their situation he couldn't really judge. Maybe the accident had something to do with his decision?

"This is getting serious," Barton said, when they all got together at a bar with only a week left to go of working on the Coulson estate. "How many notes is it now?"

"Twenty-three," Bucky mumbled.

"And they're from Skye?"

"Who else? She's been talkin' to me a lot more—"

"Show me," Barton said. He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. "C'mon. You've gotta have `em with you."

With a sigh, Bucky drew out the handful of slightly-crumpled notes and dumped them on the tabletop.

"Secret admirers are a high school thing, and she still goes to school," he said. "Shit, I remember sneakin' notes into people's lockers on Valentine's Day."

"Including Steve's, when he was still a skinny punk with no friends except us," Sam added, and Bucky smirked when Steve jabbed Sam in the side with his elbow.

"Hate to break it to you, Barnes," Barton said, "or maybe not, but that's not a teenage girl's handwriting. In fact, I'm surprised you didn't recognise Coulson's writing before, since he's the one who writes our pay slips."

…Okay, that explained why it seemed familiar. Bucky had figured he'd seen notes from Skye to Coulson on the corkboard just inside the front door on that first day, and that's why it'd seemed familiar. Steve took care of their pay slips, since he knew that Bucky was a ditz when it came to remembering responsible stuff.

"Oh," he said.

"But this is good, right?" Barton said. "You like Coulson, right? And he's legal."

"And we work for him," Bucky said.

"Only for another week. Then it'll be on to the next job."

"If I even get one."

"Be positive!"

"I'm positive I won't get a new job right off the bat," Bucky said.

Barton rolled his eyes.

Now that Bucky knew who his letter-writer was, he was more observant of Coulson's behaviour around him. The way he spent at least two minutes longer talking to Bucky than to anyone else; the way he was quicker to laugh at Bucky's bad jokes; the way he looked at Bucky when he thought he wasn't being noticed. It wasn't the arm? Was this why Skye was being friendlier to him, because she'd seen… something there?

Was this why Bucky actually looked forward to being at the estate every weekday, and hated how the weekend dragged on?

"You're blushing," Steve whispered after Coulson walked back to the garden, where he'd planted some hedges with Skye's help.

"Punk," Bucky said. "I'm not."

"He's gone on you."

"No, he isn't."

"Yes, he is."

"He could do better. He's a classy guy, and I'm… me."

Steve's eyes flashed with irritation, as they usually did when Bucky started getting himself down.

"I don't think men like that write love notes to every attractive man they see," he said, "so stop thinkin' you're not good enough for a guy as nice as Coulson."

Bucky figured there was no point in arguing about this, and instead hoped that Coulson didn't have bat-like hearing.

The end of the week came too soon. They'd finished in good time, and Coulson poured drinks while Skye brought out a huge cake she'd worked on for hours the night before. They toasted the property, set up a tripod and took group pictures, and Coulson provided them with considerable bonuses for getting it all done so quickly and professionally.

"Let us know if you need our services again," Steve said, handing over a business card even though Coulson probably already had one.

"I will," Coulson said. He met Bucky's eyes briefly, before turning to head back to Skye's side. Bucky inhaled sharply when Steve poked him.

"What?" he said.

"You missed your cue," Steve said. "Ask him to drinks tonight. It's family night at the place we went to last week, so Skye can come along. Go." He pointed. Well, Bucky had his instructions, and he'd been a damn good soldier, so he marched up the incline until he reached Coulson.

"Uh," he said, blanking when the man glanced up at him. "Hi."

"Are you heading off? Back to town?"

"Yeah," Bucky said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "We all are. End of a job, so we're gonna relax, have a few drinks." He cleared his throat; he could feel Steve's eyes boring into the back of his head, and the others were watching as well. No pressure, in other words. "Wanna come? Skye's welcome, too. There'll probably be other kids her age around."

"Is it a tradition to ask your former boss along for drinks?" Coulson asked. His cheeks were pink, which made Bucky less nervous.

"Only the cute ones," he said. Coulson's jaw dropped. "Uh… think about it. I'll give you my number."

"Don't worry about that!" Steve called. "I wrote your cell phone number on the back of the card I gave Coulson!"

"I… I see," Coulson said (and Bucky had to find out his first name). He coughed, and Bucky faintly heard Skye chanting 'Yes, yes, yes' in the background. "I'll let you know. Tonight, is it?" Bucky nodded. Words were hard. "Okay. I'll, um…"

"Least I can do for the guy who wasted half a pad of sticky notes on me," Bucky said, and Coulson smiled sheepishly.

"Wouldn't call it a waste," he said. "I was using them on you."

"And, Dad, maybe you can tell Bucky all about this," Skye said, bounding over and clutching her father's arm. Bucky cocked his head, and Coulson sighed as he rolled up the sleeve and stripped off his woollen glove.

A prosthetic limb. Like Bucky.

That explained why it didn't bother him. And why he'd hired professionals.

"Hope you can make it tonight," Bucky said, and Coulson looked relieved.

"I'm sure we can," he said. Skye squealed.

"I'm gonna check your wardrobe for something that isn't a suit," she said, before kissing Coulson on the cheek and running inside.

"I think I'd better stop her before she gets too adventurous," Coulson said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thank you again for all the work you did. I'll, uh, text you for the details later," he added to Bucky.

"Sounds good," Bucky said, beaming, and he tried not to skip as he hurried back to Steve's side and scrambled into the truck.

"You're welcome, jerk," Steve said, climbing into the driver's seat while some of the others piled into the back with their gear. Bucky looked out the window, disappointed that the front door was closed, but hopeful that they'd see Coulson and Skye in a few hours' time.

There we are! For Lumberjack Day and Love Note Day. Couldn't decide between them, so I combined them. Sort of. Didn't want to do another angsty secret admirer fic for this pairing.

Please review!