The echoing of pounding footsteps on the stairs filled the air quickly followed by beating on the door. An agitated voice, strong and slightly accented, came through the door. It was muffled at first like the person was speaking softly before doubling in volume to almost a shout.
"Chef you in there? You'd better not be asleep or hung over… I'm giving you to the count of three to answer this door." The voice quickly began counting in Russian. Bucky crossed the room in a handful of long strides and wretched the door open. The young chef was greeted with the sight of both his sous chef and front of house manager. "About time! Do you have any clue what time it is? We have so much work to do and I still don't have specials for the day or the finalized brunch menu. We still have to visit the market and get the-"
"Natasha go downstairs and get started on our usual brunch fair. I will have the specials and the brunch menu to you in ten. Sam please make sure everything is properly set up. Oh and don't forget the Zimmermanns are coming in today to celebrate their son's engagement. Let's make sure to make them something special."
Both the pair on the door step and the blonde on the bed looked at him in amazement. Bucky had barely batted an eyelash and yet he'd had every last detail taken care of in his mind.
"Oh and Steve, finish your tea. We are going shopping." The small visitor scrambled to do as instructed before following Bucky out the door. The day blew by and before either man knew it evening had fallen and Sam was locking up for the night. It had been a whirlwind of sense and smells for Steve as he did everything asked of him.
"Steve you hungry?"
The question pulled him from his thoughts as he bent over a particularly stubborn pot. Blue eyes swept the kitchen looking for the source of the voice. "Over here kid." Steve spun and spied Bucky leaning against the door into the kitchen from the outside. "Did you hear me? Hungry?" The blonde nodded slowly.
"Yes sir," he replied when he finally found his voice again. There was a strange weight against his thin chest that Steve simply couldn't explain. His gaze lingered on Bucky's form illumined by the setting sun from the door behind him.
"Head into the dining room, I'll bring dinner in soon." Steve set the pot aside and wandered out to the dining room where Sam, Natasha, and several of the other staff members sat together around a long community table.
"There's our new man." Sam smiled at Steve as he peeked around the corner. "Come in, grab a seat. On Sundays, Buck cooks supper for the staff. You must be starving kid. I don't think I saw you leave the dish pit all day, except to take the trash out."
"Yes sir." Steve nodded slowly as he sank into an empty chair at the near end of the table.
"Call me Sam. I won't bite, not like Natasha over there…" The dark skinned man glanced across the table at the red headed woman in a dark chef coat. She rolled her eyes and returned to the phone in her hand, muttering something in Russian.
Twenty minutes passed before Bucky made his way out of the kitchen pushing a service cart featuring a large pot and a stack of bowls. "Stevie come help me with this," he called as he began ladling into the top bowl. The kid leapt to his feet and hurried over. Once bowls and bread were dispensed to all the small cluster as fellows fell quiet only the occasional slurp or scrape of spoon on bowl, filling the silence.
The soup was light, unlike anything Steve had ever eaten, but filling in a stick to your ribs sort of way. The green hue of it was somewhat off putting but it was warm and free, the only things Steve cared about in that moment. There were smoky flavors, bacon maybe and a smoothness to the texture that the young man had not expected.
"hey uh Ja- Bucky, what's in this?" It had taken nearly the whole bowl for Steve to gather the courage to even voice his small question.
"It's split pea soup but I used English sweet peas. There's bacon and cream in there too." He shrugged casually dragging his bread through the remnants in the bowl.
"I don't care what's in it, it's just good." Steve glanced down at the young woman at the far end of the table.
What was her name? Mary, no, um… Marie? No that's not it either… Oh is it Maria, that sounds right.
Steve nodded in agreement as they began to gather the empty dishes. Blue eyes lingered on the stack of dishes Steve knew he would have to now wash. He still had to sweep up and take out the evening's trash.
It was another hour before he wandered upstairs to the small apartment. Bucky sat on the couch, now returned to its normal form. There was a beer in his hand as well as an empty twin sitting on the coffee table.
"Who is she Stevie? Your best girl?" The question caught Steve off guard.
"Who?"
"The pretty girl in the red dress, the one at the church, who is she?"
"Peg? She's my friend. She works at the soup kitchen the church puts on three days a week. Her mother runs it. Why do you ask?" Steve sank into the sagging chair under the window. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason, just curious. She seemed pretty sweet on you back at the church this morning. Pretty kisses, little gifts, is that normal?" Blood crept into Steve's cheeks and ears turning him a shade of red that nearly matched the lipstick he'd had to scrub off that very morning. Before he could say anything Bucky was on his feet heading for his own bed. "Hit the hay Stevie, we've got an early start tomorrow."
Bucky sank into his bed, burrowing under the blankets. It didn't take long for the young chef to fall asleep. Images of pale skin, narrow shoulders and hips, and pink lips lingered in his dreams. Blue eyes seemed to chase him around in his own mind as he tossed and turned.
The former soldier sat up for the third time in less than two hours. Unable to shake his dreams he looked across the room at the thin frame sleeping in his spare bed.
That girl is sweet on him. She'd be lucky to have him. I'd be luckier, I'd be better for him.
Bucky swore softly as the thoughts lingered in his mind. "I can't have him, he's just a friend. I'm just helping him back on his feet. That's all this is," he muttered nearly silent as he gazed at the lithe body on the pull out.
He's just a friend… But if he's just a friend, why can't I get him out of my head?
A heavy head of dark hair fell back on a soft pillow as sleep pulled on Bucky's mind. Once again he found himself tossing and turning to dreams and images of the scrawny blonde boy on his couch.