Bucky Barnes (
advanced) wrote in
fossilised2017-03-14 08:58 pm
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It's AU time
Building 64 down in the East end of Brooklyn was not a fashionable place to live. The apartments were small, barely more than studio size, and the rent was pretty cheap. Not many people lived there permanently, most people only came and stayed a year or two to get enough money together to move onto somewhere better. But there were two residents who had been there a while.
Steven Grant Rogers, early twenties, who earned his rent doing tattoo designs part time to fund his college course, and occasionally dipped his toe into online art commissions. He'd moved in there when his mother had died four years previously, leaving him enough money to get by, but not enough that he could stop working. And right across the hall was Natalia Romanova, an aspiring ballerina from Russia. She was tough as hell, she had worked herself right through high school, paid her own way to America when she didn't even speak the language, and kept going through tenacity alone.
Somehow a friendship had struck up between them when Steve had been the first person not to look at her like she was an idiot or disgusting for not speaking the language. He'd helped her learn, and they'd been firm friends for the last three years. Everyone else was transient, coming and going, not really making an impact. Natalia had friends and a boyfriend outside of the apartment, but she sometimes worried that Steve never seemed to do anything but work and study.
Which was probably why he would be in his apartment when a loud crash sounded on the stairs outside. Said crash had come from a box of (now very broken) plates and bowls being dropped by the man just moving in to the apartment directly above Steve's, judging by the amount of cardboard boxes that were littering the hallway. He was tall, muscled, dressed in faded jeans and a hoodie with long slightly scruffy hair, leather gloves, and deep blue eyes.
Steven Grant Rogers, early twenties, who earned his rent doing tattoo designs part time to fund his college course, and occasionally dipped his toe into online art commissions. He'd moved in there when his mother had died four years previously, leaving him enough money to get by, but not enough that he could stop working. And right across the hall was Natalia Romanova, an aspiring ballerina from Russia. She was tough as hell, she had worked herself right through high school, paid her own way to America when she didn't even speak the language, and kept going through tenacity alone.
Somehow a friendship had struck up between them when Steve had been the first person not to look at her like she was an idiot or disgusting for not speaking the language. He'd helped her learn, and they'd been firm friends for the last three years. Everyone else was transient, coming and going, not really making an impact. Natalia had friends and a boyfriend outside of the apartment, but she sometimes worried that Steve never seemed to do anything but work and study.
Which was probably why he would be in his apartment when a loud crash sounded on the stairs outside. Said crash had come from a box of (now very broken) plates and bowls being dropped by the man just moving in to the apartment directly above Steve's, judging by the amount of cardboard boxes that were littering the hallway. He was tall, muscled, dressed in faded jeans and a hoodie with long slightly scruffy hair, leather gloves, and deep blue eyes.
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Steve pursed his lips up and sort of half tilted his head and half frowned and half groaned and half winced-- "You called me out here in the cold after getting over pneumonia to ask about Bucky? I'm asking him out tomorrow."
He had to go through the whole thing then, about why tomorrow and about the hypothetical questions and then the kissing and the rest of it. Steve was glowing, even over the scarf that he still wore to keep from getting a chill. It was stupid, but puppy love just made him feel more whole than he had in a long time.
He played with the straw of his Sprite and leaned forward. "Anyway. Whatcha doing for Christmas? Thor and you still a thing?"
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"Yes, and we're having Christmas at Thor's place, so you're coming. No arguments. You can even bring your boyfriend."
Loren would be there as well, someone she wasn't sure she liked all that much but who Thor obviously doted on, but that should be it. Perhaps Clint would stop by if he woke up in time and didn't just decide to split a pizza with his dog.
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"Yes arguments because one, he's not my boyfriend and two, he doesn't really do good with people. You know that. He doesn't do very good with being out and after tonight, I'm not too keen on being around Thor's brother okay?" He didn't really want to get into it though.
He liked Loren. Or had liked him. But he'd seen the man purposefully hit the counter and he'd been crouched over for twenty full minutes trying to talk a man he cared about out of the desert.
"What about tomorrow night instead? After work, bring Thor around and we'll celebrate Christmas Eve together. No arguments."
He wanted Nat with him but he understood that sometimes plans and people changed. It would be weird not having Christmas with her though.
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Honestly, Steve was too reserved about these things. Natasha called anyone she kissed more than once a boyfriend until she was through with them, and Steve needed to have the confidence in his own sex appeal to do that too.
"You argued, I said no. You are coming Christmas, you can bring him, end of discussion. No, I lie, not end of discussion, why do you not like Loren?"
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This put Steve in a really bad spot.
"So please don't put your petite little foot down on this, Nat. I really-- I really like him. He's the only other person in my life, after you, that I've really had an easy time being around. Like he gets me, even if he has so much other stuff going on... And already told him we'd have dinner together."
Steve looked guilty.
"You and Thor could come for dessert. After your thibg."
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Natalia could be a very scary woman when she wanted to be, but she wasn't bad at heart. She trusted that Steve had got the right end of the stick when he said Loren triggered a panic attack or flashback through deliberate means rather than by accident, he tended to be perceptive in that sort of way and she had seen Loren behave spitefully towards Thor on occasion.
"I suppose you could win this argument, only once, but you never tell anyone. I will bring Thor for dessert on Christmas Day, or perhaps I will blow him off and come to yours all day, I don't like not being with you on Christmas."
Not since they had made friends all those years back when she couldn't even speak English. She remembered their first Christmas together where Steve just babbled at her in a language she barely understood just to help her get acclimitised to the sound of it, and how she had waited all day just to tell him to shut up, and then thank you.
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Over the table, Steve stood and leaned to wrap his arm around Nat and pull her close. It was awkward and the edge of the table dug into his hips, but it was worth it. "Thor is a good guy, Nat. Maybe Loren is too. He's always been nice to me in that ignoring way of his." He scratched the back of his neck and tried not to get special sauce everywhere.
He didn't want Nat to miss out on a family. But he wasn't too sure if Bucky would want a lot of company either.
"Why don't we have dinner at your place? It can spill over into mine and that way everyone can be together?"
And Bucky could hide if he needed to.
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"As long as you do not expect me to cook because it is my apartment, then you have a deal."
She had an aversion to cooking. She subsisted on salads and protein bars a lot of the time, and the occasional take out from one of the healthier places. Luckily everywhere delivered in New York, even sushi bars, and she managed a fairly healthy diet without ever cooking herself.
"Only two days, hm? I hope you have got me a magnificent present."
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"Have Thor cook and bring it over," Steve suggested. "We can make the sides. And hey. I thought your Christmas present was telling you about Bucky?" His friends would bleed him dry. But he laughed it off and waited for Nat to finish her burger. He picked a few things up for Bucky and the two slight and willowy people moved as quickly as possible, arm and arm, back to the apartment.
He had to sell Bucky on the idea now. But with a bag of chicken nuggets and Big Macs? He liked to think you could bribe anyone with special sauce and honey mustard dip!
He gave Nat a hug at the top of the stairs and moved back to his apartment, wondering if Bucky was still there.
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If Steve chose not to go up, then he might hear Bucky pacing around in his apartment throughout the evening. If he did, then he would see the door was open and Bucky was, indeed, pacing with his cell phone in his hand and a mutinously angry expression on his face even though he wasn't talking to anyone, just staring at the phone as if it had personally offended him.
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"I'm not going to ask what's wrong but I come in peace," Steve said, note in one hand and the bag of burgers in the other. He leaned against the door and shook the sack. "Big Mac? I promise you'll either feel better or have a heart attack after eating this. So... Maybe partake at your own risk."
He dropped the bag on a clean looking kitchen counter. Huh. Bucky had done wonders since he was last up here. He'd unpacked. The boxes were all broken apart and gone from the apartment. Steve tried not to look around too much but... Well. He was only human. He couldn't help himself.
"Should I let you alone to deal with your overages?" he joked, making sure that Bucky was okay. "You shouldn't just leave the door open..."
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Bucky jumped when he saw Steve, and his expression just got a little more annoyed. "I left the door open so I would be able to hear you on the stairs when you got back and come down to see you, guess that didn't work out so well."
His apartment was mostly utilitarian, a ratty blue sofa, a bookcase with a few books, and a grey rug in front of an old TV set. The only pieces of personality were the drawing of outlaw Bucky on the fridge, and a photograph of Bucky arm in arm with a younger girl who looked a lot like him, both smiling like goofballs.
"It's what you said about my family, I can't get it out of my fucking head. I've been trying to work up the nerve to call since you left, just say Happy Christmas and I'm alive, and I still haven't done it."
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Steve wasn't going to take that personally. He knew Bucky wasn't blaming him. So he moved into the room and oh, that picture was beautiful of Bucky and a girl that was likely his sister! He reached out to gently take the phone from his hand and then pushed it into Bucky's pocket. "It's not ready yet," he said. "You'll know when you're ready."
He wasn't qualified to be giving this sort of advice but he knew a little bit about obsession and the best thing to do was to distract. He could do that easily enough. He just neeeed to be the distraction. Steve thought that was one particular hardship he didn't mind.
Putting himself in Bucky's space, he gestured over his shoulder at the bag. "I didn't know if you were a burger guy so I got nuggets too. They're vaguely ball shaped."
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"'Preciate it, Steve, but I've gotta do this now or it'll eat at me."
Steve's right, he's not even close to ready. But now that Steve had put the idea into his head that he owed his family that much, the guilt would never let him go until he did it.
"You do it, you dial, then I can't chicken out."
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The phone didn't have a passcode on it and he took it over to the couch to flip through the contacts. MOM was easy enough to find and he placed the phone on a small table being used as a foot rest of a coffee table before he glanced up at Bucky.
His eyes played off the couch and he let out a breath before he pressed the call button. It rang three times before a tired sounding woman answered. "Hello?"
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She sounded so tired. Why? It wasn't that late. Was she working shifts now? Did she still have the same job? Was she sick? His brow furrowed and his voice nearly died in his throat, but he forced the words out sounding weird and raspy.
"Mom, it's-- uh, it's James." His eyes flicked up to Steve for support, glad he'd put it on speaker because he didn't think he could hold the phone right now. "Merry Christmas."
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There was more than that sobbed into the receiver by a scared and happy and relieved mother but the words were lost upon Steve's ears and probably to anyone else's either. Her tears were audible and it made the blond reach out to take Bucky's hand.
It was so nice to have that. But he had no idea how his friend might react.
Sometimes he just turned his own emotion to anger.
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"If they come by again, slam the door in their face, I don't need the VA or the Wounded Warriors shit, I'm fine."
That was no way to talk to his mother, too rough and angry, and maybe all of this was a mistake. He swallowed hard and took a step back, clearly on the verge of just running out of the damn room.
"Steve-- Mom, this is Steve, he'll tell you, I'm fine. I have to go. Sorry... I'm sorry."
And he turned and ran like a coward, abandoning his own apartment with Steve in it and Winifred Barnes sounding like she was crying, her voice echoing down the line.
"Jimmy, no! Wait! Please-- Jimmy? James? S-Steve?" He had said someone else was there, right?
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Ah, he didn't even know what to say right now. He couldn't out Bucky to his mother to say he and her son were in a romantic relationship. She could figure out by the area code that he was calling from New York so saying it outloud was pointless.
And about his issues--
"He's having a hard time. Since his discharge--"
"His arm? They told me that he had missed an appointment with his-- I can't even say it," she wept.
"You don't need to. He's doing really well. He just is afraid that you'll be upset with him and-- Well I suppose that was realistic to be afraid of that, ma'am. But just know that he's doing all right. He has friends here thst really care about him. He just-- he wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. And so do I. But let me give you my number. You can call or text if you need anything. Just give James some time."
He hung up shortly after and headed into the hall. He hoped Bucky was there or downstairs. Otherwise he'd just wait for him in his apartment until he returned.
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Steve sounded nice, she really hoped he was a good friend for her boy. She thanked him in a choked voice and took his number gratefully, telling him to call her Winifred, and then let him hang up.
Bucky wasn't far. He was just down a floor sat outside Steve's apartment with his back against the front door, glaring up at Steve as he came down as if this was all his stupid blond idiot friend's fault for putting the idea in his head in the first place.
"Well that was a fucking disaster."
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Bucky had complicated everything by moving in upstairs. Steve had never had to work so hard for anything. It was as if Bucky's ease came at a price with all of the baggage towed under the surface. At least most of that was floating now, no less light but still visible.
Steve sat on the second to last step, looking at Bucky through the spindles of the staircase. Once upon a time, this place had been so nice. The cheapness and rent control meant that the building owner didn't do a whole lot of upkeep. The wood of the banister needed to be sanded and repainted.
"I'm real sorry."
And Steve was. He looked almost ashamed of himself, staring now at his hands as if he could blame them. "I'm... I'm not the best person for advice. I'll stop giving it."
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Okay, maybe he was a little mad at Steve, but that wasn't fair because his advice was good advice. And even if he had complicated everything, Steve had already helped Bucky a whole hell of a lot more than he might realise. He smiled, he laughed sometimes, and he actually trusted someone. That was huge.
"It was hearing the VA had gone 'round and hassled my Ma. What right do they have to go butting in and telling her personal stuff about me? I didn't tell them-- I didn't want them to know what happened, and it turns out that they got told anyway by someone else. Fuck."
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"From... What I gathered was that they had tried to set up an appointment for a new refitting for your arm. I guess you hadn't gotten around to changing your address yet so someone went to the house." Mrs Barnes didn't seem like she knew a whole lot. She'd been told when Bucky was brought home that he had been severely injured. That he'd lost a limb. And that he hadn't given family permission to come onto the base.
Steve bit his lower lip.
"She just was so happy to know you were all right. I didn't... I didn't tell her anything real, Buck. No real information. But I said you were settled in and had friends that cared for you." He ended up pressing his thumbs against his eyelids.
He'd give anything to have his mom poking and prying into all of his stuff. He really would. But he understood that every family and every son and mother were different.
"She loves you. She just wants what's best for you. And I really don't think she knows everything." Steve didn't think anyone but Bucky did.
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It was probably for the best, it was just terrifying.
He scrubbed his hand over his face and then pushed himself up from in front of the door, offering his hand out to Steve to help him up from his perch on the stairs if he anted it.
"I know she does, that's why I was trying to protect her. She doesn't deserve to have to deal with the mistakes I made, and I'm just-- I'm so angry they couldn't leave her alone. But I swear I'm not mad at you, don't stop-- giving me advice and being the little asshole you are, because you mean a lot to me."
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They were in a low rent area. Thst meant that it wasn't all that safe.
"And I brought you dinner. Can you-- will you stay tonight? I know you've been staying every night for a week, but I want you to stay with me." The words were loaded. He knew that. Standing on the second step, at least he could look Bucky directly in the eye while they spoke. "Get the McDonald's and a change of clothes, okay?"
That wasn't quite an order but it certainly was forceful.
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