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The thing was…
The thing was, everyone had a little bit of magic, legacy from the long-ago days when magic was wild, pooling in great wells in the world. Back then the situation had been reversed—a few people with a lot of magic—because only a few had the rare ability to siphon it up and use it to do great things.
Great, of course, doesn't necessarily mean good. Sometimes it just means big.
History doesn't really agree on who, exactly, dealt with the problem (but then, when does history ever agree on anything?). It does, however, agree on what they did.
The problem was concentrated pools of wild magic, there for the using by anyone lucky enough to be born with the ability, regardless of their personal scruple-level.
The solution? Give the magic to everyone.
Everyone might have liked to have been asked before suddenly getting doused with a splash of magic, but it did solve the problem.
The magic of the world was no longer pooled in the world. Instead, it was forever grounded in humanity, passed on to generation after generation, in concentrations too small to do any damage.
Well, at least not great amounts of damage.
* * *
This isn't great. This is the very definition of a not-great situation.
Bucky was better than this. He was so much better than this. Natasha, far away on a mission of her own, was face-palming and she didn't know why.
Face it, Bucky, she probably knows exactly why.
He made himself focus. He was in the middle of a residential neighbourhood, HYDRA goons hot on his heels. There was nowhere he could stash the drive, nowhere he could hide, that it or he wouldn't be found. Not with a Tracker locked onto him.
They weren't supposed to have a Tracker. All the intel we had and there was nothing about a Tracker.
Except the intel was obviously wrong, since that's who was after him.
Most everyone knew about people having unique fingerprints. Not many people knew about unique heartbeats. They were what people with the tracking Ability used, locking onto the unique beat and following it forever.
Hiding in a sound-proofed room wouldn't shake them, because they weren't tracking the sound. Get far enough away and you could break their connection—but far enough depended on how strong the Tracker was.
Tachycardia, arrythmia—they'd work, if you could get your hands on the right drugs or equipment and not die. Of course, death would work. It was extreme, but Bucky'd heard stories of people who'd tried temporarily dying to shake a Tracker.
Bucky had another option. He could swap his heart for a different one.
Natasha is going to laugh her ass off.
He slid around the back of the wall and dove under a bush, reaching for his Ability.
Like fingerprints and heartbeats, everyone had an Ability. Most weren't unique, but some were rarer than others. Some were stranger than others.
Bucky's was both. He could shift his shape. Not his mass, sadly, which was a pain, but he could change himself into other living things and a different heart would mean a different heartbeat. One the Tracker wasn't following.
Residential neighbourhood, something that wouldn’t stand out… There was only one real choice. He was gonna have to be a dog.
He muffled a groan, because dog. He'd been a wolf; he'd been a lion. On one memorable occasion he'd been a (small) bear. There was just something undignified about being a damn dog.
Needs must, and at least the drive would be as safe as he could make it. Everything he was wearing, everything he was carrying, disappeared, folding itself into a…pocket dimension (that was what he called it, anyway, adapted from Stark's fascinating technobabble) along with Bucky's human shape, stowed safely, waiting to be called back.
He'd been a dog before, that time in Bucharest when he and Nat had infiltrated a dog show. At least this time no one was going to bleach and blow dry him. He'd be that dog again, and as soon as Nat got back from her mission, she'd come looking and find a dog she recognised.
It wasn't a great plan, but it was the best he could manage with a Tracker on his ass. He pulled out his phone, opened an encrypted channel, sent a message to her that included the words best in show, then shoved it in his pocket and tapped into his Ability.
One moment there'd been a well-muscled man crouched in a bush, specialist gear camouflaged as ordinary street-wear, weapons hidden in places most people would think you couldn't hide a weapon. The next moment there was dog.
Not a small dog. Two hundredish pounds of man made for a very large dog. But he was believably dog-shaped, and that was what counted: fawn coloured, with half-floppy ears, long nose, thick tail, huge paws.
Great big teeth.
He shook himself and poked his nose around the wall. He could smell the Tracker, smell the goons, anger and worry and, Jesus, one of them needed to change his socks immediately. He sneezed, rubbed his nose on his leg, and considered his options.
A fast dash through several backyards, dodging yappy mutts and a vicious cat that must have been half-cougar, led him to an empty yard. Tiny brick house with a wooden fence and a small gate. Tidy grass, no garden.
The yard was small, but it was empty. There was a slab of cement outside the front door, an awning stretched over the top, a round wicker chair tucked back out of the weather.
Perfect.
Bucky leapt easily over the fence and curled up in the chair. He was a dog. This was his home. This was where he belonged.
When the HYDRA goons walked past, no sign of the Tracker, he lifted his head and woofed at them, ears lifted, just another backyard mutt. Curled up like he was, it was impossible to see his true size.
They barely glanced his way.
Neither did the next set of goons. Or the next. The black SUV that cruised slowly down the street, obviously looking for something, the one that he saw three more times over the course of the afternoon, ignored him, too.
They were looking for something unusual.
He'd just have to keep not being that.
* * *
Steve wasn't having the best day.
Truth was, he wasn't having the best week. Best month, maybe?
Sure, let's go for not having the best month. Happened when you lost your job and then spent the next five weeks cleaning out and sprucing up a dead guy's place. Not just any dead guy; a dead guy who so firmly had no one that the closest thing he claimed to a relative had hired a total stranger to deal with his stuff.
"Keep whatever you want, sell whatever you don't. Get the place in a fit state to sell," Steve had been told.
"What if I find something valuable?"
He'd had to pull the phone away from his ear, the answering laughter had been so unpleasant.
"That's a good one. Tell you what. You find anything valuable in Jimmy's craphole, you go right ahead and keep it."
That had been that. Steve'd had a hard time not feeling sorry for Jimmy, his life ended too early when he didn't look both ways and walked out in front of a steam roller. A lonely life and a Looney Tunes ending would make anyone sad.
Still, he was okay with the job, just like he was okay with losing his old one. It'd been shitty—data entry in a cubicle that smelled like mould—and the moment he'd decided to report his boss for massive fraud he'd figured he could kiss it goodbye. Completely worth it, he'd do it again in a heartbeat, but the company had decided it was easier to shut the branch down. Most everyone else had been transferred; Steve, much to his lack of shock, hadn't been offered that option.
Cleaning out Jimmy's place wasn't the most fun in the world, but he was getting paid, he had a place to stay, and it was giving him time—possibly a little too much time—to think.
It was a fair walk from the bus stop, one he'd done enough times now he barely paid attention, thoughts occupied with everything he still had to do, which was why it took getting to the gate to realise there was a dog in the yard.
He stopped dead, staring at the monstrously huge, pale beige dog standing at the gate, standing inside the gate, staring back at him for all the world like it belonged there.
He frowned at it. "I don't own a dog," he muttered, and it hadn't been Jimmy's. There'd been no dog things in what he'd cleared out of the house. A truly staggering amount of porn, an almost as large collection of chipped mugs, and dust bunnies on the verge of evolving into kaiju, but nothing dog-related.
The dog cocked its head. Steve offered his hand and it sniffed it then nosed it in a friendly way.
Steve, deciding to go with it, opened the gate and slipped inside, careful to block the way—a waste of time, since the dog showed no inclination to escape.
"And it's not like you couldn’t have just stepped over the fence," Steve told it. The dog was taller than the fence. Steve wasn't exactly breaking height records, but still; the dog's head was higher than his hip.
* * *
A quick google search found him a vet not too far away. "Come on, boy." The dog was very obviously he, as Steve had discovered when he turned around. "We're going for a walk."
He solved the no-collar, no-leash problem by looping a belt around the dog's neck. It didn't leave him with much extra length to hang onto. "You're Very Large," he told it and the dog looked pleased with himself.
The dog was Very Large, but also very, very well-mannered. He walked politely by Steve's side, ignoring the various neighbourhood dogs, of which there were many, that barrelled up to their fences and yapped threats of violence and vengeance.
What Steve found interesting was what the dog did pay attention to.
He carefully watched the cars that drove past, the people who walked by—and there were more than Steve was used to seeing out at this time of day, none of them familiar. He glanced down at the dog and watched his head swivel to stare down the side streets, almost like he was looking for something, as they waited to cross the road.
That was, as far as he knew, unusual behaviour for a dog.
The only real doggish thing he did was when they walked past the Frost place. The Frosts were infamous. Both husband and wife had some kind of plant-growing Ability, it showed in their precious yard with its precious monster of a hedge, green and luxurious and objectively magnificent. They loved their yard. They loved their hedge. They hated everything else in the world.
Loudly.
Mr Frost was out in the yard, and he came to the gate to yell at Steve, same as always. The dog gave him ammunition, so for once the usual tirade had new material in the form of 'trying to make yourself look like a real man, are you, getting a nasty pit bull like that' and 'you're not fooling anyone, you know'.
Steve rolled his eyes and ignored him, but the dog slowly turned to face Mr Frost, head lowered, and stopped walking. Then he gave one low, deep bark; quiet, but it rolled like thunder out of his massive chest.
It was enough to shut Mr Frost up long enough to get past his yard.
Steve grinned. He shouldn't, but, "Good dog," he whispered. The dog cocked his head, looking up at Steve, and he'd almost swear that was an answering grin.
When they walked into the vet's office, the woman behind the counter did a double take. "Are you sure that's a dog?"
The dog froze with one paw raised. Steve just blinked at her.
"I'm thinking maybe a bear," she said. A large black cat jumped onto the counter next to her and yowled once.
The woman made a face. "Abacus, that's not nice."
Steve eyed the cat, ready to grab the dog if it lunged for it, but he turned away, gazing out the window.
"The cat's name is Abacus?"
"Yeah. Because we can always count on him. Mostly to be rude." The cat groomed its whiskers and looked smug. "I'm not going to repeat what he said."
"Fair enough," Steve said. "And I can't swear he's not a bear, since he's not mine. I found him in my yard, brought him in to see if you guys could check for a chip."
"We can do that. Just grab a seat."
They didn't have to wait long, and the vet was taking them into the exam room. She ran the reader over the dog's neck, and the dog bore it patiently. "He's not chipped, but he looks like he's in good health." She shook her head. "If he was a ferret, I could ask him who he belongs to."
"You could?"
"Sure, I can talk to ferrets, Sarah out front can talk to cats. One of our other vets can talk to rats, but we don't have anyone with the Ability to talk to dogs. It can get frustrating. " She lifted one shoulder. "Mind if I get a picture? In case someone comes asking after him."
It made sense, so Steve said, "Fine by me."
She hung up the reader and snagged her phone, took a few photos. "Were you thinking of keeping him if you can't find his owner?"
"I'm not sure."
"If so, I'd recommend having him neutered."
It was in that moment that Steve began to suspect that the dog? Wasn't, in fact, a dog.
There was no reason for a dog to know what the word neutered meant. Certainly no reason for a dog to cringe hard up against Steve's leg and, Steve would swear, attempt to cross his back legs while his tail clamped down hard over the apparently offending objects.
The vet had her back turned, putting her phone away, and didn't notice. Steve frowned down at the dog.
When he lifted his head, the vet was smiling encouragingly. "If you're concerned about him feeling emasculated, we do offer Neuticles."
Steve stared at her, the dog's reaction not forgotten, precisely, but temporarily relegated to second place. "What's a Neuticle?"
The vet's smile was almost aggressively neutral. "Prosthetic canine testicles for dog owners concerned about their pet's self-esteem."
"Fake balls. For dogs. Who feel emasculated."
"That's right."
Steve's mom had raised him to have good manners. To be polite. So he gave her a quick smile, thanked her for her time, thanked her again when she offered to help with locating the dog's owner, and got them both the heck out of there.
The dog walked in front of Steve, tail still clamped down, and the only way to describe the looks he was sending over his shoulder at the vet were wary.
"Don't worry, buddy. It's not gonna happen." Not with every look and every step reinforcing his suspicions.
Steve stopped at the counter long enough to buy a long, soft leash, to replace the makeshift belt, and leave his details in case anyone came asking after the dog.
Once they were outside Steve looped the leash into a circle and held it out. "They enforce the leash laws around here. I'm not paying a hundred buck fine cause you don't want to wear it."
The dog put his head through the loop.
Yeah. If this was a dog it was the best trained dog in the history of the world.
* * *
Steve had met people whose Ability was shifting shape. They weren't common, but they weren't the kind of people who were so unique they ended up with their own reality show—not like that guy who could sprout extra arms and legs. (And as fascinating an Ability as it was, Steve had no idea how Out on a Limb had run for seven seasons.) He'd never met someone who'd used it to turn into an animal and then pretended to be that animal.
He paused with his hand on the doorknob. That he knew of.
That was something to ponder.
"Okay, Very Large Dog, this isn't my house, so don't mess it up. If you need to go out, ask me. If I'm asleep, wake me up. If you trash the place, I'll turn you into a rug."
Now the Very Large Dog was acting like a dog, head cocked, ears tilted, obviously listening to Steve but there was no sign he understood what he was saying.
He'd better understand.
Of course, if the Very Large Dog… He really had to shorten that. If the VLD was a dog, there was a chance he might tear through the place—except if he was a dog, his manners were impeccable, and he was trained so well he should be starring in movies.
"Here we go," Steve muttered and pushed open the door.
The VLD politely followed him inside and Steve shut the door, slipped the leash off over the VLD's head, then leaned on the door, waiting to see what he'd do.
He did nothing, just sat in front of Steve and watched him.
"It's okay," Steve told him, gesturing at house. "Go on, go explore."
After a moment's hesitation, the dog trotted off…and proceeded to quarter the house, nose in the air. At one point he looked back at Steve from the door to the bathroom like he was checking lines of sight, the same way Sam sometimes did when he'd had a bad week.
Uh huh. If VLD was a dog Steve would eat Jimmy's floral couch.
"Hey," Steve said quietly and VLD lifted his head and trotted back, stopping at Steve's feet. Steve held out his hand and VLD nosed it gently. No licking, Steve thought, he'd never licked. It made sense if he wasn't a dog. Steve was happy about it, since he didn't want a strange guy licking him.
…at least not when he looked like a dog.
Steve cleared his throat, chasing the thought away, and VLD gave him a concerned look, nudging his hand.
"I'm thinking if someone let you run off and wants you back, they're going to be looking for you. Posters. Facebook posts. Maybe we let them find you instead of putting you out there for them to find. What do you think?"
The tip of the dog's tail wagged and he shoved up close to Steve, didn't even have to jump up to press his head against Steve's chest. Steve laughed as he scratched him behind the ears. VLD, whoever he was, wasn't completely hopeless at being a fake dog.
Steve didn't mind pretending to believe him. He'd always been a good judge of character and, dog shaped or not, VLD had been nothing but good-mannered and pleasant and, whatever his reasons for needing to be a dog, Steve could help him out, at least for now.
Of course, if he woke up tomorrow and the place was cleaned out, Sam was never going to let him hear the end of it.
* * *
Bucky had spent the morning infiltrating a HYDRA stronghold that, from the outside, looked like a candy factory. He'd spent the morning playing hide and seek with HYDRA goons and a HYDRA Tracker through a wide swath of suburbia. He'd spent the afternoon at the vet—and god, he still wanted to cross his legs. Neutered. Whatever happened, he owed Steve Rogers for getting him out of there with his balls intact.
And now it was night, coming on to midnight, and he was lying on the couch in Steve Rogers' living room. Or, no, not his living room, he'd been clear on that point, but close enough. Full, fed, nominally safe if temporarily stuck. His mission was mostly accomplished, he had the drive and it was safe; all he had to do was keep himself out of HYDRA's hands.
Problem was, there were a lot of HYDRA's hands looking for him.
They wanted that drive. It held the names of a massive number of US HYDRA operatives. With that drive, SHIELD could break them.
He could not let himself be caught.
But they knew where his heartbeat had disappeared. There was no way they'd believe he died. No body, for a start. He'd disappeared, which meant he was still here somewhere.
If he shifted, their Tracker would lock back onto his human heartbeat and find him.
He had to stay a dog. He had to stay an unnoticeable dog until Nat could come and find him, and that meant he needed an owner.
Maybe after all this is over I should talk to Stark. Ask if they give me one of those dog chips when I'm a dog, if it'll stay a permanent part of my dog shape. If he'd been registered to Nat, someone from SHIELD could have picked him up from the fake-testicle vet and he'd already be home.
He wasn't always going to be Steve Rogers lucky. Guy could have dumped him at the vets. Guy could have taken him to the pound. Instead he'd brought him home and shared his dinner and scratched him behind the ears and let him stretch out on a blanket on the couch.
Plus, he smelled good.
Creepy, Bucky. Seriously creepy.
Creepy, but true.
He buried his head in the blanket and groaned.
The next morning, Steve stood looking down at him, wearing a pleased smile to go with his soft sweats and old, worn t-shirt, his floppy blond hair falling in his eyes. "Still here, huh?" he said softly.
Bucky gave a small woof, trying hard not to notice that Steve looked cuddly along with smelling good, and Steve's smile widened.
"Good morning to you, too. Breakfast?"
He struggled to untangle himself from the blanket—these legs were too long, and he wasn't used to dealing with them and a blanket—ignoring Steve's muffled laughter and followed Steve into the kitchen.
If he leaned a little on Steve's leg, maybe rested his chin on Steve's bony hip, while he put breakfast together, it was only because it was early, and it wasn't like he'd get any coffee in this body.
After breakfast, and two cups of coffee he watched Steve drink with a kind of longing, Steve grabbed the leash and held it up. "Walkies?"
Walkies? What am I, a Pomeranian?
Steve wiggled the leash. "You don't want to go walkies?"
Bucky wanted to go out. He had a pressing need to go out, getting more urgent by the second.
Grumbling internally, he walked over and maybe, accidentally, jabbed Steve in the stomach with his nose. Which backfired, because all it did was make Steve laugh and give him a snootful of Steve's far-too-good scent.
Steve looped the leash, Bucky ducked his head into it, and then they were going walkies.
Nat can never find out about this.
* * *
One of the problems with pretending to be an actual dog was the bathroom. Specifically, that he couldn't really use one. (Although he figured he probably could, given enough time to practice, but it would give the game away.)
Bucky wasn't the kind of guy who'd whip it out and piss wherever he felt like—that, he was pretty sure, required a very specific species of bro.
Of course, there was that time he and Nat had been in the Swiss Alps. Faced with acres of pristine white, he'd succumbed to temptation and written his name in the snow.
He was only human. Most of the time.
(Of course, Nat had written her name in cursive, and he hadn't been game to ask how. Mostly cause he'd been afraid she'd tell him.
Where was he?
Right.)
He wasn't the kind of guy who thought it was okay to take a piss in public. But cocking his leg when he was dog-shaped really wasn't the same thing. At all. So yeah, that was easy to deal with on their walkies.
Taking a dump, on the other hand…
No.
Thankfully, that sour-faced asshole who'd yelled at Steve was only one block over. Steve had ignored him with the stoicness of one long used to it, which meant Bucky felt no guilt whatsoever at stealthily heading back there through the maze of yards, shouldering his way into the hedge, and making use of the…facilities.
* * *
Steve had been living with VLD for two days when the blue car pulled up outside the gate. He watched VLD, since he knew who was in the car, curious to see what he'd do.
It was half-doggish, half-not. VLD stood up from where he'd been lying sprawled in the sun and moved to stand halfway between Steve, sitting in the wicker chair as he went over offers from real estate agents to sell Jimmy's house, and the gate. His size struck Steve all over again, because he was huge, and it made him wonder how big the guy was when he wasn't a dog.
VLD didn't bark, he wasn't tense. His whole attitude was patient. He was waiting to see what was going to happen before he reacted. Even so, there was no doubt in Steve's mind that VLD had put himself between Steve and whoever was about to get out of the car.
"It's okay," Steve called. "He's a friend."
It got him an ear twitch, but VLD maintained his position.
Sam got out of the car and stared at VLD.
"Steve. Why is there a horse in your yard?"
"Well," Steve replied, standing and ambling over to the gate, VLD falling in beside him, "you know how everyone's into bespoke this and handcrafted that?"
"I do," Sam said in the tones of someone who knows they're being fucked with.
"I was thinking we could look at launching a modern version of the Pony Express. All we need is someone to design the App and a few more—"
"Steven Grant Rogers." Sam stared down his nose at Steve. "I drive all the way out here to see you and this is what I get?"
"Sorry," Steve said with a grin. "Couldn't resist."
"Man, you're not even a little bit sorry. Tell me why you have a giant dog."
"He just kind of showed up." He opened the gate and gestured Sam inside. "Sam, meet VLD. VLD, meet Sam."
Sam offered his hand, which VLD politely sniffed.
"VLD... Oh, don't tell me. Very Large Dog?"
"Got it in one."
"Steve, that's no kind of name for a dog."
"I know, but it's going to have to do for the moment."
"And what are you going to do with him when the place goes on the market and you need to leave?"
"I figure it'll work itself out." He led the way into the house, VLD by his side, Sam following.
"Hmm." Sam sat down at the kitchen table and stared at VLD; VLD sat next to Steve as he filled the coffee pot and stared back. "You never really struck me as a dog person."
"I like dogs. Just never been in a situation where I could have one. But when something shows up on your doorstep with nowhere to go, what are you supposed to do?"
"Take it to the pound."
VLD flattened his floppy ears and turned his back on Sam.
Steve tried not to laugh, because whoever he was, sometimes he wasn't great at being an undercover dog.
"Thought about it, decided not to. He's good, doesn't cause any trouble. I'm happy to give him a place to stay." He gently nudged VLD with his toes, wondering if he'd pick up the hint, but he just moved over, like he thought he was in Steve's way.
"Alright," Sam said doubtfully. "I guess if the bus drivers go on strike again you could ride him around."
"Relaunched Pony Express, Sam. I'm telling you; we'll make our fortunes."
When the coffee was done, they settled in to talk, catching up on each other's lives. It had been almost four weeks since he'd seen Sam—his work at the VA kept him busy, and it was a long drive out here—so there was a lot to catch up on. It carried them through coffee and into lunch.
After lunch, Sam leaned back in his chair. "So what do you do for fun out here in the wilds of suburbia?"
Steve considered it; there wasn't a lot. "Feel like getting yelled at?"
"That I can get in the city."
"It's a different," Steve paused, thoughtful, then went on, "flavour out here."
"Think I'll pass, thanks."
"Probably smart." Steve nudged VLD gently with a toe. "Want to go to the dog park?"
"Are you asking me or the horse?" Sam asked, sounding amused. VLD didn't look impressed.
"Both, I guess."
"Why not. If I'm here I may as well get my money's worth."
VLD heaved himself up with a sigh, but willingly put his head in the leash loop and followed Steve.
* * *
The dog park was about a mile from Steve's place and, not surprisingly, filled with dogs, all running around without leashes and sniffing each other.
Bucky really didn't want to go in. Sam leaned on the tall fence surrounding the park and watched Steve lead him through the gate.
"Doesn't look much like he wants to be there."
Sam was a smart man.
Steve patted his head. "Don't you want to stretch your legs? Maybe play with the dogs?"
There was something about Steve's tone… A dog came up behind him and shoved its nose right under his tail and wiped it right out of his head.
Bucky whipped around and glared.
He could hear Steve laughing.
The dog, droopy-lipped and drooling, waddled closer and wagged its tail encouragingly.
Bucky looked over his shoulder at Steve.
"Not your thing?"
There were more dogs coming, an undulating furry wave topped by pointy noses, destined, he was sure, to be shoved where the sun didn't shine.
He made a tactical decision and took a running leap to the top rail of the fence and perched there while the dogs jumped up, trying to get to him.
"Your horse is a chicken," Sam called, laughing, phone floating next to his shoulder, aimed at Bucky.
Bucky didn't turn around to glare at him; his balance was precarious enough already.
Steve walked around the outside of the fence and coaxed him down. "Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "Had to give it a chance."
He let himself be coaxed, jumping lightly to the grass, and gave a hard shake. Dogs.
Sam came over, phone still floating above his shoulder, and grinned. "And you said there was nothing to do out here."
Bucky accidentally whacked him with his tail.
* * *
"How much longer do you think you'll be stuck out here?" Sam asked a couple of hours later, when they'd walked back.
"All that's left is finding someone to sell the place, and then it's out of my hands. If it takes too long I'll need to check back, make sure it's okay, but at that point I'll basically be done."
"Good. And you know you can stay with me." Sam gave him a firm look. "No hanging around out here like a lost dog." Steve snorted with laughter and Bucky rolled his eyes. "You'll stay with me until you figure out what you're doing next."
"You think I'm gonna argue with you?"
"Sometimes I think you'd argue with the sun if you thought you had a good reason."
Steve laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, maybe."
"Maybe. Stubborn asshole." Sam dragged him into a hug.
"Yeah, maybe," Steve teased, hugging him back, and Sam groaned and let him go. "I'll see you, Sam."
"Soon as I can get out again."
There was something wistful about the way Steve watched the car drive off and Bucky leaned against his side, leaning a little harder when Steve rested his hand on his head.
* * *
Bucky lifted his head, knowing something had woken him—a sound, a smell, maybe—but whatever it was, it was gone now. Since he was awake, he figured he'd do a patrol of the house.
As he made his way down the hall, claws clicking on the tile floor, he heard Steve moving, and then his door was opening.
"Can't sleep?"
Bucky sat down and looked up at him.
"Yeah, me neither." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. It was sticking up in tufts, his face was creased from the pillow, his shirt was big enough to fit Bucky, hanging low, exposing sharp collarbones, and his sleep pants were so old there was a hole worn in one knee. Adorable. But his eyes were hollow, and sadness tinged his scent.
Bucky had no idea how he could smell that Steve was sad, but he could. If it wouldn't stand a good chance of killing them both and losing the drive, he'd shift and hold onto him until it went away.
Okay. He couldn't do that. What could he do? Press close and rest his head on Steve's hip, leaning into him. Very gently paw his leg.
Steve smiled down at him and rested a hand on his head. "Thanks," he said softly. He bit his lip, glanced over his shoulder. "I know this might be weird, but do you want to sleep in here with me?"
Bucky flicked his tail back and forth and followed Steve into his room, lying down next to the bed while Steve climbed back under the blankets, curling up on Bucky's side.
He still smelled sad.
"You know, Sam's the only one who's not worried about me?"
That didn't sound right. Watching Sam, watching the two of them, Sam seemed like the kind of guy who'd worry about his friends, and Steve was definitely that. He cocked his head.
"Worry about what I'm going to do, I mean. He's seen it and it's never worried him." He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "Everyone else…" A brief smile came and went. "Can't even blame 'em."
Bucky lifted his head, watching Steve carefully. He had to be talking about his Ability. There were some scary ones out there—Bucky'd been on the wrong side of more than a few in his time at SHIELD—but hard as he tried he couldn’t imagine Steve hurting someone.
Protecting himself, sure. Protecting someone else, hell yes, given the way he'd taken in a strange dog. But not hurting someone to hurt them; for fun, because he could—Bucky'd come up against that enough times to know it when he saw it.
Anyone who avoided Steve because of his Ability, whatever it was, was an idiot.
Bucky eyed the bed. It was big and Steve was small, which left a lot of empty space. One advantage of pretending to be a dog was that sometimes he could just…be a dog.
With a single bound, he leapt off the floor and over Steve, landing on the other side of the bed.
Steve shot straight up, back shoved against the wall. "What the fuck?"
Bucky ignored him, settling himself neatly in the space where Steve wasn't, completely filling it. When he was comfortable, and satisfied he wasn't going to accidentally send Steve flying, he nosed Steve's hand.
Steve was staring down at him, looking half-way spooked, but then he gave a strangled laugh. "Sure. Why not." He lay back down and closed his eyes. "Hope you don't snore."
Bucky gave a pleased little chuff under his breath, because Steve didn't smell sad anymore. He kept close watch and repeated his pleased chuff when he felt Steve drift off a few minutes later.
* * *
Steve would be lying if he claimed he'd chosen An American Werewolf in London for any reason other than messing with VLD.
Joke was on Steve, though, since VLD fell asleep about ten minutes into it, his head resting on Steve's thigh. He was heavy, but Steve didn't try and move him.
Last night, VLD, who wasn't a dog, had decided to stretch out next to Steve and sleep. Steve couldn't know for sure why VLD did anything, but he thought he'd done because last night Steve hadn't been doing great.
It was lonely out here. Truth was, it was lonely even when he wasn't out here, but at least when he'd been living in the city he always had Sam. And yeah, he knew no matter where he was he always had Sam. They could be old and married and living on different planets and he'd still have Sam, the same way Sam would always have him, but it wasn't the same as being a few subway stops away.
And having Sam wasn't the same as having someone of his own. His last two relationships had crashed and burned as soon as they'd learned what his Ability was. Again, he didn't even blame them. No one should ever feel afraid of someone they were supposed to be able to trust.
So yeah, last night he'd been feeling sorry for himself, had known he wouldn’t sleep, but VLD had decided to take it on himself to make him feel better. It had been weird. It had, at first, freaked him the hell out, but he couldn't deny it had worked.
Which was maybe sadder than he wanted to contemplate, but still. Whoever VLD was, he cared.
Steve turned away from the movie to look down at VLD, curled on his side, back shoved up against the couch, head firmly on Steve's leg. He was deeply, deeply asleep.
"I don't know why you need to be a dog," he whispered, "but you keep on being one as long as you need. Even if you need to keep on being one after I find someone to sell this place. I'll figure it out."
* * *
It had been two days since Bucky had decided it would be a good idea to help himself to three-quarters of Steve's bed (and he was still pleased with himself, thank you very much, since Steve had slept through the night and woken up rested and happy). If he'd worked the time right, Nat should be on her way.
He needed to put himself somewhere she could find him.
While Steve swore at real estate agents in absentia, Bucky put his head between his paws and groaned.
There was one place he could guarantee that anyone looking for a dog would go. Since he'd basically told Nat he was going to be reprising his role as this dog, even if he hadn't used the words, it was one of the places she'd check.
He was going to have to go back to the dog park.
"What's up?' Steve asked when he walked over with the leash in his mouth. "You want to go for a walk?" He stretched and shoved the pile of papers away. "Sounds good. I'm sick of these guys. I'm starting to think lining them up and chucking a dart, seeing who it sticks in, is as good a way to pick one as any."
It sounded good to Bucky. The two he'd met, standing guard next to Steve while they'd hmm'd and haw'd their way through the house, had smelled like hair gel and lies. (And no, he still didn't know how he could smell something like lies, but he could.)
When the leash was looped loosely around his neck, the other end draped over Steve's hand, they headed down the road, Steve letting Bucky take the lead.
He tried not to be obvious, making a point to stop and pretend to sniff things, but he wasn't surprised when Steve said, "Are we going to the dog park?"
It wasn't like Bucky could answer, or Steve expected him to answer… But that was going to change soon enough. When Nat came for him, she'd take Steve, too. It was procedure, it was inevitable, but Bucky's heart sank like a weighted sack. Steve was going to be angry, and he'd have every right to be. However good his reasons, Bucky had tricked him, Bucky had lied to him, when he'd let Steve believe he was a dog.
His ears flattened and he was shocked at the whine that snuck out of his throat.
"Hey," Steve said softly, gently drawing him to a stop and kneeling in front of him. His eyes were searching as he studied Bucky, then he gently smoothed his hand across Bucky's head, letting his fingers curl gently around his muzzle. "It's okay. We'll go to the dog park. Everything's gonna be alright."
Bucky wanted to believe him, was the hell of the thing. He was actually starting to, right up until he saw the posters taped up at the dog park.
Steve said, "I feel like those might not be good," while Bucky stared up at his picture and felt like that was an understatement
It was him as a dog, centred under the word 'Found' in big black letters, followed by the date Steve had taken him to the vet—the day HYDRA's Tracker had lost his heartbeat—and the vet's contact details.
"When I said the people at the vet's could help," there was a hum of irritation in Steve's voice, "this wasn't what I had in mind."
Bucky turned to cast his eyes around the dog park and spotted more posters, taped to fence posts and light poles and the bag dispenser.
He kept looking, scanning for anyone who looked like HYDRA, but that was the problem. There were a lot of people here and HYDRA could be anyone. That was why the drive was so important. That was why they wanted it back.
"How bad is this gonna be?" Steve murmured and Bucky whipped around to face him, trying to work out if Steve had been...asking him? No. He couldn’t have been. Steve thought he was a dog.
Didn't he?
In his confusion, he didn't react fast enough to his leash being snatched out of Steve's hand and yanked hard, hard enough to half-choke him and send him crashing off his feet.
"Hey!"
The cry wasn't Steve's; it came from a woman with a skinny grey dog racing after her as she pounded up to what had to be a HYDRA goon. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" The goon stumbled back, pushed by an unseen hand, as the woman's eyes narrowed. "You don't treat a dog like that!"
Steve shoved himself between Bucky, who staggered to his feet, gagging and coughing, and the HYDRA goon, who was half-again his height. His fists were clenched as he half-growled, "Don't you touch him."
Any hope the goon might have had of slinking off with Bucky in tow had to be rapidly fading as people and dogs converged.
"What's going on here?" a little old lady demanded, her white curls the same shape as the floppy golden fluff ball at her feet.
"This asshole just about choked that dog to death!" the woman with the grey dog replied, eyes sparking, and the goon stumbled back another few steps, but he snatched the end of Bucky's leash before it could fall.
Steve grabbed hold of the middle of Bucky's leash. "Let him go."
"It's my dog!" the goon said. "See?" He pointed at the posters. "Mine. He ran away."
"I'd run away, too, you treated me like that," a big, buff guy, a tiny shivering dog in a green sweater in his arms, said. The crowd of people, each and every one with a dog, murmured agreement.
"He's not your dog," Steve said firmly. "He's mine. I've had him since he was a puppy. Raised him myself. Trained him myself."
In answer the goon jabbed a finger at the poster.
Steve scoffed. "You think that's him? Look at him. That dog isn't even close to as big as Vlad. And he's clearly got brindling. You see any brindling on Vlad? No, because it's not him."
Steve kept going, inventing more and more reasons why the dog on the poster was obviously not him. Bucky listened to Steve spouting ridiculous bullshit, all to protect him, and felt himself fall head over heels in love.
"And I tell you," Steve shoved right up close to the goon and Bucky almost stopped breathing, "you're lucky he's trained as good as he is, cause otherwise he'd have taken a piece out of you for treating him like that." Steve pushed his hair out of his eyes, and Bucky fell a little bit more in love. "I'm not that well trained. If you don't take your hands off my dog, I'll take a damn piece out of you."
"He's my dog," the goon insisted, eyeing the mob of dog people surrounding him.
"Yeah? If he's your dog you know the command to make him play dead." Steve looked down, locked eyes with Bucky, and Bucky froze because Steve knew.
He barely heard the goon say, "Of course I do." Barely noticed the goon working through every possible command, verbal and hand, his limited imagination could come up with for 'play dead', as the people gathered around them started to titter. Bucky just stared at Steve, his heart beating out, he knows, he knows, how long has he known?.
"You done?" Steve asked.
The goon sneered.
Steve tilted his head towards Bucky. "Ready?"
Bucky wasn't sure he'd ever be ready. Steve knew. He'd known Bucky had been lying to him and he'd still defended him.
Steve cleared his throat and said, "Would you kindly stop for me?"
Bucky knew the poem, remembered it from college, and it was clever. Believable, but not something anyone would ever guess. Oh yeah. It was love.
He made it dramatic, threw himself onto his back, legs up, paws folded, tongue lolling.
The corner of Steve's mouth curled. "Good job."
The tip of Bucky's tail wiggled, totally out of his control, given he'd just flipped completely for Steve.
"Yeah," the buff guy said, his tiny dog letting out an equally tiny bark, "how about you fuck off now?"
Glowing golden rings of light appeared around the old lady's hands, like ethereal brass knuckles. She raised her fists. "Next time you try and steal someone's dog you're getting these."
The goon stomped off. Bucky leapt to his feet and threw himself at Steve, catching himself at the last second so he didn't knock him over, constraining himself to nudging his hand.
"He bothers you again, you just let us know," the woman with the skinny grey dog said.
"Thanks," Steve said, but his eyes never left Bucky. "I appreciate your help, all of you. But I think I'd better get him home."
* * *
On the fast walk home, Steve confirmed it. "I know you're not a dog."
Bucky wanted to ask: how long have you known? Why didn't you say something? What the hell is going on? But in the end, questions and answers didn't matter. At some point Steve had figured out he wasn't a dog and had let him stay anyway.
Steve had known he wasn't a dog and he'd still protected him.
Bucky momentarily froze, remembering how Steve had decided not to advertise that he'd found a dog. Shit, had he known from the start?
No time. He needed to get Steve inside. If HYDRA had figured out there was a chance he might be the dog, they'd be coming for him. He was linked with Steve, now. They'd be coming for Steve, too.
No.
They were already here.
Steve opened the door into what Bucky thought was an empty house and there they were, two Ability-cloaked HYDRA goons pointing guns at him.
Pointing guns at Steve.
Bucky'd been afraid before. He wasn't sure he'd ever been this afraid.
Two guns trained on Steve. Too close, safeties off, fingers on the triggers. Bucky was fast, he'd put himself between Steve and danger in a heartbeat, but all the willingness in the world to take those bullets for Steve wouldn't make him fast enough.
He crouched, a ripsaw snarl tearing out of him, trying to make himself the threat, get the guns aimed at him, but Steve's hand landed on his head.
"No," he said, calmly. His touch was firm, still and peaceful as a mountain lake, his blue eyes focussed on the goons. "Trust me."
Bucky let the snarl fade, Steve's stillness easing through his bones, trusting him even in the face of his fear.
"I thought you were better than this." There was a strange resonance to Steve's voice, a deep, warm timbre, as he made eye contact with each man in turn. "I know you're better than this."
He folded his arms as everything about him screamed disappointment.
"All you're capable of, everything you could be, and this is what you do with your life?"
The one on the left winced, the one on the right looked away. Both guns lowered as they mumbled about bad choices. Fingers left triggers. Safeties were flicked on.
Bucky gazed up at Steve in amazement. This was his Ability. A kind of mental manipulation. He could feel the brush of it even not directed at him, the desire to do better, to be better. To do anything Steve wanted if it meant not letting him down. He shook it off, but he knew, if it had been pointed at him, he wouldn't have had a chance.
Steve took a step forward, put a hand on each man's arm, and his voice was gentle. "It's never too late to change. It's never too late to be better. I believe in you."
They looked down at him out of shining eyes. The one on the left said, "Really?"
Steve smiled, said, "Really," and held out his hand. "Give me those. You don't need them anymore."
In less than five minutes, Steve was holding both guns, spare clips and multiple knives sitting on the floor at his feet. The two had piled into their car and were driving off.
Without looking at Bucky, Steve said, "I hope like hell you really are the good guy. And I hope you know what to do with these, because I don't."
Bucky shifted. When he was himself again, exactly as he'd been when he'd changed into a dog, he plucked the guns from Steve's hands.
Steve gave him a hard look.
"I'm Bucky. I am the good guy. Steve. I'm sorry. I—"
Steve held up a hand. "What I did to them, at that strength, it can hold anywhere from four hours to thirty minutes. Then they'll be back and unless they're extremely unusual, they're going to be out for my blood as well as yours."
"I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you." It came out too intense. Steve gave him a startled look. He didn't even try and take it back. "Not now, not ever." He stowed the guns and doubled down, reaching out to squeeze Steve's hand. "Trust me?"
Expressions flicked over Steve's face so fast he had trouble picking them out before it finally settled on aggressively blank. Bucky's heart dipped, but Steve said, "You trusted me, so okay," and it rose again.
"Shortest time is thirty minutes?"
"About that, yeah."
"I can work with that, but we need to go."
The Tracker could have him again already. It depended on how far away they were, how good they were, how often they were scanning the area.
The moment he'd changed back, his phone, his SHIELD tech, had reappeared in the world.
Come on, Nat. Be back. Be looking.
Bucky scooped up the knives and spare clips, marvelling at the way they'd just…given them to Steve, and shoved them under the couch. Then he caught Steve's hand, waited out the rise and fall of stubborn, and pulled Steve out the back door at the same time he pulled out his phone.
"Nat?"
"This is going to be amazing, isn't it."
He could hear the worry in the not-a-question because she was letting him hear it. He hid a wince, said, "He is, yeah," and kept going, laying out location and details as he kept a firm hold of Steve's hand.
Steve followed him over the fence, through the neighbour's backyard, over their fence, and into the next yard as Bucky kept talking.
"I've got it, it's safe. How fast can you get to us?"
"I was already on my way with a team." There was a short pause. "And a collar and leash, but I guess I won't be needing that."
Bucky huffed a laugh. "No, but I'll be bringing him in with me, so save an extra seat."
She hung up and he shoved the phone in his pocket.
"You're not bringing me in anywhere." Steve dragged him to a halt.
"I have to." He pushed a hand through his hair. Steve's eyes were flashing blue—angry, he knew; gorgeous, he couldn't help thinking—and he wondered how fast Steve could put him under the same way he'd put those two goons down. How easily Steve could make him hand over his weapons, hell, make him hand over the drive.
It should scare him, except deep down in the core of him it didn't. Steve might haul off and hit him if he did something to deserve it, but he wouldn't turn his Ability on someone unless he had to.
Trust me, he'd said.
With anything, Steve. With anything.
He pushed close, too close, but Steve didn't back away. Bucky wasn't sure he knew how. "I'm SHIELD," he said, mouth close to Steve's ear. "I stole something from HYDRA. Something they want back. Something they'll kill me, and you, and anyone else they have to to find again. You need to come in, you need to stay with me, until we shut this branch down."
"Cause you're not gonna let anyone hurt me."
"I did promise." Bucky lifted his free hand and pressed it against Steve's cheek. "You're not gonna make a liar out of me, are you?"
He shouldn't have done that. You didn't do things like that, touch people like that when you barely knew them. Steve was going to haul off and hit him; Bucky wouldn't even try and duck…
Oh.
No, Steve was turning into it, the whisper of a smile softening his face.
That smile. Bucky's knees went weak, which was inconvenient. He ordered them to behave, ran his thumb across Steve's cheek, and stepped back.
He was a professional. Time to act like it.
"Stay behind me. Nat should beat them here, but if they don't, I need you to stay out of the line of fire. Unless…" He gave Steve a speculative look.
"You want to know if I can do it again?"
He nodded and Steve grimaced.
"Sure, in theory."
"But they're not going to let you get close enough."
"Nope. I'd say they'll just shoot me from a distance. Like I said, I can't really blame 'em."
"I can."
In the end, Bucky only had to shoot three goons, none of them the two that Steve had used his Ability on, before Nat and her team showed up.
* * *
Bucky. VLD was a man named Bucky. No, a SHIELD agent named Bucky. A very competent, very attractive, very handsy SHIELD agent named Bucky.
Once the rest of SHIELD arrived the handsy disappeared, and it hadn't been handsy the way people usually meant it, gropey and unwelcome. But Bucky has cupped Steve's cheek like Steve meant something to him and it'd been all Steve could do not to kiss his palm.
Jesus, Steve. Get it together.
The SUV they loaded him into looked like it could stop bullets or possibly tanks. The fierce red-head that Bucky called Nat shoved him into a seat and told him to buckle up. Bucky had dropped into the seat next to him, intense focus that looked too good on him as he briefed the red-head on everything that had happened since he'd escaped HYDRA.
When they reached SHIELD HQ, Bucky climbed out of the van, waited for Steve to follow him, then stopped. "It's time for me to go."
He kept the disappointment flooding him completely locked away. "It was nice meeting you, Bucky. Look me up if you ever need to hide out as a dog again."
"No, I have to go now, but I'll be back. Nat's gonna look after you until then."
"I am?"
"You are. You owe me for Albania."
She tilted her head as if to say, fair enough.
"But I'll be back as soon as I can." He hesitated. "If you want me to? I don't have to."
He felt like Bucky must have when he'd been balanced on that fence, but he decided to jump. "I want you to."
Bucky's grin was incandescent, and he gave Steve's hand a quick squeeze before running off.
It left him with the red-head.
"Do I get debriefed now?" he asked and at her curious look, said, "Hey, I watch movies."
"Debriefing's for agents. Mostly you're going to get asked a lot of questions."
"Then let's get started."
They didn't. Instead, she showed him to a surprisingly nice room and left him, telling him to relax. There was an agent on guard outside the unlocked door, and another agent arrived a few hours later with a bag of Steve's things from Jimmy's place. He wavered on the edge of being angry that someone had gone through his things, then he sighed and let it go. He was happy to have his own stuff, even if he was concerned about the potential length of stay it implied.
He must have drifted off, because he woke up from a nap, not sure how much time had passed, to the agent on guard tapping diffidently on the door. Apparently the red-head—Natasha—wanted to see him.
He repeated what Bucky had told her, starting from when the HYDRA operative had tried to take Bucky in the dog park. He skipped over exactly how his Ability had gotten them away from the two in the house. After that she wanted a timeline of when Bucky first showed up. She didn't ask many questions, and most of the ones she did ask were about when Steve knew Bucky wasn't a dog. When he answered that, they were about why he'd let Bucky pretend he was.
Steve scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. "He obviously needed it and he seemed like a decent person."
"He was a dog."
"Not a very good one."
He was pretty sure she was hiding a laugh at that one.
"You should have seen him at the dog show." Steve felt his eyes light up, but she held up her hand. "You'll have to ask him."
"I'm going to."
"There's one more thing I want to talk about, and then we're done."
"What's that?" he asked, but he had a bad feeling. "
"You made two HYDRA operatives hand over their guns."
Steve slumped in his chair, bad feeling one hundred percent confirmed.
"Tell me about that."
"I think you about covered it."
She folded her hands, watching him, then said, "I can tell when someone's lying. That's my Ability."
"Is that a warning, or…"
The corner of her mouth lifted. "I'm sharing."
"Sharing."
"Yes. I share with you, then you share with me. It's supposed to build trust."
He couldn't help smiling at her dry sarcasm. "I don't think you're supposed to tell me that's what you're doing."
She shrugged.
"Okay, you can tell when people are lying. That must be useful for a secret agent."
"Not as much as you think. People lie. They lie most often to themselves. When they do it convincingly enough, it reads as truth." She paused. "Those two HYDRA operatives turned themselves in. Not long after they left you, if we've figured out the timing right."
Steve's eyebrows shot up. "Are they okay?"
"They're in SHIELD custody and they turned themselves in, so they'd probably say no," she replied dryly. "What you did to them wore off after you and Bucky came in, so we were prepared for their sudden change of heart. They're spitting mad and they really hate you."
"Good."
She quirked an eyebrow at him.
"I know it's not permanent, but it's still reassuring when it wears off."
"I can imagine."
"Probably not."
"Tell me?"
He slumped lower in the chair. "Yeah, okay. Why not? I make people not want to disappoint me. To not want to let me down. They'll do anything not to do that. Anything I want."
"Like hand over their guns and turn themselves into SHIELD."
"I asked for their guns. SHIELD was their idea. I just told them they were better than what they were doing."
"Could you have told them they were worse?"
"Sorry?"
"You told them they were better. Did you have to? You could have made them believe they were worse. That they were bad people."
"They were HYDRA. They were bad people."
She waved her hand. "What about me? Could you use your Ability on me, make me believe I was a bad person and the only way not to be was to do what you wanted?"
He leaned forward and fixed her with a fierce glare. "I would never do that."
"That's not what I asked."
"It's the same thing," he said, biting off each word.
She smiled at him, so suddenly it was almost blinding. "Have you ever thought about working for SHIELD?"
He almost fell out of his chair. "Excuse me?"
"You're currently unemployed."
"No, I'm currently employed finding someone to sell Jimmy's house. Then I'll be unemployed."
She tilted her head in acknowledgement.
He gave her a hard look. "My Ability?"
"Partly. SHIELD likes to recruit people with interesting Abilities and yours is very interesting. Being able to encourage people to let us in or give us information we need instead of having to use…other methods would make things safer. For everyone."
He didn't say anything.
"Interested?"
Despite himself, he was. His whole life, his Ability had hung like the Sword of Damocles over his head—even when he didn't use it, its existence still cut through his life; the few times he'd used it, when there'd been no other choice… Well, the only person in his life who wasn't afraid of it was Sam. (And maybe Bucky? Bucky had touched him like he wasn't bothered by it.)
The idea of being able to wield it, to actually use it to do something good in the world…
It was tempting. Maybe too tempting. Life just wasn't this easy. "I'm waiting for the other shoe."
"What shoe is that?"
"The one that goes something like: if you don't take us up on our offer, you won't get to see Bucky again."
"Is that important to you?"
Steve leaned back, face blank, and said nothing. Natasha mirrored him.
They sat in silence, minutes stretching, but as the clock ticked over, Natasha began to smile. It was different from the others he'd seen from her, warmer, more genuine.
Steve, after studying it, chuckled. She joined in.
"Yeah, all right," he said. "It's important, but you can't buy me."
"Now that is true," she said. "No one wants to buy you, Steve. It's just something to think about. Come on, I'll take you back to your room."
* * *
Bucky was damp, hair curling around his ears, since he'd taken the fastest shower possible and maybe hadn't gotten completely dry before he'd dragged on clean clothes. He wasn't going to go back to Steve bloody, smoky, and covered in dirt, but he'd been in a hurry, so he'd had to compromise somewhere.
As he made his way up to the usual rooms guests of SHIELD got put in, he ran into Nat. She was leaning on the wall, obviously waiting for him. "If you're looking for Steve, he's down in A5."
Bucky reversed direction, going back the way he'd come, heading for the elevator, and Nat pushed off the wall and followed.
"I like him."
It made him grin. "Me too."
She rolled her eyes. "We're finished with him. He's an interesting man."
"Yeah."
"You should probably know, we offered him a job."
Bucky stopped dead. "You what?"
"Offered him a job. His Ability would make him a valuable asset." She gave a thoughtful hum. "He—"
Bucky cut her off with an abrupt, "No."
She cocked a dangerous eyebrow at him. "No?"
"No. If he wants to tell me, he can tell me. I love you, Nat, but I don't want to find out from you."
She linked arms with him and prodded him into moving again. "Nice save."
"Thanks. I learned from the best."
"Yes, you did." They reached the elevator and she hit the down button. "I'll tell you this much, James. He'll be happy to see you."
When the doors opened she shoved him into the elevator and waved at him as they closed.
* * *
Bucky shooed the junior agent away before he tapped on the door of A5, sliding it open when he heard Steve's muffled, "Come in."
"Hey."
"Hey." Steve was sitting on the bed, and he gave him a weary smile.
"I'm sorry about all the questions." Nat hadn't specified, but he knew there would have been questions. Many, many questions.
"Not your fault."
It didn't make him feel any better, because Steve looked tired. He gestured at the bed. "Can I sit?"
"You're asking now?" Steve said. "Last time you just jumped up and I almost ended up on the floor."
The memory made him smile. "Well, this time I'm asking permission."
"Then be my guest."
Bucky sat down and eased back to lean on the wall next to Steve. "They've got a team out, mopping up the last of the ones who were after me. It shouldn't take more than a day or two. And Nat says she's done asking you questions."
He shrugged. "They were the same questions. When did you know that the dog wasn't a dog? Why did you let him stay?" Steve gave him a sideways look. "I told them you need to work on your acting."
"Hey, you try being a dog sometime. It's not that easy." Bucky nudged him with his shoulder. "You could have said something."
"I figured you had your reasons. And you had your chance to steal all my stuff that first night and didn't take it, so," he shrugged, "you were good to stay."
Bucky stared at him.
"What?"
"Steve. That's…" He didn't have another word. "I'm sorry, but that's stupid."
Steve scowled and folded his arms. "Worked out for you, didn't it?"
"Yeah, but, it was me. What if it hadn't been me?"
"If it hadn't been you I wouldn't have let you stay."
"You didn't know it was me. You don't even know me!" He folded his leg under him and turned to face him. "You've gotta take better care of yourself. Letting a strange guy who's shaped like a dog just move into your place is dumb. You could have gotten hurt."
Steve lifted an eyebrow. "You realise you're lecturing me about you. That you're the strange guy."
"My point still stands."
Steve turned away from him, gazing up at the ceiling. "Maybe the company was nice."
It shut him up. He didn't know what to say. He knew what he wanted to do, but—
Steve's words sliced through his thoughts.
"And I do know you." Steve tilted his head to face him. "I know you're a good guy."
It made him smile, just a little, and he watched the corner of Steve's mouth curl in answer.
"I know you were willing to trust me when I asked you to. I know you promised not to let me get hurt. For the record, I can look after myself," Bucky dipped his head in acknowledgement, "but you wanted to." Steve looked down at his hands, curling them open and closed. "And I know you're not scared of me."
Bucky opened his mouth, closed it, scowled, and said, "Who in the fuck would be scared of you?" Steve bristled, but he waved his hand. "No, I know. Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I've seen what you can do. You can manipulate people's minds and, I get it, that's theoretically scary as hell."
"Theoretically scary?" Steve sounded amused.
"Exactly. Theoretically scary, because it's you."
"It's me," Steve repeated carefully.
"Yeah, it's you." All the powers in heaven and earth couldn't have stopped his voice from softening. Stopped him from shuffling closer to Steve, so his knee was pressed against his thigh. Stopped him from resting his hand over Steve's. "And you wouldn't. Not unless you had to."
After a long moment, Steve folded his hand around Bucky's. "Thank you."
Steve was holding his hand. No big deal. Hand holding was primary school stuff, nothing to get excited about. His fingers clenched convulsively, because apparently they hadn't gotten the memo.
Steve smiled. He smiled and kept smiling as he tilted his head. "Bucky?"
"Yeah?" it came out strangled.
"I know there's probably cameras all over the place, but I want you to know that if you felt like kissing me, I'd be on board with that."
"Now?"
"Now would be good."
It should be easy. Bucky was good at kissing. Good at a lot more than that, but this was Steve. He didn't want to screw it up. Every point they were touching loomed large in his awareness, all he had to do was lean forward and…
Steve took it out of his hands. Just like he'd invited Bucky in, let him stay even though he'd known Bucky wasn't a dog. Steve slid one hand into his still damp hair, pulled his head down, and kissed him. His lips were soft, welcoming, and Bucky closed his eyes and pushed closer, once more surprised by the noise coming out of his throat. It was sharp and soft and needy, but Steve's hands were an anchor, big, strong, warm, keeping him from flying out of his skin.
He gave in to the urge from that night and wrapped his arms around Steve, pulling him in until Steve was half in his lap. A muffled laugh from Steve puffed against his lips but he didn't care.
"Steve," he murmured, running a hand up Steve's spine, feeling every ridge, sliding his fingers along the wing of his shoulder blade, settling his thumb in the hollow of his collarbone
"Hey," he said, soft, pushing Bucky's hair back. "You're okay."
He was, he knew he was, he'd just fallen hard. He leaned back, searching Steve's face, saw echoes of it there, and joy spread through him. "I really am."
"Something you should know," Steve said, and when Bucky leaned a little closer, Steve kissed him again.
That meant more than a few minutes with no talking, and a moment after when Bucky had to prompt, "Something I should know?" since Steve had obviously forgotten what he'd been saying.
"Right," he laughed. "Yeah. When I took the job clearing out Jimmy's place, the guy who gave it to me said if I found anything valuable at Jimmy's I could keep it."
"Okay?" Bucky wasn't sure where Steve was going with this, and distracted by Steve's fingers in his hair, by how close he was, he had to lean down and kiss along his jaw.
Steve curled his fingers around the back of his neck, strong, possessive, and goosebumps ran across Bucky's skin. "I found you at Jimmy's."
Startled, he looked up into bright blue eyes, dancing with warmth and laughter.
"That means I get to keep you."
It pulled a burst of laughter out of him and he held Steve closer, heart so light he was amazed he didn't float off the bed. "That works for me."
* * *
Later, when Steve told the story to Sam, about how the dog who wasn't a horse also wasn't a dog, Sam laughed himself silly.
He was a little bit grumpy at Bucky, since he didn't as a rule approve of people who put Steve in danger, but mostly he laughed his ass off. Only Steve, he proclaimed, could wind up with a SHIELD agent literally dogging his heels.
As was the duty of best friends everywhere, he never let them hear the end of it.
For Steve and Bucky's fifth anniversary—at which point Steve had been part of SHIELD for about four and a half years and Sam (who'd been recruited by Nat about five minutes after they met) for almost as long—Sam had the video of Bucky madly scrambling to escape the dogs at the dog park turned first into a series of photos, and then into a lavishly designed hardcover photo book.
The inscription read: Happy 35th Anniversary.
(Bucky had muttered, "What the hell?"
Steve, laughing, had managed to choke out, "Dog years," while Sam beamed beatifically.)
Steve kept it in pride of loving place on their coffee table. Bucky pretended not to notice it.