Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s a Saturday night in Delacroix, and Sam is putting AJ and Cass to bed, when Bucky turns to Sarah as the two of them wash dishes and starts, “So, my therapist told me recently that I needed a hobby.”

Sarah lifts an eyebrow and hands Bucky a plate to dry. “Is this the same woman who was reading all your texts?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Different one.”

He started seeing Mia a couple of months ago. She’s friendly but no-nonsense, has an office only a few blocks from his and Sam’s apartment in Manhattan, and came recommended by one of Sam’s buddies from the VA. 

“If so, I was gonna be surprised,” Sarah says. “Because that actually sounds like good advice.”

Bucky snorts. “I guess Raynor was kind of terrible.”

Which is maybe putting it mildly. Bucky has quickly realized that therapy isn’t so bad when you don’t completely hate the person you’re spending an hour with once a week. Who would’ve thought?

Evidently, Sarah agrees with him. 

“You guess ?” she laughs. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says, wondering if Sam told her about the soul-gazing exercise. He really hopes not. 

“So, a hobby, huh?”

“Well, she told me it would help cure my...boredom,” Bucky admits, then adds, “Which I know sounds weird. It was my decision to retire from the whole ‘superhero’ shtick in the first place.”

“No, it makes sense,” Sarah says honestly. “Lots of other retirees experience feelings of restlessness at first, too. Just because you weren’t exactly working a 9 to 5 doesn’t mean you’re exempt from feeling purposeless either.”

And that’s exactly it; Bucky feels purposeless, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore. 

It’s stupid, probably, because this is exactly what he said he wanted — to stop fighting. And it is what he wanted, really: this simple, mundane life where some of his biggest problems are paying rent on time and making sure Sam doesn’t drink the orange juice straight from the carton again. It’s just that Bucky has spent his entire life trying to fulfill obligations — for the war, for Steve, for HYDRA — and now that he feels like he can make his own choices, he doesn’t know what to do.

It’d be easier, maybe, if Sam wasn’t still out in the field. He knows it’s dumb; Sam has vibranium wings and a shield, and even without that, he’s an extremely skilled fighter. Bucky should know; Sam survived the Winter Soldier at least twice. He obviously knows what he’s doing.

But even though Sam is strong, he’s also human, and breakable, and so while Sam is out saving the world as Captain America, Bucky sits at home and worries he won’t come back.

He knows it’s not healthy — mainly because Mia has told him repeatedly it’s not. It’s also a big part of the reason why she suggested Bucky find a hobby, and assured him that the best way to adjust to feelings of purposeless and stop worrying so much about Sam is to find something to occupy his time.

The problem is —

“I just don’t know where to start,” Bucky finally admits to Sarah. “With finding a hobby, I mean. I don’t...I’m not sure what I actually like.”

It somehow sounds more pathetic when he says it out loud, but Sarah says nothing about it, and when she glances over at him, there’s no pity in her expression. 

Instead, she says, matter-of-factly, “So figure it out,” and Bucky is instantly reminded of why he brought the topic up to her in the first place. Sarah is always honest, never beats around the bush, but she’s never unkind, either. It’s why Bucky finds her so easy to talk to. 

“Maybe try to think of things you’ve picked up because you wanted to do them,” Sarah continues. “Not because someone suggested it, or because you felt like you had to; things you wanted to do.”

Bucky thinks about it for a minute, before offering, “I used to read, sometimes. But I get distracted a lot, now, when I’m just sitting there.”

“You could try audiobooks,” Sarah says. “Or, hey, book clubs are a thing, right? I bet they’re huge in New York.”

Mia would probably agree with the suggestion. For the past few weeks, she’s been trying to encourage him to form his own relationships, with people other than Sam or people he’s met through Sam. It’s a good idea — in theory, at least. In reality, Bucky isn’t sure he’s ready for it, so he tells Sarah as much.

“You seem to do just fine here,” Sarah points out.

Bucky doesn’t know how to respond to that. She’s not wrong, is the thing, but Delacroix is different. Sam wasn’t exaggerating when he said the people here were the nicest in the world; Sarah, and the boys, and everyone — they’ve never been anything other than welcoming, even though Bucky initially didn’t really give them a reason to be. 

But if Bucky’s being honest with himself, it’s not just the people of Delacroix that make Bucky feel comfortable here. It’s Sam, and his bright smiles and steady hand on Bucky’s shoulder and the easy way he makes Bucky feel included in any conversation. Bucky feels comfortable here because he can’t help but feel comfortable whenever Sam’s around.

But that’s not exactly something Bucky wants to admit to Sarah. Especially when he doesn’t think she’d be all that surprised. 

Instead, Bucky goes for a truth that’s a little less honest and says, “It may surprise you, but New Yorkers aren’t as okay with all this as the folks down here,” then waves his metal arm pointedly.

“Ah. I can see how that might be a problem,” Sarah says wryly, and Bucky snorts. “So you need a hobby, and it needs to be something you can focus on without any distractions, but you also want to avoid social interaction with other people.”

“Pretty much,” Bucky agrees.

“Hmm,” Sarah says. “How do you feel about animals?”

When Bucky was a kid, he desperately wanted a pet. He was never picky about what kind — a dog, a cat, a gerbil, it didn’t matter. Just something. He remembers the family next door having a German Shepherd named Rocky, and sitting on the back porch step, looking over into his neighbor’s backyard to watch them toss Rocky tennis balls all afternoon while he fumed with jealousy. 

But it was the 1930s, and his parents could hardly afford to feed the kids they had, much less an extra mouth, so a family pet was out of the question. The closest thing Bucky ever had was a goldfish with the deeply uncreative name Goldie, and she’d died only a few weeks after he got her.

So, no, Bucky never had a pet growing up. But it’s not the Great Depression anymore, and an added bonus: he has his own space, and his own money. There’s nothing that could feasibly stop him from getting a pet now — except Sam, of course, but Bucky’s pretty sure he could win Sam over to the idea with just a bit of convincing. 

He spends the entire weekend at Sarah’s and the flight back to Manhattan browsing New York animal shelters online and brainstorming how to convince Sam, when all his hopes are dashed the Monday morning after Bucky calls the landlord to ask about their pet policy, only to find out his apartment doesn’t allow animals.

Technically speaking, it’s Sam’s apartment; his name is the only one on the lease. Sam moved to Manhattan not long after taking up the shield, when he realized that the publicity and security threats that go hand-in-hand with the Captain America mantle wouldn’t allow him to stay in Delacroix. Besides, most of the work he was going to be doing was going to be in New York, anyway; it was a move that just made sense, Sam insisted. 

Bucky was still living in Brooklyn when Sam made the move, and felt secretly pleased about it. It was a lot easier to visit Sam when he was only 45 minutes away; he was starting to run out of excuses for taking a flight to Louisiana every other weekend. But it wasn’t until the two of them were at a coffee shop a few blocks from Sam’s apartment on a Sunday morning after Bucky’s third consecutive weekend crashing in Sam’s guest bedroom when he suggested Bucky just move in.

Bucky jolted in surprise at the question, nearly spilling his coffee on the table. “You sure?”

“Yeah, why not?” Sam asked. “You’re over all the time anyway, I’ve got an extra room, and your apartment is a shithole.”

“It’s not a shithole,” Bucky said immediately, even though it definitely was. 

But then he thought about it. He thought about the other night when they ordered Moe’s through DoorDash even though it’d have been cheaper and quicker to walk the seven minutes and pick it up. He thought about that morning when he’d argued with Sam over the abhorrent amount of sugar he put in his coffee. He thought about the movies they’d watched off of Bucky’s ongoing to-watch list, which had mostly been curated by Sam, nearly every night Bucky stayed over, and how every time Sam fell asleep in the middle of the movie, even though he swore he wouldn’t this time, honest. 

And when Bucky thought about all that, and how embarrassingly domestic the past few weekends had been — well, it was a no-brainer, really.

Bucky’s been living with Sam for about six months now, and it’s been nice. Really nice, actually. Sure, it’s not the best apartment in the world; Avengers don’t exactly rake in the big bucks, and Bucky doesn’t even have a job, just a government stipend. But it’s in the quiet part of town — or as quiet as Manhattan can get, at least — with two bedrooms, a balcony, and an in-unit washer and dryer, and really, that’s just about all Bucky can ask for. 

Or it was, until he found out about the no-pet rule.

It takes Bucky several minutes to reassess and pull out his phone to type “how to hang out with animals when your landlord won’t let you have a pet” in the Google search bar.

He scrolls past several animal shelter volunteer applications that require a background check and job listings for cleaning up elephant poop at the zoo before he finds a result with the heading, “Rover, the #1 petsitting app.”

Huh, Bucky thinks, and taps on the link.

It turns out that setting up an account on Rover is pretty easy, even for a centenarian who doesn’t understand technology. He sets his preferences, crops a blurry picture Sarah took of him and Sam on the dock a couple of months ago as his profile picture, and when he’s finished, he sits down at the couch and idly scrolls through Netflix while he waits for a notification.

He’s still waiting when he hears the sound of keys jingling and the unmistakable sound of the door opening.

“Honey, I’m home,” Sam calls. It’s not the first time he’s made the joke, either, because Sam thinks he’s hilarious, for some reason. 

It’s also not the first time Bucky’s felt his face go hot in response, but Sam doesn’t need to know that.

“Hey,” Bucky says, lifting himself up from the couch and moving to lean against the kitchen counter as he watches Sam open the fridge. “How’d it go?”

Sam has been spending the last few days training Torres to be the new Falcon with Sam’s old wings. “Not bad,” Sam says. “Joaquin’s actually been getting pretty good. I mean, not as good as me, obviously, but — ”

“Obviously,” Bucky echoes with an eye roll.

Sam glances over his shoulder at Bucky and grins. “How’s the retired senior citizen life?”

“Uh,” Bucky says, watching Sam take their Brita from the fridge and refill his water bottle, and wondering what he can say other than, Well, today I did what I do every day, which is scroll through Netflix and wait for you to get home, when suddenly, his phone dings in his hand, and he glances down to see that he has one unread message from the Rover app.

Margot S: hey! just stumbled across your profile. i’m commuting for work next week and need someone to watch my pup lucy during the day. she’s a 3yo beagle mix and super low maintenance unless you bring out the peanut butter and then she’s a MENACE lmaoooo. wanna come by and meet her so we can be sure it’s a good fit?

Bucky stares at the message in surprise for a long time. Surprise at the fact that he actually received a response, but also at just how many words are in the message. The only person that really texts Bucky is Sam, and he usually just sends a bunch of messages in a row. Are texts allowed to be this long? Isn’t there a word limit, or something?

Finally, Bucky types out a quick reply.

Bucky: Sure. I can stop by tomorrow if that’s alright.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm?” Bucky says, looking up.

“I asked how your day was like, three minutes ago,” Sam says. “Your cyborg brain short-circuit, or something?”

“No, I charged it this morning,” Bucky says, and Sam laughs, but before he can say anything else, his phone dings again.

Margot: great! i’ll send the address. does 12 work?

“Wait a minute, are you texting? ” Sam demands.

“I text you all the time,” Bucky says defensively.

“Yeah, and I’m standing in the same room as you,” Sam reminds him. “Who are you talking to?”

“Uhh,” Bucky says, and starts to explain the whole thing — his therapist’s advice, Sarah’s suggestion, their landlord’s stupid policy. But then he takes in Sam’s appearance for the first time since he’s come home and notes the sweat dampening the front of his shirt, the shadows underneath his eyes, the tense lines etched into his forehead. 

Sam’s tired, Bucky realizes, and it’s not a startling realization, because Sam has always had the irritating tendency of overworking himself, but it’s a realization all the same. Sam cares so much about other people that he forgets to take care of himself, and Bucky knows if he explained all this to Sam right now, he’d spend the rest of the night brainstorming hobbies or sprucing up Bucky’s Rover profile.

And it’s not that Bucky wouldn’t appreciate the help, but Sam helps him enough as it is. He doesn’t want to pile onto all the things already on Sam’s plate, especially with something as unimportant as this. 

And besides, he hasn’t actually done it yet. This Margot person just wants to meet up tomorrow and decide Bucky’s a good fit before they agree to anything. He can tell Sam when it’s all an official, done deal.

“Uh, it’s no one,” Bucky says finally, and then quickly types out a response.

Bucky: 12 is good with me.

Margot: perfect. 👍🏽

When he looks up, Bucky swears he catches a weird frown on Sam’s face, but then Sam’s turning away to put the Brita back in the fridge before Bucky can be certain, and Bucky decides it must have just been a trick of the light.

The next day, after Sam’s left the apartment, Bucky pulls up his message thread with Margot to find her address and snorts. Because as it turns out, Margot lives in the apartment building right next to Bucky’s.

So ten minutes before 12, Bucky exits his building and walks the few feet to Margot’s building. It’s mid-January, which means that fortunately, it’s cold enough for Bucky to cover the arm with a hoodie and gloves without looking weird. It’s his usual winter attire anyway, even when it’s not that chilly out, although getting recognized surprisingly hasn’t been a problem so far, not counting the grocery store clerk a couple of weeks ago who was definitely giving him a suspicious look. Still, Bucky figures it’s better to be safe than sorry — he’s not sure anyone would be too excited if they found out their potential dogsitter was formerly an internationally known assassin.

His plan goes to shit the second Margot opens her apartment door, when the first words out of her mouth are, “Oh hey, I know you.”

Fuck.

“Uh — ” Bucky starts.

But then she continues, “You’re Captain America’s partner, right?”

Which...well, Bucky would’ve preferred not to be recognized at all, but there are worse things she could’ve associated him with, so he just nods.

“Cool,” Margot says. She looks like she’s in her late twenties or early thirties, dressed in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, with her black hair pulled into a loose bun at the top of her head. “I ran into him in the parking garage elevator the other morning. Kinda looked like he’d just clocked out of his Avengers shift or whatever, you know? So I just gave him my coffee. He looked like he needed it more than I did, and anyway, he’s like...Captain America. Figured it was my civic duty for the day, or whatever. Nice guy.”

“Sure,” Bucky says, still trying to comprehend half of what she’s just said, and making a mental note to inform Sam his “undercover disguise” needs an upgrade, because if this girl recognized him after a short elevator ride, then clearly the hat and sunglasses aren’t cutting it.

“So,” he starts, a little awkward. “Is your dog around, or…”

Margot laughs at this, then leads Bucky inside her apartment. It’s smaller than his and Sam’s, but it looks nicer — clearly, he and Sam have no eye for decoration. Margot’s apartment is homey, with fluffy blankets and quilts tossed on top of the yellow couch in her living room, books stacked on nearly every available surface, and a candle lit on the coffee table that smells faintly of honeysuckle.

And of course, a chubby Beagle who perks her head up from where she’s lying on the rug and trots into the hallway to sniff at Bucky suspiciously.

“She’s a sweetheart, I promise,” Margot says. “Just a bit of an attention hog.”

As if proving Margot’s point, Lucy stops sniffing, evidently having deemed Bucky worthy enough to enter her dominion, and pounces on Bucky’s leg and leans her head against his knee until he scratches behind her ears.

Margot proceeds to give him a quick tour of the apartment, pointing out Lucy’s food bowl, her basket of toys, and the flea and tick medicine she takes every morning. She also offers a surprising amount of personal information about herself, despite the fact that Bucky doesn’t ask for it. He learns that Margot has worked for an accounting firm for the past two years, that she works remotely, but that every once in a while she has to commute to their New Jersey office to work in person. She also tells him that she’s actually been thinking about moving to New Jersey, since that’s where her girlfriend Jane lives, and she’s pretty sick of the city, anyway. But since “the housing market is such a bitch right now, right?”, she’s in New York for the time being, and stuck commuting. 

She asks Bucky a lot of questions, too, and is seemingly undeterred by his one-word answers. She asks how long he’s been in Manhattan, if he has a dog too, and what made him make the career change from being a superhero to dogsitting.

“I’m not a superhero,” Bucky says quickly, surprised and a little annoyed at the suggestion. “I retired. And I wasn’t much of one before that, anyway. That’s more Sam’s thing.”

“Well, if you can watch Lucy for me next week, you’ll be a superhero to me, at least,” Margot says with a wry grin. “If you’re still up to it, that is.” 

Bucky blinks. “Uh, sure. I’m up for it.”

Margot grins. “Great.” Then, “You don’t say much, you know.” She tilts her head to the side. “Let me guess: Pisces?”

And Bucky, on principle, is irritated by people who place value on something as arbitrary as zodiac signs, but he’s even more irritated by the fact that she’s right. “Wh— how did you know?”

Margot shrugs. “You give off that sort of vibe.”

“Not sure if that’s a compliment or not,” Bucky grumbles.

Margot just laughs, but she also writes Bucky a hefty check for the following week and gives it to him before he leaves the apartment, so he decides not to let it bother him.

Nick: Hello, I just saw your profile on Rover. Would you be able to check in on my dog Winston on January the 29th?

Bucky: Yes, I’m available that day. I’ll add it to my calendar.

Nick: Thank you!

Georgia: Good evening! Just checking to make sure you still have Rosie down for Monday?

Bucky: Yes ma’am, it’s in my calendar.

Georgia: Wonderful! Thanks again!

Unknown: hey, i heard you were dogsitting now

Bucky: Who is this?

Unknown: rude

Unknown: anyway, this is star-lord

Unknown: how much would you charge to dogsit rocket????

Bucky: How did you get this number.

“Someone’s popular.”

Bucky looks up from his phone and over at Sam, who sits across from him at the dining table, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry,” Bucky says, setting his phone to the side and switching it to silent. “Uh, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’ve been — ”

“Buck, I know. It’s fine,” Sam says.

“You...do?” Bucky asks, blinking in surprise.

Although, maybe he shouldn’t be. In the midst of telling him her entire life story, Margot evidently left out one very important detail, which is that Lucy is a shedder. He came home every night last week covered in dog hair, and even though he tried not to let it spread throughout the apartment, he’s not sure how successful he was. It’s likely Sam noticed the hair, and maybe the notifications that keep lighting up Bucky’s phone, and the dates he keeps scribbling in his notebook, too. Sam’s a perceptive guy, which is normally annoying, but in this instance, he’s glad he doesn’t have to go through with explaining the entire thing to Sam.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “And hey, good on you for finally getting a social life.”

Bucky rolls his eyes; he’s pretty sure that this doesn’t exactly count as a social life. Still, he has to admit it’s better than what he’s used to. He spent Monday through Friday last week hanging out in Margot’s apartment until she got home after work around 6:30, and it was surprisingly...nice. 

He knows it shouldn’t have made much of a difference — he was still sitting around all day, just in a different location. But somehow it was easier to get through the day when he had something to do, even if looking after Lucy didn’t require much. Bucky spent the week scrolling through Netflix, watching a few episodes of some cartoon about a talking horse, and reading a few chapters of the book he’s been trying to finish for weeks. And every time he felt himself start to worry about what Sam was up to, Lucy would bark to let him know she wanted to go on a walk, or demand he throw her favorite ball across the room, or nudge his hand until he scratched her behind her ears, and that would distract him enough that he’d forget about Sam altogether. 

And even though Lucy is the only dog he’s sat so far, he’s gotten several offers since, so many that his calendar for the rest of the month is booked full. It was a little overwhelming at first, but it’s kind of nice, to look at the dates he’s listed in his notebook and know he has something to occupy his time for the foreseeable future.

“I wouldn’t call it a social life,” Bucky finally says. “But Mia suggested I start finding a hobby, so — ”

Sam lets out a surprised laugh. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Bucky blinks in confusion, feeling his face burn. Sure, maybe it’s not a traditional hobby like knitting or golf or something, but —

“Hey, Buck, I’m just joking,” Sam says, clearly sensing Bucky’s discomfort. “I think it’s good. You know, that you’re putting yourself out there.”

Bucky feels himself relax. “Yeah?”

Sam nudges Bucky’s foot beneath the dining room table with his own. 

“Yeah,” Sam echoes, and Bucky quickly looks down.

The thing is this: it’s very inconvenient, having a crush on someone who is extremely unattainable. It was far easier when Sam was just Steve’s annoying friend, and Bucky could convince himself that the reason he had any reaction to Sam at all was due to the objective fact that Bucky had eyes, and Sam was good-looking, but also extremely irritating, and nothing more. 

But things got more complicated when Sam became Bucky’s partner, and then his friend, and then his roommate, and Bucky realized that what had irritated him all along wasn’t Sam, but the feelings he had about Sam that he was valiantly trying to ignore. And then the feelings just kept building, and building and building until Bucky wondered if they could be considered a crush at all, until he stumbled into the kitchen one morning to find Sam making coffee and humming under his breath, until he looked up and smiled and Bucky stopped right in his tracks and thought to himself, Oh.

Admittedly, there are times that Bucky wonders if Sam isn’t as unattainable as he’s presumed. Times where Bucky has turned to look at Sam only to find him already looking back, times Bucky has opened up the kitchen pantry to see that Sam’s restocked his favorite cereal without him having to ask, times where Sam’s fallen asleep on Bucky’s shoulder while watching a movie with Sarah and the boys, and when Sarah had glanced over at the two of them, there’d been a knowing look in her eyes. 

But these are little moments. Sam has never crossed that line, and as he draws his foot away from Bucky’s and the two of them continue to eat at the dining room table in silence, Bucky reminds himself not to push his luck. Sam has already given him so much; his friendship, his home, his family. It would be selfish for Bucky to ask for more.

But his therapist is always telling Bucky he can afford to be a little more selfish now and then, and sometimes Bucky privately thinks that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. If he pulled on that thread, if he dug just a little, just to find out if maybe the feelings weren’t so one-sided after all. 

It’s wishful thinking, of course, and that’s something Bucky hasn’t indulged in years.

He thinks he could maybe get used to it, though.

After over a month on Rover, Bucky has a total of three regular dog sitting clients. 

The first is Winston, a Cairn terrier mix. His owner, Nick, lives in a brownstone not far from Bucky’s apartment, and takes frequent business trips that require Bucky to drop in and feed and walk Winston twice a day. He’s a tiny, scruffy dog with a lot of energy, and severe anxiety. He once howled for five minutes straight after Nick left the house for the day, and didn’t stop until Bucky offered him a treat.

“I get it, buddy,” Bucky told Winston once, after giving him his daily Prozac in a rolled-up piece of cheese.

Winston had just tilted his head at him.

His second client is Lucky, a Golden Retriever owned by someone named Kate who lives in a shithole apartment a few blocks away. She doesn’t say much, and when she does, it’s mostly to insult Bucky’s lack of technological knowledge — “Seriously, just download Venmo so I can pay you in the 21st century. I can’t be visiting the ATM every week like this, dude” — but Bucky doesn’t mind. He’s pretty sure Kate knows who he is, actually, if the cautious way she eyes him sometimes is any indication, but she never says anything about it, just like Bucky never mentions the bow and arrow she carries over her shoulder when she leaves the apartment. 

Besides. She pays pretty well. 

Naturally, his third regular client is Lucy. It turns out Margot’s job is asking her to come into the office more often, so Bucky checks in on Lucy twice a day during weeks when he has other dogs to check on, and spends the day with Lucy in Margot’s apartment during weeks he doesn’t. Margot always chatters incessantly at him when she gets home each night, but over time, Bucky realizes he’s not as annoyed by it as he was at first. It’s almost like he’s gotten used to it, the weird habit Margot has of oversharing and also treating him like someone she’s known for years. 

Maybe it’s because Margot reminds him a little bit of Sam. Sam doesn’t talk as much as Margot does, of course, and when he does, he isn’t always saying anything; Sam likes to deflect and crack jokes while he keeps things that are personal close to his chest, whereas Margot is an open book. But they’ve somehow both managed to stubbornly insert themselves into Bucky’s life, rope him into conversations despite his protests, until Bucky suddenly realized it was far too late to shake them. Margot even offered to have him and Sam over for dinner sometime, and Bucky found himself surprised when he actually entertained the idea for a minute.

Bucky texts Margot with updates on Lucy every now and then, and she always responds with some joke or string of emojis, but she doesn’t reach out to Bucky unless it’s to ask him if he’s available to take care of Lucy, which is why he’s so surprised when he gets an incoming call from her when he’s watching Lucy one Thursday afternoon.

“I hate to do this,” Margot begins without preamble. “But it’s Jane’s birthday, and I promised we’d go out for dinner after work. Is there any way you could stay with Lucy longer tonight? I probably won’t be back till 9, and she gets anxious if she’s alone at night.”

Bucky eyes Lucy, who’s lying spread across the couch, her head pillowed on Bucky’s thigh, so passed out she hadn’t even lifted her head when he took Margot’s call. Bucky’s pretty sure Lucy doesn’t have an anxious bone in her body, but still, he says, “Sure.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Margot gushes. “You’re a lifesaver, seriously. I’ll pay you extra, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “You kids have fun.”

Still, after Bucky hangs up and hits play on the TV remote, he can’t help but feel a little bad. Sam left early yesterday morning for an overnight mission with Torres, and maybe Bucky was looking forward to seeing him tonight, just a little bit. He was actually considering making dinner — or at least ordering Uber Eats before Sam got home.

But after 9:00, when Margot finally returns home and wishes him a good night, Bucky gets back to their apartment and realizes his guilt was for nothing, because the apartment is empty.

Bucky firmly tells himself not to panic. It isn’t unusual for Sam to get home late from missions, and if something had happened, it would’ve been in the news, or something. Bucky would’ve known.

But it’s nearly 10, and Sam’s not usually this late, and if he is, he texts Bucky beforehand, but when he checks his phone, he has no new messages. 

So Bucky checks the bathroom and Sam’s bedroom, in case he got home and went straight to sleep, but both rooms are empty, and what if something happened on the way home, and their plane crashed and it’s been hours, and no one knew because Bucky wasn’t home to realize Sam wasn’t back yet, and —

But Bucky’s panic is cut off by the sound of the door opening, and then Sam steps inside the apartment.

“ Sam, ” Bucky says in a rush, striding towards the hallway until he’s close enough to make sure that Sam’s okay. He looks tired, and there’s a nasty bruise on his cheek, but there’s no blood, no scars, and finally, Bucky lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Where have you been? It’s almost ten o’clock.”

Sam winces. “Shit, is it really? I didn’t know it was so late.”

“You didn’t call,” Bucky says, and he hates how shaky his voice sounds.

“I know,” Sam tells him again. “I lost my phone this morning and I didn’t know how else to reach you.”

“But you’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” Sam confirms. “I’m sorry I’m home so late.”

It’s only then that Bucky realizes how close together they’re standing, close enough to notice the dirt crusted on the side of Sam’s neck, the sweep of Sam’s eyelashes, the —

Bucky quickly takes a step back, swallowing. “It’s okay. I just got home, anyway, so.”

“At ten o’clock?” Sam asks in surprise, and then a complicated look crosses his face before his mouth twists into a smirk. “Must’ve been a hot date.”

Bucky laughs. Not because it’s particularly funny, but just because Sam’s stupid jokes are a reminder that he’s here, that he’s home, that he’s safe. “Sure. Lucy’s a real catch,” Bucky says. “Hey, you want something to eat? I think there’s leftover pizza.”

“Sure. Thanks,” Sam says, and Bucky heads into the kitchen to grab the pizza from the fridge, and while his back is turned, Sam asks, “So, Lucy. How long’s that been going on?”

“Few weeks,” Bucky says, popping two slices of pizza in the microwave. “I stay over there during the day sometimes.”

“Did you stay over last night?” Sam asks after a pause.

“Nah,” Bucky says. So far, no one has asked him to dog sit overnight — most of his clients are looking for someone to drop by and look after their dogs while they’re at work or taking a day trip. And it’s not that he’d be opposed to it or anything, it’s just that…

Well, he sleeps easier when he can hear Sam snoring just one room over. That’s all.

“Bon appetit,” Bucky says, handing Sam his two slices of pizza on a paper plate.

“My compliments to the chef,” Sam says after taking a bite, his mouth stuffed with cheese.

“Gross,” Bucky says. Then, suddenly, “Hey, you want to see a picture of her?” When Sam looks at him in confusion, he adds, “Lucy, I mean.”

Sam swallows his mouthful of pizza and gives Bucky a bizarre look. “Uh...no thanks, man. I’m good.”

Bucky blinks, then shrugs. Oh, well. Maybe Sam is a cat person.

“I’m still not sure how you got my number, you know,” Bucky says, eyeing the contents of the Queens apartment — namely the scruffy brown dog that sits in the middle of the foyer, panting and looking up at him expectantly.

“Word travels fast,” Peter Parker says ominously as he shoulders a backpack. 

Bucky lifts an eyebrow. “So, Sam gave it to you?” 

“What? No.” Parker says. “I actually just searched for dog sitters on the app and figured it’d be best to go with a friendly face.”

Bucky levels Parker a look that’s definitely not friendly.

“Actually, you know, since you brought it up,” Parker continues, annoyingly unperturbed, “I was eavesdropping on Cap the other day when he was talking to Colonel Rhodes, and it sounded like he said he was feeling down about y—”

“Wait, you were eavesdropping ?” Bucky repeats.

Parker has the look of someone who has just realized they’ve revealed too much. “Well,” he starts. “Not on purpose — ”

“Wow, kid,” Bucky whistles. “Pretty sure that’s a fineable offense. I hope Cap doesn’t find out. There’s a whole roster of bug-powered guys out there he could get to replace you, you know. What’s that one with the antenna...Mantis, I think? She’s still with the Guardians, but I’m sure Sam could check and — ”

“Ugh, alright, I get it! I’ll stay out of his business,” Parker mutters, and Bucky grins, smug. “I said it wasn’t on purpose.”

“Sure, kid,” Bucky says, then nods to the scruffy door, who he swears has been listening to their conversation. “What’s his name, again?”

“Oh!” Parker says, and leans down and scratches the dog behind the ears. “This is Sandwich.”

“ Sandwich? ”

“Yeah,” Parker says, like that’s a totally normal name for a dog to have. “I found him on the side of the road and offered him a sandwich, and he seemed to like it, so. He followed me home and the name just stuck.”

This is an admittedly cute story, but Bucky isn’t going to do Parker the courtesy of letting him think so. It’s probably petty of him to treat the kid like this — that airport fight was years ago, and despite how annoying he may be, Bucky knows deep down that Parker’s a good kid, that he’s saved Sam and the other Avengers’ necks countless times. But Mia always says it’s important for Bucky to express his emotions, and if his emotions are a little spiteful, then who is he to ignore someone with a doctorate?

“He’s a good boy, so he shouldn’t give you any trouble for the day,” Peter says, straightening. “Normally Aunt May takes care of him while I’m gone, but she and Happy took a day trip to like, Paris or something crazy on the Quinjet.”

Bucky frowns. “Where are you going for the day? Aren’t you supposed to be a criminal, or something?”

“No, they cleared all that up,” Parker says easily — like being a criminal is something you can just sweep under the rug. Whoever Parker’s lawyer is, Bucky sure could’ve used them a few years ago. “Now I’m just some kind of celebrity that everyone hates.”

“And you’re going out for the day because…?”

“Oh. No reason, really,” Parker says, far too casual. “Just meeting up with Dr. Strange, you know. To go over some...stuff.”

This is also said ominously, but Bucky decides not to push. For numerous reasons, the biggest being that at the end of the day, he doesn’t really care. 

“Well, have fun,” Bucky says finally. “I’ll take care of Sandwich for you.”

Parker was right; Sandwich is a pretty good dog. He doesn’t bark once, the entire time Bucky is there, and the most trouble he gets into is gnawing at Bucky’s hand, and since it’s the metal one, Bucky decides to let it slide. He considers taking a picture and sending it to Sam, because really, the dog is cute, but then he realizes he’d have to admit that he’s been dog sitting for the Spider-kid all day, and there’s no way Sam would ever let him live that down.

When Bucky does finally get back to their apartment, Sam’s already home, which is a rarity, and he’s lounging on the couch, which is even stranger.

“Hey,” Bucky says in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d be home yet.”

“They set me free early today,” Sam says, and Bucky snorts. He knows how much Sam despises meetings. “Where have you been all day?”

“Oh,” Bucky says, unsure of how to admit he’s been dog sitting for their least favorite spider-powered high-schooler. “Uh…”

“Let me guess,” Sam interrupts with a knowing look. “Hanging with Lucy?”

“Well,” Bucky says. “No.”

Sam sits up straight. “Wait. Is there more than one?”

Bucky finds himself a little surprised that this is Sam’s question. He’s told him before about all his regular clients, right? Maybe it slipped his mind. In all honesty, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised; he’s been so busy juggling this dog sitting thing, he’s hardly had time to think of anything else. 

Which is a good thing, of course — the whole point of starting a hobby was finding something to help occupy his time. His therapist seems pretty thrilled by the development, actually. He keeps Mia updated on how it’s going, even sends her pictures of the dogs every now and then. She thinks taking on a hobby that comes with a sense of responsibility was an excellent choice for Bucky to make, tells him every week she’s happy to see him making so much progress. 

And progress is a good word for it, because the dog sitting business is progressing fast — he still has Lucky, Winston, and Lucy, all his regular clients, but he gets random offers too, one-off visits that occur so frequently that Bucky hasn’t spent the day at home in weeks. It’s dogs, mostly, but there’s been a few cats, too, and none of them have given him any problems, although sometimes their owners are...something. Bucky’s learned a lot about people who own dogs over the past couple of months, and his biggest takeaway is that some dog owners are very...strange. He took care of a dog two weeks ago that used a litter box, and he watched over a dog just last week that needed the water in her bowl to be at room temperature.

It can be a bit much, at times, but for the most part, Bucky likes it. He enjoys having someone to keep him company, even if that someone has four legs, and honestly, he has a soft spot for all the dogs he’s taking care of — even the ones with weird owners.

So he tells Sam, “Yeah, there’s a few.”

“Oh,” Sam says, in a voice Bucky isn’t sure he recognizes.

“Is that…weird?”

“No,” Sam says, too quickly, his face smoothing into an amused smile. “No, it’s not weird, just… Lucy knows about the others, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says after a moment, a little put off by the question. He’s not sure why Sam asks; Lucy is a dog. She doesn’t care much what Bucky does, though she does sniff him suspiciously every time he goes to Margot’s apartment after spending time with another dog. It’s a thing Sam does, though — personify Lucy sometimes, asks him questions using her name in place of Margot’s. It’s kind of funny, sometimes, but other times it can be kind of confusing. In this instance, Bucky decides to push past it.

Evidently, Sam does too. “Then I’m happy for you, man.”

“I mean, it’s not a big deal,” Bucky says, even as he feels himself grin.

“I know,” Sam says. “Just…it’s good to see you putting yourself out there.”

Bucky shrugs, still grinning. It has been good, honestly, and it’s good, too, that Sam’s noticed.

Speaking of noticing, as Bucky finally flops into the empty space next to Sam, he can’t help but take stock of Sam’s clothing — sweatpants and a faded t-shirt he stole from Bucky months ago, that Bucky had very feebly protested about. It’s barely 5, and Sam never gets into sweats this early, unless… “You don’t have anything else planned for the night?”

“Nope,” Sam says. “You wanna order pizza and watch a movie, or something?”

Bucky smiles unconsciously before he can help it. They had nights like those a lot when he first moved in, and Sam’s title of Captain America was so new that no one knew quite know what to do with him yet. Bucky can’t count the number of nights where neither of them had enough effort to cook or figure out what box they’d packed the plates and silverware in, where they’d argue about toppings and Bucky would refuse to allow pineapple to touch his pizza, only to let Sam order pineapple for his half, anyway. They’d eat slice after slice until they felt sick, then pick a movie off of Bucky’s list, and Sam would kick his feet into Bucky’s lap and Bucky would pretend to be irritated by it, while quietly marveling at the fact that this was his life now, and it was something he got to keep.

But with Sam busy building up a new team of Avengers, traveling to D.C. for meetings, training Torres with the wings, and saving the world, it’s been a while since they’ve had the time to laze around like that, especially lately, when Bucky’s hardly been home himself. But it’s something Bucky’s missed doing, even though it’d be selfish to admit it when the work Sam’s doing is so important.

So Bucky can’t help but say, far too quickly, “Yeah, pizza and a movie sounds...nice.”

And Sam smiles, small but sure, just as Bucky feels his face begin to fall.

“Shit,” he says. “I’m sorry, I just realized — I can’t. I promised I’d check in on Lucy tonight.”

“Oh,” Sam says after a pause.

“I’m not going to be gone long,” Bucky adds quickly. “I already said I couldn’t stay the night, and — ”

“Bucky,” Sam interrupts. “It’s fine. If you want to stay the night over there, you can.”

I don’t, Bucky thinks to himself, stubborn. I want to spend time with you.

But Bucky has been doing some overnight stays lately — at Margot’s and for other clients — but not often, and only when he knows Sam won’t be home. He’s realized he doesn’t sleep well when Sam’s not there, even when he’s in his own bed; he sleeps a little better, for some reason, when he stays overnight some places, with a dog hogging up half the bed space. Maybe it’s because it makes him feel less alone, or maybe it’s something else, but he’s never agreed to an overnight stay when he knew Sam was home, and he doesn’t really see the need to now. Especially when Margot told him Lucy would probably be okay for the night, and that she didn’t want to stand in the way of Bucky’s “date night” with Sam, an implication Bucky had pointedly ignored.

But Bucky is, first and foremost, an idiot, and that’s what makes him say, “Well, if you’re sure…”

Sam grins at him, but it’s not the same smile from earlier. This is dimmer, more subdued, and it makes Bucky’s stomach twist. “I’m a grown man, Buck. I think I can handle one night here by myself.”

I can’t, Bucky wants to protest, but what would be the point? It’s obvious Sam doesn’t need Bucky here.

So Bucky stands up from the couch and heads to his bedroom, throwing some pajamas and a toothbrush in his duffel bag and giving Sam a half-hearted wave as he heads out the door.

Margot’s apartment is dark when Bucky steps inside, but Lucy still perks her head up when she hears the door close and trots over to him, tail wagging in excitement when she realizes who’s here. And as Bucky bends down to scratch her behind the ears, he thinks, a little unfairly, that it’s nice to know that at least someone seems excited to spend time with him.

He opens up Margot’s freezer — she’s assured him more than once that he’s welcome to any of her food, although Bucky always feels too bad to ever eat much, anyway — before finding a frozen pizza and popping it in the oven. When it’s done, he makes his way to the couch, putting on a random movie from Netflix and eating slices of pizza, straight from the pan.

But as he eats, he can’t help but miss the taste of pineapple, and to Bucky, that’s the cruelest thing of all. 

Lately, Sam has been acting...different.

To anyone else, it might not be noticeable, but since Bucky has dedicated an embarrassing amount of attention to Sam, it doesn’t take long for him to pick up on it. Sam’s jokes fall flatter than usual, almost as if he feels awkward, and his smiles always look forced, and he doesn’t pat Bucky on the shoulder or give him a side-hug after getting back from a mission, like he used to. Instead, he sits at the opposite end of the couch, keeps his feet firmly beneath his chair when they eat at the dining room table, and keeps to himself if they happen to be near each other, as if to prevent accidentally brushing against Bucky.

But these situations hardly ever come up, because the worst thing is, Sam is never home. His missions run later and later, and he comes home with dark circles under his eyes, looking so tired that Bucky’s heart clenches in his chest, every time. 

And for the life of him, Bucky can’t figure out what he did wrong.

It’s after over a week of near radio silence from Sam when Bucky gets a text from Margot, which isn’t unusual. He was watching Lucy at her apartment just last night; he probably left his book over there, or she’s asking if he’s available today to check on Lucy again. 

What is unusual is that the message seemingly has nothing to do with him coming by to check on Lucy.

Margot: hey, jane’s visiting and we’re taking lucy to the dog park. wanna meet us there? Tell the captain he can join you too 😉

Bucky stares at the message in confusion for a long time, because sure, he and Margot are pretty friendly, but not this friendly. They’ve never hung out unless the conversations she ropes Bucky into as he’s trying to head out the door count.

But Bucky doesn’t have any dog sitting gigs booked for the day, which means he has nothing better to do except feel miserable, and if he’s going to feel miserable, then he might as well do it at the dog park.

Bucky: Sure. I’ll be there in a bit.

The dog park is just a short walk from his and Margot’s apartment buildings — part of the reason Margot moved here, she confided to Bucky once. Bucky’s taken Lucy there a few times, but on early morning weekdays, the place is usually deserted. Evidently, it’s packed on a Saturday, so much so that it takes Bucky forever to spot Margot.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to, because after a few minutes, he hears a familiar yipping sound and spots Lucy trotting up to him, her tail wagging happily when Bucky bends down to pet her. It doesn’t take her long to lead Bucky to Margot and a petite girl with blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail

“Uh, hi. I’m Bucky. You must be the girlfriend,” Bucky says.

“The better half,” the girlfriend — Jane — corrects with a grin, and Margot swats her on the arm, even though she’s laughing.

“Speaking of,” Margot says. “Where’s Cap?”

“You know, you don’t actually know him,” Bucky points out. “I’m pretty sure that excludes you from being at nickname status.”

But Margot just blinks expectantly at him, and Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“He wasn’t home,” he tells her. As usual, he thinks, but doesn’t say.

Evidently, he doesn’t have to, because Margot is scarily perceptive, and something in his tone or expression must give him away. “Uh-oh,” she whistles. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Something like that,” Bucky says, and when he’s met with the same expectant look, he sighs. There’s probably no point in lying to Margot. After all, she pays his bills. “I’m pretty sure he’s mad at me. But I don’t know how to fix it, because I don’t really know what I did wrong.”

“There’s probably a long list,” Margot agrees with a nod, and Bucky glares at her as Jane snorts. “Okay, but seriously. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugs helplessly. “We were fine, then...the other night he asked if I wanted to order pizza and watch a movie, and I said sure but then I remembered you wanted me to stay with Lucy, so I said I couldn’t, and then he practically shoved me out the door.”

“Bucky,” Margot admonishes. “I told you that you could just check on her before bed so I didn’t interrupt date night.”

Bucky feels his face traitorously burn. “Quit calling it date night,” he grumbles.

“Wait a minute,” Jane starts. “You’re saying you agreed to plans, then cancelled them five seconds later, and left?”

“Well,” Bucky says. “I mean, when you put it like that, then yes.”

“Is it possible that maybe the reason he was ‘shoving you out the door’ was that he was upset that you canceled these plans, then?” Jane asks.

“Uh,” Bucky says, blinking. “I guess?”

Margot tilts her head back with a long groan. “ Men. ”

“What?” Bucky demands, feeling defensive.

“Bucky,” Margot says, slow and deliberate. “The reason Sam’s upset with you is because he feels like you don’t want to spend time with him.”

“That’s stupid,” Bucky protests. “Of course I want to spend time with him.”

“Then show him that,” Margot insists. “Take a day off. Don’t dog sit, don’t run errands, just give Sam your undivided attention. You can make dinner or order takeout or sit and watch his favorite movie with him, just something to let him know that you care about him and spending time with him.”

“That’s…” Bucky starts, before finally admitting, “Not bad advice, actually.”

“What are friends for?” Margot says wryly.

Bucky blinks. “We’re friends?”

“Well, yeah,” Margot says. “What did you think we were?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, because he doesn’t, really. It hits Bucky that this is his first time making a friend in — hell, he doesn’t even remember. Since Sam, he guesses, and he did a really shit job with that one, initially. Despite his confusion, though, a small part of him feels pleased; he wonders what Mia will say when he tells her he made a friend without realizing it. “I guess I just thought you were the person that pays my bills.”

“I invited you to the dog park,” Margot reminds him. “I think we’ve officially graduated to friends at this point.”

“Big compliment coming from someone who gives nicknames to people they don’t even know,” Bucky deadpans, and Jane laughs as Margot pretends to ignore her.

“Everyone on the Internet calls him ‘Cap,’” Margot informs him. “Get with the times.”

When Bucky gets home from the dog park a couple of hours later, he gets to work. He double-checks that his schedule is clear, then makes a quick grocery store run, then heads straight to the kitchen when he gets back, and by some stroke of luck, the food is almost done by the time Sam is finally home.

“Are you cooking?” He asks, wandering into the kitchen and looking a little suspicious.

“What’s it look like, Samuel?” Bucky asks, pointedly stirring the pot he’s standing in front of at the stove.

Sam gives him a look. “What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing really,” Bucky begins, very carefully. “Just…you’re always the one that cooks, and you’ve seemed off, lately. I figured maybe I could take over for tonight.” Sam doesn’t respond right away, so he adds, “It’s risotto, by the way. I hope that’s okay.”

Sam is still quiet, and Bucky begins to worry that this means he’s getting ready to shut down and get defensive, insist that nothing is off, when they both know that’s not true.

But then Sam steps next to him and peers into the pot on the stove, his shoulder brushing Bucky’s and says, “Risotto sounds good. Thanks,” and Bucky instantly feels himself relax. Then Sam adds, “Just don’t burn it.”

“That was one time, ” Bucky argues, and Sam snickers. 

The risotto is good, actually — they eat it in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable, necessarily, and when Sam’s foot accidentally brushes against Bucky’s beneath the dining room table, he doesn’t immediately yank it away, and Bucky bites back a smile.

“Hey,” Bucky says after Sam’s gathered the plates to rinse them in the sink. “I thought maybe we could watch that show you like. You know, the one with the roommates.”

“Oh, you mean the one you pretend not to like?” Sam raises his eyebrows, and Bucky glares at him. “Sure, I’m down for that. What, you don’t have any plans?”

Bucky doesn’t think he’s imagining the accusatory tone in Sam’s voice. Still, Bucky says, “Nope,” and then, far-too-honest, “All yours.”

Sam turns to grab their towel to dry the plate in his hands, but not before Bucky catches his smile.

They settle onto the couch and Sam queues up Netflix, pulling up the last episode he’d left off on, and Bucky loses himself in the peaceful dimness of their apartment and the presence of Sam next to him, laughing quietly as Zooey Deschanel attempts to stuff aquarium rocks down a toilet. 

“Hey,” Sam says suddenly, after glancing over at him.

“Hmm?” Bucky asks, looking over at Sam.

“What’s that look for?” Sam asks, and Bucky realizes he’s been smiling for about twenty minutes now.

His first instinct is to play it off, to admit that Sam was right and he does like the show more than he lets on. But the problem is, Bucky hasn’t really been paying attention, and now the credits are rolling, so he doesn’t think that excuse will work. 

And honestly, Bucky’s tired — of looking away every time Sam meets his stare, of pretending his breath doesn’t catch every time Sam smiles at him, of trying to ignore the feelings he’s had for months, maybe years now. 

So, he decides to be honest.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Just happy or something, I guess.”

Sam smiles, slow and surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky echoes. 

Sam’s smile widens, and it occurs to Bucky that in the dim light of the glow of the television, Sam looks beautiful like this. And so, before he can think twice about it, Bucky leans across the couch and kisses him.

For a moment, it’s good, and as Bucky brings his hand up to Sam’s face, tilting it towards his, Sam kisses him back, and suddenly he can’t remember why he’s spent the last several months convinced this would be a terrible idea. 

And then Sam’s pulling away with a sharp, “Wait, stop,” and the moment’s over.

“What?” Bucky asks immediately, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is you can’t just — kiss me, like it’s nothing,” Sam says angrily, and Bucky freezes.

“It’s not,” Bucky says quietly, when he finally finds his voice. “It’s not nothing.”

Because even if Sam is angry at him, even if he never speaks to Bucky again, he should at least know that.

But Sam just laughs incredulously. “Seriously? You’ve barely been home in the last month, Bucky. You weren’t even here last night, and now the second you’re back, you kiss me?” 

Bucky stares. “What? What does any of that have to do with anything?” 

Sam inhales, then exhales, slow. “Look. If that’s how you want it, fine. But I don’t. I can’t be that for you. Okay?”

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, to say that Sam isn’t making any sense, to say that Sam has no idea what Bucky wants, that Bucky just wants Sam in whatever way he can have him. 

But he can’t, because now Sam is rising from the couch and walking away, and Bucky realizes it doesn’t matter what he wants, because Sam doesn’t want this.

“Sam,” Bucky says, and then at a loss of what else to say, adds, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sam says, but it’s not, but before Bucky can say anymore, Sam cuts him off. “I’m just...I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Sam — ” Bucky begins, but then Sam is turning away, slamming his bedroom door shut behind him. 

When Bucky wakes up in the morning, Sam is already gone, which leaves Bucky alone for the day with nothing to do except think about how to fix this. 

Obviously, the first course of action is a true apology, but the problem is, he doesn’t know what he’ll say. He’s pretty confident that Hey Sam, sorry I kissed you, it’s just that I happen to be in love with you, but I’m also completely fine pretending last night never happened, so could we just do that, please, isn’t going to go over well. 

He still hasn’t figured out what to do when his phone finally buzzes with a text, but when he goes to answer it, the text isn’t from Sam; it’s from Sarah. 

Sarah: What did you do???

So Bucky calls her.

“I think I fucked up,” he says immediately after Sarah picks up. 

“You don’t say,” Sarah says, sounding unimpressed.

“What did Sam tell you?”

“Nothing, but he was in a testy mood when I called this morning, and when I asked him what was wrong, he said ‘ask Bucky.’ So again, I’m asking: what did you do?”

Bucky sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I kissed him.”

There’s a beat of silence before Sarah says, incredulous, “Is that all?”

Bucky shakes his head, even though Sarah can’t see him. “You don’t understand. He doesn’t — he didn’t want me to.”

Another stretch of silence, then, “Did Sam tell you that?”

“ Yes, ” Bucky insists vehemently. “He was — he was so mad at me, Sarah. I don’t know how I’m supposed to fix this.”

Sarah sighs. “Okay, look. Here’s what I’m not gonna do. I’m not gonna sit here and match-make you two, alright? Because y’all are both grown-ass men, and none of this is in any way my business.”

“Sarah — ”

“But what I am gonna do,” Sarah continues. “Is tell you that I know my brother, and I know you need to talk to him. ”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Then make him,” Sarah says, as if it’s that simple. “Now I hate to leave you to deal with this on your own, but some of us have real jobs, so I’m gonna go now.”

“Sarah,” Bucky protests again, but she cuts him off.

“Look, y’all are gonna be fine,” she says, sounding oddly confident. “Really. Just — talk to him. ”

And then she hangs up. 

Bucky proceeds to spend most of the day going over her words, and the more he does, the more he realizes that Sarah must know something he doesn’t. Because if she truly thinks that talking to Sam will make a difference, then she must also think that Bucky hasn’t completely ruined everything. 

But she hadn’t seen the look on Sam’s face last night. It had felt irreparable, then, like the kiss was something he could never take back.

Then Bucky remembers how quick Sam was to suggest Bucky move in, how unmistakably fond he looks whenever Bucky helps AJ and Cass with their homework, how hard he tried to reach out to Bucky after Steve gave him the shield, and how he forgave Bucky for ignoring his texts for all those months, anyway.

Sam has always been better than Bucky deserved — he’s known that for a while now. But for some reason, he keeps Bucky around anyway. 

And it’s this knowledge that has Bucky almost certain that maybe Sarah’s right. That after everything, he couldn’t possibly lose Sam over this. 

It’s well past dinner time when Sam finally gets home, which means Bucky has had plenty of time to rehearse, and he’s barely gotten through the door when Bucky steps into the hallway, standing in front of him.

So, with nowhere else to go, Sam crosses his arms and leans his back against their front door. “Hey, Buck. What’s up?”

“I wanted to apologize for last night,” Bucky begins, determined.

Sam sighs. “It’s fine, Bucky. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not fine,” Bucky says. “I kissed you without your permission, and you got upset, and I’m sorry.”

Sam frowns. Evidently, this isn’t going as well as Bucky hoped. 

“Look,” Sam says. “I appreciate the apology, I really do. But I don’t even think you understand why I was upset.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow together. “I don’t?”

“Bucky,” Sam says. “I’m not angry you kissed me.”

“What? Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was angry because you thought I’d be okay with you kissing me when you’re seeing other people.”

Whatever Bucky thought Sam would say, it isn’t this. For a moment, Bucky just stares at Sam, unable to comprehend what he’s hearing. Then, finally, he manages, “What?” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “It’s pretty easy to understand, Buck.”

“No, I — why do you think I’m seeing other people?”

“Because you have been,” Sam says, sounding incredulous. “For weeks now. You were with someone literally two nights ago.”

Bucky stares. “ What? ” He repeats. 

“C’mon, Buck. Lucy?” Sam lifts an eyebrow. “Ring any bells?” 

And at last, Bucky sees the pieces of the puzzle begin to fit together, and feels the sudden and bizarre urge to laugh. 

“Sam,” Bucky says, very carefully. “Lucy is a dog.”

Sam blinks, slack-jawed in confusion. “What?”

“Lucy is a dog,” Bucky repeats. “I mean, a real dog. You know. With fur. And four legs.”

Sam blinks. “What the hell,” he manages finally. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Are you serious?” Bucky demands. “How did you not know this? I’ve been dog sitting her for months — I’ve been dog sitting tons of dogs for months. Why else would I be out of the house so much?”

“I thought you were seeing someone!” Sam says. “Multiple someones!”

“Why the hell would I be seeing someone? ”

“ Why would you be dogsitting?! ”

“I told you I was — ”

“ No ,” Sam cuts Bucky off, pointed. “All you told me was that you were spending all day with someone named Lucy, and that there were others you were spending the day with, and all of the sudden you were on your phone texting all the time. What was I supposed to think?”

Bucky throws his hands up in frustration. “I don’t know! Not that!” 

“Do you not remember that one time I got home late from that mission and you said you’d just gotten back?” Sam demands. “I literally asked you if you’d been on a hot date, Bucky.”

“I thought you were joking, ” Bucky says defensively, only as he says it, a lot of conversations he’s had with Sam over the past couple of months start to make more sense. Like all the comments Sam made about Bucky’s new social life, or the weird way Sam would talk about the dogs, like they were people or something. But Bucky told Sam he was dogsitting. They had an entire conversation about it at the dining room table over dinner one night.

Only when Bucky thinks back to that night, he remembers starting to tell Sam about it, only for Sam to cut him off and tell him he already knew. At the time, Bucky had just naturally assumed Sam was talking about the dog sitting, but…

“Oh,” Bucky says.

Sam lifts his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I’m starting to see how I could’ve handled this better,” Bucky says slowly.

Sam scoffs. “You’re telling me. I’ve spent the past two months jealous over a poodle.”

“She’s not a poodle,” Bucky says automatically, and then his brain catches up to the rest of what Sam said. “Wait...you were jealous?”

Sam heaves out a giant sigh. “Yes, Buck. I was jealous.” 

And finally, Bucky can’t help it. He starts laughing. 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. It’s embarrassing, laugh it up,” Sam grumbles, pushing past him to head towards the living room, but Bucky catches him by the wrist before he makes it out of the hallway.

“Hey, no, stop,” Bucky says, still laughing a little, even when Sam turns back to him with a hesitant expression. “I just...Sam. You know I’m crazy about you, right?”

Bucky watches as Sam’s expression changes, from hesitation to surprise to something that looks a little like fondness, before he shoves at Bucky’s shoulder, muttering embarrassedly, “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” Bucky says. “I mean, God, I’ve spent the entire day working up the courage to talk to you because I thought I’d fucked everything up by kissing you last night.”

“I wasn’t upset with you for kissing me,” Sam admits. “I was upset because I thought it was just going to be a casual hook-up, and I wanted to be more than that.”

“You are,” Bucky insists, unsure of how to put into words how the sound of Sam’s gentle breathing in the other room is the only reason Bucky falls asleep sometimes, how much he looks forward to quiet nights watching movies together on the couch, how Sam is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “Sam, you — you’re everything .”

Sam smiles, wide and without self-consciousness, and Bucky feels himself smile back. 

“We should really start communicating with each other more, huh,” Sam says.

“Probably,” Bucky agrees. “Maybe later, though.”

Then Bucky leans forward and kisses him, and this time, he doesn’t worry about Sam pulling away.

“So, I’ve never asked...” Margot begins, sitting across from Bucky and Sam at her dining room table, Lucy perched at Sam’s feet, just waiting for him to drop something. “But, how did you two end up together, anyway?”

“Here we go,” Sam groans as Bucky lights up.

“So, you’re never gonna believe this,” Bucky says. “But all the credit goes to Lucy, honestly.”

Lucy perks up at her name, but doesn’t leave from beneath Sam’s feet. Bucky’s almost positive it’s because Sam’s been sneaking her bites of his chicken all night, but Bucky hasn’t said anything. Margot was so excited she finally broke Bucky down and made him and Sam agree to dinner; it’s probably for the best that she doesn’t know about Sam’s betrayal.

Margot blinks in confusion. “Wait, really?”

“Yep,” Bucky says brightly, as he watches Sam bury his face in his hands. “See, I thought Sam knew about my dog sitting gig, but it turns out he thought me texting random people and staying out and not getting back ‘till morning was some sign I was seeing someone, and he got so crazy with jealousy that he had no other choice but to confess his undying feelings for me.”

“Okay, that’s definitely not what happened,” Sam starts, glaring at him.

But before Sam can begin to defend himself, Margot interrupts, “Wait, when did this all happen?”

“Like three weeks ago,” Bucky says, though it’s actually been three weeks and five days. But who’s counting?

“Wow,” Margot says, looking astonished, and Bucky lifts his eyebrows expectantly. “Just — I’m sorry, but from the way you talked about him, Bucky, I assumed you two were already together.”

And then it’s Bucky’s turn to be embarrassed as Sam proceeds to laugh for three minutes straight, looking far smugger than anyone who’s just learned that their boyfriend has been pining away over them for months has any right to be. 

But he also nudges Bucky’s foot under the table afterward, looking at him with an expression that’s unbearably fond, so Bucky decides to forgive him.

Besides. Bucky deserved it, just a little bit.