Chapter Text
The next Friday, Steve’s no longer planning on staying late while Bucky goes out, because Bucky won’t be going anywhere. He’s getting dinner started, Ada sitting on the counter watching him, chattering away about her plans for Halloween tomorrow night.
Steve glances up from smashing garlic when Bucky arrives, kicking off his shoes and making a beeline for the kitchen. He gets an arm around Ada and leans against the counter, watching Steve. “What’s on the menu tonight?” he asks her.
“Spaghetti,” she says, sipping on her juice box. “Tateh, can Steve stay for dinner?”
Bucky grins at Steve, lifts an eyebrow. Steve’s tummy does a weird flopping thing. “I don’t know, can he?”
Steve’d made plans with Natasha and Clint and Sam, a couple of drinks maybe, something to celebrate not working on Fridays anymore. Celebrating Bucky getting dumped, says Clint. He’s not wrong. Still, he thinks they’ll all forgive him if he decides to stay. He might still get a chance to join them later.
“Yeah, sure, of course I can,” Steve says. “But I don’t want to, you know, intrude.”
“No!” says Ada, at the same moment as Bucky says, “Of course you’re not.”
So Steve agrees when Bucky asks if he wants wine, and the next thing he knows the three of them are sitting together at the table, a weird wonderful picture of domesticity. He thinks he could probably do this every day.
“Are you doing anything for Halloween?” Bucky asks as Steve passes along the parmesan.
“Usually my friends and I get together and hand out candy at one of our places. Sam’s, normally—he’s the only one of us with, you know, a normal job and the kind of place that’s good for trick-or-treaters.”
“Oh, yeah? Where’s that?” Bucky asks. “Midtown’s a bit—you know—not great for trick-or-treating, right, malkeleh? Too many apartments.”
Steve tickles at Ada’s chin; she giggles at him and squirms, her smile a mirror of her father’s. “Bed-Stuy. You know that strip of brownstones up on Macon? He’s up there.”
“Maybe we’ll come and visit.” Bucky laughs a little as Adrienne’s face goes gleeful, her mouth opening wide as she nods and nods and nods at him.
“Oh, please, Tateh,” she whines, “I want to show Steve my costume!”
“Maybe, sugarplum, maybe,” Bucky says, taking her fork from her and stabbing a noodle for her. “No promises, but maybe we’ll head on out to Brooklyn tomorrow night.”
-
Steve’s trying really hard not to think about it; he hasn’t even told Nat, Clint, and Sam that Bucky and Adrienne might stop by. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up. So the four of them get ready for the influx of trick-or-treaters, chatting while they get their costumes on.
Steve’s just clipping a navy tin helmet with a white painted A onto his head when the doorbell rings for the first time. Sam—in a very realistic penguin costume—skids by, carrying a bowl full of peanut-free candy. Natasha, as Princess Leia, snags a fun-sized Milky Way as he passes her, then falls into step behind, cooing as the door opens to reveal three very cute children, excitedly calling out, “Trick or treat!”
Steve’s busy fetching more candy from the kitchen when it happens; he hears Clint’s surprised, “Barnes!” and feels his face go red. Nat, mid-sip of her beer, pauses, eyebrow arching at Steve.
“Uh,” he manages before Ada’s screeching, “Steeeeeve!” makes him flinch. He heads for her voice, because it would be nice if she didn’t make that sound again, and because—Bucky.
Bucky, who is carrying his little girl in a tiny lion onesie.
Bucky, who is wearing an adult-sized lion onesie.
Bucky, whose face is painted to match Adrienne’s, with whiskers and a blackened nose.
Bucky, who is smiling at him like he didn’t just step out of The Wizard of Oz.
“Uh,” Steve says again.
Adrienne squirms and slides down out of her father’s grip, running for Steve with her arms up. He scoops her up out of habit, still looking at Bucky and the ears poking up out of his messy orange mane.
“Steve, guess who we are!” Ada says, placing both hands on Steve’s cheeks and turning his head until he’s looking at her. “C’mon, Steve, guess!”
“Lions, right?” he says.
“No!”
He hesitates, glancing back at Bucky, who’s lounging against the doorway, still smiling at them. Clint and Sam are standing off to the side, funny looks on their faces, and Steve can feel Natasha behind him. “Well, technically, yeah,” Bucky says. “But that’s the only hint you get.”
Steve looks back at Ada, at the yellow and orange spots drawn onto her face and the little tuft of brown hair between her ears. “Oh, starshine—are you Simba?” he asks. His heart melts a little; he’d been the one to show her The Lion King.
He’s rewarded when her mouth cracks into that beautiful Barnes smile. “Yeah!” she says. How much sugar has she had tonight? “So, my Tateh…?”
Bucky’s still looking at him; Steve can feel his ears redden. “Mufasa?”
“Right in one, Captain,” Bucky says, straightening up so he can salute Steve. He rubs his hands together and glances from Steve to Clint and Sam, who both quickly attempt to make their faces do something—anything—else. “Now, I believe there’s something in all this about some treats?”
-
When Bucky gets home the next Wednesday, Adrienne is intent on her drawing of the puppy she wants. Steve glances up, slurping at the dregs of his coffee as Bucky leans down to kiss the top of Ada’s head. “How’s it going, kiddo?”
“It’s good,” Ada says, not looking up from her drawing. Bucky fidgets with one of her pigtails, sneaking glances at Steve from the corner of his eye. Steve takes pity on him, thinking maybe he wants some time with Adrienne, and gets up.
“I should—probably head on home,” he says.
Bucky trails Steve out of the kitchen, following a few steps behind as Steve wanders the house, picking up his sketchbook and pencils, his backpack and finally his jacket.
“Steve,” Bucky says as Steve sticks his feet into his shoes. His voice is soft, like maybe he’s trying to keep Ada from hearing. He turns.
Bucky’s only half a step behind him, eyes wide, beautiful and timid and all Steve can think is how he never wants to do anything to make him look this way.
And then Bucky puts his hands on Steve’s broad shoulders, gets up on tiptoes. Steve wouldn’t be able to move even if he wanted to, and god, he doesn’t want to. Warm dry lips brush across his and he can’t breathe. Maybe he can breathe—he must be breathing, because he can smell loneliness on Bucky.
That smell is the reason that he pulls back, holding Bucky away from him. “No,” he says.
“Steve,” Bucky says. “You don’t—I thought you wanted—”
“No,” Steve repeats, and stumbles back. “Not like this. I’m not going to be your rebound, Bucky.” Bucky says his name again, tries to speak, but Steve puts a hand out. “Ada deserves better, and so do I. You’re my boss. If you want this—me—if you really do…figure yourself out, would you, before trying it.”
“But.”
He shakes his head, walks to the door and opens it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bucky.”