Chapter Text
Bucky had no idea how he ended up roped into this. At least it was better than politics.
He always had trouble sleeping–though less-so from horrific nightmares now than from general insomnia–and so, he often stayed up and read. Or trained, even though he didn’t need to. Or he’d go for walks on the mostly dark streets of the city. Tonight, however, he wandered through the nearly empty Tower, feeling like a ghost in polyester.
For no discernible reason, he ended up in the commissary–half-kitchen, half lounge–drawn there by the lights. They were dimmed, but deliberately on. Weighing the chances of it being someone he didn't want to speak to, Bucky sighed and slipped through the doorway.
He didn’t see anyone at first, though he still walked silently. It wasn’t a habit he could break. True, the Winter Soldier was known for his brutality in open battle, but he was still a spy and assassin–he had to be silent when necessary.
Out of habit, he surveyed the area, nearly missing the other person in the room.
Mel sat slumped on one of the cushioned seats in front of a table, laptop open before her, notes scattered across paper and tablet, her head down on crossed arms. Either asleep or exacerbated, Bucky couldn’t tell. Her hair, normally perfectly smooth and silky, looked frizzy from hands swiping through it consistently, pooling around her arms like oil.
Not wanting to freak her out, Bucky cleared his throat loudly and then bumped into a free-standing chair, which scraped against the tile flooring.
Mel jerked her head up, eyes half-open.
Asleep then.
He felt sort of bad.
“Uh…” she blinked, blurry eyed and barely conscious.
“Hi,” Bucky said.
At his voice, she seemed to wake up more. She sat back, pushing her hair out of her face and squinting at him. She normally wore contacts, but now she grabbed for her glasses sitting on top of a pile of papers and shoved them onto her face.
“Bucky!” her voice was a mixture of sleepy and peppy and she winced at the volume.
To say he’d been avoiding her since the Void incident would be…overkill. Bucky just happened to find himself leaving whenever she was around, only sharing space when there was a room full of other people.
“What’re…” She slapped her cheeks a little to rouse herself more. “What’re you doing here, soldier?” Wince again.
“Munchies.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder.
Her eyes skidded to the industrial size refrigerator across the room. “Right.” She shifted in her seat, and then looked at her computer. “Ignore me. I’m not here.”
Bucky hesitated before he turned and took a leisurely look around the kitchen. It was filled with food–with three supersoldiers in residence, they could eat through all of this in mere days–and Bucky found something microwavable with rice and spice and vegetables. Good enough.
The tension–if there was any, or if he was making it up–filled the air between his shoulder blades and the light tapping of Mel’s keyboard. The microwave seemed like the loudest thing in the entire city as it spun the food around before beeping. A beep that Bucky cut off by hitting the button almost the instant it started.
He grabbed the steaming hot dish with his metal hand and found a fork. Now came the decision of where to sit.
Far away from Mel and it would feel petty and obnoxious. Too close, and he feared discomfort for other reasons.
He ended up sitting at the table opposite hers, slightly hunched against the table, stirring the food around to mix the flavors together.
“Smells good.” Mel said after a beat.
“What?”
“I…ahem, I said that smells good.”
Bucky glanced at the food. Took a bite. It tasted decent too. He glanced up, met her skittish glance and nodded in agreement.
She looked back down again, the blue light of her laptop washing out her features, making her look gaunt. She was not gaunt. She had a nice face. Youthful.
Bucky ate about half his food before he spoke. “What are you working on?”
“Oh uh…marketing.” She sat back, dragging her hands through her hair and then down her face. “The worst.”
Bucky grunted a little. He remembered his dismal PR for his short stint as a congressman. What the hell was he thinking? This is what happened when Steve wasn’t around to knock sense into him. And that was just one person.
Mel was trying to present the New Avengers to the world as a united front when they were just a bunch of assholes, really. Himself included.
“Try getting a building dropped on top of you,” Bucky countered–trying for a joke and failing.
Mel’s face dropped and she crossed her arms tightly. She bit her cheek, pursed her lips, tapped a free index finger on the crook of her elbow.
Bucky shoveled the rest of the food into his gob.
“You hate me,” Mel said as he set his fork down.
He raised his eyebrows a little.
“You haven’t said a single word to me in weeks, months! Look, I know I fucked up, I stabbed you in the back after asking for your help but–”
“That’s not why,” Bucky interrupted.
Mel stopped, eyes wide, searching for whatever it was she did wrong.
“You killed Bob,” Bucky continued, throwing her a bone. Sure, Bucky knew very little about Bob at the time, but still, it was the principle of the matter to him.
Mel’s pulse quickened–he could tell by her sharp intake of breaths that grew shallower and the slightest flutter at the base of her throat he could see in the dim lights. “I saved Valentina,” she countered once her voice was steady enough. It still shook a little. “There’s a difference. She might be a shitty boss and a horrible person, but I couldn’t stand by and watch her die.”
Bucky thought about that. She had a point. And Bucky had no apple box he could stand on. He’d killed more people while brainwashed than most soldiers did in a whole deployment–and since then, he’d tried not to, but lives have been lost at his hands. And Mel was a civilian–who had a point. He detested Valentina, but he would have still tried to save her life if he was there.
But it was still a shift in Mel’s life. He wondered if she’d talked to anyone about it. Even though Bob was alive and well (enough), she had still made the choice to pull the kill switch to end a life. And that choice had nearly destroyed the city, and maybe even doomed the world. Her haunted expression told him that she still had a lot to work through.
“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Bucky said slowly.
Mel slumped back a bit more, twisting her hair around her hand in a thick rope. Flyways spread out around her face like they were trying to escape. “Do you still hate me?”
Bucky sighed, sat back and shook his head. “Hate’s a strong word. I knew what I was getting into when I offered you my help.”
“That I’d stab you in the back?”
“There was a possibility that you would stab me in the back because of your loyalty to Valentina.”
Mel made a face.
“Or because of your desire to keep your job.”
She nodded a little.
“I don’t blame you,” Bucky said finally. He stood, grabbing the container and fork. He deposited the container in the recycling and put the fork in the dishwasher.
“Thank you,” Mel said after he closed the dishwasher door. “For…for helping me, when I asked.”
Bucky looked over at her, nodded, a small, thin smile on his face. “Maybe next time you’ll mean it.”
Mel matched his smile–small, thin. But she looked relieved. She gathered her legs up onto the booth and wrapped her arms around them. “If you ever want to figure out how to present this team to the public in any kind of meaningful and positive way…please, please help me out.” There was a bit of desperation in her tone, but also humor.
Bucky leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “You’re asking me for PR advice?”
“What can I say,” she shrugged, “I’m desperate.”
“Not this desperate,” Bucky scoffed. He pushed away from the counter and started toward the doorway. “Goodnight, Mel.”
“I’m here like every other night,” she called out after him, a sales pitch. “Until three A.M.! If you have any ideas!”
He found himself chuckling and shaking his head as he disappeared into the shadows of the Tower to find another, less chatty hobby to partake in for the evening. However, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander. It wouldn’t hurt to think about it a little, would it? Helping Mel, meant helping the team and whether he liked it or not, he was part of this thing.
“Oh, what the hell,” he muttered as he ran a hand through his hair and headed back to his room. Time to bury his nose in a book. And if he happened to have a idea or two, he would jot it down. Simple as that.