Chapter Text
It was his third drink — not that keeping count really mattered. Alcohol hadn’t had any real effect on him in years, something he regarded with a kind of quiet disappointment. It was ridiculous to admit that sometimes a drink could help blur his thoughts just the right amount — and not in the chaotic way that still haunted him, echoes of everything Hydra had left behind in his scarred mind.
“Another one?”
He nodded, finishing off what was left of his drink in a single swallow, then pushed the glass across the worn wooden counter, its surface marked by the injuries of time — scratches he swore were from knives and… who knew what else.
“Everything okay over there?” Yelena’s voice came through the comm. Bucky knew she could see him, so he just gave a brief nod, even shorter than the one he’d given the bartender who served him.
It wasn’t hard to sit and drink for cover. No joke — Bucky could’ve done that all night if he needed to. He wouldn’t get drunk, wouldn’t get tired. Maybe bored, but that was a small price to pay. Of course, sitting in that bar drew a few curious stares from some guys around — but nothing he couldn’t handle easily.
The delivery had been completed; the intel they needed was now in Ava’s hands, a few tables ahead of where Bucky sat — still well within his line of sight and reach if he had to step in. He waited for her to leave, took another sip of the drink that had just been placed in front of him — one swallow, harsh only for the second it hit his lips and tongue, then fading into what felt like just a bitter, alcohol-free liquid.
He raised his hand — the vibranium one, hidden beneath a leather glove. Not that he really needed to, it was just a habit he’d picked up: leather gloves, a jacket… at least it matched his style — and the bike parked outside, waiting for him to take a ride around the city before heading back to the Tower.
“I have a question…” The bartender sounded nervous, a little flushed. As soon as he grabbed the cash and slid it under the counter, his hand went to his brown hair, messing it up more than fixing it.
Bucky had heard things like that before, so he just nodded, waiting — his gloved hand resting on the scarred wooden surface, index and middle finger tapping in a steady rhythm. Ava was already outside. He could turn off the comm, spare Yelena from whatever was about to happen… but he didn’t get the chance — and honestly, didn’t have much of a mind to, after what came out of the bartender’s mouth:
“The good-looking guy on your team… does he, uh… have someone?”
Bucky’s expression was a mix of surprise and mild confusion. Was he talking about—
“Walker?”
“He says ‘good-looking guy’ and your first guess is John?!” Yelena’s laughter came through the comm loud and clear, making Bucky finally switch it off. He lifted a hand to the back of his neck, pretending to scratch it as he discreetly removed the device without the bartender noticing. Subtle and flawless, as always.
“Yeah… the tall blond one, right?”
That was not what Bucky had been expecting, honestly. He was used to getting hit on by bartenders, and even when he wasn’t interested — like now — it was still a nice little boost to his ego. But this? This was a bucket of cold water — with the whole damn bucket thrown right at his face. Was this some kind of prank? A joke? Was Yelena messing with him?
“Uh… he’s married.”
Well, Walker was divorced, technically, but Bucky wasn’t about to play matchmaker for anyone. If the bartender had such terrible taste, he could look up Walker’s life himself. They were practically public figures now — one quick Google search, and he’d find out more than Bucky would ever reveal about any of his teammates. Especially not Walker.
He left, noticing the bartender’s disappointed face. What, did the guy expect Bucky to hand over Walker’s number so he could call him up for a date — or worse?
He got on his bike, still wearing that look of complete bewilderment. The whole night had been weird, to say the least. At least the mission was done. So when he took longer than usual to return to the Tower, no one questioned it — not when disappearing for a nighttime ride was already his trademark. Riding through the city, feeling the cold wind against his face and that fleeting illusion of freedom — it was the one thing that still made sense.
He thought he was done with that strange night. Thought he’d have time to take a shower, grab a bottle of water, and collapse into bed. But Yelena was waiting for him. The elevator doors had barely opened before she was on his heels — short legs, but quick enough to catch up as he walked toward the kitchen.
“So, what did he want?”
He didn’t look at her. He knew there was no escaping it, but maybe he could at least postpone the talk until morning — though, judging by the clock… it was technically morning already.
“Who?” He opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap, and took a long sip. The cold liquid slid down his throat and, for a brief second, seemed to cool even his thoughts.
She hopped up onto the counter, sitting cross-legged like she was about to meditate, her flip-flops abandoned carelessly on the floor. “Don’t play dumb. The bartender, obviously.”
Bucky leaned against the counter across from her, legs crossed, stretching his back as he drank another sip — in no rush to give her the answers she wanted so badly. Her impatient, irritated expression was almost funny. For all his years and experience, Bucky still saw Yelena as a kid desperate for gossip before bedtime.
“Apparently… he wanted Walker.” He tilted his head as if that were a very questionable choice. Who would choose Walker?
“And what about you?” She was fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, rolling the fabric between her fingers, then unrolling it again, keeping her hands busy even as her eyes stayed locked on Barnes.
“What?”
The look on his face — the one that said he had no idea where this conversation was heading — made Yelena smile subtly, the corner of her lips curling up as she cleared her throat and went on with her next question:
“And you… what did you say?”
Ah, she wanted to know what he’d answered — after all, he’d turned off the comm. But more than that, her tone implied she’d also wanted to ask Barnes himself if he wanted Walker. And that confused look on his face, like he didn’t even know how to respond, just made it all better.
“That he just got divorced.”
Yelena smiled, biting her lip to hide how amused she really was. She could swear Bucky hadn’t actually said that — no way. It would’ve been way too much information to give away like that, and he wasn’t the kind of man to hand out details on a silver platter.
“Well, maybe next time you go to that bar, Walker should be the one on the mission then, huh?”
Yelena finally burst into a real laugh when Bucky rolled his eyes and walked out of the kitchen, bottle in hand, his steps firm against the floor — something she was sure he hadn’t even noticed, but she had.
Oh, she’d noticed a lot — in what Bucky Barnes said, and especially in what he didn’t.
In his room, he set the bottle down on the dresser and leaned back against the armchair beside it as he untied the knot of his boot, kicking them off with his feet. He pulled off his socks and stretched his legs out over the polished floor, feeling the cool surface of the room against the soles of his feet. Letting his weight sink into the chair, his head tilted back and slightly over the edge, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Something was bothering him. He was too stubborn to even admit to himself what it might be, so he just threw a ragged cover over the thought and pretended to be irritated about something else — about anything, about everything… anything but that. It couldn’t be that.
When he stood up — leaving his jacket and gloves on the armchair — and walked toward the bathroom, tugging at the hem of his shirt with his left hand and pulling it over his shoulders before tossing it — expertly — onto the chair with the rest of his clothes, he finally allowed himself to drop the subject.
His pants came off right before stepping into the bathroom, though he hung them on the doorknob, leaving the door slightly ajar. It was still private — it was his room, after all.
When he turned on the shower, when the streams of warm water hit his skin, heating him as the temperature gradually rose, when he ran his hands through hair long enough to tuck behind his ears… that conversation came back to him.
The bartender wanted Walker.
Walker.
John F. Walker.
Tsk. Ridiculous.
A towel was wrapped around his waist, another over his dark hair as he rubbed it dry without much care, staring at himself in the mirror — at the reflection of his own dissatisfaction. His irritation.
When his heavy body fell onto the bed — white sheets, clean, soft — the towel still around his waist, hair still damp, irritation still simmering under his skin like static electricity ready to shock anything that dared get too close, he closed his eyes… and Yelena’s voice echoed in his mind again, like his very own Jiminy Cricket — a damn talking conscience.
He says “a good-looking guy,” and your first guess is John?!
Honestly, who did she expect him to say? Alexei? Nothing against the guy, but when someone said think of a handsome man, well — Bucky had his preferences. Even if he wouldn’t admit it. Even if he wasn’t sure.
He could’ve said Bob, but… his mind had betrayed him. And yes, unfortunately, it had been Walker — Walker — who’d been the first thing to cross his mind when the bartender asked.
And much to his own misery, it was Walker who still lingered in his thoughts now, as he tried to fall asleep.