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one.
There are three things that Sam Wilson knows to be true about his job at the Westview Zoo.
Number one: the birdhouse is without a doubt the best exhibit to work in. Number two: all the concessions they sell to visitors for an arm and a leg are completely inedible except for Dip n’ Dots, specifically the Banana Split flavor. And number three: Bucky Barnes absolutely, 100% hates him.
“If it makes you feel better, I think he just hates everybody,” Joaquin Torres, Sam’s favorite coworker, says in the middle of what is probably Sam’s third rant on this subject.
The two of them are in the animal hospital before their shift in the birdhouse starts, giving one of their injured birds her morning feeding. Technically, this isn’t Sam or Joaquin’s job; the hospital staff usually covers feeding the injured animals. But Redwing fractured her wing just last week, and possibly Sam has been a little worried about her. So if he convinced Joaquin to tag along and spoil Redwing with a little bit of extra attention this morning, well, no one else has to know.
“I’m telling you, he hates me specifically,” Sam insists as he adds some cooked rice he brought from home to Redwing’s feeding bowl. “He doesn’t even try to be subtle about it, either.”
“Do you think you might be reading into things a little? I mean, the guy isn’t exactly warm and fuzzy.”
And okay, yes, that may be true – there’s a reason so many of Sam’s coworkers, and even Sam himself, assumed Bucky had taken the open position in the big cat exhibit when he first started working a few months ago. Most of the zookeepers in the big cat exhibit were surly and intimidating, and Bucky certainly fit the bill, so it was a bit of a surprise for everyone when they realized Bucky was actually the new petting zoo attendant, instead. But “not exactly warm and fuzzy” is vastly different from “very clearly detesting someone.” Sam has seen Bucky interact plenty with Yelena, one of the other petting zoo attendees, with the customers, with the kids who show up every morning eager to feed some goats, and sure, Bucky’s quiet and a bit standoffish with them, but with Sam –
“It’s different,” Sam tells Joaquin. “Just last week I asked him how the crowd had been at the petting zoo that morning and he just, like, grunted and turned away. And he stares , man.”
Joaquin raises his eyebrows. “He stares ?”
“ Yes ,” Sam insists. “This morning in the break room when I was talking with Quill I looked up and there he was, across the room, just… staring .”
Joaquin smirks. “Maybe he just thinks you’re hot.”
“He looked like he was plotting my murder.”
“Both could be true.”
Sam stares back at Joaquin, dubious.
“Look, I wouldn’t sweat it, alright?” Joaquin says. “I mean, so what if Barnes does have a staring problem? You can’t be best friends with everybody, and it’s not like you guys actually work together. Why do you care so much?”
And the truth is that Sam has a lot of reasons to care.
For starters, it’s hard not to care when some guy is boring holes into him every time they’re in the same room. Not to mention that Sam has barely even spoken more than a few words to Bucky, so he can’t imagine what reason he’d have to hate Sam so much in the first place. And it’s not like Sam is a stranger to being disliked or anything – he’s met plenty of assholes in the world. The problem is, Bucky isn’t one . He gets along fine with everyone else, he’s great with the animals, and he’s genuinely good at what he does, at least as far as Sam can tell.
It’s just Sam specifically that Bucky has a problem with, and maybe that wouldn’t bother Sam so much anywhere else, but Sam has worked at this zoo since he was only a summer intern in his freshman year of college. In all the years he spent working his way up to the full-time zookeeper position he has now, Sam has learned everything there is to know about this place. He can tell all the birds apart by species with a single glance, he knows the exact minute the weekday rush hours start, and he can recognize every customer with a summer membership by face and name. Sam loves the birds, he loves his coworkers, and he loves his job, period. This is his safe space, where he feels welcomed and appreciated and valued, and now, suddenly, there’s this guy who’s only been here for three months who hates him, and for the life of him Sam can’t figure out why.
But the look on Joaquin’s face is already tired, as if this is a conversation that could’ve ended five minutes ago, so rather than tell Joaquin any of this, he just sighs. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll let it go.”
“Finally,” Joaquin mutters exasperatedly under his breath, and Sam pretends not to have heard him.
two.
Every year, on the second Wednesday of June, the Westview Zoo closes to the public for the day so that the parents of kids aged six through eleven can drop their kids off for the Zoo Camp Day, and it’s by far the busiest and most chaotic day of the year. So when Sam’s boss pulls him aside the moment he clocks in and says, “Belova called out sick,” Sam feels an immediate sense of dread.
“Shit,” Sam says. “She okay?”
“Said it was a stomach bug,” Nick Fury says, and Sam makes a mental note to text and check in on her later. “The point is, we’re now down one counselor, which means I’m subbing you in as her replacement with Barnes in Group F.”
Sam freezes. “Wait. What?”
Fury lifts one eyebrow.
“Sorry, it’s just – why me?” Sam asks.
“Because I said so,” Fury says shortly. “Is that a problem?”
“No,” Sam says quickly, even though he wants to say, yeah, actually, it’s a huge problem. “I just…thought I was supposed to help Joaquin man the birdhouse today.”
“Torres can do that just fine on his own,” Fury says dismissively. “What’s more important is making sure one of my employees don’t have to take care of ten screaming eight-year-olds all by themselves for a full day, and since Belova is out, that means somebody else has to cover, and I’ve decided that somebody is you, so get to it.” And when Sam opens his mouth to protest again, Fury cuts in, “And that was an order, Wilson. Not a suggestion.”
When Sam finally makes his way to the zoo entrance to find Bucky standing with a clipboard in front of ten eight-year-olds, he just blinks at Sam and says, “Where’s Yelena?”
Hello to you too, Sam thinks bitterly.
“Called out sick,” Sam tells him with a shrug, and then tries to muster up as friendly a smile as he can manage. “Looks like you’re stuck with me for the day instead.”
There is a brief moment where Bucky’s face pulls into a complicated, almost pained expression, and Sam nearly turns around to beg Fury to find someone else to take his place. But then Bucky’s expression clears, his face schooling back into his typical surly frown, and he says shortly, “Fine.”
And as Bucky claps his hands to get the kids’ attention and organize them into a line, Sam can’t help but wish he’d caught Yelena’s stomach bug so that he might’ve called out this morning, too.
In fairness, it isn’t a complete disaster. They’re good kids, and Sam is a little astonished by how patient Bucky is with them. He doesn’t even blanch when he’s asked to step in and help apply some face paint on a girl’s cheek, and that’s also how Sam learns that apparently, Bucky has a very steady hand and an affinity for drawing bumble-bees. Who would’ve thought?
They do have a small hiccup mid-morning when a kid named Brian asks Bucky what happened to his arm, but before Sam can intercept and redirect, Bucky just gestures to his prosthetic and says, “Well, I lost my old arm in an accident, so I got this new one instead,” casual as anything.
“Is it plastic?” Brian asks.
“There’s some plastic in it, yeah.”
“Can I touch it?”
“Okay, hey,” Sam says, finally stepping in and putting a gentle, admonishing hand on Brian’s arm. “Why don’t we – ”
But Bucky just shrugs and says, “Sure,” and so Brian reaches out and pokes it experimentally with his index finger.
“Huh,” Brian says, and for a brief second it looks like he’s about to ask a million more questions, but then they get to the lion exhibit, and Brian is very quickly distracted, and that’s that.
So, yeah, it turns out Bucky isn’t such a bad co-counselor. Or he wouldn’t be if it wasn’t incredibly obvious how much Bucky hates being paired up with Sam. He hardly says a word to him the entire day, even when Sam asks Bucky a question, and when Bucky does respond, it’s only by shaking his head or nodding or making non-committal grunting noises.
And near the end of the day, when Sam asks Bucky if he wants to take the shortcut to the pick-up zone or lead the kids through the Botanical gardens, and Bucky only grunts in response, well, Sam finally decides he’s had enough.
“A yes or no would be nice every now and then, you know,” Sam finally snaps.
Bucky blinks and finally, finally, glances over just long enough for Sam to see something like surprise flash across his face, before Bucky looks away again and mutters, “Sorry.”
“He speaks,” Sam says sarcastically, and only feels a little bad when Bucky visibly winces. “Look, dude, it’s fine. Just, do you want to do the shortcut, the Botanical garden, or what?”
Bucky pauses before he answers gruffly, “Garden,” and so Sam steers their group in that direction, smiling to himself as the kids begin to ooh and ahh over the flora and fauna. It’s a quick trip through, but it’s still longer than the shortcut would’ve been, and certainly long enough for the silence lingering between Sam and Bucky to grow awkward. But just as Sam is wondering if he should say something, Bucky is the one to break it.
“Um, so, look,” Bucky begins stiltedly, and Sam glances over at him curiously, though Bucky continues to avoid his eyes. “I just wanted to say that – I’m sorry I’ve been so…”
His voice trails off, and when Sam glances over, Bucky’s face is twisted in an uncomfortable expression.
“It’s fine,” Sam cuts in, sparing him. It’s not really fine, because Sam doesn’t think it would be asking too much for Bucky to get over whatever his issue is for just one day, but whatever. The day’s just about over, and if Sam’s being honest, it hasn’t been that bad, anyway. And it’s this revelation that makes Sam add, “I was crazy stressed during my first Zoo Camp Day, too.”
But Bucky doesn’t take the out. Instead, he says, almost sheepishly, “It’s not that, it’s just – you make me really nervous.”
Sam blinks. “What?”
But before Bucky can answer, they reach the end of the garden path, and the kids bolt towards the pick-up zone where their parents are waiting, leaving Sam with no choice but to tear his gaze away from the anxious look on Bucky’s face and chase after them so no one runs into the parking lot and gets hit by a car.
three.
When Sam wakes up one morning and immediately realizes he’s overslept, he has a feeling it’s going to be one of those days.
First off, he doesn’t have enough time for coffee and breakfast, so he’s exhausted and a little hangry by the time he makes it to the zoo. Then they run out of birdseed only two hours into Sam’s shift, and he has to send Joaquin to the store to buy some, and while Joaquin is gone, they get an unexpected morning rush that Sam has to deal with all on his own. And when Joaquin comes back and Sam finally gets to take his lunch break, he stops by the hospital to check on Redwing only for one of the hospital staff members to inform him that Redwing hasn’t shown much improvement within the last week. And then all Sam can think about as he heads to the food court for his lunch is that it shouldn’t take that long for a wing to heal, that Redwing might need emergency surgery or God, what if she can never fly again, and —
Sam shakes his head to himself. The last thing he needs right now is to imagine worst-case scenarios. What he really needs is coffee, or a snack, or just something to get him through the next five hours of his shift.
When Sam passes through the food court and spots Scott Lang manning the Dip n’ Dots cart, it feels like a sign from God.
That is until he gets to the front of the Dip n’ Dots line and places his order for a medium Banana Split, and Scott makes a sympathetic face at him and says, “Sorry, man, we just ran out.”
“What?” Sam says, sure he’s misheard. They never run out of Banana Split Dip n’ Dots. No one orders Banana Split Dip n’ Dots, except Sam.
Scott shrugs. “Bucky just ordered the last scoop.”
And that’s when Sam turns to see Bucky sitting on the bench just within earshot of Scott’s ice cream stand, staring at Sam with his spoonful of Banana Split Dip n’ Dots frozen halfway to his mouth.
Of course, Sam thinks to himself. Of fucking course.
“That’s okay,” Sam tells Scott, even though he’s pretty sure that the bowl of Banana Split Dip n’ Dots in Bucky’s hands holds the last shred of Sam’s sanity. “Uh. I guess I’ll just take – ”
“You can have mine.”
Sam turns to find Bucky standing right in front of him, thrusting his bowl of Dip n’ Dots towards Sam.
“Oh,” Sam says in surprise, staring at the bowl. “Uh, that’s okay. But, I mean, thanks anyway.”
“I mean it,” Bucky says, staring intently down his bowl of ice cream. “I don’t even like this flavor that much, anyway.”
Then why did you order it? Sam wants to ask, feeling a bizarre surge of irritation.
“Bucky,” Sam says, mustering up as much patience as he can. “It’s fine.”
“I don’t mind,” Bucky insists stubbornly. “Just take it, I can — ”
“I’m not taking your fucking ice cream,” Sam snaps.
Bucky finally looks up, meeting Sam’s eyes with a stunned expression. Even Scott whistles in surprise. A woman standing in the hot dog line nearby glares over at Sam and covers her child’s ears.
Meanwhile, Sam briefly and vividly imagines the concrete beneath his feet swallowing him whole. It’s a testament to how his day is going that the thought brings him comfort.
“I didn’t mean to – ” Sam starts in a much lower voice, his face feeling hot. “I just…I mean, am I so intimidating that you just feel, what, obligated to give me your ice cream, or something?”
It’s not something Sam had any intention of saying, and the fact that he’s just implied that he’s been obsessing over a brief conversation with Bucky from over a week ago isn’t exactly subduing Sam’s embarrassment. But the truth is, Sam has been obsessing over it ever since, and dammit, he wants answers.
“I don’t think you’re intimidating,” Bucky says finally, in a very quiet voice.
“You told me like two weeks ago that I made you nervous,” Sam reminds him, and when Bucky immediately goes scarlet, Sam just sighs. “Look, I’m just saying, I’m not going to report you or anything because you took the flavor I wanted, alright? You can keep your damn ice cream.”
“That’s not — ” Bucky starts. “I just thought that maybe you looked kind of stressed, and so I wanted to — ”
But Bucky keeps stuttering and stopping, even as Sam waits expectantly for him to say something resembling a full sentence, and the more Bucky speaks, the less Sam feels like he understands anything that’s going on.
“I just…” Bucky finally says almost helplessly, and then at last he looks away, staring back down at his ice cream. “Nevermind. Sorry about your ice cream.”
And then Bucky turns and marches off in the opposite direction, leaving Sam standing alone in the Dip n’ Dots line, a hollow feeling in his gut that feels remarkably like guilt.
And the next day, when Sam avoids the food court and heads to the break room to eat his lunch alone instead, he finds a small to-go container of Banana Split Dip n’ Dots in the fridge with a sticky note stuck to the top that just says Sam in an almost familiar messy scrawl.
four.
One of Sam’s many strengths is his immune system – he can’t even remember the last time he was really and truly ill. So when he wakes up one morning feeling off, he blames it on a lack of sleep and picks up a venti latte from Starbucks as he heads into work. When he still feels a little slow and lethargic even after his drink is empty, he blames the feeling on stress and nothing more. It’s not until his head starts throbbing an hour later that he gives in and tells Joaquin he’s going on a quick break.
“Sure. Everything okay?” Joaquin asks, brow furrowed in concern.
Sam waves him off. “Yeah, no big deal. Just need some fresh air.”
The fresh air does help with the headache, but the more Sam wanders around the zoo grounds, the more everything feels fuzzy and dizzy. But just as he’s thinking he should probably sit down for a minute, he realizes that in his attempt to get some fresh air, he’s walked all the way to the barn behind the petting zoo exhibit, and there, sitting just inside the entrance, is Bucky, having an honest to God conversation with a goat.
“Now, I know you know that feeding time isn’t until later,” Bucky murmurs. “But I can give you a bit of this carrot just as long as Yelena doesn’t – ”
Sam clears his throat. “You normally have conversations with them like that?”
Bucky stands abruptly, whipping around and dropping the carrot, which the goat inhales greedily.
“Sam,” Bucky says in a very stiff voice.
“Barnes.”
“What are you doing here?”
Sam wants to pretend he’s here for a confrontation if only to see Bucky’s reaction. He hasn’t seen Bucky since the Dip n’ Dots incident, which was over a week ago, and if Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say the reason it’s been so long is that Bucky has been avoiding him. But rather than corner Bucky into yet another awkward and uncomfortable situation, Sam says, “Needed some fresh air and was passing through the neighborhood.”
Sam expects Bucky to question him on this, but he doesn’t. Instead, Bucky blinks and takes a step towards Sam, his eyebrows furrowed. “Are you…okay?”
“What?” Sam tries to raise his eyebrows, but somehow that makes his head hurt even more. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Bucky frowns. “You don’t look so good.”
Sam opens his mouth to object, but before he can, he feels his vision start to go a little fuzzy. “Maybe I should sit down,” he manages instead, and without preamble, Bucky steers him towards the fold-our chair in the corner of the barn. His hands are firm but surprisingly gentle on Sam’s shoulders, but before Sam can process that, he’s removing them only to press the back of his hand, cool and sturdy, to Sam’s forehead.
“You’re burning up,” Bucky reports and pulls his hand away before Sam can do something stupid, like unconsciously lean into Bucky’s touch.
“I’m just tired,” Sam insists.
Bucky tsks under his breath. “You should’ve called in sick.”
“I never call in sick,” Sam says automatically.
“Of course you don’t,” Bucky mutters, and before Sam can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, he says, “Look, Sam, you clearly have a fever or something. You need to go home and rest.”
“I don’t have a fever,” Sam says dismissively, though the words sound a little garbled even to his own ears. “I told you, I’m just tired. I don’t even get sick, anyway. I’ll be fine for the rest of my shift, and Joaquin – ”
“Sam,” Bucky interrupts. “What part of you clearly have a fever do you not get?”
“You know,” Sam says after a moment. “I think these are the most words you’ve ever spoken to me.”
Bucky opens his mouth, then quickly closes it again, looking taken aback. “Yeah, well,” he finally mutters, and then a blush darkens his face.
It’s cute.
Fuck, Sam thinks.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Sam mumbles, closing his eyes.
“Shit,” Bucky says, sounding panicked. “Don’t get sick, okay? Just – I’ll text Fury and tell him you’re calling out for the rest of the day, and you can – I dunno – I mean, do you have someone to pick you up? Like a…” Bucky clears his throat. “A girlfriend, or…someone?”
Sam shakes his head weakly, clenching his eyes shut tighter. “Just my sister. But she lives an hour away. And she’s at work.”
“Okay,” Bucky says, and after a moment of hesitation, “Then I’ll just drive you.”
Sam’s eyes snap open. “What?”
But Bucky’s already pulling out his phone, assumedly to text Fury, and then he’s rifling through his other pocket for his keys.
“Bucky,” Sam says. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I — ” Bucky starts, then stops. “Because someone has to, okay? Just…come on.”
So Sam nods and wordlessly follows Bucky to his car.
Sam spends the entire ride to his apartment pressed against the cool glass window of the passenger side, trying to pretend like every jolt of Bucky’s car on the road doesn’t make his head throb. Bucky, for his part, doesn’t say a word after he asks for Sam’s address, but every time Sam risks a glance over at him, he’s frowning, his fists clenched tightly around the steering wheel.
Sam wonders idly if asking Fury to add gas money to Bucky’s next paycheck will make Bucky hate him any less.
It’s not until Bucky finally pulls into an empty parking spot beneath Sam’s apartment building that Sam finally speaks, forcing out a mumbled, “Sorry.”
Bucky’s scowl instantly fades into a surprised expression. “What?”
“I said sorry,” Sam says, louder this time. “I know I interrupted your day with this and made you drive all the way out here and – ”
“Sam, you didn’t make me do anything.” Bucky looks incredulous this time.
Which is true, but… “Are you not…mad at me?”
It’s not until the words have left his mouth that Sam realizes how childish they sound, but hey, he’s minutes away from downing some NyQuil and passing out. Sue him.
“Why would I be mad at you?” Bucky asks, and his tone is incredibly soft, and not unlike the way he’d spoken to the goat in the petting zoo only minutes ago.
“I don’t know,” Sam says, suddenly feeling like an idiot. “You’ve been like, scowling and glaring this entire time, so I thought – ”
Bucky scoffs. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad that you’re not taking care of yourself.”
Sam chews his lip. “That kinda sounds like the same thing.”
Bucky looks away from him. “Yeah, well, it’s not.”
“Okay,” Sam says, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and he feels a little light-headed in a way he isn’t sure has anything to do with being sick.
Bucky clears his throat. “You gonna be okay to get inside?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” Sam says, quickly unlocking the car and stepping out. He takes one last look behind him before he closes the door. “Thanks.”
Bucky just nods back at him without saying anything, and so Sam shuts the door behind him, waiting until Bucky has peeled out of the driveway before he lets himself inside to collapse onto his bed so he can fall asleep and forget all about this entire horrible and confusing day.
five.
The thing about Bucky is that Sam doesn’t understand him.
In fairness, Sam would have an easier time of it if Bucky would just…do things that make sense. Instead, Bucky glares at him and tells Sam he makes him nervous, then leaves Sam ice cream in the breakroom and offers to drive him home when he’s sick, and then dares to look confused when Sam asks if he’s mad at him. Bucky keeps acting like he hates him and then doing things to make Sam think the opposite, and Sam wishes that for once, Bucky would just make up his damn mind and stop surprising him.
And it’s this sentiment that’s running through Sam’s head as he walks into the local bar for Westview Zoo’s annual “We Survived the Summer Rush, Let’s Get Drunk” get-together and immediately spots none other than Bucky Barnes.
In fairness, it shouldn’t be a huge surprise. The Westview employees go out to this bar every August as the summer winds down, and every Westview employee is always invited. And Sam still didn’t expect to see Bucky here, because he never is. This is certainly not the first Westview outing since Bucky’s been hired – Sam is constantly roped into mini-golfing or bowling or dinners or, most often, going out and getting wasted at this very bar. But Bucky has never shown up, not once, and it hadn’t even occurred to Sam that he’d be here now, standing at the bar and then, impossibly, meeting Sam’s eyes across the crowded room.
Sam swallows. He half expects Bucky to immediately look away, the way he always does, like Sam is something he feels like he has to avoid.
Instead, Bucky raises a hand half-heartedly and waves.
It takes Sam an embarrassing amount of time to realize he should wave back.
Bucky lowers his hand, and for a brief, bizarre moment, Sam almost convinces himself that Bucky looks like he’s about to walk over, but then Sam feels someone pull on his arm.
“Hey man, you made it!” Joaquin cries, leaning into Sam’s shoulder, his grin bright but eyes a little hazy. It’s clear he’s already been drinking. “Who were you waving at?”
Sam glances back towards the door, but the moment has already broken, and Bucky is nowhere to be found.
“No one,” Sam says, pointedly ignoring the way Joaquin’s eyebrows raise. “Come on, man, I need a beer.”
While it’s not unusual for Sam to get wasted on a night out with coworkers, Sam isn’t feeling it tonight. It’s a good night, and he’s happy to be here, shooting the shit with Joaquin and watching Yelena and Sharon try to match each other as they toss back shots, but Sam has an early shift in the morning and is still recovering from the bout of flu that sent him home two weeks ago, and it just…doesn’t feel necessary, not when he’s plenty happy to just soak up his friends’ happiness and enjoy the night.
He doesn’t see Bucky again until the night starts winding down, and Sam stumbles into him right at the bar. He doesn’t even realize it’s Bucky until he feels a familiarly sturdy arm steadying him, and then looks up to find Bucky looking back at him, an expression of surprise flickering across his face.
“Oh,” Sam says, and then nothing else.
Bucky clears his throat. “Uh, hey.”
“Hi,” Sam says, suddenly remembering words. “Sorry, I was just looking for Joaquin. You seen him?”
Bucky shakes his head.
Sam coughs. “So…I’ve never seen you at one of these before.”
Bucky hums noncommittally.
Sam decides to be nosy. “What made you decide to show up?” He asks.
Bucky immediately looks awkward – which Sam’s starting to realize is his default expression – but before Bucky can say anything, he’s interrupted by someone shouting his name, and Sam spins around to find Joaquin barrelling towards him.
“There you are, man,” Sam says, easily looping his arm around Joaquin’s shoulder. Joaquin immediately presses his face into Sam’s chest, and Sam awkwardly pats him on the back. He’s always been a sentimental drunk. “You think you’re about ready to head home?”
Joaquin pouts. “No. But Yelena already called us an Uber.”
Bucky blinks. “Wait, Yelena did?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s wasted, ” Joaquin says, and then he raises his head from Sam’s chest and blinks at Bucky as if seeing him for the first time. “Oh, hey man. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you without that scowl on your face.”
Bucky immediately flushes, and Sam elbows Joaquin sharply in the ribs. “Ignore him,” Sam says to Bucky. “He loses his filter when he’s wasted.”
“It’s fine,” Bucky says, and though his face is still red, he’s wearing an expression that Sam would swear almost looks amused. “It’s just…Yelena was my ride, so, looks like I need to call an Uber, too.”
“Sam can take you home,” Joaquin pipes up, and Sam immediately elbows him in the ribs again.
“Oh, that’s okay,” Bucky says hastily. “I wouldn’t want to impose – ”
“Sam doesn’t mind,” Joaquin insists, clearly undeterred by Sam’s elbow repeatedly poking into his ribs. Then he wiggles his eyebrows with a knowing smirk. “Actually, I bet Sam would love to take you home – ”
“ Joaquin, ” Sam hisses, his face going hot.
Bucky is now absolutely scarlet. “Uh, I – ”
“J, what the hell?” Yelena demands, emerging from the crowd and looking remarkably put together for someone who’s definitely wasted. Her only real tells are the few strands of blonde that have escaped her tight French braid. “The Uber got here five minutes ago and pretty soon they’re gonna start charging me extra. Are you coming or what?”
“Okay, calm down,” Joaquin says, his voice coming out slurred and a little whiney. “I’m just trying to find Bucky a ride since somebody is evidently abandoning him.”
“Oh,” Yelena says to Bucky. “Sorry. I forgot I was your ride, like, five beers ago.”
“It’s fine,” Bucky says. “I can just – ”
“Sure, I can drive you home,” Sam says to Bucky without thinking.
Bucky blinks at Sam.
Yelena doesn’t even notice. “Great, glad that’s settled,” she says, then she grabs Joaquin by the arm, peeling him off of Sam’s shoulder and ignoring his pitiful whines. “Now come on or I’ll make you pay for the Uber instead.”
Then the two of them stumble off, leaving Sam alone with Bucky.
Bucky coughs. “Uh, thanks. For the ride.”
Sam shrugs and hopes the gesture looks effortless and casual. “Figured I should return the favor, right?” Bucky just looks back at him in confusion. “You know, from when I was sick?”
Bucky frowns. “You don’t owe me anything, Sam.”
Sam blinks, both at the comment and the utter sincerity in Bucky’s voice. “No, I know, I just – it was a joke.”
“Oh,” Bucky says.
Sam clears his throat. “So. You ready to go?”
The walk to Sam’s truck is silent, and so is the ride to Bucky’s house, which fortunately isn’t too far – Sam only has to put up with the awkward silence for about fifteen minutes before he pulls into the driveway of a small white-painted house with a dark blue roof.
“Nice place,” Sam says, because it is, but also because he feels like someone needs to say something.
“Thanks,” Bucky says quietly. “Um, your’s looked nice too.”
Sam lives in an apartment building that Bucky has never seen the inside of, but still, he says, “Thanks.”
“And thanks again for driving me home.”
“No problem.”
Bucky fiddles with the seatbelt across his waist but makes no move to unbuckle it. “I, uh, just wanted to say…I’m sorry if…”
Sam waits patiently. This is it, he thinks. Bucky is going to say something like sorry if my hot and cold behavior has been plaguing you for months or sorry if the way I stare at you across the room has started to bother you.
Instead, Bucky finishes with, “...if I’ve done something to make you uncomfortable.”
Sam blinks. “What?”
Bucky shifts in his seat, still fiddling with his seatbelt. “It’s just…sometimes I feel like you don’t like me very much?” Bucky says to his lap. “Which is fine. You don’t have to like me, obviously. It’s just – ”
“Wait, what? ” Sam blurts out, incredulous. “Why would you think I don’t like you?”
Bucky finally looks up, that surprised and confused expression Sam is becoming all too familiar with painted across his face. “Well…every time I’m around, you act weird. And sometimes it feels like you’re mad at me for something, and I know it’s probably because I…well. You know.”
No, I don’t know, Sam wants to say, but he can’t find the words, literally too stunned to speak.
“So, yeah,” Bucky finishes feebly. “I just wanted to say sorry.”
Sam knows there are a million things he could say at this moment. He could tell Bucky that the only reason Sam has ever acted weird around Bucky is that Bucky is always acting weird around him. He could tell Bucky that he has to be completely dense if he thinks Sam would offer someone he didn’t even like a ride home. But Sam says neither of these things.
Instead, when he’s finally found his voice, he says, “Bucky, I’ve never hated you. You’re the one who hates me. ”
Now it’s Bucky’s turn to look stunned. “What?”
“Come on, man, it’s been obvious,” Sam says, and tries to keep his voice casual and light, like the mere fact of Bucky inexplicably hating him hasn’t been driving him crazy all summer. “You’re always staring at me, you never act like you want to talk to me, you literally told me I make you nervous – ”
“Sam,” Bucky interrupts, still looking shocked. “I don’t – I don’t hate you.”
Sam abruptly falls silent. “You don’t?”
“Of course I don’t,” Bucky says. Like it’s obvious. Like Sam should already know. “I – ”
Then Bucky stops and abruptly looks away.
Sam frowns in confusion. “You…?”
But Bucky is already unbuckling his seatbelt, suddenly springing from Sam’s passenger seat like he’s been burned.
“Nevermind,” he mutters as he climbs out of the car, not even looking back in Sam’s direction. “I shouldn’t have – just forget I said anything.”
“Bucky – ”
“Thanks again for the ride,” Bucky says, and then he firmly shuts the truck door behind him and marches towards his house, leaving Sam sitting alone in his truck, staring after him.
+ one.
“I’m never drinking again.”
Sam looks over at Joaquin. “Didn’t you say that the last time we went out, too?”
“No,” Joaquin says, and when Sam just raises his eyebrows, he adds, “Stop using my own words against me. You’re my boss, that should be against the rules.”
“Shouldn’t I be a good boss and encourage you to learn from your mistakes?”
Joaquin just rolls his eyes, and Sam laughs.
“So…” Joaquin starts a moment later as Sam is just starting to sweep the toucan cage. “How was last night with Bucky?”
Sam groans. “Don’t even get me started.”
“Damn,” Joaquin says. “Was he that bad of a kisser?”
Sam nearly drops his broom. “What?”
Joaquin lifts his head from the food he’s pouring into the toucan feeding bowls. “Sam, seriously? It’s obvious he likes you. I mean, even you must’ve noticed how he blushes like a Victorian maiden every time you speak, like, three words to him.”
“A Victorian …I – ” Sam splutters out. “What the hell, Joaquin? Where is all of this coming from?”
“Please, I saw you two last night. I might’ve been wasted, but that doesn’t mean I was blind,” Joaquin says. “I mean, seriously, that man is down so bad it’s visible from space.”
“He is not, ” Sam insists, even as he feels his face grow hot. “He – Bucky hates me.”
“Sam,” Joaquin says, slowly, as if Sam were a child who needed this explained to him in simple terms. “If he hates you, why would he drive you home when you were sick?”
“Joaquin – ”
“Or leave ice cream for you in the break room?” Joaquin continues. “Or show up to the same bar he knew you’d be at, looking fine as hell? Or – ”
“ Joaquin – ”
“Sam?”
Sam and Joaquin fall immediately silent, whipping around to find Bucky standing right in front of the bird enclosures, and then Joaquin immediately turns to Sam, looking smug.
Sam steadfastly ignores Joaquin, stepping outside of the toucan enclosure and towards Bucky. “Hey man. What’s up?”
Bucky clears his throat. “Uh, I was just wondering…could we maybe talk?”
Sam glances back over at Joaquin, but he’s already disappeared, having clearly decided that Bucky’s appearance was a sign that he should make himself scarce. Sam restrains from rolling his eyes as he turns back to Bucky. “Sure. Do you want to talk here, or…?”
Bucky shifts on his feet. “Actually, could we maybe go somewhere else?”
Sam frowns, stepping fully out of the enclosure now before locking the gate behind him. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just…” Bucky glances around the bird enclosures surrounding them. “I’m kind of scared of birds.”
Sam nearly laughs out loud. Not because it’s funny, necessarily, but because this is the same guy who’s been glaring at Sam from the other side of the room, the same guy everyone was intimidated by when he first started at Westview, the same guy they all naturally assumed was working at the big cat exhibit because of how surly and standoffish he was. And now, that same guy is standing in front of Sam and admitting that he’s scared of birds, of all things.
It almost makes too much sense, honestly.
“Yeah,” Sam says, biting back a smile. “I know just where we can go.”
When Sam opens the same door to the animal hospital room he’s been visiting for the past six weeks with Bucky right behind him, he’s greeted with a familiar chirping noise.
“Hey, Red,” Sam coos as he steps forward in the room, brushing his fingers along Redwing’s spine, careful to avoid her still sensitive wing. “You miss me?”
He glances over at Bucky, who’s slowly edged inside the room and has silently closed the door behind him, still looking a little nervous.
“This is Redwing,” Sam explains. “She broke her wing over a month ago so she’s been hanging out here for a while. It’s been a bit of a rocky road to recovery, but she’s almost fully healed now. Just one more week in here and she should be ready to fly again. Isn’t that right, Red?”
Redwing chirps softly again, and Sam smiles.
“But she can’t fly right now?” Bucky asks Sam, taking a tiny step closer.
“Nah,” Sam says. “But she might let you pet her if you’re up to it.”
Bucky still looks uncertain, but he steps up next to Sam’s side anyway and then stretches out a hesitant hand, using his index finger to brush across the top of Redwing’s head and then down along her spine. He lets out a surprised noise when Redwing nudges her head into Bucky’s touch.
“That means she likes you,” Sam tells Bucky.
Bucky smiles a little, glancing over at Sam and then just as quickly looking away, a flush spread across his face, and Sam looks away, too, trying to pretend his heart isn’t twisting in his chest.
Sam clears his throat. “So. You wanted to talk?”
“Yeah,” Bucky says, withdrawing his hand from Redwing’s spine, though his eyes remain focused on the bird. “Um, so, the thing is…”
There’s a long pause, so Sam cuts in, “Bucky, you don’t have to — ”
“I only went last night because I thought you’d be there,” Bucky finally blurts out.
Sam blinks. “What?”
“I thought for sure I was being too obvious,” Bucky says in a quiet, self-conscious sort of voice. “I thought there was no way you didn’t know, and that was why you were being so weird. But now I know it’s because you thought I hated you, which — well, that explains a lot, actually.”
Sam opens his mouth, intending to say something about how none of what Bucky’s saying explains anything, but no sound comes out.
“But the thing is…” Bucky continues. “I — I don’t hate you, at all. The opposite, really.”
“The opposite?”
Bucky looks down, the tips of his ears going red. “I really like you,” he mumbles. “Like, a lot.”
Sam feels, for a moment, like the breath has been knocked out of him. “Oh,” he says dumbly.
Bucky fidgets again, his face going even redder. “I know this is probably weird — ”
“No, it’s just…” Sam’s voice trailed off. “I don’t — I mean, why ?”
Bucky snorts. “Have you seen you?”
And Sam is a humble man, but a compliment like that from someone who looks like Bucky Barnes might just be enough to give him a complex.
“And I just — ” Bucky continues. “You were so nice, you know? Even to me, at least at first, even when you evidently thought I hated you. You’re nice to everyone. You know all the regulars by name, you make friends with everyone on staff. And you work so hard, harder than anyone else here. I mean, it’s obvious to anyone how much you love these birds, but it’s more than that — you never miss a shift, you’re always on time, hell, you’re even checking in on injured birds even though that isn’t anywhere in your job description and I — ”
Bucky breaks off, shaking his head and letting out a self-deprecating sort of laugh before he admits, “And I have such a huge, embarrassing crush on you. So embarrassing that I couldn’t even get it together enough to form a full sentence around you and I made you think I hated you, which…yeah.”
Sam swallows. His heart is pounding so loud in his chest that he’s sure everyone in the animal hospital must be able to hear it. “You’ve been keeping a close eye on me, huh?” He finally manages.
Bucky ducks his head. “Yeah, well.”
Sam bites his lip. “Bucky…I — ”
“I know it’s weird,” Bucky says quickly, still not looking up at Sam. “And if you want me to never talk to you again after this, I’d — ”
“ Bucky ,” Sam says again. “Just — hang on a second.”
At last, Bucky quiets, and so Sam tries to process the fact that the same guy he’s spent months convinced had some sort of issue with him has actually had some sort of awkward, embarrassing crush on him.
His first thought is, So Joaquin was right. He did just think I was hot.
His second thought is, God, he is never gonna let me live this down.
The thing is — as much as Sam hates to admit it – it makes sense. It explains why Bucky was so standoffish one minute and then so genuine and almost kind the next, and it certainly explains how quickly Bucky seems to dissolve into blushing or stammering every time Sam is around.
But just as Sam is realizing how much all of this explains about Bucky’s behavior, Sam begins to realize how much this explains about his own behavior, too. How maybe there’s a reason Sam kept track of the way Bucky was acting. How maybe there’s a reason Sam noticed the way Bucky interacted with his goats, or the kids who visit the zoo. How maybe there’s a reason the thought of Bucky hating him for no reason bothered Sam so much in the first place.
So, at long last, Sam turns to Bucky, who’s still wearing that same familiar, nervous expression, and says, “I don’t think it’s weird.”
That nervous expression starts to shift, something more hesitant and hopeful taking its place. “You…don’t?”
“I don’t,” Sam says. “But I gotta say…I do feel like I’m at a tiny bit of a disadvantage here.”
Bucky’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.
Sam continues. “See, while you were doing the whole broody thing and making me think you hated me while you were in the middle of doing some sort of Austenian level pining — ”
Bucky gapes. “I wasn’t — ”
“ — you’ve somehow managed to learn a lot about me,” Sam finishes, as if he hadn’t even heard Bucky’s interruption. “The problem is…I don’t seem to know all that much about you.”
Bucky swallows. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Sam says, letting a smile creep across his face.
Bucky bites his lip. “We could change that, maybe?”
“Oh yeah?” Sam asks. “Got any ideas?”
“Well, just one,” Bucky says. Sam raises his eyebrows expectantly, and Bucky clears his throat. “I could, um, take you on a date.”
Sam tilts his head to the side, as if considering the idea, and just before Bucky starts to squirm, he nods. “Okay.”
Bucky looks a little stunned. “Okay?”
“Sure,” Sam says. “How’s Saturday sound?”
For a moment, Bucky just blinks at him. And then he starts to smile, slow and un-self-conscious, and though he quickly bites his lip as if to tamp it down, he doesn’t do it quickly enough to stop Sam’s heart from tripping in his chest.
“Saturday is good,” Bucky says finally.
“Good, we can get dinner. You like tacos?”
“I love tacos.”
“Okay,” Sam says. “Then you can pick me up for tacos at 6 on Saturday. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect,” Bucky says, his voice soft and breathtakingly genuine.
Sam swallows, feeling suddenly flustered. “Okay, great. Then it’s a date.”
“Okay,” Bucky says. He swallows, too. “Could I, um. Could I…kiss you?”
Sam doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes one step closer, cups his palms around Bucky’s face, and presses his mouth against Bucky’s.
It’s a chaste kiss, just Bucky’s lips, soft and careful against Sam’s. But when Sam pulls back just a few seconds later, Bucky looks like the wind’s been knocked out of him, as if they’d kissed for minutes or hours, and that look alone makes Sam feel a little breathless, too.
“Saturday at 6,” Sam manages to say. “Don’t be late.”
Bucky smiles. A real smile this time, not tamped down by him biting his lip or ducking his head, and it’s like his face is transformed by it, all those scowls and uncertain expressions utterly erased by the crinkling of Bucky’s eyes and the fond way he looks right at Sam. It’s not an expression Sam is familiar with, not in the way he’s become so accustomed to Bucky’s signature scowl or the nervous twist of his mouth. And yet, Sam can’t help but hope that with time, this expression will become just as familiar to him, too.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky tells Sam, and Sam doesn’t need to see the expression on his face to know that his own answering smile looks just as fond as Bucky’s.