Chapter 3
Bucky called the next day. Steve was finally out of the ICU, so no Smoker’s Row today. The phone had barely finished ringing once before someone on the other end picked up.
“Who might I have the pleasure of speaking to?” drawled a voice the was low, syrupy, and distinctly not Logan’s. Must be a house phone, Bucky thought, and I thought only Clint had a wall phone?
“Um, hi. I’m Bucky. Is Logan home?” Bucky bit his lip, fidgeting with his hoodie strings.
“Logan ain’t here right now. Can I leave him a message?”
“Just, uh, can you tell him I called?”
“O’course, mon ami.”
‘Mon ami?’ Bucky was really curious as to where this guy was from now. “Thank you.”
“I’ll tell him to call back. Au revoir!”
“Ah, bye?” There was a click on the other end. Bucky tossed his phone on the desk, slouching in his and Steve’s swivel chair. Steve was smirking evilly at him.
“Voicemail?”
Bucky shook his head. “Some guy with a weird accent picked up. His roommate, I think.”
“You sound disappointed.” Steve tugged at the cuff of Bucky’s jeans from where he was curled up on the floor with his sketchbook. “If you met your soulmate while I was in the ICU, I just want you to know that I’m going to be royally pissed.”
Bucky scoffed, gently kicking Steve’s hand off. “He ain’t my soulmate, Stevie. Chrissakes, I’ve smoked with the guy twice.”
Steve made a face, and Bucky thought he was gonna tell him off for smoking, but apparently making fun of him came first. Typical. “Hey, I only met Peggy ‘cause she was breaking up a fight.”
“She wasn’t breaking up a fight, Steve. She was trying to help you. I broke up the fight.”
“Right, ‘cause you’re no fun.” Steve leaned against Bucky’s legs, holding up his sketchbook, open to a drawing of Natasha. “Good?”
“Looks great, Stevie. Anyways, I don’t even know his last name.”
“His last name is Logan.”
"His first name is Logan.”
“I thought his first name was James, like yours.” Steve made a face. “Maybe Logan is his middle name. Whatever, it isn’t important.” He put his head on Bucky’s knees, batting his eyelashes up at him. “Our little Bucky is growing up,” he cooed.
Bucky scowled at him. “You’re a little punk, you know that?”
“An’ you’re a jerk,” Steve replied instantly, perhaps instinctually, sprawling his small frame across the floor as big as he could get it. “But I still hang out with you, don’t I?”
Rolling his eyes, Bucky pushed back the chair and stood up. “Right, right. You do your thing. Some of us have to go be social.”
“Have fun at Support Group.” Steve waved at him from the floor, and Bucky snorted.
“What a contradictory sentence.”