“You goin’ to the picnic tomorrow?” Steve asked, as he took a seat across from Bucky in the break room.
Bucky’s mouth might’ve been too full of the turkey sandwich he’d just bitten into to let out the enthusiastic denial he wanted to give, but he did manage to scoff.
“That a no?” Steve asked sarcastically, before dipping his fork into his leftover spaghetti and shoving some into his mouth.
“It’s a hell no,” Bucky said, once he could get a word out without choking. “It’s an unequivocal no. It’s a not even if they paidme to no.”
“Well, it is on company time. I’m just sayin’, you do realize they would literally be paying you; don’t you, Buck?” he asked, innocently, and was rewarded with Bucky’s balled up napkin hitting him square in the face.
“You’re such a little shit, you know that right?” He huffed. “You know what I meant.”
“Yeah, I think I got it,” he said, snorting. “So, what, are you gonna work the entire day, or use PTO and go home when we all change and head over to the park at noon?” He asked, then took another bite.
“I’ll just work the whole day,” he said, through another, slightly smaller and thus more manageable, mouthful of sandwich, then shrugged. “This place isn’t so bad when it’s empty.”
“True,” Steve conceded, nodding. “It’s easier to get work done too. Then again, sometimes when I’m in on Saturdays and nobody else is here, it’s almost too quiet.”
“Yeah, but I won’t be completely alone. There are a few other people opting out of the picnic too. So, it won’t be too bad here. It might even be fun.”
His voice changed enough during that last part that Steve quit concentrating on the ridiculous amount of pasta he’d brought, and looked up at Bucky again. And, yup, just as Steve had suspected, Bucky had that dopey look on his face. The same far off dreamy look he always adopted when he was thinking about one particular coworker.
Welp. Steve hated to burst his bubble, but…
“You know Sam’s going to the picnic, right?”
“What?” Bucky asked, the chips he’d been about to eat suddenly forgotten. He didn’t even care that Steve had seen through him so easily. “No he’s not.”
“Yes, he is.”
“No. He’s not.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes, he is, Bucky. Fury made it mandatory for his team. Said something like: ‘if I have to go just because I’m a supervisor, then you all have to go too.’”
Bucky pursed his lips, still looking unconvinced.
“Sam told you that?”
“No, I heard it myself,” Steve said, and gave Bucky an odd look. “You know my cubicle sits right next to the hallway where they have their daily huddles.”
“Oh,” Bucky said, deflating in his seat a little.
Bucky did know that. He also knew that his coworkers didn’t come any nosier than Steve. So if anyone would know for sure whether Fury had ordered his entire team to participate, Steve would.
“Yeah, no. That makes sense,” he said, and kind of nodded to himself absently. “It’s just, Sam didn’t mention it when we were talking this morning.”
“Don’t take it so hard, Buck. Sam probably just didn’t know how important the two of you getting to be here together was to you,” Steve said.
Now, for the life of him, Bucky couldn’t tell if Steve was trying to be funny or genuinely comforting. Either way, his back immediately went all the way up.
“It’s not ‘important’ to me.”
Steve didn’t even look up from his dish when he scoffed.
“It’s not!”
“Yeah, of course,” Steve said. He still wasn’t looking at Bucky. Instead, he seemed to be focused on getting as many noodles around his plastic fork as possible when he added: “I guess that’s why you sound so normal about it.”
“Normal about what?” Sam asked, out of nowhere, as he sat down in the empty seat beside Steve.
“Nothing,” Bucky replied, quickly.
At the same time, Steve said, “The picnic tomorrow.”
“Oh, well, I don’t blame you, man.” He laughed. “What’s normal about going to eat burnt hamburgers and under-grilled hotdogs with one hundred of your closest co-workers, most of which don’t even like each other, while your bosses make you all participate in team-building exercises disguised as games?” He said, grimacing as he tore the lid of his yogurt and shook his head. “I can’t believe Fury is making us go.”
“Me either,” Bucky said, and he sounded so woebegone that Sam looked at him.
“Oh, is Stark making you guys go too?” He asked, sympathetically.
“Yeah.” Bucky lied easily, and immediately. Sam had given him an in, and he took it. He didn’t even think about it. “He said if he had to go, so did we.”
“That’s exactly what Fury said,” Sam said.
“What a coincidence,” Steve muttered under his breath, but Bucky ignored him, and shook his head at Sam.
“It’s so crazy. I mean, Stark might not even show up. You know how he is when it comes to following rules. But on the off chance he really does go, I don’t want to skip it. I’m on thin ice with him as it is.”
“Really?” Steve asked, voice deceptively placid, while inside he was kind of dying to see just how many lies Bucky was willing to tell to hide the fact that he was only planning to go to this thing now because Sam was. “Why?”
“Too many tardies,” Bucky answered, saying the first thing that popped into his mind.
It wasn’t exactly a lie though. Some mornings his body betrayed him, other days it was his mind slowing him down. There were times when he honestly did have to force himself to get up and get going, and sometimes it really did take him a little longer to get out the door. However, Tony didn’t give a damn about tardies. All he cared about was production. You could be as late as you wanted as long as you showed up at some point, worked a full shift, and did whatever it was you were supposed to do that day. But, technically, yes, if Stark decided to report Bucky to HR tomorrow he could, and Bucky wouldn’t be able to say boo about it. Stark just wouldn’t.
Sam didn’t need to know all that though.
“So I’ve got to stay in line, at least for the time being,” he said, making sure to sound very put out about his absolutely nonexistent problem.
“Man, that sucks. I know you really did not want to go to this thing,” Sam said, sympathetically. “But at least now we’ll be together tomorrow,” he went on, perking up. “I was looking forward to getting to hangout with you and talk for longer than a few minutes at the coffee machine and lunch,” he joked, smiling at Bucky. “And now we’ll still be able to, so it won’t be so bad.”
“No,” Bucky breathed, his eyes glazing over a bit with the full force of Sam’s grin being directed at him. “It won’t be too bad at all.”
“Oh brother,” Steve mumbled.
Sam and Bucky doing their whole Sam and Bucky thing — Bucky staring at Sam like the sun shined out his ass, while Sam stared back in a way that could’ve meant he felt the same way Bucky did, or honestly could’ve just been Sam being Sam — never failed to amuse Steve, but sometimes it was a bit much to watch unfold.
“Hmm?” Sam asked, while he spooned up the last little bit of his yogurt. “Did you say somethin’, Steve?”
“Not really, just thinking out loud,” he fibbed, then noticed Bucky visibly relaxing in his seat.
Steve didn’t know why Bucky had sat up looking all worried when he’d spoken anyway. He wouldn’t actually ever tell Sam his suspicions about Bucky’s not-so-hidden crush. It was just fun to mess with the guy sometimes, especially when he was doing his moon-eyed pining right in front of Steve’s lunch.
“Oh,” Sam nodded absently, seeming to accept Steve’s excuse, then grabbed his empty container and napkin. “Well anyway, I need to get going.”
“You just got here though,” Bucky said, then died a little at the whiny note in his voice.
Luckily though, either Sam didn’t notice, or he had the good grace to pretend he didn’t notice.
“I know,” he said, sounding mildly disappointed too. “But I want to run to that coffee shop on the corner before I have to clock back in, and their line is always ridiculous. My pick-up game went kinda late yesterday, and I’m dragging a little,” he explained, ruefully. “So I need caffeine, real caffeine, immediately.”
“I can walk with you,” Bucky offered, and started to rise from his seat, but Sam shook him off.
“That’s okay. Stay and eat.” He gestured to Bucky’s half-finished lunch, and sort of nodded at both of them. “I’ll see you guys back up there,” he said, then left.
Bucky sank back into his seat, frowning as he watched Sam walk away,
“You’ll see him in like fifteen minutes,” Steve said, and Bucky turned back to face him. “Get a grip.”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, but he could feel his face overheating.
“Yeah,” Steve snorted. “You look it.”
“Steve—
“No, it’s true,” he interrupted, laughing. “The picture of someone having a normal reaction to their coworker going on a coffee run — that’s you right now.”
Bucky’s lip curled, but he didn’t say anything except:
“I’m going back upstairs.”
“To wait for Sam?” Steve guessed, practically chortling at that point.
Bucky just stood up and started gathering what remained of his lunch. He wouldn’t dignify that with an answer… even if they did both know it was true.
******
Bucky looked at his coworkers milling around the park, then looked down at himself and sighed. They had received a million emails about this thing, and each one said to bring “comfortable and casual” clothes to change into before the picnic. So that’s exactly what he packed for himself: black basketball shorts and a black t-shirt. See, Bucky could follow directions as well as the next person, but apparently he couldn’t read between the lines, because everyone else in attendance was in summer clothes alright, but not casual ones like Bucky’s.
Of course Sam looked like he was about to do some sort of photoshoot. In a black button up shirt that was covered with blue flowers and molded perfectly to his muscular body, and a pair of black linen shorts that were definitely a work appropriate length but were still short enough that Bucky’s imagination started to run a little wild, he literally did look picture perfect.
Meanwhile, Bucky looked like he was about to go play a pick-up game.
Christ.
He’d had a whole plan for this thing. Okay, not a great plan, or an in depth plan, but a plan nonetheless: stick to Sam like glue. Bucky was going to find Sam, hangout with him, hopefully have the type of lengthy conversations that their neverending queues and overly attentive bosses never allowed them to comfortably engage in at the office, and then, if everything went okay, and Sam seemed to enjoy their time together as much as Bucky hoped he would, Bucky was going to ask him out.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
If he could work up the nerve.
That had been the plan. And even though he would’ve rather been able to have some one-on-one time with Sam anywhere else besides work, or, well, a work sponsored event, he’d still been looking forward to it. Well, looking forward to it as much as any normal person could look forward to a work function.
However, now that he’d arrived and saw Sam, all that nerve he’d managed to conjure up immediately flew out the window.
Bucky couldn’t go up to Sam now. Not when Sam was looking like something straight out of a magazine spread, and he was looking like a bum. Nope. Better to slink back to his car, call the attendance hotline and feign an illness, and use some of his precious PTO hours to go home and regroup, because there was no way he was facing Sam that day.
“Bucky!”
His eyes closed. Of course. Of freakingcourse he wouldn’t be catching any breaks.
“Hey, Buck,” Steve called again, loudly.
Bucky grimaced. There couldn’t have been a single person in a hundred yard radius who hadn’t heard Steve calling Bucky’s name as he jogged up to the lot.
“Leaving already?” Steve asked, once he was standing next to Bucky.
And though Bucky would never be able to prove it, he could tell from the shit eating grin on Steve’s face that he’d made such a commotion on purpose.
“No, I thought I left my phone in the car,” he lied, unwilling to give Steve the satisfaction of confirming he’d caught Bucky turning tail. “But it was in my pocket the whole time.”
“Imagine that.”
It was clear Steve didn’t believe a word his buddy was saying. He must’ve been able to tell Bucky wasn’t in the best mood though, because he didn’t even bother messing with him about it.
“Well, that’s good,” Steve continued, mildly. “Because Sam’s looking for you.”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re hilarious.”
Steve snorted. “Yeah, I know. But I’m not joking right now.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” Steve said, sounding amused. “Your work husband is looking for you.” He shrugged. “It’s not exactly unbelievable.”
Well, okay, so it wasn’t. While he was often seeking Sam out in the mornings or on their breaks, he supposed it could be argued that Sam made a habit of seeking him out too. But… it could also be argued that Sam was seeking Steve out during those times, since he was usually with Bucky since they were on the same team, so… Bucky hadn’t ever wanted to assume too much. But if Sam was looking for him now, when Steve was already around and available, well, then…
Bucky smirked, some of his earlier confidence returning.
“I guess I shouldn’t keep him waiting then.”
“I guess not.”
Steve still sounded like he was almost laughing at Bucky, but Bucky didn’t care. He was already (quickly) making his way over to Sam, bummy clothes and all.
A full thirty seconds hadn’t passed before he was walking up behind Sam and bumping his shoulder.
Sam turned around, frowning, until he saw who had nudged him. Then Bucky watched his frown literally turn upside-down in a matter of seconds, and felt his own face split into a grin.
“Hey, Bucky.”
“Hey, yourself,” he sort of singsonged… then immediately wanted to die on the spot.
Sam’s smile only deepened though, so Bucky figured he wasn’t off to too bad a start.
“Heard you were looking for me.” He stepped a little closer, Sam’s inviting smile was filling him with a boldness he rarely felt these days, and gave him a once over. “What can I do for you, Sammy?”
Sam arched one perfect eyebrow, but his grin never left his face when he leaned in closer, so close, that he saw Bucky suck in a steadying breath, and whispered:
“You can play Cornhole with me.”
Bucky leaned back, his face scrunching, and Sam had to work very hard not to laugh at the utterly confused expression Bucky was suddenly wearing.
“Huh?” He said, dumbly. “The hell is Cornhole?”
Sam laughed so hard his whole body shook with it.
“I thought you were from the Midwest, Barnes.”
“I spent approximately one year — a year that I don’t even remember, by the way — in some Mayberry wannabe in Indiana before my folks came to their senses and moved us here. I don’t really think it counts as me being from there.”
“Oh, well that’s too bad,” Sam said, adopting an overly disappointed expression. “I need someone to play with,” he continued, and Bucky hoped to God he wasn’t imagining the double meaning in his words. “But if you don’t want to, I guess I can always ask Steve,” he said, then moved as if to walk away, but Bucky instantly stepped right in his path.
“I want to,” he hurried to say, then cleared his throat. “Anything you want, Sam, I’m game.”
Sam’s eyes widened the smallest fraction, then he smiled.
“Okay, then. Let’s go.”
****
For someone who hadn’t wanted to come - someone who had made such a stink about the possibility of having to engage in Shield Corp.’s idea of fun activities, Sam sure didn’t seem to mind participating in the stuff their bosses had set up now that the picnic was actually happening. Cornhole, Horseshoes, an egg toss, a relay race in burlap sacks for Christ’s sake — Sam didn’t even wait for Fury to force him into any of it.
He just did it.
While it was definitely odd, it was also, admittedly, kind of hot, seeing the competitiveness sort of jump out of Sam, who was always nothing but laid back in the office. He was just so damn… good at everything, and wasn’t even cocky about it. Well, he was kind of cocky about it, but even his cockiness was somehow hot and charming instead of annoying.
Hell, Bucky was even finding the way Sam dragged him right along while he volunteered them both for every event strangely cute. Well, “dragged” wasn't entirely accurate, or even a little accurate. It was more like Sam lured Bucky along, honestly. After his initial request for a Cornhole partner, Sam hadn’t needed to say one word to get Bucky to follow him. Sam’s presence alone was more than enough. And while Bucky wasn’t having a lick of fun playing any of those games, he was having the time of his life getting to shoot the shit with Sam and hang around in his orbit all afternoon.
Three hours and four beers in, Bucky was really about ready to lay it all on the line: his feelings for Sam, his long held desire to be with Sam. But, at the last minute, his very last shred of common sense kicked in. It wasn’t the time, and it damn sure wasn’t the place, for a love confession, or a crush confession, or whatever it was his heart kept trying to betray him into spilling.
No, the day had been nice, far nicer than anything Bucky could have imagined. He now knew at least three dates worth of personal information about Sam, and Sam knew the same about him. One afternoon of corporate sanctioned fun, and Bucky was confident the two of them were closer than ever.
Steve, God bless him, had made himself scarce, opting instead to hangout with his and Bucky’s other teammate, Misty, all day. So the afternoon really had been just the two of them, and it had been perfect.
And, Bucky’s more reckless tendencies aside, he wasn’t going to ruin the newer stronger bond between them. Nope. He would bide his time, make use of the phone number Sam had casually gifted him a couple of hours into them hanging out, and once they knew each other through and through, he’d strike. He’d ask Sam out, Sam would say yes, and all would be right in the world. He just had to be patient.
It was easier said than done, way easier, but somehow Bucky managed to do it.
He was even on his best behavior when Steve finally called it and asked Sam if they could ride back to his car. Apparently, they’d carpooled over to the park together in Sam’s car along with Misty and the other coworker they could all stand, Natasha.
Although Bucky was sad to see Sam go, he was more than happy to walk him to where he’d parked, readily keeping up an enthusiastic stream of chatter, as long as it justified him staying in Sam’s company for even a second longer.
“We should’ve gotten time and a half for this, seriously,” he said, as their group neared Sam’s Impala.
“More like hazard pay,” Sam replied, grimacing. “I mean, I didn’t want to mention it, but is it me, or does this whole park somehow smell like piss?”
“It’s definitely not just you,” Steve chimed in, before rejoining Misty and Natasha in complaining about whatever new set of processing procedures they’d been emailed a few days ago.
“It’s really not,” Bucky said, pulling a face of his own. “That’s why I’m kinda buzzed — between the smell and the overall state of the cooking space, I couldn’t bring myself to eat anything. I’m no germaphobe, but, I don’t know, those two grills they used seemed… like they’d seen better days.”
Sam snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”
Bucky laughed. “And how would you put it, Wilson?”
“Those two grills seemed like they’d been pissed on,” he said, frowning. “Actually, maybe not even on, just near, way too near for comfort, which is why you didn’t see me eating anything either.”
“They probably were,” Bucky said, and they both sort of shuddered.
“Anyway,” Sam said, starting to reach into his pockets to hunt around for his car keys. “That’s exactly why I stuck to beer too. At least it was bottled and in a cooler. I mean, I’m definitely hungry, but I’ve never been that hungry.” He laughed, then hit the unlock button on his key ring, and said, “I can make it ‘til dinner.”
Without even thinking about it, Bucky opened Sam’s door for him at the same time the rest of the group opened their own doors and began piling into Sam’s car, each of them calling out various versions of “goodbye” to him along the way.
Bucky was using every single ounce of chill he possessed to try to make his little act of chivalry look like it was some meaningless thing, he was trying his best to appear casual, but there was no fooling Sam.
In fact, Bucky hadn’t been fooling Sam for a long time.
And maybe it was time that Sam did something about it.
Instead of getting inside his car like everyone else, Sam turned around. Leaning with his back against the car’s doorway, he smiled at Bucky expectantly.
And, well, Bucky wasn’t ever going to not smile back at Sam Wilson, even if he was feeling a little (very) lost at the sudden anticipatory gleam in the man’s eyes. Sam was clearly waiting on something, but what that something could be, Bucky had no idea. But he took a shot anyway.
“I had fun today,” Bucky said, eventually, and Sam’s reply was immediate.
“Me too.”
“With you, I mean,” he clarified, coloring slightly. “I’m not one for picnics, or any outdoor activities really—”
The genuine disdain in his voice, startled a laugh out of Sam.
“— but I still had a good time today, and it’s mostly because I got to spend it with you.”
“Yeah, me too,” Sam said again, and his smile deepened.
God, he looked gorgeous. But… he also still looked like he was waiting on Bucky to say… well, more. And there was plenty more Bucky wanted to say, had been wanting to say for months, but again, time and place. Bucky wasn’t going to take the chance of ending their awesome day on an awkward note. And, even if he’d been so inclined, it wasn’t like there was any fathomable way that that is what Sam was waiting for. So, no, Bucky just needed to take Steve’s previous advice and get a grip, then say his goodbyes, and go home and start coming up with the perfect plan to ask Sam out.
“Well,” he began, after another slight pause in their conversation. “I guess I better let you get—
Sam huffed, and the sound was so put out, so loud, that Bucky’s words died on his lips, and he blinked at him.
“Sam, what—
“Bucky,” Sam cut in, exasperation practically dripping from his voice, as he shook his head. “Do you want to go on a date with me or not?”
Bucky actually felt his mind skidding to a halt.
“Huh?”
“Will you go on a date with me?” Sam asked, straightening up. “Maybe we could do dinner tonight?” He added, laughing a little. “You know, to make up for our less than filling lunch. What do you say, Buck, would you like to have dinner with me?” He asked again, and that time there was a slightly nervous quality to his voice.
And Bucky couldn’t call it. Bucky really and truly could not call it. Sam was nervous? About this? The thought alone was ridiculous.
Would I like to have dinner with you? He was feeling borderline hysterical. Does a bear shit in the woods? Is the pope Catholic? He thought, and a bubble of laughter escaped his throat.
Sam’s eyes widened at the sound, and his face started to fall, but Bucky clocked it and immediately moved to put a stop to it.
“Sam,” he took a couple of steps forward, until he was right in Sam’s space, basically boxing Sam in between himself and the car. “Sweetheart, no I,” he paused, reaching out to touch the side of Sam’s face, taking a moment to try to get himself under control.
And, yes, Bucky knew he was doing the most being all up in Sam’s face like that, touching him like that, but he didn’t care. In fact, he was about to keep right on doing the most, for as long as Sam would let him anyway. Because Bucky never wanted to see the doubtful expression that had briefly flashed across Sam’s face a moment before, ever grace his features again, at least not because of anything he’d done or said.
“Sam Wilson, I would like nothing more than to have dinner with you tonight.” And every other night, he added silently, before saying aloud, “And that’s the God’s honest truth.”
“Oh,” Sam breathed, practically melting after such an intense display from Bucky.
If they weren’t at a work event, probably being watched at that very moment by God only knew who, who knows what kind of reaction Bucky might’ve gotten out of Sam right then.
However, since they were very much in public, and very much surrounded by co-workers and superiors alike, Sam made an effort to at least pretend like Bucky’s words combined with the blatant heat in his eyes, and the shiver-inducing touch of his hand basically caressing his face, weren’t doing quite the number on his ability to function.
“Well,” Sam cleared his throat, trying to sound at least halfway normal, “good.”
For once though, Sam wasn’t fooling Bucky either. And just the thought that Sam might already be as into him as he was in Sam, had Bucky’s smile going wide and brilliant.
It also had him sliding his palm away from Sam’s face and quickly finding his left hand, and lacing their fingers together.
“Great,” he corrected, giving Sam’s hand a quick squeeze. “I think it’s gonna be great, Sammy.”