Rus(s)e
“His birthday is coming up, yes?”
“Yes,” Bucky said. Neither of them were keeping their voices down. They didn't need to, even though they were speaking across the Quinjet to each other, sitting in opposite corners.
Steve kept his eyes straight ahead, more out of force of habit than any real desire to eavesdrop. It was a habit that was so deeply ingrained that he almost let the moment slip by, almost kept his eyes forward, almost kept up the pretense that he didn’t understand every word of Russian that flew over his head.
But—
He'd been thinking, lately—
That it was unfair to Natasha. It was unfair, in her world of carefully constructed lies and warily gifted truths, to let her believe that she could speak in a language that could keep conversations between her and Bucky private, while Steve deliberately withheld the fact that he could understand her. It was unfair that he kept lying to her, lying by omission, just so he could—what, gather information without her knowing? If they discussed anything important, Bucky would tell him anyway; she knew that they were a matched set.
When they first arrived at Avengers Tower, he could justify keeping his secrets close. He didn’t trust her, and she didn’t trust them. Now, though, they were teammates. And a team could only be solid on a foundation of trust.
So he looked square at her. “Don’t tell her what you got me, I want it to be a surprise,” Steve said. His accent wasn’t as good as Bucky’s, but his pronunciation was perfect.
Natasha twitched.
“Dude, since when could you speak Russian?” Clint was staring at him from his jumpseat, brow furrowed. Bucky lowered his head, so only Steve could see the slight grin that was creeping across his face. He was laughing, the asshole.
Steve kicked his foot as he said, “Since nineteen-seventy-something. You pick some up here and there when most people around you speak it.”
“Some,” Bucky snorted. “He’s fluent.”
“I’m also fluent in your bullshit, so fuck off, Barnes,” Steve said.
Natasha looked at Bucky. Her mouth was set in a theatrical pout, but it was one of the emotions she picked out and put on when she felt like she needed to; her eyes had a calculating chill as she said, “That’s why you use Mandarin sometimes. When you don’t want him to overhear you.”
“Yes,” Bucky said. “He’s so American apple pie that I’ll use Russian when we want to fool people into thinking he can’t understand.”
Steve smiled his stupid little harmless smile, letting his gaze slip away. Deliberately showing the Avengers what it looked like when he pretended: the blank eyes, the strained smile, the air of mild curiosity.
“For future reference,” Sam said, pursing his lips, “How many languages do you two speak?”
“I’m fluent in French, German, Russian, and I have a little Italian and some words of Yiddish,” Steve offered.
“And ASL,” Clint added.
“That too.” Steve acknowledged the addition with a grateful nod in Clint’s direction; he’d been trying to separate himself from the idea that ASL wasn’t a ‘real’ language. “And Bucky has—”
“Russian, German, Spanish, Arabic, Mandarin, Japanese, Yiddish, Romanian, French, and I’m passable in Turkish, Cantonese, Italian and Portuguese,” Bucky said, ticking off on his fingers, one at a time. “And Steve’s forgetting about Gaedhilge .”
“I can swear as Gaedhilge , that hardly counts, ” Steve said, whose Ma was determined to make sure her son would be a real American but would occasionally let slip a creative curse when she thought Steve couldn't hear her, which Steve would promptly teach to his best friend. “And you do not speak Italian, you speak Spanish with an Italian accent.”
“Fuck you, I’m better at Italian than you are,” Bucky retorted.
“Go fuck yourself, you bastard,” Steve said. “You don’t even know what I’m saying, you rat-face ass.”
“Fuck you, I absolutely know what you’re saying.”
“Go fuck yourself.” Steve was never going to admit it, but he didn’t really know how to say anything in Italian other than some basic phrases like go fuck yourself.
“You don’t know how to say anything other than ‘go fuck yourself,’ you pretentious jerkface,” Bucky said accusingly.
“Oh, I can say down with Mussolini, down with the fascists, ” Steve offered.
“Because that’s extremely important in twenty-fucking-fourteen, buddy.”
“There are still fascists.” Steve shrugged. “Mussolini, go fuck yourself.”
“Wilson, is it weird knowing that Freedom Boner Mark One can swear in seven different languages?” Tony asked. “Cuz it's weird for me.”
“We’re army men, Tony,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “It'd be weirder if he couldn't.”
Bucky muttered something loudly in Mandarin. Going by Natasha's smirk, it was probably something uncharitable towards Sam, Tony, Steve or maybe all of them at once, so Steve felt justified in cuffing Bucky in the shoulder. Bucky retaliated by pinching him in the thigh, and Steve shoved him, and they started scuffling in their jump seats like—
“Children, behave, or I will turn this plane around,” Tony said, mock-sternly.
“Suck a dick.”
“Go piss yourself.”
“Jesus,” Clint muttered.
Natasha laughed softly, settling back into her seat, but she was eyeing Steve. He made deliberate eye contact with her for a split second before he turned to Bucky, going for German just to show off, “You didn’t get me anything for my birthday, right?”
“I’m sleeping, wake me up later,” Bucky replied in Italian-accented-Spanish, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, because he was a goddamn jerk and as soon as they landed Steve was going to wake him up with papers served to his goddamn jerk-ass face.
“Divorce,” Steve muttered in Russian.
–
When they finally landed at the Tower, Steve caught Natasha’s elbow as she disembarked the Quinjet. She stopped and turned, watching Bucky walk past them with a raised eyebrow, only to settle into an expression of amused understanding when he posted himself at the end of the hallway.
“Just wanted to say that I’m sorry for not being upfront about it,” he said quietly.
Natasha tilted her head at him, looking up at him through her eyelashes in a way that was more shrewd than seductive. “It’s understandable,” she said. “Cards like that, you keep them close to your chest.”
“Not from the person you’re colluding with,” Steve offered.
“Well, he already knows all your tricks.”
Steve couldn’t help but glance down the hallway at where Bucky was obviously eavesdropping on them. “Still,” Steve said. “I should have told you sooner, and I am sorry for that.”
Natasha was examining him, but he didn’t feel like a fly caught in her web; he was the web, an unseen trap exposed by a few drops of morning dew. “Don’t be,” she said. “Now I know just how crafty you are.”
He flashed her his best propaganda smile: shining teeth, bared fangs. “Not very, I’m afraid,” he said, cheerfully newscaster-esque, Buy war bonds! Punch Hitler!Support our troops! “Bucky’s the ex-assassin, I’m just the dumb muscle.”
She turned away from him and set off down the hall, laughing. “My, what a pair you make.”
As they passed by Bucky, she said, “You’re lucky to have him.”
“I know,” they replied in unison.