For the Love of the Game

When you came to an open practice with Nat, he was getting yelled at by Coach Fury for spending too much time on the railings talking to you. He would toss stray balls in your direction and make faces at you from behind his glove and send you winks every time he was up to bat. Bucky had to take about six laps that day, Coach Fury swearing under his breath that he thought he already dealt with this with Rogers. Now Barnes too?

And Bucky was fixing the straps of your backpack as you walked beside him—pulling them just an inch tighter because it was better for lumbar support, the team’s trainer told me so. That was a lie. He was just making things up as he went, always attempting to get that little bit closer to you.

So the first time you initiated that closeness, he just about lost it. It was Thursday, and Bucky was hounding you about the study guide for your test coming up. He seemed to think you should share yours with him; you seemed to disagree. In your intense debate, neither of you realized that you had veered onto the bike path until it was too late. In a last ditch effort to evade the skateboarder flying towards you, you had gripped Bucky’s shoulders and hurled yourself behind him.

And that man had never been so ready to take a skateboard to the face as he was in that moment. If it meant you would still be huddled behind him, fingers pressed to his shoulder blades and breath huffing against the base of his neck, he’d take on a season ending injury.

Luckily, he didn’t have to; the skateboarder swerved at the last minute and missed the two of you, saving Bucky from a black eye.

Oh my god, my heart is beating out of my chest right now. You had said.

He chuckled and shook his head fondly. Yeah, same here. Although he suspected his was for a different reason.

Little did he know, he was only partially correct. Yes, there was a small part of you that had jumped out of your skin when you saw the impending collision, but the majority of your surprise lay in how good it felt to be pressed up against Bucky.

The remnants of his cologne hit you in delicate wisps and left you wanting to press your nose to his skin. You didn’t, but the temptation was still there. His shoulders were toned against your palms and his hair looked soft as it fell down the nape of his neck. And when he flung out his arm to push you further into his back, your breath found a permanent home lodged in your throat.

You thought it might’ve just been due to the proximity, but then he was knocking on your door on Friday night for the party, and the same feelings emerged. You were so screwed.

“Hey, doll. You ready to party?” His smile was charming as he leaned against your door frame.

You gathered your things and followed him into the hall. “We’re not partying, James, we’re supervising.”

“Right, right, that’s what I meant.”

“Yeah, sure you did. Look, if you’re going to ditch me halfway through the night, you better let me know now.”

“Hey, whoa,” he stressed, hand placed on your shoulder, “I’m not gonna ditch you. It’s you and me tonight, doll.”

“And Wanda,” you added.

He sighed and led you out to the parking lot. “And Wanda.”

“What, you don’t like Wanda?”

“No, she’s a great gal. Love her and her brother. Pietro’s the fastest runner we got.”

“Oh you love her, do you?” you teased.

His hands ripped from his pockets and spasmed. “No! No, not like that. More like a sister type of love, you know?”

You hummed in contemplation. “It would be okay if it was… like that. Like you said, Wanda’s a great gal.”

“I kinda got my eye on someone else at the moment.”

“Is that so?” You glanced over at him from the corner of your eye, surprised to find a blush covering his cheeks and a shy hand on the back of his neck. “And just who is it that has James Barnes all flustered.”

“Uh, well I was actually—”

“Hey!” Tony’s boisterous shout cut him off. “You two gonna get over here sometime today? We got a group of people ready to get hammered by a large body of water, and you got the keys to this thing.”

You squinted across the parking lot, spotting a very impatient Tony patting the hood of your car. He was leading a group of equally impatient baseball players.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” You picked up your pace, a disgruntled Bucky behind you. “God, you guys can never wait for anything. Who’s riding with me?”

“You got Thor, Sam, and the kid.”

You turned to Peter—the newest on the team—and raised your brow. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

“Y-yes!” he stuttered, “I turned twenty-one over the summer.”

You let skeptical eyes track over his features as a strong arm squeezed your shoulders. “You gonna ID him, doll?”

“Hm, guess not. Just get in the car and don’t cause any problems.”

He shook his head vigorously and your car was then groaning under the weight of four extra bodies, Bucky sitting up front with you.

Apparently, that choice was driven by a hidden agenda; Bucky decided that his time in the front seat was best spent trying to push your buttons. He fiddled with the dials on your radio until you were swatting at his fingers, and then moved on to rummaging through your glovebox and flipping your visor down.

“Will you quit it, Bucky!” you laughed, shutting the visor for the fourth time.

His head whipped towards you, eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

“I said quit it! You’re distracting me while I drive.”

“No, after that. What did you say after that?” His hand reached over to grip your forearm.

“Uh, I said—Well, I guess I called you Bucky, didn’t I?” you stammered.

“You totally did! You called me Bucky! You can’t take it back now, doll, that’s it for you.” His smile was brighter than the flickering street lamps lining the road.

You stopped at a red light and looked down at his hand covering your arm, and then up to his face. His eyes shone with adoration as he gazed at you from the passenger's seat, and you found yourself getting lost in them. This was the kind of look you used to dream that he would give you; the kind of look that had you picturing his face right before you went to sleep, and rearing to get to class the moment you woke up.

“Uh, are you two together or something? ‘Cause Sam told me that you guys, like, hate each other.” Peter’s question was followed by two swift slaps to his chest. “Ow! I was just wondering.”

You snapped your gaze back to the road, cheeks heating up and lip caught between your teeth. Bucky let his thumb rub a gentle circle across your arm before he pulled away and directed his voice to the back of the car. “Parker, what’s that thing Coach Fury always tells you? The thing right before he makes you take a lap?”

“I need to learn to keep my mouth shut,” Peter droned, eyes low.

“Think that applies both on and off the field, yeah?” Bucky’s eyes never left your profile as he spoke.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Ah, we have arrived!” Thor’s jubilant timbre cut through the awkwardness in the car.

“Good. I was about to tuck and roll outta this backseat if you two kept ogling each other,” Sam huffed, shoving the car door open.

Once your passengers in the back had cleared out, you were left alone with Bucky—the dome lights shining down on your fidgety fingers and an alert chiming through the speakers from one of the doors being left ajar.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he began, “You don’t gotta keep callin’ me Bucky.”

“No, I—that’s alright, I liked calling you Bucky. I guess I just… well I didn’t mean to ogle you like Sam said. I was just surprised.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Doll, you can ogle me anytime you like. I’d actually prefer it if you were oglin’ me.”

“You’d prefer it?” He’d never heard you sound more confused.

“Yeah, doll. Listen, earlier when I said—” he huffed, annoyed by the incessant beeping of your car “—here, get out. I’ll tell you while we walk. That sound’s drivin’ me nuts.”

You furrowed your brows, but compiled, finding yourself at a steady pace beside him after locking up your car. Party goers bounced around you as you walked, tipping over cups and shouting to their friends in far off places. Bucky’s hand found the small of your back in an effort to keep you close—that had become a familiar feeling over the past week.

He led you to a quieter corner of the docks—as quiet as a raging party could be—and tilted his head down to catch your eyes. “Hey,” he said. It was playful; an invitation to a new conversation.

“Hey, Bucky.”

“God, I’m not gonna get tired of hearin’ that anytime soon.”

You laughed. “Alright, stop stalling. What were you going to say?”

“Straight to the point, huh?” He let his cheeks puff up with air before releasing a large breath. “You, uh… you remember what we were talkin’ about before we got to the car?”

“Oh, your crush on Wanda?”

He groaned, throwing his head back and eliciting another laugh from you. “You are incorrigible. No, after that.”

“Hmm.” You pretended to think. “Oh! You were getting all blushy over some girl. I was just about to ask you who it was.” You tried to ignore the faint jealousy bubbling in your stomach. It wasn’t too hard; you’d been doing that since freshman year.

“Right. Well, look. I don’t want to be too forward… I mean I know we just started being friends and this might be weird. But what I’m tryna say is just that I think it’d be nice—Like I think it’d be cool if maybe—”

“Bucky! Spit it out!”

“Alright, I wanna go on a date with you.”

You were frozen, absolutely gobsmacked as you stood with your back to some old wooden wall and Bucky hovering above you. He wanted to go on a date? With you? You weren’t even sure if Bucky had ever been on a date; all his past flings were too fleeting for that.

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, eyes flitting back and forth between his and the NYU logo printed across his hoodie. He looked tense, like if you said no then he was going to take a very chilly swim in the harbor to your left. The Bucky you knew hardly ever looked like that, let alone because of a girl—because of you.

You shook your head in disbelief, seconds away from accepting his offer, when Bucky’s face fell. “Ah, I knew it was too soon! I shoulda listened to Steve. It’s just that you finally called me Bucky and you looked so pretty in the car, I couldn’t help myself. And then you kept laughin’ at everything I said and I thought I had something goin’ there for a sec, I really did.”

You took a breath to interrupt, but he just kept going. “Listen, doll, you just forget I said anything, alright?” He looked panicked, hands coming out to rest on your shoulders. “We can just keep bein’ friends and I’ll be okay with that. We can—”

“Bucky!” You interrupted him for the second time that night. “I’ll go on a date with you.”

“—figure something out—Wait, what?” he asked, words tumbling together.

“I’d like to go on a date with you. Sounds fun.”

“Really? You’re serious?”

“Yeah, as long as we don’t go to Kelly’s. I’m getting really tired of that greasy pizza, and you guys are so bad at variety.” You kept your tone casual, attempting to mask your inner franticness.

He let out a disbelieving laugh that rattled his chest. “No Kelly’s, got it.” His hesitant hand came up to brush your hair behind your ear. “I gotta be dreamin’ right now.”

“Come on, Bucky, don’t be so dramatic.”

“‘M not, doll. You gotta know, I’ve been wanting this for a long time. Wanting a chance with you.”

The irony of it all wasn’t lost on you. “Well I guess everyone deserves a second chance.” He didn’t know what you meant, not completely. You didn’t think that mattered so much anymore.

And then you were staring at each other again. It was the same stare as in the one in the car, but this time cloaked in privacy and the dim light from the tiki torches lining the dock.

He was getting closer, you thought; he was leaning down at an impossibly slow speed, almost like he was going to kiss you. Were you going to let him kiss you? There didn’t seem to be a very strong argument for why you shouldn’t. The old Bucky that broke your heart and went through girls like they were nothing seemed to have been replaced by this nervous, blushing man, and why shouldn’t you kiss him?

You didn’t get the chance, your name being called from down the docks interrupted the sweet silence between you. Bucky looked irritated, but pushed himself away from the arm he had resting on the wall above your head. You hadn’t noticed it there.

“Y/N, I have been looking for you absolutely everywhere!” Wanda gasped, trudging through the sand and onto the wooden dock, “Pietro said you were here and sober so I came to find you. I think they—oh hey, Bucky, what are you doing over here? The kegs that way.”

He pressed his lips together with a sharp inhale. “Oh, I’m not drinking tonight. Just tryin’ something new and keeping Y/N company.” His elbow nudged yours.

Wanda’s face lit up in surprise as she turned to you. “Oh?”

“Yeah, we’ve been… hanging out recently. You’d know that if you hadn’t been laid up in bed for the past week.”

“Well that’s great!” Her words were slow and drawn out, having trouble forming a reaction. She reached out and shook your arm. “Uh, hate to do this, but could I borrow her for a sec? I haven’t seen my best friend in days and I have… things to tell her.”

Bucky chuckled. “‘Course, no problem, Wan. Just bring her back, you got that?”

She paused again. “Won’t forget it!” And then she was dragging you down the beach.

Bucky watched as you trudged through the sand, Wanda no doubt talking your ear off. It was clear that he was the topic of conversation and he couldn’t help the swell of pride that warmed his chest. If the shy grin on your face was any indication, he was finally closing in on making you his girl.

He hopped off the deck and lazily made his way through his drunken classmates. This wasn’t an unusual setting for the pitcher; he honestly couldn’t recall the number of parties he had attended since starting college. He knew it was more than sixty. Sophomore year, one of his buddies dared him to go to two parties every day for a month, and how could he refuse that?

Thinking about it now gave him a headache and made him cringe when he remembered the conversations he had to have with his professors. But he was done with that now, and ready to never step foot in another party again if it meant spending more time with you. If your soft touches and gentle laugh meant he had to give up blurry weekends and crude friends, he would do it with a smile.

For months he’d had to sort out his feelings for you, confused by the way his palms got sweaty every time you entered a room. He was Bucky Barnes; he didn’t clamour for the last empty seat beside a girl, just so he could maybe have his shoulder brush against hers. But he did with you—and it took him a while to come to terms with it.

He zoned out as he wandered through the docks aimlessly, hands in his pockets and a permanent soft smile on his face. If it weren’t for the carload of his teammates you were responsible for, he would take you out right now. He would take you somewhere nice, maybe that fancy restaurant in downtown manhattan where they brush your crumbs off the table for you. Or maybe he’d drag you to The Met and watch you as you took in the art. Or maybe he’d—

“Yo, Bucky!” Oh god, not him. “Thought you said you weren’t coming to this thing, man.”

Bucky closed his eyes in defeat, back turned to the voice. It was definitely Zemo, the trust fund baby that always seemed to get Bucky to do whatever he wanted.

“You deaf or something? And why are you by yourself?”

He let out a long sigh and tugged his hands from his pockets before turning. “Zemo! Hey, man, what’s up?”

“And you’re empty handed? Someone get this guy a drink!” Zemo shouted to the crowd behind him. He was quickly supplied with one.

“Nah, I’m drivin’. I only came to this thing ‘cause the team did,” Bucky fruitlessly defended.

“You really tied yourself to those guys for the night? How boring. Let them fend for themselves and I’ll take you in my car. There’s supposed to be some huge rooftop afterparty by The Met.”

That wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do there. He feigned a smile. “I can’t leave my team hangin’, man. I know they seem tough, but if I leave ‘em here they’ll be whining about it forever.”

“Oh, so you’re being a bitch.” Zemo’s gaze was taunting; he knew exactly which buttons to press.

The muscle in Bucky’s jaw ticked.

He ripped the red solo cup from Zemo’s hand, cheap beer covering his fingers. He quickly knocked back its contents and regretted it just as fast. He knew you’d be able to smell it; maybe he could say someone dumped their cup on him.

“That’s what I like to see! Get him another one. This a party, not a fucking family reunion.”

And then Bucky was four drinks in and starting to feel it. He was pretty sure there was no way he could hide this from you anymore; when he was tipsy it was noticeable. His eyes glazed over and his words veered on the side of nonsense and he walked around like he was unstoppable.

He had a plan though. Once Zemo got too hammered to function—something Bucky was being careful not to do—he was going to drink as much water as his body allowed and then find the nearest bathroom. That always seemed to cure his hangovers, so maybe it would sober him up enough to not blow his chance with you.

Then hands were on his shoulders. Clearly not Zemos and clearly not yours as he had memorized just about every variation of their touch the moment you started offering them to him. But they had a familiarity to them; if he thought hard enough he could remember them distantly.

“Hey, killer. You miss me?” That’s why they were familiar. Those same hands had tugged him into the library over a week ago, separating from him only when he stopped to read each reservation sheet on the study room doors. She had whined about it.

“Ah, Stephanie.” Bucky carefully removed her searching hands. “Been a while, hasn't it?”

She giggled and pressed her chest to his. “Only ‘cause you keep ignoring me. Started to think your phone was broken or something.”

Bucky stepped back a pace, settling his hands on her shoulders to keep her at bay. “Phone’s not broken, Steph. I told you, I’m seein’ someone now.” His words were firm but they had a slur to them.

“It’s not that girl from the library, is it? She seemed like such a dud. It’d be a lot easier with me you know.” Her hand ran up his chest.

“What girl from the library?” Zemo asked, pulling himself into the conversation. “You hooking up with girls in the library, Barnes?”

Stephanie let out a dry laugh. “He would’ve been. But apparently he has a girlfriend now and is too good for all of that.”

“He doesn’t have a fucking girlfriend. You don’t have one, do you, Bucky?”

He was stuck. If he gave the honest answer—that no, he didn’t have one, but he’d do just about anything to make one particular girl his—the consequences would be never ending. Not only would Zemo harass him, but there was a good chance he’d find out who you were and harass you. Zemo was like that; he wanted his friends as wild and crazy as he was, and would do quite a bit to maintain that. And he had enough money to back him up.

Bucky adjusted his grip on his cup and wrapped his arm around the girl in front of him. “Of course I don’t have a girlfriend, man. You think I’d tie myself down to one girl? Where’s the fun in that when I can just mess around with ‘em?”

“Huh, good to know.”

An entire bucket of ice water down his back would have been less jarring than hearing your voice in that moment. Hell, diving head first into the ice bath the team trainer made him take after long games would have felt better.

He dropped his cup almost immediately, liquid covering his shoes as he twisted in Stephanie’s grip. You looked beyond angry, but more than that, you looked hurt. Bucky felt his heart against his ribs as he caught a heavy reflection in your waterline, and then you were stomping away.

He could vaguely hear Zemo calling out for him as he sped after you, Stephanie shushing him with a quiet oh my god, that’s the girl from the library! His ears were ringing too loud to catch his response, the alcohol and his panic joining to create a symphony of deafening sound.

“Doll, hang on,” he called, struggling with his footing in the sand. “Just hang on a sec. Listen to me.”

He caught your wrist and you were ripping it away before he could find a steady grip, holding it in front of your chest protectively.

“No, you listen to me, Barnes,” you spit out, his last name like a harsh slap to the face. “You have made me look like an idiot for the last time. I thought you changed—that you were different now. But then I lose you at a party for twenty minutes and you’re already half drunk and ready to jump some girl.”

“No! I’m not drunk, and she was the one on me! I swear, doll—”

“You’re not drunk? I can smell it on you and you can barely walk. Stop lying to me,” you hissed through gritted teeth, continuing your trek to the car. “And I recognize the girl, by the way. Same girl you said was a one time thing, right? God, I am so stupid to have believed anything that came out of your mouth. This was probably all a joke for you; just an easy way to get you and your buddy Zemo laughing as usual.”

Panic left his chest hollow as all the work he put into the last week unraveled. He ran to block your path as soon as sand met asphalt. “None of this was a joke to me, you have to believe that.” He brought his hands up to cup your cheeks in a last ditch effort to keep you close, but you swatted him off. “Please, doll. Just let me explain. Zemo… he gets what he wants or he makes your life a living hell. If I told him how I felt about you he never woulda shut up about it.” “Because that would be so horrible, right? God forbid Bucky Barnes has anything inside of him besides his massive fucking ego,” you scoffed, pushing past him.

“No, hey, hey. Wait, doll,” he slurred, frantically reaching for you but missing. God, he wished he wasn’t drunk. “It’s not horrible, I was just scared.”

You paused then, giving Bucky a front row seat to the tears making tracks down your cheeks. His gaze softened at them and you rolled your eyes. “Scared of what.”

“That—Well I was scared that you—I can’t say this right now. Not like this, not while I’m drunk.”

“Well you’re in luck,” you said, fishing your keys from your bag, “Because I’m done talking to you.”

His calloused fingers—rough from his sport, as all of your friends’ were—gently tugged on your wrist. “Please, please, don’t shut me out again. I finally got to see what it was like to have you, doll. I can’t go back to the way it was before. I can’t pretend anymore.”

His eyes were pleading with you through their drunken haze; it almost looked like he was going to cry. You felt your bottom lip tremble as his thumb rubbed circles into the back of your hand. 

You knew this was going to happen; it was the reason you had stayed away from him for so long. But the pull Bucky had on you was too great, and you gave in, leaving you right back where you started. The tears on your face were a reminder of that. 

You yanked your arm from his grasp. “I’m done playing your games, Barnes. Find a different ride home.”

Then you were gone again, resigned to sitting in your car for the rest of the night until the team decided they were ready to go. And Bucky was left there, standing alone in a crowded parking lot smelling like cheap beer and wishing he could somehow relive the moments from an hour ago when you were still in his arms and he was still confident you would be his.