Housewarming
The sun was starting to pour into the living-room through the bay window opening on the balcony but the house had already been active for a couple of hours already. It was also warmer compared to earlier due to the (intensive) use of the oven. Consequence of which, nice smells –all different but never mixing so as it would be awful to breath– were coming out of the kitchen. Suddenly, the doorbell rang for the first time.
“Coming!” shouted Bucky.
He got out of the kitchen, wiping both of his hands on his black jeans. As he got to the door, he couldn't help but throw a look back. Joaquin was wiping his own hands on a tower, only letting his head peek outside the door frame. The young man nodded. Bucky put his hand on the handle and breathed out.
He felt stressed.
That was stupid. Right?
He opened the door.
“Buck, my man!”
Before he could react and grab a gun, Sam had caught him into a tight embrace– that's how much Sam had trained and gained speed or how much Bucky's instincts had dulled down. (But he decided to believe the first option. For both his pride and Sam's.)
“Sam.”
He allowed himself to relax into his friend's arms.
After a few seconds, Sam parted away and went to trap Joaquin in the same way. Then he loudly asked for a tour of the apartment and, after a glance at Joaquin to inquire if the cooking was still at high priority (it was not anymore), Bucky complied.
The apartment was not that big that the tour lasted for more than five minutes and thus Bucky and Sam ended up on the couch soon enough. It didn't take much longer for Torres to join them with some beers.
“Seems like you found a good location,” Sam said, looking through the bay window.
“Yeah,” Bucky huffed, “Right in the center of the city. I'm definitely going to enjoy the smell of cars and smoke.”
Sam threw him a fake irritated look but took a sip instead of replying. The day Bucky would stop complaining or being a grumpy old man would probably be the day Earth was doomed beyond doubt, he was pretty sure.
“How many guests are you expecting?” he asked instead.
Bucky started to count on his fingers.
“Well, your sister and the kids, if she's coming-”
“Yeah, she's trying to find a place to park the car. Sorry, forgot to tell you.”
“A few of my old neighbors, Dr Raynor, too. Dunno if she wants to or she needs to, to make sure I'm not stacking explosives or whatever. A few of Torres’ friends, to keep him company.”
“Actually, Bucky insisted,” Joaquin helpfully provided and Sam nodded.
Bucky hadn't finished the list that the doorbell rang again. He told the two others to stay at their place and went to open the door. It was Sarah. She looked incredibly exhausted already and refused Bucky's hug for no other reason than the heavy crate covered in a pinkish cloth she was carrying in front of her. So Bucky resigned himself to a simple kiss on her cheeks before carrying the crate into the kitchen while she took off her coat. Cass and AJ shouted hello at their uncle but decided their time was better spent by running around in Bucky's legs begging him to let them hang on his metal arm– their favorite game.
“Thanks a lot, Sarah,” he told the woman as he uncovered all the chicken buns she had spent the day before making.
“Oh, hush, it's nothing. How do you feel in here?”
“It can be a bit noisy around noon and six but we're close to the subway.”
They kept doing small but pleasant talk for a bit– until the doorbell rang for the third time. Then the fourth, the fifth and so on as guests arrived. The tiny living-room was already packed with some fifteen people and Joaquin was making sure to bring drinks and food to them all so that Bucky could have the actual opportunity of talking to everyone of his guests, when Leiah finally showed up.
“Sorry, Mr. Nakajima is having a bad day so we had to walk slowly,” she said with an awkward smile that meant it was not the whole story.
“Oh, don't you try pinning this on me, young lady!” erupted the old man. “It was that idiot of Anthony who couldn't shut up! What was he doing there at ten on a Saturday anyway? Doesn't he have work to do?”
Bucky shook his head, not the least interested in indulging in Leiah's white lie or Nakajima's beige one.
“I'm glad you came,” he told both of them.
He hugged Leiah and shook Nakajima's hand firmly. But as he tried to gently push the old man inside, the latter tightened his grip on Bucky's hand and pulled him closer. His face was serious.
“I need you to know. I'm proud of you, son.”
Words got stuck in Bucky's throat. He could simply nodd. He led the two of them inside and closed the door behind them.
*
It was around noon when a new guest rang at the door. Bucky’s first reaction was to frown because he was sure everybody was here– including Raynor who had already come and go– but he nonetheless excused himself right away from the couple of guys (real couple?) he was talking to with Torres and went to the door.
“Yes, hel-”
He stopped. The man standing in the corridor was an old Black man, not much smaller than he was. His face was close, his eyes black.
“Hi,” Bucky said slowly.
“I'm here to see Sam,” Isaiah Bradley said, cutting him right away.
Bucky did not wait nor argue. He simply nodded and stepped inside so he could call for Sam. As soon as he saw his friend coming, he threw himself back into the crowd of guests and made his way to Joaquin's friends as fast as he could. Torres gave him a worried look but he smiled to reassure him. (Though his smile was crooked, forced). From the corner of his eyes, he kept watch on what was happening at the door.
He met Isaiah's gaze –and quickly averted his own (at least for a second). The discussion between Isaiah and Sam was short however; then Isaiah gave something to Sam, they hugged and the old supersoldier was gone. Bucky could breath again. Not even trying to feign interest anymore in the conversation he was supposed to be in, he turned his body and attention to Sam. On the other end of the room, Sam lifted up Isaiah's gift for him to see: it was a bottle of good rhum. Sam gave him a bright, luminous smile before going into the kitchen to put the bottle in the fridge for a few moments.
All was good.
*
Later in the afternoon, when all the beers had been drunk and all of Sarah's buns eaten, when the chatter had dimmed down as much as the sunlight, the guests started to leave. Joaquin's military friends, though last arrived, were the first to go. Leiah left soon, too, to accompany Nakajima home but promised to come back for the rest of the evening. Sarah left around five because the boys needed to take a shower and go to bed soon (she wanted to be on the road back to Delacroix as soon as possible tomorrow morning).
“Thanks again,” Bucky told her as they hugged for one last time.
“Come visit.”
The tone of her voice indicated this was not an offer made out of politeness. It was not even an offer rather than an order. Bucky chuckled.
“I will.”
The woman pointed her finger at him but her eyes were also on Samuel Wilson.
“I don't care who I'll need to harass in the White House but if that's the only thing to make you boys visit, I will do it, is that understood?”
The two men laughed– but didn't forget to nod vigorously.
Then it was Joaquin’s turn to go for a walk (and buy groceries for the evening and the rest of the weekend) and it happened that the apartment got left empty safe for Bucky and Sam. They found two cans of soda in a cupboard and went to the balcony.
It was a very small space. Bucky could probably put two chairs and a coffee table on it, maybe a plant too, but no more. The view wasn't that great either: buildings across the street facing them, a rather busy avenue at the bottom. But they were nearer to the sky than to the ground and the air was somewhat fresh. If you turned, you could even spot the shimmering of the Potomac river.
“I'm proud of you,” said Sam.
Bucky let out a dry laugh.
“No, I mean it, man!” the other insisted.
“Well, I'm proud of you too, Wilson. What is it I heard recently? You're being called in the Oval Office this week?”
Sam laughed, showing off all his teeth.
“How did you even hear about that? It was supposed to be a secret meeting, to see how we’ll approach things publicly. Was it your cyborg brain of yours that told you?”
Bucky took a sip, musing.
“I don't know if Torres and I are so close we're already sharing one brain.”
“Ah, that damn brat.”
But Sam was smiling. For a few seconds, they enjoyed the comfortable silence. Then Sam asked:
“So, have you thought about what you want to do, now?”
Bucky let out a huge sigh but straightened up.
“Well. A bit. Kinda.”
He drank the rest of his soda and mechanically crushed the can to barely a thread.
“OK, see, the Wakandans have told me I'm not welcome anymore. Or at least, for the time being. Which is fair,” he added quickly before Sam could either laugh or frown. “But they also told me they could use a White American guy here. As some sort of representative. It wouldn't exactly be an official position but I would get paid.”
As he was talking, he threw a quick glance at one corner of the living-room. Sam remembered that among the guests, there was a woman who stood there, mostly talking to Sarah and some city councillor (Sam didn't know who he was but had figured he was working for Fisk in the educational field). (And at some point, Torres was there too, gazing at the woman like he was seeing God Herself.) Despite the high fashioned black suit on top of a silky white shirt, her jewelry, especially her necklace, was typically wakandan –but she didn't look like part of the Dora Milaje either and Sam remembered he had wondered how Bucky and her knew each other.
“You gonna take up their offer?” Sam asked. Bucky winced. “No, wait, I think you should. You know their culture, like for real, and let's be honest, the White House will probably listen to you more than they’d listen to them.”
“No, no, I– I know, that’s the whole plan, it's just.” He took a breath. “It made me think. In general, I mean.”
He planted his eyes in Sam's. Captain America shifted to get closer, closing the gap between them as a way to tell Bucky he had his full attention.
“You know I don't want to leave you alone–”
“But I know you want to stop fighting. I know that, Buck, and by the way, now that I know, I'll totally not let you join me anymore. Besides, I have Torres now! Since you helped him try the wings, he won't shut up about learning how to properly fly and become the next Falcon. It's super annoying, man!”
Bucky burst out laughing. Sam continued to shake his head disappointedly but his teeth were showing again.
“Yes, Joaquin. I think he'll do great.” A pause. “I still want to keep fighting the good fight, Sam. But I’m tired of fighting it with my fists. The Wakandans’ offer, it made me think… I got screwed over by this country so many times –and you were too! So what if I can change what's unfair? What If I can make the laws better? More just?”
Sam took a second to process what his partner was saying.
“You want to run for… what? Congress?” he eventually asked.
Bucky shrugged.
“Why not?”
Sam frowned –he wanted to think longer about that plan but he suddenly felt it, the change in Bucky's posture. The man had tensed up.
“I'll support you!” he spurted so quickly he stumbled over his words. Bucky immediately relaxed. “No, listen Buck, I think it's a great idea, really. I just don't know how– Well, I mean, yeah, how do you even run for Congress?”
Bucky bumped his shoulder against his.
“That, I'll figure out. Where would be the fun if it was easy?”
The sun was now completely gone. Bucky could see just fine, probably, but Sam was glad they had left the lights inside on so he could at least see where he stood. After a second of hesitation, he passed his arm across Bucky's shoulders. Bucky immediately reciprocated by wrapping his arm around his waist.
“And then you'll run for President,” Bucky said.
“Oh hell no,” Sam replied.