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The first few times he had opted for hot cocoa mixed into his coffee at breakfast, Sam had had to endure some pretty brutal (but good-natured) ribbing from the other two.
“First of all, you put about 7 spoons of sugar in your coffee,” he eventually shot at Steve, “and second of all: it’s my damn house, so I’m gonna drink whatever I want. And speaking of ‘my house’ … it was some heavy stuff the first time, so I get it… but you guys can’t just drop in like that, ok?”
“Figured Steve could learn how to make some decent coffee,” Bucky quipped dryly, biting into some toast.
Sam’s mouth quivered slightly, but he settled for an eyeroll instead. It was hard to get a read on Barnes; sometimes he was all easy charm and humour, and at other times… something would come over him. His eyes would go flat and his voice as cold as his alias. It made all of them edgy sometimes, none moreso than Sam. The man had tried to kill him, after all-- and he wasn’t able to take a super-powered hit like Steve could.
“Anyway,” Sam continued, “you know I’m 100% in with… this. Avenging. But I need my space, y’know?”
Especially from friggin’ Barnes. Cap might think that the sun shone out of his metal behind, but Sam was still trying to warm up to him.
It wasn’t going well.
Nodding once to show he understood Sam's wishes, Steve pushed his plate away and reached for the coffee.
“Did you want us to head off soon?” he asked, a little too casually. Sam caught himself hoping he hadn’t hurt the super-soldier’s feelings. He may be nigh-indestructible on the outside, but he was a little sensitive at times.
“Not soon-soon,” Sam allowed, pointedly ignoring Barnes’s request for more juice, “just… wanna be alone later, ok? We can chill today, but I’m kicking your sorry asses out in the evening.” At this, Steve visibly brightened (in the background, Barnes sulkily got up to get his own juice from the fridge.)
Although Steve was still moony-eyed over the fact that Barnes was back (well… mostly back), he, Sam, had been a calm port in a hurricane of sudden modernity / mayhem / a whole lot of people trying to kill him, so he visited fairly often.
Sam, for his part, enjoyed Steve’s company immensely... but he wasn’t a hotel, and his entire life didn’t revolve around Steve & co. He made that clear often enough, in his own way (he had a plethora of suave and charming ways of telling various Avengers to fuck off.) But the real sticking point had been Bucky fuckin’ Barnes.
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"No.”
" Okay-- that’s fair. I understand. But he’s not gonna hurt you--”
“--again--”
“....yeah... again. Look, he’s real sorry about that...”
“ Let him tell me that to my face, Rogers.” (Steve was only “Rogers” when Sam was truly angry.)
“ He will,” Steve had said, his jaw tightening. Barnes had a lot of making up to do, no matter how much Steve said it wasn’t his fault. Even Barnes agreed with that.
(“I still did those things,” Barnes had said dully during one such back-and-forth. “So yeah, it's at least part my fault.”)
“ Sam, I wouldn’t ask you if we had any other choice. You’re the only one we can trust right now-”
“Shit. Okay. Shit. A few days. Tops.”
“ Thank you, Sam. We really appreciate it. It’s been a rough few weeks. Not so much time for apartment-hunting.”
“Sure,” Sam muttered, bitterly thinking ‘Winter Soldier in my goddamn house, as though I don’t have enough Avengers calling me at every hour of the fucking-’
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“...the rest, okay? Sam?” Sam was absently drumming his fingers along the countertop, levelling a blank, none-too-friendly look at a random spot on the wall.
“Sam?”
“Hm-- yeah?” he blinked, startled out of whatever bad-tempered reverie he’d sunk into.
“Buck said he’d do the dishes,” Steve repeated, piling said dishes carefully into the sink and turning to lean against the fridge.
Sam briefly marvelled at the way the seemingly humble man always chose shirts that were a little on the small side… and always seemed to casually pose at just the right angle to best show off his impressive physique.
Or maybe that was just in Sam’s head.
He dragged his eyes away from Steve’s crossed arms (but not quickly enough for Bucky not to see and raise his eyebrows). “Yeah, dishes. Thanks,” Sam said hastily in Bucky’s general direction. “Look, I gotta do some stuff… I’ll… be back soon.”
Steve quirked an eyebrow and unfolded his arms. Sam suddenly found his mouth to be very dry. As Sam slipped from the room to grab his jacket, Steve and Bucky exchanged a look.
“He said thanks,” Bucky mouthed silently at Steve, raising his eyebrows in mock-surprise. Steve shrugged and made an exaggerated grimace.
“Don’t break anything. I know how you like that.” Sam’s voice echoed faintly from the front of the apartment before he left, shutting the door behind him. Bucky sighed.
So much for progress.