Trying Your Luck - Bucky BarnesxOC

Part 1: The App

Bucky knows his apartment needs some work — and by work, most people mean furniture, a coat of paint, and some decoration besides the leather jacket he hangs on the wall every night when he comes home. Or the dirty laundry that litters his empty bedroom. He's used to living with next to nothing. He has a television, one chair in the living room that he's never sat in, and the appliances that came with his apartment. Sam says it looks like he squatting here; says he needs to actually use the bedroom — and buy an actual bed. Bucky isn't interested in that. Why buy a bed when he can sleep on the living room floor to be closer to the television? He likes the noise. It drowns out the bullshit rattling around in his head. It makes him feel safe. It's an alarm, a companion, a friend. Whenever he wakes up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, it's always there, humming in the distance.

Shit, that is sad.

Sam is currently inspecting his kitchen. There isn't much to it. A couple of bowls, one plate, and one set of cutlery in his cupboards. A bare lightbulb dangles from the ceiling, flickering occasionally. He meant to tell the landlord about it but never got around to it. Bucky is just thankful that the family of roaches living underneath the furnace haven't made their nightly appearance, scuttling beneath the stove and clinging to the legs of the rickety kitchen table that lingers untouched in the corner of the kitchen. He named them one night.

"You've gotta get back out there," Sam says as he opens up Bucky's fridge and frowns. He straightens and flashes Bucky a dirty look. Bucky shrugs. What did he do now? His fridge is clean. His stove hasn't been touched since he moved in. There isn't a crumb on the floor and he scrubbed the grout with a toothbrush. It looks great. It would pass military inspection. Except for the roaches.

"What do you mean?" Bucky asks.

Sam sighs.

"Man, all you have in here is beer and hot sauce. What the hell is wrong with you?! You're a grown man. You don't go grocery shopping?"

"I eat take out," Bucky replies with a shrug. "The hot sauce is for practicality. There's soy sauce in there too."

Sam rolls his eyes and tosses him a can of beer. Bucky catches it with ease with his metal arm, being careful not to crush the aluminum with an eager hand. A hand that has so readily killed without mercy or consequence. He cracks open the beer and looks up.

"What do you mean get back out there?"

"I mean you need to get laid, man. Or get a girlfriend — or a friend with benefits. You've gotta ease some of that tension. You're way too uptight. Your eyebrows always do that frown thing."

"I'm not uptight," Bucky scoffs. "And my eyebrows are fine, thank you."

"They're doing it right now."

Bucky rolls his eyes.

"You're sad," Sam says after a small sip of beer.

"Are you saying I look sad, or that I'm pathetic?"

Sam chuckles to himself and leans against the refrigerator.

"A bit of both."

Bucky frowns, his mouth forming a quiet, disapproving grimace.

"You're about as helpful Doctor Raynor... Do I have to pay you?" Bucky asks after a moment.

"I'm not court-mandated, so technically yeah," Sam chuckles. "I'll take a beer as payment."

"Whatever's in the fridge is yours," Bucky replies.

Sam raises his eyebrows and laughs.

"Is that a yes? Is that Bucky Barnes giving me a help me signal?"