Friends with Fire // Bucky x Oc (Discontinued For Now)

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“Who’s cooking?” I look up to find Rogers entering the kitchen, his eyes alight with intrigue.

I look back down at the pan in front of me and pick up the spatula I had placed on the counter, flipping the pancake I’m making.

“Her pancakes are amazing,” Maximoff says, her mouth full of one. She finishes her mouthful and turns to me. “We usually either order food or someone attempts to follow an online recipe, which rarely accomplishes much.”

“I’m honestly surprised I found all the ingredients for pancakes. This place is barren,” I respond, removing the pancake from the pan and placing it onto Rogers’ waiting plate.

“Is someone actually cooking?” a new voice says.

All three of us turn to the doorway to find a sleep-deprived-looking Tony. “You look like a squirrel that fell out of a tree and rolled around in a muddy puddle before getting attacked by a bird,” Maximoff comments with a completely straight face.

I quickly look down at the cooking pancake, pinching my lips into a thin line to prevent myself from bursting out laughing. “She has a point, Tony,” Rogers says. “Did you get any sleep?”

Stark grumbles and drops into one of the chairs, running a hand down his face. “No. I’m still working on that project I started a few days ago,” he responds, trying, and failing, to stifle a yawn.

Rogers lets out an exasperated sigh and shovels a mouthful of pancake before responding. “Just because I asked for it doesn’t mean I need it immediately,” he says.

Stark shrugs before getting himself some coffee. “It’s not like I have anything better to do,” he mutters, walking back over to his chair.

“Mr. Stark, the team that went to France has just returned,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says, making me jump slightly at the sudden noise.

Rogers looks at me, frowning slightly in contemplation. “I’m not making any more pancakes,” I threaten lightly, pointing the spatula at him.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I was just figuring out how to introduce you to the rest of the team. No one else knows you’re here,” he says, walking over and putting his empty plate into the sink.

“They know you exist though,” Stark adds.

“I’ll go meet them and try to fill them in,” Rogers says, already exiting the kitchen.

I take the last pancake but only manage to take a few bites before I lose my appetite again. Letting out an annoyed sigh I get myself some more tea, abandoning the pancake. I hate having a sensitive stomach, I think bitterly, glaring down at the counter.

As I’m finishing my tea Rogers re-enters the kitchen followed by four people. “That’s her?” an, also red-headed, woman asks, slowly scanning me up and down.

“Yes. Everyone, this is Reese Brantley,” Rogers says. “Reese, this is Natasha Romanoff,” he motions at the redhead, who nods, “Sam Wilson.”

“Sup,” he says.

“Clint Barton,” Steve says, motioning to the third person. He gives me a polite nod with a slightly awkward smile. “And Scott Lang.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” the last one says energetically.

“Hi,” I say simply, looking between them.

“There’s too many redheads,” Stark mutters before standing and walking out of the kitchen.

“I hate doing a hit and run but I have to go,” Clint Barton says, looking around at everyone. “Nice meeting you,” he says to me before saying goodbye and hurrying from the kitchen.

“Barnes is arriving today, isn’t he?” Natasha Romanoff asks, turning to Rogers. Something about her sets me on edge but I try to ignore it, curious about who this new person they’re talking about.

Rogers quickly checks his phone. “He’ll be here in about half an hour,” he responds.

“So, you’re a mercenary?” Sam Wilson asks me.

I give him a long look, trying to figure out the intention of the question. “Contract killer,” I correct. “Or hitman. Whichever one gets the point across better.”

“What’s the difference again?” he asks, though it seems like he’s also talking to the room.

“Mercenaries are more like soldiers. They’re also citizens that have little to no experience and few resources. Hitmen, or contract killers, get paid for killing people and have training and resources,” I respond simply.

“A hitman?” the other man says, his name alluding me even though I just heard it.

I notice he’s fervently eating a burrito wrap of some sort. “Yes… Do you have something to say about that?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice even.

“No…” he says slowly, though he sounds uncertain. “I feel like everyone here is either a soldier or assassin of some sort,” he mumbles, his mouth full.

“What are you?” I ask.

He glances around. “An electrician,” he murmurs. I raise an eyebrow, not believing him. “Well… see I was friends with some guys and stole an older guy’s cool suit that can make you shrink and grow in size and now I’m kind of an Avenger,” he says in a rush, not even taking a breath.

I blink a few times in quick succession, trying to process that. “Right,” I say slowly, pretending like that made some semblance of sense.

“Scott. You need to go to the med bay,” Romanoff says, giving Lang a long look.

Lang stares at her for a moment before looking down at his side. “Oh yeah… forgot about that,” he says before walking off.

“Is that how he is normally?” I ask, overwhelmed with the amount of energy coming from him alone.

“Usually he’s worse,” Wilson jokes, chuckling.

“Is everything set up for Barnes?” Romanoff asks, looking at Rogers again.

I study him, wondering if this Barnes person is significant to him in some way or if he’s being asked since he’s the “leader” of the Avengers. “I checked in with the lab area that Dr. Rose will be using and it seems in working condition. I also have a room ready for him,” he responds, starting to look anxious.

So maybe it's that he’s the leader and this Barnes person is important to him… Why is that name so familiar? “I hate being both naive and interrupting but who’s Barnes?” I ask hesitantly.