Winter Widow One Shots

Happy Birthday

I meant to post this yesterday in honor of our birthday boy but life was crazy.


Bucky pushed open the door to their apartment slowly, shoulder first, almost as if he was bracing himself like he was about to storm an old KGB base, or worse.

Natasha had spent the last week tormenting him.

On Monday he'd caught her on the phone ordering a cake to feed at least 85 people. Bucky couldn't even think of 30 people who he'd want to share a cake with. And then he'd seen her amazon cart. Filled with party supplies and favors.

"Oh you're gonna love it." she'd said two days ago, far too sweetly, leaning against the elevator wall at the compound. "Everyone's coming."

"Everyone?" He'd asked suspiciously, already regretting asking.

"Everyone." She'd responded with a smile, one that told him she was enjoying this far too much.

The yesterday she'd leaned against the counter of the kitchen at the upstate facility, a coffee cup in her hand. 

"You may want to prepare yourself, emotionally." She'd said out of the blue.

He had paused half way through pouring himself coffee. "Emotionally?"

 "I decided to invite people from all phases of your life."

"What the hell does that mean?" He looked at her, eyebrow raised.

She smirked and turned away. "Oh you know."

"No. I don't know."

She just hummed as she walked away.

And that was how Bucky Barnes, assassin, war veteran, and occasional Avenger, found himself standing just outside his door, scanning the entry way and dark living room like he expected Clint to pop out of the air vents with a happy birthday banner.

He stepped inside, listening. The place was dark, except for a soft glow from the kitchen around the corner.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Bucky squinted at the couch.

Nothing.

He glanced behind the arm chair. Nothing.

His gaze flickered to the kitchen doorway like someone might jump out yelling SURPRISE! He braced for it, shoulders tight, heart doing that annoying fast-beat thing he hadn't felt since missions.

"Okay..." He muttered under his breath. "Very funny..."

He took another captious step forward, boots silent on the hardwood.

No balloons. No banners. No Thor-sized cake. No crowd of Avengers waiting to scream in his face.

He frowned.

"Nat?"

The apartment smelled like... butter. And maple syrup.

He blinked. Confused. This was not what he'd expected.

That's when he saw it.

On the table sat a plate stacked absurdly high with pancakes. Golden, fluffy, at least twenty high, steam still curling up from them. A bowl of strawberries sat beside them along with a can of whipped cream and a bottle of syrup.

Leaning against the counter was Natasha Romanoff.

She was watching him with a tiny, amused smile, arms crossed on the marble counter.

Bucky blinked again.

"Pancakes?"

Natasha lifted one shoulder. "You sound disappointed?"

"No." He shook his head, dropping his jacket on the back of a stool. "Not at all. I'm just confused."

He stepped toward the table, glancing around the room again out of habit before turning back to her.