I'm Here | ✓

35 - News Flash

I have a bad habit of cleaning my knives.

I could just sit down, find a good book, watch a movie, cook, do something other than this, but I have yet to find a legal hobby I enjoy, so I'm stuck doing this.

I guess it's better than nothing. It's something to keep my hands busy. I struggle to keep a straight face, thinking about the other things my hands could be doing. Get your head out of the gutter, Barnes.

I glance over at Steve and notice he's fast asleep on the couch, his chest rising and falling gently. I smile at the peacefulness of it. He's still dressed in the same T-shirt and jeans from when we went out to dinner today, but I don't want to wake him.

Carefully, I walk over, making sure to avoid stepping on the parts of the floor that creak. His hand is spread out on his book and his eyes are closed. Even in his sleep, he still manages to look graceful. I pat my hair awkwardly. I don't even manage to look graceful when I'm awake. Maybe I should cut it?

It doesn't matter. I bend down a bit and tuck my arms around Steve; one on his back and one under his knees. Ugh, God, he's heavy. I remember when I used to be able to pick him up with ease because of how little he weighed, but I'm almost thankful for the workout now. I hoist him up and look at him for a second. America's only successful super soldier curled up in my arms, peaceful as can be.

Gently, I carry him to our bedroom and lay him down on the bed. He's still fast asleep. I take the book out of his lap and remember which page he's on - 412 - before closing it and setting it on the bedside table. I tuck the blankets carefully around him and give him another small smile. How and when and why did I get so lucky?

I brush a strand of hair out of his face and press a small kiss against his forehead. "Sweet dreams," I whisper, before closing the door as quietly as I can. On my way to the living room, I spot my knives lined up on the kitchen table, halfway through another round of cleaning. I scan them each before picking a folding knife and slipping it into the pocket of my jeans.

I perk up when I hear something ring. It's Steve's phone, and I turn toward the bedroom to check if he woke up. I don't hear anything, so I pace over to the end table next to the couch where the phone is buzzing. I turn it over. The name at the top reads "Sam." I let an exasperated sigh escape my lips. I don't want to talk to him, but if he's calling, it's probably important. I mute the phone and step into the hallway.

I press the little green accept button and hold it to my ear. "Hello?"

He sputters on the other end of the phone. "Bucky?"

"Who else would it be?"

"I don't know, maybe Steve, the person I called."

"Didn't anybody ever teach you to respect your elders? I've got, like, 60 or 70 years on you. Be nice." I grin, even though he can't see it. I glance up and down the hallway, but it doesn't seem like anyone else is eavesdropping.

"Okay, okay, wait. Have you seen the news?"

I sigh. "You always ask that. It's getting kind of annoying."

He ignored that comment completely and bulldozes on with his statement. "Because, apparently, everybody else thinks you and Steve are dating."

Shit. There's a stairwell directly to my left. I shove open the door and go stand on the landing. It gives me some semblance of privacy, at least.

"Bucky?"

"Yeah." My head drops into my hand. How could I be so stupid?

"It's true, isn't it?"