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“I ain’t your wife,” Bucky said when the SHIELD team dropped him off. “Just because I have to sit around here.”
"I know, Buck, Just…watch TV or something. I got about a million channels." Steve had argued long and hard to convince Fury that as long as Bucky was going to be in official custody, he might as well stay with Steve instead of at SHIELD. Less work for the agents, and it’s not like Bucky wouldn’t be happier in an apartment instead of in some blank shell. It wasn’t so much an argument, actually, as Steve saying that he was taking Bucky home one way or the other, and if SHIELD wanted to be involved they were welcome to it.
They did want to be involved, did a full sweep of his apartment and probably installed all sorts of bugs and cameras that Steve could never hope to find. He trusted that Bucky would get rid of anything he didn’t want around.
Steve had missions, Avengers training. The first few times, he came home to find Bucky on the couch frowning at something called Real Housewives or doing one-armed pull-ups on the bar he’d somehow procured and installed without Steve or SHIELD noticing.
Then, one day, he opened the door and smelled something good. He didn’t remember the last time he’d come home to the smell of a good meal; not since his mother was alive, and those memories were hazy, gone golden and blurry with time and nostalgia. He and Bucky had shared meals, back before the war, but that was poor bachelor rations. Chipped beef, milk with bread, canned beans, plenty of it eaten lukewarm.
This smelled like herbs, something fresh. He could hear Bucky humming, the steady sound of a knife on a cutting board. He kicked his shoes off and came into the kitchen.
Bucky was wearing sweatpants and a tanktop, chopping carrots while a pot simmered away on the stove. He handled the knife with practiced ease, humming some old song he remembered from the radio on long winter nights.
"Hey." Steve came to stand behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder and leaning in to get a better smell. "What’s cooking?"
"Just some soup." Bucky picked up the cutting board and pushed his pile of vegetables into the simmering broth. "You know you got two channels that are entirely people cooking things?"
Steve chuckled. “You know, I don’t think I ever made it that far.”
"Well, you do. And turns out SHIELD won’t swoop in to haul me off to the loony bin if I go to the grocery store. So I thought, why not."
"It smells great."
"Yeah, well, it’s not for you." Bucky elbowed him with a smirk. "Were you the one slaving over a hot stove all day?"
Steve snorted and turned back to the refrigerator to grab a soda. “I was slaving over hot murder robots. I think I deserve some soup.”
"Fine, fine." Bucky stirred the pot and pointed the spoon at him. "But next time, you can help."
"Thought you weren’t gonna be my wife," Steve said. Bucky’s eyes went a little dark, like he wasn’t sure how to feel.
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
Steve flushed. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt either, except that he liked this. He liked it a lot. “Nothing. It just makes me think of the old days, y’know? Except we actually have food now.”
"And we’re not going to have to huddle in bed for warmth after."
"Yeah." Steve forced a smile for that. "I keep myself pretty warm these days. And, heat."
They ate on the couch in front of the TV, because it turned out Bucky was kind of invested in these housewife people now. The soup was a little too salty, but it was hot and homemade. Buckymade.
Steve stayed to watch more TV than usual, reluctant to go to bed, but even super soldiers had to sleep some time. Bucky was leaning against the arm of the couch. Someone who didn’t know who he was might think he was dozing. But he wasn’t going to disturb him, if Bucky didn’t want to be disturbed. He got up as carefully as possible.
"You know," Bucky said from the couch, voice so quiet that Steve almost missed it. "We don’t have to be freezing and starving to huddle."
Steve couldn’t help a grin. “We don’t?”
"Nah." Bucky sat up. "Might have to arm wrestle you over who has to be the wife, though."
"How about no one is the wife." Steve leaned in to ghost his lips over Bucky’s. "And next time, I’ll make you soup."
Bucky didn’t pull back, but he didn’t press forward either. Just breathed against Steve’s mouth. “You’re not getting away with that. I already did soup. I want a ham. Remember looking in the butcher’s window and just dreaming about it?”
"Yeah." Steve closed the rest of the distance, kissing Bucky softly. "I’ll get us the biggest one they’ve got."