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The first time he met Nick Fury as an unbrainwashed civilian, Bucky was in the middle of embroidering daisies on a pair of upcycled overalls that he’d hemmed into shorts.
With zero intentions of leaving the apartment that day, Bucky had gotten up that morning and thrown on a pair black and pink leggings and a loose gray tee shirt. When he’d picked up his latest project, he’d added his crafting headband to the ensemble—the one he’d gotten at a local craft fair. It was a tube of stretchy fabric patterned with stars and planets, sewn together at either end to form a circle. It was comfortable and kept his hair out of his eyes while he pushed needle and thread through fabric with his metal hand, stem-stitching a line of green floss that would serve as, well, a stem.
The knock at the door made him huff a bit—embroidery had become one of his happy, calm spaces, and he hated being pulled out of it by anything but Steve (and sometimes not even then)—but he stabbed the needle through the fabric and set it aside on the couch.
Out in the hallway, he found Nick Fury in a black jogging suit and a pair of wayfarer sunglasses, a scar peeking out from under one of the lenses. He held a frappuccino in each hand—one caramel-colored, one pink.
“Sergeant Barnes, you’re looking well,” Fury said, holding out the caramel drink. Bucky eyed it warily. “Word on the street is it’s your favorite. Me, I like strawberry.” He took a long sip of the pink one.
“What street’s that?” Bucky accepted the drink from Fury’s outstretched arm. “Most poisons don’t affect me, you know.”
“Just here for a chat. Mind if I come in?”
“Steve said if you tried to recruit me, I was allowed to say no.”
“Steve’d be right. But I’m not here to recruit you. Not in the traditional sense anyway.”
Bucky squinted and stepped aside.
“Not a vampire, are you?” Bucky asked.
“Only on Fridays, Sergeant.”
Bucky made a show of looking at the calendar. “Then I guess you can come in.”
“Nice overalls,” Fury said, then he gestured at one of the arm chairs. “You mind?”
“Thanks. And go ahead,” Bucky said. Fury plopped down sideways, swinging two legs over one of the arms of the chair. He took another long sip of his strawberry drink. Bucky answered him by slurping down some of his own. “Gonna tell me what you want?”
Fury sat up straight and put his drink down on a coaster—one of four handmade glass Cap shields ordered off Etsy. Then he took off his sunglasses, folded them, and tucked one arm into the V of his jacket.
“Sorry about shooting you that one time by the way,” Bucky said. “And for firing a bomb at your car. I know it wasn’t my fault, but it makes me feel better to apologize anyway.”
Fury waved his hand dismissively like it had all been the most unimportant shit that had ever happened to him.
“Ancient history, Sergeant. Fifteen thousand square miles of water under the bridge.”
“Glad to hear it,” Bucky said, and he was. “So if you aren’t trying to recruit me exactly, then what is it? Consulting?”
“I need someone to pet sit for me,” Fury said.
Bucky blinked several times. As far as he knew, Hydra had never fucked with his hearing or his ability to comprehend auditory signals or whatever, but still, he could not have heard that right.
“Come again,” Bucky said.
“I don’t know how much Rogers has told you or how much you even wanted to know, but I’ve been keeping a low profile the past couple of years since the incident in DC. It’s worked well for a while, me staying stateside, but there’s some shady business going down overseas, possibly some old friends of yours, and I need to go look into it. That means someone’s gotta look after the cat.”
“The…cat.” Bucky took another drink of his frap. “Can’t you hire literally any kid off the street for that? They make apps and everything, don’t they?”
“Here’s the thing, Sergeant, she’s a little bit more than a cat.”
Bucky played with the seam of his leggings, waiting for Fury to divulge more information.
“Never mind how she came to be my cat, Goose isn’t exactly from around here.” Nick’s good eye flitted to Bucky’s headband. One finger pointed up.
“You have… a space cat?”
“She’s highly dangerous in theory, which is why I wanted to leave her in the hands of someone a little bit more than your average citizen.”
Bucky carefully got up, walked the few steps that took him from the living room to the kitchen area, and pulled out a bottle of Bailey’s spiked with Asgardian spirits. He then walked it into the living room and poured at least two shots directly into his iced coffee drink.
“There are space cats?” Bucky asked.
“They’re called flerkens,” Fury said. “She’s a good cat as long as you don’t piss her off.”
“And if I piss her off?”
Fury pointed at the scar on his face.
“Wouldn’t recommend it.” Fury reached for his drink. “She can also eat people if she wants to. Sprouts tentacles from her mouth.” He used his free hand to demonstrate, wiggling his fingers in front of his lips. And then he shrugged.
He shrugged.
“Are you fucking with me, Fury? Is this some kind of weird revenge for almost killing you?”
Fury lounged back in the chair again, throwing his legs up onto the arm once more.
“No, Sergeant. She really is a good cat. Been with me since the 90s. Sleeps by my feet. Licks her cute little toe beans. Shits in a box. Saved me from a bunch of genocidal aliens once. The likelihood she’d give you trouble is pretty low,” Fury said. “But it’d be damn near irresponsible to leave her with some kid from Queens. Well, maybe one kid from Queens, but he doesn’t know we know about him just yet.”
“Why me? You’ve got a whole gaggle of superpeople at your disposal.”
“I might need those superpeople if shit goes south. You don’t wanna be one of them, and I respect that. I figure after everything, you’ve earned the right. Hell, you can say no to this too, but I imagine only spending time with Rogers has to get old after a while. So why not shake things up, Sergeant? Watch my space cat. Make a friend.”
“I hang out with other people besides Steve,” Bucky said, and Fury leveled him with A Look. “Occasionally.”
“I’ll give you some time to think it over,” Fury said, hopping up out of the chair. “Rogers knows how to get in touch.”
Less than twenty-four hours later, Fury showed up again, invited this time. His jogging suit was a deep purple that day, and he brought Bucky another frap along with an orange-cranberry muffin.
“A thank you for looking after her,” Fury said, stepping into the apartment. He pulled a large duffel off his shoulder and plopped it onto the floor before gently setting a pale blue hard-sided cat carrier down beside it. A pinch of his fingers undid the mechanism that held the door shut, and a small ginger cat trotted right out of the shadows inside, meowing and transferring paprika-colored fur onto Fury’s pants.
“Who’s a good girl?” Fury scritched under her chin. “Who’s my little Goosey baby? Who’s gonna be good for Sergeant Barnes while daddy’s gone? Yes, you are. Uh-huh.”
“Um.”
Fury glanced back stonily. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“She likes to be scratched here and on her cheeks. She’ll ask for belly rubs if she wants them. Otherwise, touch her tummy at your own risk. If she tells you to put her down, you’d damn well better put her down.”
“When you say ‘ask’ and ‘tell,’ you don’t mean…”
“She can’t talk, Barnes.”
“Cool, cool, just wondering,” Bucky said. Space animals were already a lot to handle. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for space animals that could also talk.
“Everything she needs is in the bag.” Fury stood and nudged the duffel with his foot. Then he handed Bucky a small flip phone. “I’ll call on this to check in when I can.”
“What if there’s an emergency? Does she have, you know, a vet?” Bucky asked, and at that, Goose’s face shot in his direction. She meowed indignantly, and Bucky was at least 75 percent sure she managed to glare.
“She’s good,” Fury said. “If there’s an emergency, it’s gonna be the kind you call your husband over, and if that happens, well, I’ll know about it. I’ll see you both in a few days.”
Fury knelt down one more time to pet and rub at Goose’s chin and cheeks, and then he vacated Bucky’s apartment. That left Bucky to work on setting up Goose’s litter box and food bowls. After he put a fresh can of Dr. MewMew’s All Natural Tuna and Whitefish out, she warmed to him considerably.
By nightfall, he had her nuzzling into both his flesh and metal hands alike. And when Steve came home bone-tired from an afternoon of light Avenging, Bucky was already asleep with Goose curled into a ball on his chest.
He woke briefly at the feel of Steve’s lips brushing against his temple, his voice low and quiet in his ear.
“She’s very cute.”
Steve smelled like soap and shampoo, with the slightest hint of smoke lingering underneath.
“You’re cute,” Bucky murmured, and then he drifted off again to the sound of Steve’s breathing and Goose’s soft purrs.
An emergency did end up happening, and Fury was right. It was more of the superhero variety than the cat variety. Or more of the formerly brainwashed assassin variety to hit the nail right on its flat little head.
He finished his short overalls and was extremely pleased with the way the yellow centers of the happy little daisies caught the sunlight filtering in through the windows. All that was left was to actually wear them out and about to see how they looked in real light, so he pulled them on over a plain white tee, tied his hair back with a yellow bandanna, and turned to the cat currently warming herself in the window sill.
“You wanna go for a walk, baby girl?”
Goose leapt down and rubbed against his bare calves enthusiastically.
She had a cat harness. It was red and covered in tiny gold eight-pointed stars. The first time he’d taken her outside, he’d expected a fight to get her into it, but she seemed to know exactly what was going on at any given moment. This time, like the others, she happily stepped into it and let him clip and velcro it securely.
Fury called around the time they made it to McCarren Park, Goose circling around a tree where a bird flitted from branch to branch. She looked around furtively while Bucky flipped the burner phone open.
“Hello?”
A quick flash of pink and the bird was gone. Goose licked her paw and cleaned her face contentedly.
“How’s my girl?” Fury asked.
“We’re at the park. She, uh, ate a bird.”
“Sounds about right. Listen, I’m…”
But Bucky wasn’t listening. Something was wrong, that feeling that the world was just a little off starting to creep down the back of his neck. He slyly looked around the park. At his feet, Goose’s tail flicked to and fro, a low growl bubbling out of her mouth.
His eyes caught the man on a nearby bench first, then the woman by the fountain reading a book a little too intently.
“Fury, I’m gonna need you to call back,” Bucky said, and he flipped the phone shut and put it down the front pocket of his overalls. He pulled his personal phone out of that same pocket.
SOS. McCarren Park. Love you ‘til ___x.
Bucky took a deep breath. It wasn’t the first time one of the factions that survived the leak post-DC had come for him. So far, no one had the means or resources to actually take on the former Winter Soldier, and this was likely no different. Still not a fun way to spend what was meant to be a quiet walk with Goose. And he was probably gonna get blood on his overalls.
Bullshit.
Resigned, he kept assessing his surroundings, sussing out who was and who wasn’t there for him. The man taking several minutes to tie his shoe. The woman who seemed to be knitting without ever actually adding anything to her scarf. Two here. Three there. A baker’s dozen in total.
They surrounded him, but the park was a big place. So he found the weakest point between them, casually leaned down to scratch at Goose’s head, and then walked toward it purposefully.
Those closest to him closed in fast.
“Unusual to see a cat on a leash like that,” the woman said, and Bucky threw her a casual, charming smile while he made note of her hidden weapons. He’d take the gun first.
“She likes being outside. Can’t chase birds in the apartment.”
“May I?” the woman asked, squatting down. Goose’s ears went flat immediately, and she hissed, her tail standing up like a Christmas tree. The woman laughed a terrible fake laugh. “Oh, I get it honey. I don’t like strangers either.”
“Well, I’ve got dinner in the oven and don’t wanna burn the place down, so…”
And Bucky took off again. The goons weren’t terrible, he’d give them that. They managed to cut him off and surround him long before he ever made it out of the park, forcing him into a small copse of trees in an otherwise unoccupied area.
“Is this where I stop pretending I didn’t notice all of you ten minutes ago?”
“It’ll be better for you if you come quietly, soldier.”
“You know, people always say that to folks when it absolutely would not make a difference. I think I’ll do the opposite, thanks.”
Behind him, Bucky heard the sound of a cattle prod zinging to life and steeled himself for the inevitable shock he would get at some point during this fistfight.
But the fight never came. With a quiet meow, Goose slipped out of her harness. She hissed a warning at the circle of goons. The circle of goons laughed at her.
And then there were tentacles. More tentacles than Bucky had ever seen. They were slimy and pink and lashing out to grab at wrists and throats and ankles. There were yelps of surprise and a few swear words in both English and German. And then there was nothing.
Within seconds, thirteen had become none.
“Holy shit.”
Like she had with the bird, Goose took a moment to clean her face, and then she looked up at Bucky, meowed softly, and flopped over for belly rubs. He plopped down on the grass beside her and happily obliged.
“Good girl,” Bucky said. “Such a pretty little babydoll, huh? Yes you are. You are welcome at Uncle Bucky’s anytime, aren’t you? My best gal.”
Purring contentedly, Goose kneaded at the skin of Bucky’s calf. And that’s how Steve, Nat, and Sam found them when they showed up. Goose perked up at their arrival, but relaxed instantly at the sight of Steve, flopping back over and letting Bucky continue to rub at the soft tufts of fur on her tummy.
“I thought you were in trouble,” Steve said. “Everything okay?”
“Any of you ever seen an alien cat eat thirteen Hydra agents in under a minute?” Bucky asked. “Because I gotta tell you, on the list of the greatest things I have ever seen in my very long life, it’s pretty up there.”
“The cat ate thirteen Nazi assholes?” Sam asked, cocking his head and squinting at her stomach. Goose meowed, looking pretty damned pleased with herself. “Thirteen?”
“Mhm.”
“She’s a good girl.” Natasha smiled and gracefully slid onto the grass beside Bucky. She held her hand out and let Goose nuzzle at it before gently petting the downy soft fur behind one of her little orange ears. Then Steve joined in, followed shortly by Sam, until there were three Avengers and a could-be superhero all petting and praising a sort-of cat in the middle of a quiet Brooklyn park.
Two days later, Fury showed up on his doorstep again, a little banged up but otherwise okay.
“Heard you had a run-in with some former coworkers,” he said, and Goose jumped down from where she’d been napping on top of the entertainment center. Fury picked her up gently and pressed his nose into her cheek. “I missed you too, baby girl.”
“Yeah,” Bucky said, frowning while he picked up Goose’s duffel and dried her water dish off to slip it inside. “Doubt she’ll need to eat again for a month.”
“Glad she was able to help,” Fury said.
“You find what you were looking for over there?” Bucky asked.
“Sure did. Gathered some good intel with Hill and May. Flew Nat and Carter over night before last. One less nest of vipers in the world. And some good leads on the next.”
“Well, she’s welcome anytime you have a business trip.” Bucky slipped a finger up under Goose’s chin, smiling when she closed her eyes and lifted her head to give him better access.
“Made you a friend after all, huh Barnes?”
“I guess I did.”
Fury smiled knowingly and then nudged Goose into her small carrier before picking up the duffel and slipping it onto his shoulder. At the door, he paused and looked back.
“You know, you might think about getting her a friend for next time she stays over. I think she’d like that. I think you would too.”
“Funny, Steve and I already have plans to stop by the shelter this afternoon.”
“Glad to hear it.”
And then Fury was gone.
The next time he brought Goose by, Bucky was the proud dad of two growing kittens—one gray with little white socks, the other the color of freshly fallen snow.
“Hey sweet pea,” Bucky said, helping Goose out of her carrier and walking her to where the kittens slept curled together in their too-big bed. “This is Alpine and Snowshoes. I’d really like it if you could all be pals.”
Goose nuzzled once against his metal arm and then wiggled to be let down.
When Bucky looked up from his latest embroidery project—a jean jacket featuring a giant orange cat with an eye patch—he found her curled around both babies protectively.
You could probably hear their purrs from space.