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If there’s one thing that Steve has always prided himself on, it’s having a strong moral compass. Nine times out of ten, he instinctively knows what the right course of action is, and he’ll always do anything in his power to follow that course, steadfast and unwavering. As a result, Steve seldom regrets his actions, because even when things don’t quite turn out the way he’d hoped, he still knows he did the right thing – and no matter the outcome, that is something he can't usually regret.
So despite his life being more eventful than most, Steve can really only think of a handful moments he truly regrets. Most of them, of course, revolve around Bucky.
For one thing, Steve regrets ever letting Bucky get on that godforsaken train in the Alps. He regrets not trying harder to grab Bucky’s hand when he was about to fall (even though he knows deep down that there was no way he could’ve reached him, not without falling himself), and he deeply regrets not going looking for Bucky after he fell. That might be his biggest regret of all.
This moment, however, right here in the present? On an average Friday night in the twenty-first century, in the living room of the Brooklyn apartment he shares with Bucky? The moment in which Steve unthinkingly opened his big, dumb trap and said something he knows he’ll regret for the rest of his life?
This moment comes pretty damn close.
On his right, there is Bucky – his oldest, best friend, the love of his life, dressed in all black including combat boots, leather jacket and long, dark hair falling into his beautiful face, which is currently contorted in a look of sheer terror.
On his left is Sam – Steve’s best friend from this new century, one of the best men Steve has ever known, whose normally kind face is now wearing an expression so terrifying that it’s causing dread to crawl slowly up Steve’s spine.
This moment right here? Oh, yeah. It’s bad, alright.
It had all started innocently enough, as bad things often tend to do. One beautiful, crisp morning just a few weeks ago, Steve and Bucky had woken up early and spent a glorious hour or so fooling around in their big, cozy, supersoldier-proof bed. After, Steve had decided to forgo his usual early morning run in favor of a walk along the banks of the East River with Bucky, just wandering around with no other goal than to enjoy the weather and each other’s company.
On their way back to Park Slope, they’d passed a coffee shop in Williamsburg. One of those ‘hipster’ places that had bespectacled youths working on their laptops at the window tables, exotic plants everywhere, and beverages with names that meant absolutely nothing to Steve. What the hell was a Dirty Chai Frappé? And why did caramel need to be salted, anyway? Call him old fashioned, but Steve still much preferred his coffee black, drunk from lipstick stained mugs in greasy diners. Bucky, however, secretly loved these fancy coffee shops and got a kick out of ordering the most complicated, disgusting concoction on the menu, just because he could. So when Bucky had come to a sudden stop outside the door of this particular coffee place, Steve had gladly followed him inside. If it made Bucky happy, it made Steve happy. It was as simple as that.
Since there were a couple of people before them in line to order, Steve and Bucky had taken a moment to study the menu displayed on the wall behind the cash register. Steve was tempted to just go with a black filter coffee, but eventually, buoyed up by the sunny weather, decided to be a little bit more adventurous that morning.
“I think I’ll have a cappuccino,” he told Bucky conspiratorially. “Probably time I tried one, since Tony’s always calling me that.”
Bucky just hummed in reply. He didn’t like to speak much in public, which was fine with Steve. He knew all of Bucky’s non-verbal cues anyway, and didn’t need him to use actual words in order to understand what he was saying. It kind of freaked their friends out sometimes, how Steve could understand from just the tiniest twitch of an eyebrow that Bucky didn’t think the exit strategy they were discussing during a briefing was solid, or how a simple grunt over the comms could tell Steve that Bucky believed it would be much more effective to approach the enemy via the corridor in the east wing of the building they were running through, as well as exactly how and when.
Tony liked to call them telepathic grandpas while Nat usually quipped that codependency wasn’t cute, and Bucky would glare while Steve cheerfully ignored them.
Bucky glared a lot these days, but after everything he’d been through, Steve couldn’t blame him. Besides, Steve knew Bucky never glared with malicious intent. Or, more accurately, he only ever glared with malicious intent at bad guys, and maybe sometimes at Sam, because for some reason, those two brought out the worst in each other. It was more that Bucky’s default expression these days was a scowl (or, as Sam liked to call it, resting bitch face). Sure, it was in stark contrast to how Bucky used to look before the war; cheeky and carefree, with a perpetual smile tucked away in the corner of his mouth just waiting for a reason to come out, but Bucky just wasn’t that same kid anymore, and that was fine. Steve wasn’t the same either. Despite his occasional nightmares and lingering survivor’s guilt, Steve actually smiled a lot more these days, and he didn’t lose his temper nearly as quickly as he used to. Time had mellowed him somewhat, and so had the fact that he didn’t get sick anymore. Between the benefits of the serum, finding people who cared about him in this new century, and having gotten a second chance at life with Bucky (and in a time where they could openly be together too), Steve just couldn’t help but be happier now.
For all his glaring and scowling, and despite still suffering from bouts of debilitating guilt, Steve knew that Bucky was happy as well. He knew, because Bucky had told him as much one night, in the combined safety of their darkened bedroom and Steve’s arms. In fact, when it was just the two of them, Bucky was much quicker to smile, much softer around the edges, and much cuddlier than he was when there were others around. Bucky’s prickly façade was really just a defense mechanism. He didn’t need one around their friends, of course, but that was something he was working on understanding during his biweekly therapy sessions. These things took time, and that was fine. If there was one thing they had plenty of these days, it was time. Bucky would get there when he was ready, and the meantime, Steve cherished the privilege of having Bucky’s softer side all to himself.
Even standing in a cozy coffee shop on a lovely sunny day, Bucky was glowering a little. Unlike the barista, who shot him some concerned looks, Steve wasn’t fooled, nor did he let Bucky’s moody expression deter him when something on the menu board caught his eye.
“Buck, look,” he snorted, bumping Bucky’s shoulder and pointing. “So, if I’m a Cappuccino, I think that makes you a Babyccino.”
Bucky huffed out a breath that Steve knew meant an amused laugh. “What the hell is a Babyccino.”
“No fuckin’ clue,” Steve grinned fondly, “but it sounds real cute, so it fits.”
Bucky just gave a tiny roll of his eyes, but Steve could tell he was pleased by the way the tips of his ears flushed ever so slightly.
After ordering their drinks – one cappuccino for Steve and one extra-large quad half-sweet caramel macchiato with extra whip for Bucky – they exited the shop. Outside, Steve slung an arm around Bucky’s shoulder, barely keeping himself from smacking a noisy kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Come on, Babyccino. Let’s go home.”
Despite Bucky’s grumbling, Steve knew Bucky loved pet names. Always had. The more ridiculous the better, and Steve was more than happy to oblige in the privacy of their own home. Steve also knew that Bucky would rather go back into cryo freeze than to admit this to anyone. But like Steve, Bucky must’ve been in a good mood that day, because he just shook his head and only mildly threatened to murder Steve in his sleep if he ever called him that in public again.
And Steve hadn’t.
He respected Bucky’s boundaries too much for that. He valued his life too much for that, too. Despite the fact that the team knew they were together, Steve never initiated any kind of PDA, never even tried to hug Bucky when there were others around, and he never, ever called him anything but Bucky or Buck when they weren’t alone.
Not until just now, anyway.
In hindsight, Steve couldn’t say what it was exactly that had made him slip up this time. Maybe he’d been distracted by the movie they were watching, or by the warmth of Bucky’s thigh pressing against his own, or maybe it had even been the placebo effect of the beer he’d been sipping. But whatever it was, the fact is that he had slipped up, and right now, he’s reeling with the realization that he’ll regret it for the rest of his unnaturally long life.
“I’m sorry,” Sam says, voice eerily calm even as the grin on his face grows so wide it starts to take on an almost maniacal quality. “What did you just call him?”
Steve blinks, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “Nothing,” he replies quickly. “I didn’t-”
“No, no, you did,” Sam insists, eyes boring into Steve’s. “I’m pretty sure you did.”
“I really didn’t,” Steve repeats. His heartbeat kicks up, palms starting to sweat in a way he didn’t even know they could do anymore after the serum. “I didn’t call him anything.” He turns towards Bucky for help, promptly regretting it when he catches sight of the look of abject horror on his face. Steve winces, shrinking back into his seat. “I – I said, ‘Bucky, can you pass me the popcorn,’ that’s all. I didn’t- I’d never-”
“You didn’t call him ‘Bucky’,” Sam interrupts, his voice rising in both volume and pitch, making the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand on end. “Oh, no. You, Steven, just called my man Barnes over here – the former Winter Soldier, the ghost story credited with over two dozen assassinations in last fifty years, that Barnes – you called him Babyccino.”
“No!” Steve exclaims, a little desperately. “Babyccino? Wha- why on earth would I call him that? I mean, sure, he’s cute, but would you look at this guy?" He flaps a hand in Bucky’s direction. “He’s dressed in leather from head to toe and I know for a fact he’s got like, six knives under there.” Steve is aware his voice has gone a little hysterical, but he can’t seem to do anything about it. “This man knows at least eight ways to kill us both without even getting up off the couch, and you think I’d call him Babyccino? Sam, that’s ridic-“
“Steve,” Bucky hisses, looking like he’s trying very hard to disappear into the couch cushions. “Shut. Up.”
“No, no,” Sam crows, gleefully rubbing his hands together. “By all means, keep diggin’ that hole, Cap. It’s almost big enough for you to lie down in, just a couple more inches and you’ll be all set.”
Steve flounders for another moment, before realizing, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that there really isn’t any use in denying it anymore. Sam heard what he heard, and now he’ll just have to deal with the consequences. Abruptly switching tactics, Steve twists his body towards Bucky to give him his best pleading look; the one that usually managed to get him out of a tight spot back before the war. “Buck,” he breathes, wide-eyed. “Bucky. I’m so, so sorry. I fucked up. I didn’t mean to- You know I would never – I mean, I love you.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bucky groans, closing his eyes and throwing a hand out to the side to clap over Steve’s babbling mouth. “You’re such a dumb fuckin’ punk. It’s okay. I love you, too.”
Steve deflates, relief flooding his system in a dizzying rush.
“You, however,” Bucky continues, slowly turning his head to pin Sam with a look so withering it would make lesser men quake in their boots or pee their pants or both. Bucky pauses for effect, and when he continues, his voice is low and menacing and makes Steve’s skin erupt into goosebumps despite himself. “If you ever repeat this incident, if you ever breathe so much as a word to anyone, I will dismember you with my bare hands and sprinkle the pieces of your body off the roof of Stark Tower like confetti. Is that clear?”
Behind Bucky’s hand, Steve swallows hard. He knows it’s wrong to get turned on by the love of his life threatening to brutally murder his best friend, especially in a situation as high stakes as this one. He knows that, but he just can’t help himself. It’s not his fault his pants get a little tight whenever Bucky’s dark side comes out, and it’s only because he knows he’s really just a kitten underneath.
Unfortunately, that kitten seems to be out of the bag now, because Sam’s Cheshire cat grin doesn’t even falter at Bucky’s threat. In fact, it seems to grow impossibly wider.
“Oh, really?” he asks, eyes locked on Bucky’s.
Bucky’s scowl deepens. “With. My. Bare. Hands,” he repeats, through gritted teeth.
“Whatever you say,” Sam replies sweetly, “… Babyccino.”
Steve has just enough time to duck out of the way before Bucky leaps across the couch, his teeth bared in a growl as he makes a grab for Sam, who cackles wildly as he deftly rolls off the couch, managing to stay just out of Bucky’s reach.
During the wild goose chase that follows, Steve sighs and grabs his phone, dialing Natasha’s number.
“All I wanted was a quiet Friday night with my best friends,” he tells her dejectedly once she’s picked up. “Is that too much to ask?”
“Considering who your best friends are? Yes.”
Steve snorts, wincing when there’s a crash somewhere behind him that could only mean broken furniture. “Can you please come and help me break them up? They’re not scared of me like they are of you.”
“Oh, so you need your third best friend to come and help you out now that you messed up with your second and first best friend, that it?”
“Best friend isn’t a person, it’s a tier,” Steve says primly. “You taught me that, actually.”
Natasha is silent for a moment. “Fine,” she agrees finally. “Stay where you are, I’ll be right there.”
“Thanks, Nat. Love you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles, and hangs up on him.
Promptly, there’s an ear-splitting scream somewhere to his left, followed by Sam shrieking, “Sonofa- You bit me. Steve, your boyfriend bit me.”
“What, you don’t like that?" Bucky's voice asks tauntingly. "My bad, must’ve gotten you confused with Steve. He loves it.”
“Nooooooo,” Sam wails, thrashing around in what Steve assumes is an attempt to cover his poor ears.
Steve sighs, tiredly rubbing a hand over his face. “Make friends, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.”
But even as he’s headed for the kitchen to pre-emptively grab some ice packs from the freezer, he knows he wouldn’t trade any of them for the world.