Chapter Text
Wakanda had never been quiet, not really. There had always been voices drifting through the village, children laughing somewhere in the distance, birds in the trees beyond the river. It had been a living kind of noise, one Bucky had grown used to over the months he'd spent there.
New York was sharper. Car horns echoed between buildings. Sirens wailed somewhere several blocks away. The steady rush of traffic never seemed to stop, blending into a constant hum that settled over the streets like static.
Bucky watched it all through the window without saying much. Steve sat beside him in the back seat, equally quiet, leaving him to his thoughts. Every now and then he'd point out a familiar landmark as they passed, but mostly he seemed content to let the silence exist.
Bucky appreciated that.
The tower came into view long before they reached it. Glass and steel stretched impossibly high above the surrounding buildings, disappearing into the pale afternoon sky. He remembered seeing it once before, years ago, though he'd barely registered it at the time. Back then he'd been more concerned with staying alive than admiring architecture.
Now it was supposed to be home.
The thought sat strangely in his chest.
Home implied permanence.
He wasn't sure he remembered what that felt like.
The car rolled into the underground garage, slowing to a stop in a reserved parking bay. The driver climbed out first, unloading Bucky's duffel from the back before offering a polite nod and leaving them alone.
Steve broke the silence first. "You okay?" It wasn't asked with that careful, cautious tone people sometimes used around him now, like they expected him to shatter if they spoke too loudly. It was just a question.
Bucky considered it. "I'm thinking."
Steve smiled faintly. "I figured."
Bucky reached for the door handle. "I'll let you know if I come up with anything."
Steve laughed, soft enough that it echoed faintly through the garage. He climbed out of the car, slinging the duffel over one shoulder before Bucky had the chance to take it himself.
"I can carry my own bag."
"I know." Steve closed the car door. "But I'm already carrying it."
Bucky looked at him for a long second. Then he shook his head as Steve's grin widened just enough to be annoying.
Some things, apparently, hadn't changed.
____________
The elevator doors slid shut behind them with barely a sound. Bucky leaned back against the wall as the lift began its smooth ascent, watching the floor numbers climb one after another. It was quieter than he'd expected. The kind of quiet that came with expensive machinery and good insulation, not the heavy silence of abandoned places.
"Welcome back, Captain Rogers," a woman's voice said pleasantly.
Bucky looked around before he could stop himself. There was no speaker in sight, no receptionist sitting behind a desk. Just polished metal walls reflecting the two of them back.
"I've also prepared Sergeant Barnes's room, as requested. Mr. Stark asked me to remind you that he expects at least a 'thank you.' Though whether he deserves one remains open to debate."
Steve smiled to himself. "Thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y."
Bucky frowned. "Who's Friday?"
"She runs the Tower." Steve caught the look on Bucky's face and amended, "Not literally. Tony built... well, I'm honestly still not sure how to explain it. She looks after everything. Security, the elevators, lights, heating. If something's happening in the building, she probably knows about it."
Bucky glanced up at the ceiling. "Can she hear us?"
"I can," F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied before Steve had the chance to answer. "Only because you're in one of the common areas, Sergeant Barnes. Your bedroom is considered private space unless there's an emergency."
He wasn't entirely sure that made him feel better.
"You get used to it," Steve said, sounding like someone who'd had this exact conversation before.
The doors slid open onto a floor that looked nothing like Bucky had expected.
He'd imagined something closer to a military base—clean, efficient, every surface serving a purpose. Instead, the first thing he noticed was a pair of running shoes abandoned in the middle of the hallway. A hoodie had been thrown over the back of a chair just inside the common room, and a half-finished mug of coffee sat on the kitchen island beside what looked suspiciously like a chemistry textbook.
The place looked lived in. Not messy exactly, but comfortable. Like the people here had stopped worrying about appearances a long time ago.
Steve stepped out first, waiting while Bucky took it all in. "This floor's just us," he said. "Everyone has their own room, but we spend most of our time out here."
Bucky followed him into the hallway, his gaze drifting almost instinctively over the space. Large windows stretched along one wall, filling the common room with afternoon sunlight. Beyond them, Manhattan sprawled in every direction, impossibly far below. The kitchen opened into a living area filled with mismatched sofas that looked far too well-used to have come with the building. A television was mounted to one wall, though it was currently dark, and a stack of board games occupied an entire shelf beneath it.
"You look disappointed."
Bucky glanced sideways.
Steve was smiling.
"I was expecting... I don't know." He searched for the right word. "More glass."
Steve laughed. "Tony designed the building. Pepper made it liveable."
As if summoned by the mention of her name, footsteps approached from somewhere deeper inside the Tower. Pepper rounded the corner first, tablet tucked under one arm and reading glasses pushed up into her hair. She smiled the moment she spotted them.
"There you are."
Steve leaned in to hug her, quick and familiar.
"Traffic?"
"New York," Steve answered simply.
She nodded as though that explained everything before turning her attention to Bucky. "It's good to see you again."
He remembered meeting her before. Briefly. Everything around that time blurred together now, but he remembered her kindness more than the conversation itself. "You too."
"I hope the flight wasn't too exhausting."
"It wasn't."
Before the conversation could go any further, another voice drifted in from somewhere beyond the kitchen.
"Pepper, if that's Rogers, tell him he's banned."
Steve sighed. "I'm not even here five minutes."
"I know it's you!" Tony called back. "Only one person in this building walks like they're apologising to the floor."
Tony appeared a moment later with a screwdriver in one hand and safety goggles pushed onto the top of his head. He came to an abrupt halt when he spotted Bucky standing beside Steve. For the first time since they'd arrived, the room went quiet.
Tony looked him over for a second before nodding once. "Good. You're here, welcome to the circus." He gestured vaguely around the floor. "Rules are pretty simple. Don't touch anything in the lab unless I hand it to you. If Clint tells you something is perfectly safe, assume it isn't. And if anyone asks who keeps stealing my tools, it's definitely not Rogers."
Steve looked genuinely offended. "I've borrowed one screwdriver."
"You've borrowed the same screwdriver seventeen times."
"I always bring it back."
"Eventually."
Pepper folded her arms. "Tony."
"What?"
"You said you were going to behave."
"I am behaving."
She gave him a look.
"...Better than usual."
Bucky felt the corner of his mouth twitch.
Tony noticed immediately. "Shuri told me you had a sense of humour."
Bucky blinked. "She did?"
"Oh, absolutely. Said it was very dry."
There was the faintest pause. Tony pointed at him with the screwdriver.
"We're gonna get along just fine."
Steve groaned quietly. "I knew this was coming."
Bucky looked between the three of them, then over at the kitchen where a faint curl of smoke was still drifting lazily towards the extractor fan.
He wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected Avengers Tower to be. It hadn't been this. It was... ordinary. Oddly, that made it feel far more unfamiliar than anything else.
"Come on," Steve said, rescuing Bucky before Tony could start another conversation. "I'll show you your room before anyone else catches us."
Pepper rolled her eyes fondly. "Dinner's at seven, assuming nobody gets called away. Don't feel like you have to come out straight away if you'd rather settle in first."
Bucky nodded. "Thanks."
It was such a simple thing, being given the choice, that it almost caught him off guard. Nobody was hovering, nobody was insisting he join them, and nobody seemed to be watching for the 'right' answer. Pepper had simply told him dinner would be ready if he wanted it and left the decision in his hands. Somehow, that made the offer easier to accept.
Steve led him away from the common room, the noise of conversation fading with each step until only the quiet hum of the Tower remained. The corridor itself was surprisingly ordinary. Wooden floors replaced the polished stone of the main living area, and the walls were broken up by framed photographs instead of abstract artwork. They weren't arranged with any particular care, either. Some hung perfectly straight, others looked as though someone had bumped them in passing weeks ago and never bothered to fix them.
Bucky slowed in front of one without really meaning to.
The photograph had clearly been taken outside somewhere. Thor stood in the middle of the group, laughing at something beyond the camera while Steve looked thoroughly exasperated beside him. Tony was halfway through saying something, one hand raised dramatically, and Bruce had that familiar, patient expression that suggested he'd heard it all before. Natasha looked almost amused, Clint was making rabbit ears behind someone's head, and Pepper had been caught laughing at the whole lot of them. It wasn't posed. If anything, it looked like the photographer had interrupted a conversation rather than asked everyone to smile.
"You've all been living together for a while," Bucky said.
Steve stopped beside him and looked at the picture. A small smile settled on his face, quieter than the one he'd worn downstairs.
"Couple of years now. It wasn't really the plan at first." He shrugged one shoulder. "People just... stayed. One mission turned into another, then someone needed a place to crash for a few nights, and before long it didn't make much sense to leave."
Bucky nodded, still looking at the photograph. It was strange seeing the Avengers like this. The world knew them as headlines and news reports. As the people who fought aliens and terrorists and impossible odds. The people in these photographs looked like a family.
Steve started walking again, stopping outside the last door on the left. He held out the white key card, waiting until Bucky took it before stepping back to give him room.
"This one's yours."
For a second, Bucky simply looked at the card resting in his hand. It was an ordinary piece of plastic. No different from a hotel key or an office pass. Yet it felt oddly significant. No one else had a copy. No one expected him to hand it back. It was his.
He slid it through the reader, waited for the soft click of the lock, and pushed the door open.
The room beyond was simple, but thoughtfully put together. A large bed sat beneath the window overlooking Manhattan, neatly made with dark blue bedding. Opposite it stood a wardrobe, while a desk occupied one corner beside a bookshelf that was only half full, leaving plenty of empty space. A door near the wardrobe led to a private bathroom, and another small chest of drawers stood beneath the television mounted on the wall. There was nothing extravagant about it. Nothing that screamed Tony Stark. Instead, it felt calm.
Like someone had made a conscious effort not to overwhelm whoever eventually moved in.
Steve carried the duffel inside and rested it on the end of the bed before looking around the room himself, as though checking that everything was still where it should be.
"If there's anything you need, we'll get it," he said. "More shelves, different furniture... whatever. Tony insisted on making sure everyone could make their room their own."
Bucky wandered over to the window, resting one hand lightly against the cool glass. From this high up the city looked strangely peaceful. Cars crawled along the streets below in neat lines, people reduced to tiny figures crossing intersections without any idea they were being watched from several dozen floors above.
"It doesn't feel like New York," he admitted. Steve joined him at the window, following his gaze down to the streets below. "I know what you mean."
For a moment they simply stood there in comfortable silence. It wasn't awkward. It never really had been between them. After everything they'd lived through together, silence had long ago stopped meaning something was wrong.
Eventually Steve glanced at his watch and let out a quiet sigh. "I should probably go rescue Tony from the coffee machine before he decides to improve something else." Bucky looked over at him. "Is it really that bad?"
"The coffee machine?"
"Tony."
Steve laughed. "The coffee machine doesn't stand a chance."
That earned a quiet smile from Bucky.
Steve smiled at the familiar sight but, as always, was kind enough not to point it out. "Take your time," he said instead. "Dinner's soon as you know. If you feel like joining us, great. If you'd rather have a night to yourself, that's fine too. Nobody's going to think less of you either way."
Bucky appreciated that. He wasn't being treated like he needed to be coaxed into socialising, nor was he being left completely alone. The invitation was there, waiting for him if he wanted it. "I think I'll come."
"I was hoping you'd say that." Steve turned towards the door, then paused with one hand on the frame, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, one thing."
"What?"
"Lock your door."
Bucky frowned. "Why?"
Steve's grin widened just enough to answer the question before he spoke. "Because around here, people have a habit of forgetting that knocking exists."
Almost on cue, a door somewhere down the corridor flew open.
"Steve!" Clint shouted. "Have you seen my—"
There was a pause.
"...Never mind."
Another pause.
"...Actually, whose bow is this?"
Steve didn't even blink.
"Told you."
For the first time since arriving, Bucky smirked without thinking about it. It happened before he had the chance to stop it, brief but genuine.
Steve's smile softened. "I'll see you in a bit, Buck." Then he quietly closed the door behind him, leaving Bucky alone with a room that, for the first time in a very long while, belonged to nobody but him.
_______
Bucky stood where Steve had left him, listening to the click of the door as it shut. For a few seconds he didn't move. The room was quiet, but it wasn't the oppressive kind of silence he'd grown used to over the years. There were voices somewhere beyond the walls, too muffled to make out, the distant rumble of an elevator, the faint hum of the building itself. Every now and then someone laughed down the corridor. It was the sound of people going about their evening, completely unconcerned by the fact that the world outside never seemed to stop asking things of them.
His duffel sat on the end of the bed, exactly where Steve had left it. He looked at it for a long moment. Then, with a quiet sigh, he unzipped it.
There wasn't much inside. A few changes of clothes had been folded with the kind of neat precision that came from habit rather than care. His notebooks were tucked carefully between two well-thumbed paperbacks, their covers creased from being read more than once. Right at the bottom, wrapped in an old T-shirt, was the small wooden bird one of the children in Wakanda had carved for him after insisting his own attempt had been "too serious."
Bucky smiled despite himself.
Ayo had translated the conversation afterwards, laughing as she explained that, apparently, birds weren't meant to look like they were preparing for battle.
He picked it up carefully, turning it over in his hand before setting it on the bedside table. It was the first thing he'd unpacked. He wasn't sure why.
The books went onto the shelf next. There was something strangely satisfying about seeing them standing there instead of buried in a bag. One by one, the room began to look a little less like somewhere he'd borrowed and a little more like somewhere he might actually stay.
A sharp noise sounded at the door. Bucky looked up.
The handle started turning. He stared at it.
The door opened a few inches before whoever was on the other side seemed to remember themselves.
"...Oh." There was a brief silence. "...Steve wasn't kidding."
Bucky walked over and pulled the door open the rest of the way. A teenage boy stood in the hallway, frozen halfway through what had clearly been intended as a very casual entrance. He wore jeans, a Midtown School hoodie and an expression that shifted rapidly from embarrassment to panic.
"Oh my God," he blurted. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't just walking into your room—I mean, I was, but only because everyone kind of does that here and I completely forgot you're new, which isn't an excuse because that's actually worse—"
"Peter."
Peter stopped talking so abruptly it was almost impressive.
"...Yeah?"
"You've been standing outside my room apologising for about thirty seconds."
"Oh." A pause. "...Sorry, I was just coming to see if you needed any help unpacking. Pepper said you might."
"I'm nearly done."
Peter leaned slightly, trying very hard not to look into the room while also obviously looking into the room. "Cool room."
"It was five minutes ago."
Peter laughed nervously. "Right."
For another moment neither of them said anything.
Peter shifted his weight from one foot to the other before clearing his throat.
"I'm Peter, by the way."
"Bucky."
"I know." Realising how that sounded, Peter's eyes widened.
"I mean—not like in a creepy way. I mean, obviously I know who you are. Mr. Stark talks about Captain America a lot and Captain America talks about you a lot, and Sam talks about both of you a lot, although mostly he's making fun of Captain America..." He stopped, sighed dramatically and rubbed a hand over his face. "I talk too much."
"I know."
Peter blinked. "You do?"
"Tony warned me."
Peter looked genuinely offended. "He says that to everybody." He then smiled, looking relieved, then started backing towards the hallway.
"I'll let you finish unpacking. And I'll knock next time."
He paused for a moment then said, "I'll probably forget."
"I know."
He disappeared down the corridor at a jog, calling out to someone before he was even out of sight.
"Mr. Stark! He didn't throw me out!"
Tony's voice carried back almost immediately.
"I told you he wouldn't!"
Bucky shook his head, as he closed the door again.
He looked around the room once more.
There wasn't much left in the bag now.
Just enough that unpacking no longer felt temporary.
He folded the empty duffel and slid it onto the top shelf of the wardrobe before pausing.
Normally, he left it by the door.
Ready to go.
Just in case.
His eyes lingered on the bag for a second before he closed the wardrobe doors.
Maybe Steve was right.
Maybe this wasn't another place to wait.
Maybe... just for tonight... he could let himself stay.