IT COULD NEVER BE SAID THAT SAM HAD THE BEST FRIENDS.

Sure, they cared about him and made sure he was taken care of and often expressed their undying love for him, but he had never met people more hell-bent on making his life difficult than Steven Rogers and Jennifer Walters.

The onslaught began during his lunch break one day when the client stream was fairly slow and paperwork was nearly all finished.

He had been texting Nicky, snickering at a video the man sent him of his endeavors trying to get a pigeon to sit still long enough for him to take a picture of it to mock the older man who had sent him a picture of another garden gnome.

"Where'd you get this, it's really good?" Jen asked, holding the takeout Sam had gotten her, clearly having just started to eat.

"This guy recommended it to me, said it was one of his favorites," he explained, pulling his phone away from his face to address her, though the sound of Nicky's voice was still able to be heard.

Jen gave him an unreadable smile, raising an eyebrow. "And who exactly is this guy?"

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, shooing her off her perch on his desk. "I hear what you're saying, and it's not like that."

"—I chased after a pigeon to get this picture, you better be offended!" Nicky's voice shouted, particularly loud despite Sam having lowered the volume, and Jen's smile only grew.

"A pigeon?" she asked, and there was something about her tone that let him know that, despite still referring to him as Sam Thomas, she knew better.

"It's a long story," he tried to explain and Jen just nodded, humming as she slowly made her way back towards her office, giving him a pointed look before she disappeared behind her door.

Sam sighed and tilted his head back in his chair; she was never going to let him live this down. Pulling the phone back up to his face, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of a flustered looking Nicky who was still filming, walking and apologizing, possibly to the people who had to witness his little goose chase.

"I ran around a park for you, feel loved," Nicky panted, pausing and bending over, "Oh God, I'm gonna be sick...God, I hate running."

Sam laughed and set the phone aside, Nicky's voice echoing in his ear for the rest of the day.

º º º

Sam was never going to do anything nice for anyone else ever again.

He had swung by the loft, still without Nicky's clothes, which he had forgotten to give back, surprised by the utterly miserable voice that greeted and buzzed him in.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, stepping inside and catching sight of Nicky who was leaning against the back of the couch, clearly there to greet him, but looking ready to pass out at any second.

"Yeah-yeah, uh, I was over at, um, Baxter Building and, uh...I got, um, sprayed by this weird alien plant-thing, it's not contagious and I'll be fine, this is just similar to a really, really, really bad...I don't know, I'm not that kind of doctor." The man was clearly out of it, babbling and rambling, head tilting farther back, nearly losing balance and toppling over.

"Okay," Sam said, running forward and grabbing him, righting him before placing one arm under his knees and the other around his back, lifting him up and carrying him towards his room.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Nicky mumbled, burying his face in the crook of Sam's neck, "Mmm...you're warm. Are you-you even trying, Steve did this too, but you doing it, you're not a super...warm."

Sam rolled his eyes as Nicky continued to babble, walking towards his room and opening the door, walking towards the bed and depositing him onto the pile of blankets, raising an eyebrow at them; the man had felt incredibly warm when he carried him, though he had been mumbling about how warm he was the entire time.

"Where's Rhett?" he asked, looking around the room at the granola bar wrappers and blue prints, which he raised an eyebrow at but didn't think too much of.

"He was at this teacher retreat thing, but he's coming home tonight and Steve's been by everyday to make sure I'm still alive, so it's all good," Nicky slurred, and he looked so sick and so pathetic that Sam couldn't help but frown.

"I'm gonna get you some water," he said, and Nicky just whined in response, shifting in his blankets, tossing and turning in jerky, uncalculated movements.

Making his way to the kitchen, he rummaged around for a glass before getting Nicky some water from the fridge, unsure of which water the man usually used, but figured that it didn't really matter when he was this out of it.

Opening the fridge, he looked around, surprised to see it stocked with a good amount of food, and his eyes jumped around, mind whirring as he remembered all the food his mother used to make whenever he and his siblings were sick, recipes that his grandmother had taught her how to make; he had learned from her as well, and if his memory served him right, he knew what to do.

Taking the glass of water, he headed back to Nicky's room, only to find the man asleep and snoring on his bed, sprawled out in an uncomfortable position, but looking like he was finally getting some actual rest.

Setting the glass by the bed, he made his way back out, closing the door behind him, and headed back towards the kitchen. It had been a while since he cooked these dishes, never really having anyone to share them with—he had already cooked for the team enough when they were at the compound—so he might as well try to get back into the swing of things.

Nicky had taken care of him, he might as well try to return the favor.

º º º

Nicky woke to the smell of cooking and the sound of voices muffled through his door. Too weak and disoriented to get up, he just flopped onto his stomach and turned his head to the side, sighing heavily as he struggled to breathe.

This was what he got for poking his nose in Reed's business. The man had asked him to help design containment units for new samples that they were going to be taking in for research, but his curiosity got the better of him and we went to go see some of the samples for himself.

Now he was sick and was ready to just give up on everything he had to do.

There was a knock on his door and he lifted his head, making a sound from the back of his throat, mind clouded and body both cold and overheated.

"I made dinner, come on," a voice said, strong arms following and lifting him up and out of the room, though he was floating in and out of consciousness, not quite aware of exactly what was happening.

Suddenly, he was sitting at the dining table and there was a bowl in front of him of something that smelled good and warm and Rhett was there and holding out a spoon, softly whispering for him to eat, and he couldn't do anything but open his mouth, groaning at the taste, because the food tasted good, even if he couldn't fully taste it.

While Rhett took care of Nicky, Sam continued to cook for the rest of them, as he had only really made a small portion for Nicky, just to make sure that he still knew what he was doing. Steve sat by him on the counter and Sam tried to pretend that he was only doing that because he wanted to shock him; a counter couldn't hold that much weight.

He tried to ignore the blond for the most part, focused on cooking, but there was no denying that he could feel the smug smile trained at him the entire time, and it took all of his willpower not to fidget.

But he couldn't take it forever and, finally, he turned to look at Steve. "Wanna take a picture, they last longer."

Steve smiled and shook his head, and it was that same smile he always gave when he was being a little punk, the one he had used when they first met in D.C. It was a smile that Sam never liked seeing, if only because that usually meant trouble for him.

"Got something you wanna tell me?" Steve asked, and Sam just rolled his eyes and pushed his face away while the blond laughed.

"I'm being nice," he countered, walking towards the fridge, "Look at him, it's pathetic."

Steve turned to look over at Nicky whose hands shook as he tried to lift the spoon, only for Rhett to take it and the younger man to just sigh and open his mouth, head tilting back, too tired to keep completely upright.

He turned back to grin at Sam. "Look at you, caring for the little guy. It's cute, Sam, it's cute."

Sam scoffed. "Only old people repeat themselves twice in the same sentence, look out, man."

Steve grinned. "Why're you getting so defensive, Sam, got something to say?"

"Yeah, you're a little shit," he said, straightening when Steve jumped off the counter and stood right in front of him, forcing him to look up.

"It's been a while since I've been little, Sam," he said, and there was a loud cough, cutting off whatever response Sam had to come up with to beat that.

"There are two rooms over there. Use them," Rhett called, trying to wrangle Nicky back into his seat, the man watching with bemused interest, laughing as he mumbled about how Rhett probably wasn't as jealous as he wanted to be.

"You good, Nick?" Sam called out, walking towards the counter, and Nicky nodded, giving him a lazy thumbs up.

"Yeah, what is this stuff?" he replied, at least staying on topic and was now somewhat lucid.

"My mom used to make it, shrimp and grits," he said, walking around towards the man who seemed to perk up at the mention of his mother.

"I remember her," he slurred, laughing softly, "She really liked my singing when we were in show choir, she brought me flowers..."

His smile started to falter and Sam watched as the brightness in his eyes turned pained, smile shifting downwards, lowering lip quivering as he began to cry, so soft and closed that it took the older man a moment to even realize that he even was crying.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked, crouching down next to Rhett who was whispering softly, running his hand through Nicky's hair, and holding his arm.

"My mom never came to any of our shows," he breathed, and Rhett shushed him softly, pulling him up.

"It's gonna be okay, okay?" the blond whispered, holding Nicky close, looking towards Sam who just stared, unsure of what to do, but wanting to do something.

Nicky's body quivered softly as he cried, and he looked so small, so young, and it was such a strange sight to see, a man who was always smiling so utterly broken at just a simple thought. Sam tried to convince himself that it was because Nicky was sick, but something told him that he felt like this on the daily.

Nicky sniffed, pulling away from Rhett and swiping at his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay, don't apologize," Rhett whispered, framing Nicky's face with his hands, but the younger man shook his head and pulled away, glancing towards Sam.

"Sorry," he sniffed, motioning towards the food, "'was good, I really liked it."

Sam reached out and pulled him into a hug, Nicky burying his face in his shirt. "It's okay, man, I'm glad you liked it. When you're better, I'll make you something else of hers, would you like that?"

Nicky nodded earnestly, taking a shuddering breath. "Mhm."

"Okay. You wanna go to Rhett now?" he asked, loosening his grip and Nicky shifted, Rhett reaching out and wrapping an arm around him, walking him towards the couch, making sure he didn't lie down just yet, despite Nicky's insistence.

Steve walked over to Sam, all signs of joking gone. "That was really good of you, Sam. Really good."

"He's just not feeling well right now," he whispered, eyes trained on Nicky who was shivering under his blanket, eyes still wet with tears, "He'll feel better soon."

º º º

"Who cooked this?" Jen asked, taking a bite of some of the Jambalaya he had brought in to the office at the end of the week, the two seated at his desk during their lunch break.

Sam thought back to the night before. It took Nicky a few more days, but he woke up one morning back to normal and in perfect health, grinning and jumping around like he had never been sick, eagerly pestering Sam to come back and teach him how to cook.

Not wanting to disappoint, and glad to hear that he was feeling better, Sam dropped by and the two spent nearly the entire afternoon cooking, though that was due to them goofing off most of the day, not necessarily the cooking, and after cooking way too much, Nicky had dumped a half the dish to Sam for leftovers.

"Me and that guy you were asking about," he replied, because he had a lapse of memory and thought that Jennifer Walters was a benevolent being rather than a cruel and malicious spirit out to ruin his life.

"Ooh, you cooked dinner together, how romantic," she sang, her tone laced with nothing but schoolyard teasing, "Guess the food's not the only thing that got spicy last night."

He groaned, running a hand over his face. "God, that was awful, get off my desk, you're done here."

"No, the food's good!" she cried, pulling her share away from his reaching hands, "Sharing is caring, Sam, and you can't take away something that now belongs to me, that's stealing."

Sam's attention was diverted by his phone buzzing, and he raised an eyebrow when he saw the caller ID: Steve. Knowing fully well that Jen was going to stay unless he asked her to leave—and asking her to leave would only make her suspicious, and the last thing he wanted was his lawyer boss being suspicious—he answered the phone.

"Hey, man, I'm at work with my boss, so I'm gonna put you on speaker," he said, warning Steve to be careful with his words, pulling his hand away and pressing the button, dropping it onto the desk.

"Okay," the man replied, sounding non-perturbed, "I just wanted to check in because I'm having lunch with Rhett right now and he told me that you and Nicky made some Jambalaya last night, and I just wanted to make sure that I heard him right."

Sam groaned loudly while Jen cackled, nearly falling off the desk as Steve continued to shout into the phone. "You got something you wanna share with the class, Sam? We're all friends here."

"Good riddance, you little shit," Sam hissed, ending the call and tossing his phone out of Jen's reach, the woman too busy trying to maintain some level of composure, laughing wildly as Sam shouted at her to shut up and get off his desk.

"So his name's Nicky?" she asked, finally finding her voice, and he must have looked utterly terrified, because she added, with a scoff, "It's not like I'm sending my P.I. to go after him, Sam, I just wanted to know his name. As your friend, I want to know that you have other people in your life besides me. And it seems like you do, and I want to meet this guy, I think we'd be friends."

He laughed, shaking his head. "I'd actually rather die."

She pouted. "But, Sam, I need something interesting that doesn't have to do with familial scandal or crime."

"Go on Netflix, I hear there's a lot to choose from," he drawled, shaking his head and turning back to his closed computer.

She sighed long-sufferingly but made her way back to her office, giving him a light punch on the shoulder before she went. "I'll figure you out eventually."

He tried not to smile as he watched his computer boot up, glancing towards his phone. "I really hope you don't."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Again, a whole lotta nothing, but this is more episodic than anything, more build up and bonding before we get to a pretty big plot point again. I think next chapter is gonna have something substantial, then we're gonna fall into one more episode before we really get into the meat of the story, so yeah. That made no sense, seriously it didn't even if you think it did, but we're getting there.

Just so we all know, I'm Filipino, so if I just wrote something culturally insensitive by having Sam cook soul food (if it can be counted as soul food, again, I did my research, but I could have done it wrong) please just politely tell me and I will do my best to fix it, but I though him cooking something that his mom used to make would be good bonding.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!