A/N: Not the BEST thing I've ever written, but it's not bad! Just a fun little filler before all the Bucky requests start to come out... I think I have five right now! Thank you to everyone who requested! I'll tag you when they're posted :)

Thank you all for reading!

Winnie

Words 2.5K

"I'm telling you: I'm stronger than I look."

Steve glances over to his friend Bucky with a raised brow. There you stand, in the middle of the living room, blocking their view of the TV. You're three days into convincing Steve to become your trainer. You're getting tired of your appointed trainer—not that you want to reveal why. The real reason for wanting to change things up is to spend more time with Steve, but you tell him it's that you're not learning fast enough with the other guy.

"Like I said, Y/N, it has nothing to do with your strength."

Bucky snorts dryly. "Despite the fact that you've got the physical stamina of an eight year old." He takes a bite of bologna on rye.

You cross your arms. Looking to Steve, you ask, "Is he always this rude?"

Steve shrugs. "Only when he watches Gossip Girl."

Bucky doesn't argue: only eats more food.

Steve returns to the subject at hand by saying, "It's got nothing to do with what you can or cannot do—"

"Hate to interrupt," you interject.

Bucky shakes his head. "No, you don't. You interrupt us all the time."

You move away from the TV and take a seat beside Steve. "But I think you're missing the point."

Steve sighs. He looks absolutely drained to be talking to you. You find this slightly disheartening before willing yourself not to give up. "And what's the point, Y/N?"

"The point is that Bucky's right," you say.

Bucky pauses chewing. "I am?"

"For once, yes." You point to him for effect. "I'm the weakest member of the team. I need to be properly trained if I want to keep up and, I don't know, stay alive."

"I wouldn't teach you anything different than Greg would," Steve argues. He leans back into the couch—stretching his long, denim clad legs out ahead of him. He's wearing socks but no shoes.

It takes a moment to come up with a reasonable argument for this one. When you finally conjure up something, Steve stops you.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. My plate is just too full. I can't train you."

The tone of his voice is decisive and stern. You know better than to argue with the Captain at this point.

"Fine, fine." You stand. Suddenly you feel uncomfortable. You glance back behind you at the game show on TV, hearing Bucky crunching on potato chips, and breathe deeply. "Thanks anyway."

You grab your coat, which you'd brought down with you from upstairs, and leave the room. Bucky's neck is craned back to watch you leave—making sure you're all the way gone before he says to Steve, "Way to be a fuckin' idiot, jackass."

"What?" Steve tries to play dumb. He reaches for the remote but Bucky's got it first—whapping Steve along the side of the head with it. "God damn! What's your problem, Buck?"

Bucky tosses the remote into Steve's lap. "You're an idiot, that's my problem."

Steve's face is smothered in a scowl. "Mind explaining exactly why?"

Bucky can hardly keep himself from rolling his eyes. "It's obvious that the girl just wants to spend more time with you. And if you had any sense in that thick, fat head of yours you would've gone through with training her and used it as your chance."

Steve chews on the inside of his cheek. "She's..." he glances over his shoulder once to make sure you're nowhere near. "She's so damn adorable, Bucky."

"Goddammit, if I hear you say that one more time..." Bucky rubs his face with the flesh hand.

Steve goes on—ignoring his friend. "You know how hard it's been living here with her? Working with her? Do you even know how impossible it's been these past twelve months not telling her how I feel?"

"I do, because you talk about it every damn day." Bucky rolls his eyes as he picks away at the crust of his lunch.

Steve lays back on the couch, rather dramatically for someone of his state. "I just—I'm too old to start this again, Buck."

"That's true." Bucky knows he's not really being heard as Steve goes through his inner monologue outpouring again. He turns his attention to the TV and his protein shake.

"But when I'm with Y/N, it's like... it's like nothing bad has ever happened, ya know? She's just so... she's so happy. She makes me happy."

"That's true." Bucky slurps.

Steve sits up straighter—panic suddenly in his eyes. "But what if she doesn't feel the same? I'd be throwing our friendship away." He runs a hand through his soft blond hair.

"Yep." Bucky presses the up and down arrows on the remote. Channels flick by.

"I don't think I could survive losing her. Not as a friend, not at all. She's not like anyone else around this place. And no matter what the world throws at her she's still just the same: she's still Y/N. And god, if that's not the greatest thing she could possibly ever be." Steve can't help but get a little smile on his lips as he thinks about you.

"You look like a goober," Bucky comments.

Steve tries to wipe the grin away. "Do you really think she was asking to spend more time with me?"

"Yep. And you turned her down because you're a dick." Bucky finally settles onto a channel he likes: Cartoon Network.

"Oh my god—you're right." Steve pops up from the couch. "Thanks for the talk, Bucky. I think I know what I need to do now."

"Sure thing." Bucky glances up at his friend. "Go get 'em, tiger."

Steve leaves the living room in a jog. He runs towards the elevator, pressing the call button frantically. "FRIDAY, where's Y/N?"

"Agent Y/N is in the Small Gym," Friday replies immediately using the title of your name. While you might not have a lot in physical assets to offer to the team, your mental capacities are outrageous. Even when Tony Stark jokes you're only being kept around for your good looks and stupid sense of humor, everyone knows they'd be lost without you. You're the smartest of all of them by far. Pair the wicked ingenuity with your stellar creativity and you're the best person to come to for fast-action world-saving ideas.

Steve steadies his jog into a normal-looking walk as he nears the entrance to the gym. One of the big steel double doors is propped open with a peg. He imagines you've just walked inside a minute before, but he can catch just a hint of your perfume on his nose.

"Captain Rogers," a voice—masculine and aged and certainly not yours—echoes in the room. Steve looks the way of the sound and sees your trainer standing from his bench to stand at attention.

"At ease," Steve tries not to sound as impatient as he is. His eyes barely brush over the man in obvious search of you.

"What can I do for you, Captain?" Greg asks obediently.

"Has Y/N been through here yet?"

Greg nods then says, "Yeah, she just went into the locker room." The man, who stands a few inches shorter than Steve, settles back onto the bench from before. He sees the strange expression on Steve's face that he can't recognize and asks, "Is she in some sort of trouble or something?"

"No, no." Steve shakes his head. He looks around nervously before deciding to take a seat as well. He chooses one of the random workout machines with a seat to plant himself upon. "She's not in trouble."

"Good." Greg awkwardly nods—lips pursed. He keeps drying his hands with the workout towel in his lap.

Steve, who is now bouncing a leg repeatedly, is looking out in the direction of the locker room doors. The men's and women's are clearly marked. It's in this moment that Steve begins to rehearse what it is he's going to say when he sees you. All of it is made much more uncomfortable as he realizes Greg's going to be sitting here through the whole meeting. He has to devise a way to talk to you alone without making a scene that would embarrass you...

Greg smiles up in the direction of the locker room and Steve realizes you must've arrived. He's been staring out the window distractedly the last few minutes. It's once you're standing in front of him that all thoughts from before are suddenly forgotten. You look so pretty with your hair up in a ponytail and your cheeks flushed. You've got on your favorite workout shorts and a tight tank top. What was it he was going to say again? You smile and Steve can hardly breathe. His mouth is so damn dry.

"Hey Steve." You try to forget about being embarrassed just a few minutes earlier in the living room upstairs. "What's up?"

"I, uh," Steve clears his throat. "I came to watch you train." He stuffs his hands in his pockets. His own voice surprises him. It's sounding more like the Captain than Steve. It must be because he doesn't know what else to say. "To see if there's anything I can do to help you."

"Help you? Am I doing something wrong?" Greg ruins the moment that's going down between you and Steve's eyes. The bright blue around his pupils shrinks when he looks at you—crinkles forming around his brow as he smiles. You've been admiring this softly before damn Greg nosed his way into relevancy.

"Of course not. I'm just evaluating trainer arrangements. Standard stuff," Steve lies. He glances your way and you almost roll your eyes.

"Alright." Greg nods. He looks uneasy to have to spend the next hour being closely watched by the famous Captain America. "I, uh, sure. Let's get started then, Y/N."

Steve sticks around for about twenty minutes before realizing that watching you work out is actually quite creepy. He pretends to be satisfied with the training instructions before stepping out into the hall. He shakes his head towards the ceiling. He cannot believe the lengths of stupidity his feelings towards you have sent him to. Once, when on a mission in Paris, he blew his cover because some creep on the public train thought it'd be fun to touch your ass. The whole mission was botched because Steve turned on the Captain America-ness and catapulted across the train cab. Then there was that one time you convinced him it'd be a good idea to get a tattoo... Bucky laughed so damn hard when Steve came home from Vegas with a pad of gauze wrapped around his bicep. Honestly, as much as Steve's unimpressed with the idea he has to spend the rest of his life looking at the star-shaped tattoo, he secretly loves that it was something that you led him to do. He can't glance that way now without thinking of you.

"You okay, Steve?"

Steve startles at the sound of your voice. He looks back to the doorway. You're leaning against the frame with a jutted hip.

"Why are you out here?" he asks instead of answering your question.

You shrug lazily. "Greg got a phone call. Told me to do ten more reps while he was gone. I decided I'd rather come out here and see if I could catch you before you left." You smile lightly and push out into the hall. "Now, tell me: why were you really down here? I know you think Greg's a fine trainer for me, and there's no such thing as "trainer assessments"."

Steve seems to hold his breath. You raise a brow expectantly. "Come on, Steve. Tell me." You cross your arms. "You're gonna end up telling me sooner or later, anyway. May as well rip the bandaid off."

"I don't know how to tell you the truth without sounding like a complete idiot," Steve reveals slowly.

You almost laugh. "Just come out with it. It's not like you've never made a fool out of yourself before."

Steve can't help but to chuckle. "Okay, okay." He stretches his arm back to scratch his neck nervously. "After you left, Bucky was saying that he thought you might maybe want to spend more time with me. I sort of believed him, thinking maybe you could've felt the same way I feel about you, and without really considering what it was I was going to say to you I ran down here."

You're eyebrows are gnarled. "And what is it that you feel for me?" You prop your hands on your hips. You watch Steve and his handsome face closely.

Steve lets out a nervous bout of breathy laughter. "I don't think I can really explain that it words, either."

"Then show me."

Steve's smile falls flat as his blue eyes dart to yours. He looks in your face for any sign that he's misreading things. All he sees is the sliver of a smile on your lips and a twinkle to your gaze.

"Excuse me?" Steve chokes out.

"I think you heard me, Steve." You properly roll your eyes at him this time. "If you can't say it—show me." Your hands drop away from your hips. You try to hold up the façade of being brave, when in this moment you're afraid that what you think he's implying is only a delusion in your love-struck head. At least this way you're leaving it up to Steve for interpretation.

It's when Steve's big blue eyes flicker towards your lips that you realize you know exactly how he feels.

"You gonna do something?" Your voice is quiet and teasing. You don't know how, but you've come to a place that is chest-to-chest with Steve. Neither of you touch the other: only intense gazing ensues.

In one slow, soft movement Steve's reached out to graze your cheek with his fingertips. His thumb caresses your bottom lip and his eyes drink up the sight of your slightly open pout. Your breath is held in your chest as you feel his other hand reach around to press into the small of your back. Your own hands—warm with excitement—lightly grasp onto the end of his shirt.

"Are you going to...?"

Before you can finish your thought, Steve's pressing his lips against yours. Effectively silencing you he kisses you soft and slow beneath the fluorescent hall lights. You fight the urge to smile into the kiss but the elated, fluttery feeling in your chest is much too hard to suppress. It leads to a sweeter feeling as Steve's lips pull apart in a smile of his own. He leans away with a playful grin on his face and your body properly wrapped up in the crook of his right arm.

"Sorry to interrupt," he teases you. "But I've showed you now. What do you think...?"

In response, you break off his sentence with another kiss. He laughs lightly against your lips and picks you up by the waist, and the feeling of your arms wrapping around his neck and the smile on your lips pressed to his is all the answer he needs.