Bucky's Turn

(POV CHANGE)

"Don't even try to tell me that you didn't fucking cheat."

"I didn't!" Sam Wilson yelps in his own goddamn defense as we come strolling out of the elevator from the gym way below. Steve walks out ahead of us, glancing back every now and again with those tense blue eyes to see if he'll need to intervene.

"You're a fuckin' cheater and a liar," I grunt. I wipe my forehead with the white towel that I've got draped over the metal-fused shoulder.

"Do we really have to argue about this? It was a basketball game, Buck," Steve chides.

I scowl as we walk farther into the communal part of the compound. "Yeah, and I woulda won if this asshole didn't cheat..."

"I DIDN'T CHEAT, FOR FUCK SAKE!" Sam wails.

Steve, who's been walking ahead of us at a steady pace this whole time, suddenly stops dead in the doorway. Sam nearly collides with the brick wall that is Steve's firm muscled back before I grab the loser by the slack of his collar. Steve, meanwhile, stares wide eyed and confused at something in the kitchen. Sam stands taller to get a peek before I shove him out of my way, promptly ignoring the cursing he shoots under his breath at me in response.

I'd heard the music from down the hall but hadn't really thought much of it. But now with Steve's clearly confused expression, I'm noticing the drastic change in taste to what's usually being played. Stark's a hard rock kinda guy—death metal all the way. Now there's a preppy, girly tune pumping into the kitchen and dining room.

I lean around Steve to see the same sight he peers at now, and I'm left just as confused as he seems to be. Because standing in the kitchen, the one that no one ever uses, is a girl. Not just any girl—this girl is one that I'm sure as shit that I've never seen in my life. Now, I don't have the best memory, that's for damn sure. But I would've surely remembered a girl like this...

The girl in question sways from one leg to the next above a steaming stovetop. Her face is soft and set with a sweet lipped smile. There's a light brushing of glitter across her high cheekbones that catches the light when she turns her head from one side to the next. As she does this, pretty brownish curls that've fallen out of the messy updo tickle the nape of her pale neck. Her eyes are bright and wide—the same color as summertime river water: a bit of blue and dark green combined. They flutter around the mess she's made with bowls, pots, and pans. Her thick eyebrows knot together in brief disgust at the clutter before she's distracted by the dinging of a timer. Hurrying back to the stove, she's humming to the song Friday's been playing out loud.

The girl is clearly no spy. She's completely oblivious to her audience as she rocks her hips from side to side to the tune of the Taylor Swift song. She wears a knitted dress with a turtle neck collar and no shoes on her small, tip-toe walking feet. I feel my chest grow tight when the girl takes a quick taste of something on her spoon and then breaks into a proud grin. I'm nearly tempted to smile, too.

"Who the hell is that?" Sam questions.

As if on cue, the stranger in the sweater dress lifts her gaze. She notices us for the first time—appearing completely unfazed to find herself in unknown company. Outside of the quick blinking of her long lashed eyes the only thing to change about her expression is the small smile grows wider.

"Hello," she speaks out to us. Then she goes back to her task of whisking something that smells strongly of herbs.

Steve, who glances to me questioningly, steps into the room further. He makes his way to the kitchen. He plants himself on the opposite side of the counter as the girl. I can see that he's blushing by the way the back of his bare neck has grown rosy. He's still shirtless, you see, and his modesty is sickening. He even attempts to cover his bareness by crossing both arms firmly over his pecks. Sam sniggers from beside me.

"Hi, have we met?" Steve asks, although he clearly knows that they haven't.

The girl shakes her head. She must have a tickle on her nose, because she wrinkles it a bit before going back to grinning in that radiant way. "Nope. I'm new," she laughs lightly. "Just moved in yesterday, actually." She wipes her hand on a towel that's strung up on her shoulder like the one I carry. Then she sticks an arm out for Steve to shake. "Sadie Schatz, sir. Tony Stark's hired me as a resident personal chef."

"Personal chef!?" Sam squeals. He barrels into the room excitedly. He shoves Steve out of the way to shake the cook's hand first. "Sam Wilson, Miss. Also known as Falcon. THE Falcon, actually. And this here," he gestures to Steve mid-rant, "Is my best friend Steve. Steve Rogers—Captain America. It's okay if you haven't heard of him. You probably haven't; not many have." He succeeds with his lame humor in making the girl laugh. It's a sweet, sweet sound. I don't quite understand why I like it so much.

"Calm down, Sam. She's not here to cook for you," Steve chuckles.

"Actually," she protests lightly, "Tony told me yesterday that I'm to cook for whoever needs me to. So I'm completely at your will, Mr. Wilson."

"Oh thank god—this is going to be amazing," Sam breathes. His excitement is annoyingly optimistic.

The girl's eyes flutter from where they've been stuck on Sam to find me lingering haughtily in the doorway. Her left eyebrow shuffles up slightly in question. When I make no efforts to introduce myself she purses her lips in a tight smile and distracts herself with the cooking once more. After her stare is gone I feel utterly rotten. Peculiarly guilt riddles my chest for not having smiled back, introduced myself—literally anything. But I stayed slumped against the doorframe with a nasty scowl on my face and my tongue shriveled dry at the sight of her.

Probably for the best, I think to myself with a huff. Better that she doesn't know me...

"Sadie, this is my friend Bucky."

I nearly scoff at Steve's lame grin. He looks back to me, his face covered with sheened sweat and a shit-eating smirk.

Sadie smiles to me once more, this time not looking nearly as confident as she'd been before. Probably because I'm not the most welcoming looking creature, I think.

"Nice to meet you," she hums.

I nod, not really trusting myself to say anything more.

"Don't be offended," Sam says to the girl. "He's a shy asshole. Not very good at making friends, either."

"It's okay," Sadie excuses in a warm voice. Her eyes dart away from her dish for a heartbeat's length to me. "I'm a bit shy, too." Then those river-colored eyes leave me cold to find the pan again. I feel a bit disoriented and confused, suddenly.

Sam leans over the counter to peer into the pots. "What are you making?"

"Chowder," Sadie replies. "And lots of it, too." She chuckles a bit as she gestures to just how many pots she's got cooking with it inside. "I figured it'd be best to start preparing in bulk while I'm here."

"Us super soldiers do build up quite a large appetite," Sam agrees.

Sadie raises an eyebrow. It's when she does this that I really take notice of the ruby red spectacles she's got perched on her freckled nose. "You're a super soldier...?"

Steve's chuckling as Sam replies, "Well, technically no. But I'm a super solider. You know? Just a damn good soldier."

"Something we can all agree on," Steve notes. He makes his way to the fridge to grab a few cooled water bottles off the middle shelf. He turns and chucks one to me. I catch it with my metal hand midair, not missing the way Sadie's eyes follow my movement with quiet interest. I pause before taking a sip to drink in her reaction instead. She doesn't look fearful, I'd say. Her reaction is more of naïve curiosity. Her peachy colored lips are slightly ajar and the roundness of her eyes increased behind the flour-dusted panes of her glasses.

"Damn straight," Sam notes.

Sadie breaks her stare away from me, realizing that I've been aware of her attention this entire time. Her cheeks blush a light pink but it's hardly noticeable. "I'm sure you're positively super, Mr. Wilson," Sadie teases her way back into the conversation. She's in the process of tugging a gloved pot holder onto her left hand.

"I like this girl," Sam announces in a giddy tone.

"Alright," Steve laughs. He takes Sam by the shoulder and tries to drag him out of the pleasant smelling kitchen. "Let's let Sadie get back to working in peace, ok? I'm sure she'd appreciate it if you weren't badgering her." Steve shoots a charismatic grin back to the girl. "Let us know if you need anything at all, okay? We're here to help with whatever you need."

Sadie grins, a bit sheepishly this time. "That's nice, thank you."

Steve and Sam trail out of the kitchen the way we came. I'm the last to follow, a bit caught up in staring out after the dainty creature we've just met. If she notices me, she makes no effort to make it known that she does. For she goes straight on with her business of cooking chowder and humming to the radio. By the time I've broken out of the confusing stupor my mind's been thrusted into, Steve and Sam are already halfway down the aisle and calling after me to catch up.