Story Summary: Bucky is on a Mission. Find out about his past and try to remember the Man in Blue. His “mission” takes him to Boston where he meets the fun and flirty, Colin Shea. With Colin’s help, he might just find all the answers he’s been searching for…but he also might find love. With outside pressures, Bucky has to decide between remaining in the dark and staying with Colin or going after the man who haunts his nightmares.
Crossover: What’s Your Number? meets Captain America: Winter Soldier/The Avengers/Captain America: Civil War (more the movies and less the books or graphic novels)
Rating: R if this was a movie. MA if it was a TV show. Mature on Archive of Our Own. Not rated on Tumblr. There is some LGBTQ/slash sexual situations, though nothing erotic. It’s a simple Rated-R romcom. No porn. (Think along the lines of Wings meets Love, Darrows, kiTT.) As Cap would say: Language! Because yes, there is some language and double entendres. Not so much violence as of now.
Chapter word count: 1,687
Characters: James “Bucky” Barnes, Colin Shea, OFC Dane, Natasha Romanov. (OFC – Original Fictional Character)
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their original creators. There is no copyright infringement intended. This is all done in fun and love for my favorite movies. Thank you for stopping by and reading.
Notes: I think I am having way too much fun writing out Colin, but then I’ve always wanted to write him. He’s a proud mimbo (male bimbo) and such a flirt…and just so funny. In reality, I would never write him as my own, because he wouldn’t be my own, which is why this fanfiction thing is perfect! I’m living my dream. Plus, I’m getting to know Winter Soldier better, prefect timing for Civil War. Depending on how fast I can get this typed, I’m aiming at uploading a chapter a week, more if it keeps going this fast.
The sidewalks in Boston have a ring of familiarity as they pass under my feet. Wet concrete under my shoes…This has happened a million times before, but the image isn’t complete. It’s missing something…
No, someone. Tucked up under my arm. A smaller guy. Something about Paramus? Though when I checked there, it lead to nothing about him, nothing pertaining to James Barnes.
“Bucky,” my boss, Dane, says as he struggles with the key in the lock. The key twists and he smiles. He opens the door and holds it, allowing me to pass. “Good morning. Are you excited for your first day?”
His words are a hyper meld. “Sure.”
Dane nods towards the counter. “Let’s make some coffee.”
“And you tamp down the grounds like so…” He presses a flat metal circle into the coffee grinds. “…and attach this to the machine.”
Dane has been explaining this monolithic coffee machine to me for about an hour. The giant puzzle box only creates a shot or two of black coffee at a time. All pomp and circumstance. Just like something Stark would have designed for no real purpose. It’s tedium for something that anyone walking into a diner would be served without question.
He removes the cup and knocks the used grounds free into a bin. The scoop thing is offered to me. One of his eyebrows lifts and he asks, “Care to take your first try?”
I do everything Dane did. Step by step, checking for an affirmational nod with each step. The cup taps into the dispenser for fresh grounds. Tamped and packed tight, I insert it into the large machine with a twist. Two shot glasses are set under the pour spots. Push the button.
Then I have my hand at steaming the milk in the stainless carafe with the wand coming off the side of the machine. Milk sprays out of the pitcher. I slip it further into the liquid and the milk begins to froth. It builds until it’s as high as the rim. I let that sit beside the filling shot glasses and retrieve two paper cups. One gets a pump of vanilla, the other two pumps of hazelnut. They’re placed on the counter and I pick up the poured shots. One tips easily, pouring in the tea colored liquid. The other…well…Black, sooty sludge slides along the glass before plopping into the cup with a wet splat. Then I pour in the steamed milk to both cups, scooping foam and adding it to the top.
“Done,” I say and present the cups with a wave. Just like Dane’s. Sort of…not at all.
My boss stares at my first attempts of making coffee, blinking slowly and giving a subtle nod. He leans over and sniffs each cup. “Burnt milk, uneven pours.” He straightens and adds, “Well, you can be on register today. How’s that?”
A quick glance passes over the flat black screen, unsure. I took this job for the fact it’s morning work—and I’d be awake not sleeping anyway—leaving me afternoons to search for information anonymously. Anonymous is the key word here. I’m supposed to be hidden and out of sight, thanks to the Stark 2000 coffee maker. Not front and center, which this new position will have me doing. I hope this hiding in plain sight thing works.
“You’ll be fine, Bucky. Just touch the options on the screen as they order. Write their names incorrectly on the cups. Dish out a pastry or two. Most of the customers pay with a card so you won’t have to make change…if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I rub the back of my neck and huff. “Why get their names wrong?”
Dane pins a name badge to a green apron and hands it to me. “Because in coffee culture, it’s expected, and we don’t want to disappoint.”
I should have checked to see if the Globe was hiring a paper boy. Same hours, less difficult. Anonymity a plus.
Once I got used to pushing my finger onto a glassy screen during morning rush, I started offering a small smile with purchase. The misnomers I’ve come up with seem to be a hit with the customers, according to Dane. As he calls each one, he congratulates me on my brilliance.
“I’ll have a half-caf, no fat, tall latte,” the red-head in front of me says, tapping on the counter with her pristine manicured fingernails.
I push the buttons before picking up the smallest of the paper cups. “Name?”
“Natasha,” she says in a sultry voice. Her lips pucker into a small kiss before she whooshes it my way. Her green eyes meet mine, blinking as slow as her tongue drags along her lower lip.
I freeze mid N on her cup as it hits me. The street fight in Washington DC. She wore a tight, black leather outfit that hugged every curve as she and the man in blue fought me. I shot at her and barely missed. She’s staring at me. Recognizes me, though I wore a mask then. She knows my eyes.
But before either of us can utter a peep or make a move, the man behind her asks, “How about you buy me a coffee and I’ll give you an afternoon of pleasure?”
Her index finger flies up as though she’s about to declare an idea. “Hold on,” she says in a raspy voice. She glances over her shoulder and utters, “Wannabe rocker isn’t my type. Move along.”
Her finger drops and she offers me a smile, the stare down all but forgotten. “How much?”
I scribble the name on the cup and hand it to Dane. Then I plant my eyes on the screen and let my loose bangs hang in my face and read the total from the screen. She swipes her card through the slot on her side of the machine.
The receipt exchanges custody from me to her just as the guy behind asks, “How about you buy me a cannoli and we can talk about why you think I’m a wanna be rocker.”
Dane calls out, “Latte for Anastasia.” His brow crinkles in confusion as he looks at me. I nod at Natasha. She rolls her eyes and walks to the other end of the counter to retrieve her drink.
The guy’s mess of light brown hair almost touches my nose as we lean to watch the Natasha swaying back and forth in her tight black skirt.
“That’s a no, right?” he asks after her. He rights himself and now his nose is almost touching mine and our eyes touch for the first time.
There is such a thing as love at first sight. I felt the pang with the Man in Blue who refused to fight me…this pulse deep in my heart that made it painful for me to hurt him. Mission or not. But as I stare into those eyes of bold ocean blues from afar, I don’t feel love. Impossible. Once in a lifetime—as short as the memories I do own are—is more than plenty to have such an experience.
I’d classify this moment as one of pure lust.
“See you latte,” I tell him and try to focus on the screen. I’m pushing the options, left and right, without his order being spoken. Honestly, I just need something to concentrate on other than the thought of those perfect lips he licks, then presses flat into a playful smile. Those lips on my body, on my—
“Are you taking an order? Because I believe you’re pushing more buttons than what’s required for the one cup of basic coffee I want.”
Huh. I’ve entered: grande, double shot, 3 pumps pumpkin spice, non-fat with whip latte. Too late to change it. And even if I knew how to do it, I wouldn’t. I want him to tell me his name and we don’t write those on the ceramic cups according to Dane when I wrote “Snott Pang” on one earlier.
“It’s on the house,” I say and pick up the largest paper cup we have. The tip of the green Sharpie touches the surface, ready. “Name?”
“Colin. One L.”
I write the name and check the appropriate boxes. I stick the cup into Dane’s hand. He reads the name. He shakes his head and utters, “Amateur.”
“You wrote colon, didn’t you?” Colin laughs. “Typical.” He leans over the counter, giving my name tag a long study. “Bucky” draws out in a deep voice that is as smooth as it is soulful. Our eyes meet again. “Is that your real name?”
Honestly, I don’t know.
“I haven’t seen you in here before. Any chance you’d want to toss in a complimentary pastry as well, Buck?”
The way he pronounces my name gets my heart racing. Every consonant is given special attention with verve as though every letter is as important to say as the next. His finger taps my tag in a flirtatious way, dragging it along every letter from Y to B.
I’d be willing to trade a crème filled pastry for a cream f—
“Seriously, Bucky,” Dane says wholly unamused. “Colin?”
Colin reaches over the stacks of cups to take his drink from Dane. The whip with sprinkles on top wobbles as he brings it to his nose. A deep mmm purrs from him as he sets it on the counter. “I can’t believe you didn’t at least go for Colon.”
I cough and stutter. “Well, I couldn’t think with you…staring at me.”
A sly twinge hits the left corner of his mouth, forming into a devious grin. His finger slides into the whip and swirls around. The white cream clings to his finger when he pulls it free. It slides across his tongue, being cleaned as those intense blue eyes are glued to mine. When his finger is fully clean, they roll in bliss and he groans in pleasure as though he just made the sweetest love on the planet. “You have the best cream, Buck.”
Is it quitting time yet? I have something to take care of. Like now!
Ending Notes: This is one of the few original chapters I wrote and kept, having deleted the whole story before. Classic Colin, really. Then yesterday, while googling for the link to Thekaskproject-art’s site so I can link him, I came across this perfect image for this chapter. NOT DONE ON PURPOSE. I DON’T REMEMBER HAVING SEEN IT BEFORE. It wasn’t on my Pinterest board for this story (which is where I keep and store a bunch of stuff, it’ll be locked until I’m done writing) or anything. So blissfully coincidental…I hope it’s okay to share…
Bucky’s hat is different, the shirt is different, but good lord, Colin is pegged!!! Happy sigh, happy sigh.