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#anyway this disagreement is how Sam and Bucky decide that Bucky should move to Delacroix so that's a canon tidbit for interested parties
firstelevens · 5 months
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for Spotify wrapped prompts: Bake-Off AU (duh!!!) + 🎵#19, maybe??
19. Dearly Departed - Shakey Graves ft. Esmé Patterson
In spite of the fact that she's the one calling him, Daisy looks absolutely baffled when Sam answers her video call.
"Why are you sitting in a truck in the dark?"
"Did I hallucinate the texts I sent you a minute ago? Didn't I just explain this to you?"
"Yeah, but I didn't think you were serious," Daisy says, frowning at her phone. "Shouldn't you be at home with Bucky? Don't you guys literally count down the seconds until you get to be in the same city again?"
"That was one time, Daisy, and it was a very specific-" Sam trails off at the look that she gives him. "We had a fight."
"You're always fighting."
"I don't mean we had a silly argument over something; I mean we had a fight."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Was it serious?"
"Yeah."
"Oh."
For a long time, Daisy is quiet, looking in the direction of what Sam can only assume is Daniel, doing something in the kitchen that carries the sound of clinking plates and cutlery across the room to where Daisy sits.
"I don't mean to be pushy," she finally says, "or to repeat myself, but Sam...why are you sitting in a truck in the dark?"
"We literally just-"
"No, I'm asking why you're sitting in a truck in the dark instead of going home to talk to Bucky."
Sam sighs. "I'm pulled up in front of the house."
"Sam."
"I've been here for a while; I just can't make myself go in. I keep thinking, what if we had all these almosts and then we spent a year scrambling for time together and this is how it ends because that wasn't enough? Daisy, what if this is it?"
"Don't let it be," says Daisy. "And don't tell me you don't have that power, because I know you do."
"But how do-"
"I don't know how, but I know it's not happening in the truck. Go inside, Sam," she says, and hangs up before he can argue.
Daisy isn't above texting Bucky to inform him that Sam is sitting in his own driveway in the dark like a creep, so it's pure concern for his own dignity that sends Sam towards the front door.
Bucky's back is to him when he comes in, but Sam doesn't think for a second that Bucky doesn't know he's there: his whole body goes still, like he's braced for catastrophe and doesn't want to set anything off by flinching at the wrong moment.
Sam gently presses the door shut and tosses his keys in the dish by the door, toeing off his shoes and making his way to the kitchen. Bucky still hasn't turned around.
Now that he's closer, Sam can see that he's pressing focaccia into a pan, the sleeve of his borrowed sweatshirt sliding down his arm and getting perilously close to dipping into the herb-flecked dough. Wordlessly, Sam reaches over and pushes up Bucky's right sleeve, folding the cuff over a couple times so it stays up and out of his way.
Bucky relaxes into Sam's touch, canting a little bit in his direction without even lifting his eyes from the pan.
On a hunch, Sam takes a risk and rests his chin on Bucky's shoulder, peering down at the two square pans of dough in front of them. "If these are apology focaccias," he says, "you have to let me go first, because there's no way I can follow freshly baked bread."
For a moment, Bucky is still stiff as a board, but when he finally lets himself lean into Sam's warmth, Sam feels something slot back into place in the center of his chest.
"It's not apology focaccia," Bucky says quietly.
"Oh," says Sam, trying to take it into stride. He'd just been so certain that--
"The bread is for dinner," Bucky continues. "But there's an apology pie in the fridge right now that's definitely gonna be a tough act to follow, so I'll let you go first anyway."
Put a number 1-100 in my inbox along with a ship/character (or an AU) and I will write you a microfic.
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