In Bloom (chapter 4)
a Stucky A/B/O Undercover AU
pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes
word count: tbd
warnings: this fic contains designation-based degradation, (domestic) violence and minor smut in later chapters
a/n: this story was previously published on ao3. I deleted the account for private reasons but wanted to offer the finished story to anyone who‘s interested. I aim to upload the following chapters once or twice a week. English is not my first language. Do not repost.
Click here for In Bloom‘s masterpost and any additional chapters.
synopsis:
“How familiar are you two with his party‘s views on an Alpha‘s and Omega‘s place in society? Barnes?“ Fury asks.
“I know the basics. Took a course on gender studies in college, sir,“ Bucky says.
Steve can’t help but throw Bucky an incredulous look.
“What?“ Bucky asks when he catches him looking.
“What about you, Rogers?“ Fury asks.
“Can‘t say I have much expertise in that area.“
“You might want to read up on that. These fuckers are crazy.“
OR
Steve is good at his job as an undercover agent for SHIELD. But spending an unknown amount of time pretending to be mates with Bucky Barnes might actually be the death of him.
- - -
Ten. Nine. Eight.
The final days pass in a hurry. Steve has drinks with Sam at Lucky’s. He gets his hair cut by a SHIELD-approved barber. He has a check-up with his physician.
Seven. Six. Five.
Bucky grows quieter. There are a few times when Steve’s sure he said something that will set Bucky off, but instead he just lets out an angry huff and moves on. Fury gives them the final rundown of the mission.
Four. Three. Two.
June 18th comes like any other date that one dreads and looks forward to at the same time: Simultaneously way too slow and way too fast.
Tomorrow, they’ll get in a car and start the 12-hour journey down south. They’ll have an overnight stay somewhere in North Carolina and helm the rest of the ride on June 20th.
This night is the last night Steve will spend as himself for the foreseeable future.
He’s lounging on the couch when the apartment door opens and Bucky strolls in. He’s been out all day, getting his affairs in orders and saying goodbye to his friends.
“Hey,” Bucky says as he moves into the kitchen and fills up a glass of water.
“Hi,” Steve says, only glancing up.
His eyes shoot up again a second later. Apparently, Bucky too had an appointment with the barber. His curls are cut even shorter, somewhat tamed, and neatly styled. Gone is the mess of strands of hair sticking up in all directions. He’s also clean-shaven. It makes him look younger (and more innocent) than Steve knows him to be.
He’s never seen Bucky look this … tidy.
His eyes travel to the tanned skin of Bucky’s neck that his low-cut t-shirt exposes. Something primal, something heady uncurls in his gut and shoots possessiveness straight through his veins.
Because right there on Bucky’s scent gland, for all the world to see, is a mating bite.
Supposedly Steve’s mating bite.
Bucky’s head whips around and finds Steve’s eyes.
It takes a moment for Steve to understand what happened, but even he can now pick the distinct musty smell of a territorial Alpha out of the air.
The fucking scent blockers.
It’s been an … adjustment, to say the least, to get used to each other’s presence with the added influence of scents.
Bucky’s presence may have been alluring to him without the full onslaught of his scent, but now Steve can barely get enough of the Omega. It takes all his might not to pull Bucky close when they’re not lying in bed together. He wants to bury his face in the crook of his neck all the time now, to inhale that sweet and fiery smell like his life depends on it.
The scent blockers have not been flushed out of their systems long enough for Steve to build up a tolerance to Bucky’s smell.
They have, however, learnt fairly quickly to read each other’s scents like they would the intonation of the other’s voice or the furrow between their brows.
Bucky’s scent turns acidic when he gets upset or annoyed. It turns almost citrus-y on the rare occasion Steve makes him snort with well-hidden amusement. It turns spicy first thing in the morning.
Steve has to admit, it’s nice to read Bucky’s mood like this – without words and gestures necessary. It also feels like a decidedly more intimate way of communicating.
Steve started scent blockers when he first began presenting. He can’t even recall his mother’s inherent smell. It’s a completely new experience for him.
New are also the side effects to his prolonged exposure to an Omega’s scent. He’s more well-rested in the morning. He feels calmer and is able to concentrate for even longer periods of time. But for all the positive things, it also allows Bucky’s to figure out the exact thoughts Steve’d rather keep hidden.
He would very much like to say that it’s not his fault he reacts like this. It’s simply biology.
They’ve spent weeks in close proximity to each other now. Steve falls asleep with Bucky’s Omega scent in his nose. It’s to be expected that he feels some sort of attachment to Bucky.
And since he’s the only Alpha he can smell on the Omega, it’s natural that the mating bite affects him. Right?
He doesn’t say any of that, though.
“You’re staring,” Bucky says as he brings his glass of water over to the couch and sits down in the armchair.
“Am not,” Steve grumbles.
He tries looking down onto his phone again, but his eyes flicker back to the scarring on Bucky’s neck.
“It looks pretty real, doesn’t it?” Bucky says now, still watching Steve.
“Can I?”
Steve gestures to the mark.
Bucky nods and moves over to the couch. He sits down next to Steve and pulls the fabric of his t-shirt a bit further down.
“Apparently it’s similar to the prosthetics they use on movie sets,” Bucky explains.
Steve drags his eyes away from the bop of Bucky’s Adam apple and inspects the fake mating bite.
“It’s waterproof and everything, but it needs to be re-applied every six months. It won’t hold up to touch, but …,” Bucky continues.
“No one would dare touching you there,” Steve says.
Up close, the illusion is not as perfect, but it should hold up to any passing glance. The skin- colored scarring is shaped like two half-circles, complete with individual marks where Steve’s teeth supposedly sunk into the flesh.
“No,” Bucky agrees and swallows.
His scent is overpowering, this close to the scent gland. If he was still sporting his stubble, Steve would be able to count every single hair.
Steve drags his eyes away from the mating bite and lets them travel across Bucky’s cheek, up his nose and to his eyes. A beat or two pass by. Steve thinks he can smell a shift in the air between them, but Bucky gets up before he can be sure.
“Are you okay with pizza for dinner? Last hooray and all?” he asks, and moves to the kitchen.
“Sure,” Steve says, nose still full with cinnamon and ashes.
---
They don’t talk much for the rest of the evening. Instead, they eat their pizza in front of the TV and go to bed early.
There’s nothing much left to talk about. The mission parameters are clear. Their personas are worked out. They’ve got their itinerary for tomorrow and the day after that.
Steve thinks Bucky lies awake just as long as he does, but neither of them say a word. They simply lie next to each other and follow their own train of thoughts for hours. Steve eventually falls into a restless sleep. He doesn’t remember his dreams when he wakes up.
Like any other morning, Steve gets up first and lets Bucky lie in for a few more minutes. But this time, when he finishes brushing his teeth, he puts on the mating ring he picked out from Coulson’s collection.
It fits like a glove.
Steve spends a couple of minutes staring down onto his hand and the delicate golden band that sits prominently on his ring finger. He holds his head up and looks at himself in the mirror, attention immediately drawn to the new accessory.
As far as he can tell, it doesn’t look too foreign on him. Nothing a stranger would catalogue as unusual. It does transform himself in his own eyes, though.
He’s fantasized about his future mate for at least twenty years. Before his mom died, he thought he’d be bonded and settled down by thirty. Maybe even had a pup. Once he joined the academy, he tried separating himself from that sort of fantasy, that sort of life.
But in this moment, for just a few seconds, he allows himself to envision that it’s real.
He’s thirty-one and his mate sleeps next door. It’s a typical Saturday morning. Maybe they’ll go to the farmers market today. His life is the exact right amount of boring – no secrets, no dangerous missions. He’s just like any other Alpha with a mating ring on his finger.
Something his mom would’ve loved to see. Someone she would’ve loved to see.
Steve snaps himself out of this fantasy before it can go any further. He doesn’t need any more emotional turmoil today.
He leaves the bathroom, puts on the button down and slacks that Coulson had given him in advance and does his best not to trip over the moving boxes with their own personal belongings. Once they’ve moved out, someone from SHIELD will come and collect them.
They’ll get them back from storage when the mission is over, whenever that is.
Steve moves to the kitchen and fixes himself a cup of coffee. About twenty minutes later, Bucky emerges from the bedroom.
He’s wearing a white polo shirt and blue jeans. Again, his hair is neatly styled and he’s clean shaven. Steve feels the familiar pang of possessiveness when he spots Bucky wearing the mating ring on his left hand. He bets Bucky smells it, too.
They don’t talk about it.
Instead, they have breakfast in silence and start gathering their overnight bags for the trip ahead. Once they’re confident they’ve got everything, they make one last check-up-round of the apartment.
“Let me take that,” Steve says outside their apartment door, gesturing to the duffel bag Bucky’s carrying.
Yesterday, Bucky might’ve made a show of how he can carry his luggage himself, but today he just hands his bag over without debate.
“Thanks,” he says as Steve locks up their temporary home.
“No worries,” Steve says and rearranges the handles in his grip until he can carry Bucky’s and his own bag comfortably.
They leave the apartment building without looking back, dropping their sets of keys into the mailbox. Steve throws the duffel bags in the trunk of their sleek new black car and gets in the driver’s seat. Bucky slips in the passenger’s seat without discussion.
Where they’re headed, the Omega’s seen as too fragile to carry their own luggage. The Alpha takes control of the car.
It’s a testament to their training at the academy and the experience they’ve gathered over past missions that both of them slip this seamlessly into their personas. It’s an unspoken agreement, two experts coming to the same conclusion.
It gives Steve hope that they’re both going to make the right assumptions for their characters.
Steve starts the motor and pulls out of the parking lot. Neither of them say anything as they pass SHIELD HQ on their way out of town.
---
The first couple of hours pass in relative silence. Steve adjusts the radio to a channel they’re both at least ok with and asks Bucky to program their hotel’s address into the nav.
They make a few pit stops and load up on gas and food. They bicker over the best Disney movie. They don’t talk about the mission.
It’s almost dark outside by the time Steve pulls into the parking lot of their hotel. It’s nothing fancy – just one step up from any of the countless roadside motels they’ve driven by today.
“I have a reservation for Miller,” Steve says as he approaches the desk, dropping their luggage by his feet.
Bucky lingers behind him, feigning interest in the lobby.
“Welcome, Alpha Miller,” the receptionist says after a short glance at his ID.
Although Steve knew that SHIELD produces very authentic-looking fake paperwork, he feels a sliver of relief settle in his chest. If the receptionist doesn’t find anything wrong with his ID, it’s bound to withstand anything short of close scrutiny.
They just need to do their best to avoid actual police officers. Or air travel.
(“We’re good at what we do but clearing your fake identities for domestic or international air travel is a hassle. I’m sure you’ll survive a couple of hours in the car, right?” Fury had asked a week prior.
There was nothing really Bucky and Steve were able to do but nod their heads and try not think of how they were going to start this mission with sore backs.)
“Your room number is 401. The elevator is situated on your left-hand side,” the female Beta says now as she’s sliding two keycards towards Steve. “Breakfast starts at 7 and ends at 10.30.”
“Thanks,” Steve says.
He gives the receptionist a curt smile, picks up the keys and their luggage, and motions for Bucky to follow him. The elevator ejects them on their floor onto blue carpeting and cream-colored walls.
“Charming,” Bucky says with a snide look at the miniature chandeliers screwed into the walls next to the room numbers.
Steve ignores him in favor of finding their room. He dings his keycard against the lock and enters the room.
It’s exactly what he anticipated. The hotel room is nicely sized with a queen-sized bed and a small ensuite, with the same color scheme as out in the hallway. The scent diffusers plugged into the sockets make the faintest of background noises.
Bucky peeks through the curtains to check out the view but it doesn’t seem to be interesting enough to hold his attention for long. Steve leaves their luggage next to the small desk pushed up against the wall underneath the TV and flops down onto the bed.
“Take your shoes off first, geez,” Bucky says and joins him on the bed.
Steve ponders leaving his shoes on just to prove a point, but in the end, he relents and slips them off with barely contained effort.
“Room service?” Bucky asks and grabs the small menu from his bedside table. “I’m starving.”
“Sure,” Steve presses out, exhausted after the long drive.
He calls the reception with their orders and lies back down against the headrest. In the bathroom, he can hear Bucky freshen up. While he waits for him to finish up, Steve turns on the TV and settles on a random comedy show.
Once Bucky emerges from the bathroom, Steve wills himself off the bed and into the ensuite. He splashes some water against his face but only feels slightly better.
“The food’s here, honey,” Bucky calls a moment later from the other side of the door.
“My wallet’s on the desk,” Steve calls back, knowing that from today on, Bucky won’t carry any money of his own most of the time.
He decidedly doesn’t dwell too long on how his heart skipped a beat at the nickname.
When he comes back to the main room, Bucky’s already got the plates moved from the small food cart over to the bed.
By the look of it, Steve’s cheeseburger and fries taste marginally better than Bucky’s pasta. Still, it does the job of filling him up and leaving him in comfortable fullness.
They continue lounging in front of the TV for another hour or so before Steve starts getting ready for bed. He’s already under the covers with his teeth freshly brushed when Bucky slips in next to him, also in his pajamas.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” he says.
His voice is uncharacteristically small, like whatever he’s going to suggest next takes him a lot of courage.
“Yeah?” Steve says, putting his phone down to give Bucky all of his attention.
“We’re supposed to be mates, right? That includes a certain degree of … physical closeness.”
Oh.
Steve thinks he can guess where Bucky’s going with this.
“And I’m afraid you’re going to give us away when we touch or … kiss in front of others,” Bucky says, now more brazen.
“Why would you think that?” Steve asks, affronted.
“Because you turn red like a stop light every time you … you know,” Bucky says.
“I do not,” Steve tries.
“Yes, you do,” Bucky says, voice dripping with the telltale signs that he’s rapidly approaching the end of his patience.
“So you want to practice,” Steve says.
He’s sure Bucky can see how smug he gets when the Omega turns the faintest shade of red himself. The air around them starts to taste sweet.
“I just don’t want you to blow our cover at the first chance,” Bucky insists.
“Is that how it is?” Steve almost growls now.
He leaves his spot against the headrest and turns properly towards Bucky now. Whether by instinct or by chance, Bucky slips a few inches lower on the mattress. Looks up at Steve now.
“Yes,” he says, still opting for defiant when his position starts to betray him.
Steve decidedly doesn’t think back to that night all this time ago. When they kissed hungrily and greedily. If Bucky can ban this memory from their collective history, so can Steve.
Without much warning, he moves forward and connects his lips with Bucky’s. He’s so close all of a sudden, drawn together like two magnets.
Bucky opens his lips against Steve’s and lets out a small sound – of surprise or relief, Steve can’t tell.
His world shrinks down to the soft feeling of Bucky’s mouth against his own. A feeling he missed, bone-deep. He moves into a more comfortable position, almost towering over Bucky now, covering his body with his own. His hand ghosts across Bucky’s smooth cheek and finds hold in his short hair.
Steve gives the strands a tentative tug and Bucky whimpers underneath him. His scent is hypnotizing this close, with how agitated Bucky gets from Steve’s touch.
Steve can tell the moment Bucky lets go, stops holding back in that twisted way to prove his own claims.
He opens his mouth properly now, letting Steve’s tongue inside. Steve feels warmth spreading in his gut, delicious pulls shooting downwards. He can’t help but let out a groan himself when Bucky bites down onto his bottom lip with exactly the right amount of force and gentleness.
Steve gives Bucky’s lips one final kiss before he moves to his neck. His scent gland is right there, but Steve steers clear of that intimate spot. Instead, he moves his mouth against the delicate skin underneath Bucky’s jawline. Scratches his teeth ever so slightly against the vein pumping blood through Bucky’s body.
Underneath him, Bucky squirms in his grip, opening his mouth with a silent plea.
But Steve didn’t forget the way Bucky accused him of displaying his emotions too openly just minutes earlier.
With faint regret, he pulls back and stares down on Bucky. At the loss of the touch, Bucky opens his eyes. Big, searching, confused. His cheeks are almost as pink as his lips.
“Who’s turning red now, huh?” Steve teases and rolls off him.
---
Bucky struggles out of the bed and locks himself into the bathroom, but not before hissing a “Fuck you,” in Steve’s general direction.
Steve just smirks back at him. He’s not as smug anymore once Bucky’s out of sight, though.
Turning off the bedside lights, he does his best to think of anything but Bucky’s skin against his, the soft whimpers coming from his mouth.
Fury, for example. His boss is very safe territory in terms of dissipating any lingering arousing thoughts. Steve’s still willing his mind to obey when he hears the toilet flush and Bucky climbs back into bed.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t acknowledge Steve in the slightest. He just turns his back towards him and settles down on his pillow with a slight huff.
---
They wake up tangled together, nonetheless.
Steve’s got his nose pressed up against Bucky’s hairline, just like all those days before. With his scent in his nose, Steve feels calm, settled. It tethers him to the moment, loans a sense of normality to whatever they’re doing here in this rented room somewhere far away from home.
They stick to their familiar routine. Steve gets ready first and waits on the bed while Bucky’s in the bathroom. He emerges with his hair freshly washed and in a soft-looking sweater.
“Ready for breakfast, sweetheart?” Steve asks in his sweetest voice.
Bucky just shoots him a look.
But once they’ve left their hotel room to walk down to the breakfast room, Bucky grabs Steve’s hand and intertwines their fingers. Steve doesn’t comment on it, but he struggles to ignore the flutter in his chest.
The breakfast room is mostly empty, and they settle on a table near the window front. Steve gets himself some muesli and yoghurt while Bucky goes for toast and eggs.
“I’m so empty,” he says as he takes his first bite, holding eye contact with Steve. “My goal is to feel really stuffed by the end of this.”
“I know what you’re doing,” Steve says.
“Oh, you do?” Bucky smirks.
Underneath the table, a foot slides up the length of Steve’s leg now, rubbing up and down.
“You know, such talk is improper for Omegas,” Steve tries to remind Bucky.
“Guess you’ll have to punish me then,” Bucky says. “Bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Putting me over you-“
“AIright, James,” Steve says with the sternest voice he can muster.
He hates that he can feel traitorous warmth spreading over his face.
“Got ya,” Bucky grins and takes a long sip from his tea.
---
“You got everything?”
“Yeah.”
Steve grabs his bags and closes the hotel room door behind him. They stroll down the hallway together, not saying anything. The silence gets a bit uncomfortable as they’re waiting for a free elevator.
For him at least. Bucky still looks smug as anything.
“Let me take your bags,” Steve says and motions for Bucky to hand his stuff over. “Just one more four-hour drive,” he adds because he doesn’t know what else to say.
He thinks he’s understandably eager to brush over their conversation at breakfast as quickly as possible.
“I hope traffic is not too bad,” Bucky says indulgently.
The checkout process goes off without a hitch, a new receptionist wishing them a safe journey.
Traffic, as it turns out, is indeed not too bad. The radio plays a new song, something with a beat that never really drops. Bucky moves to change the station but, knowing better, leans back in his seat.
Where they’re headed, choosing the music might be the Alpha’s job.
Despite his annoyance with Bucky, Steve feels a bit sorry for him.
From his perspective, Bucky’s got the more difficult assignment. He needs to get used to not making his own decisions anymore, whereas Steve simply needs to get comfortable with making more.
He reaches forward and switches the radio station. Bucky doesn’t say anything, but Steve can see the corner of his mouth twitching.
“How about a quiz?” Bucky asks half an hour into the journey. “Our common history, family trees, you know, the usual stuff.”
Fury himself had quizzed them until they could recite every detail of their new lives in their sleep, but Steve’s thankful for anything that ends the silence in the car.
“Alright. My birthday?”
“8th of August 1991. Mine?” Bucky says without hesitation.
“14th of April 1994. Your occupation?”
“I was a kindergarten teacher, but I’m going to be a stay-at-home-Omega from now on. I hope to expect our first litter by the end of the year, which’ll keep me busy on top. How did we meet?”
“I saw you in the supermarket and just had to approach you. My job?” Steve asks.
“You just quit your job as a marketing exec for a middle-sized furniture company. My favorite cake flavor?”
“Chocolate.”
Steve knows that this is not even a lie. He’s seen the way Bucky lights up every time the SHIELD cafeteria serves chocolate cake for dessert.
“Which kind of music do I despise?” Steve asks.
“Hip Hop. But you also hold a certain disdain for Metal. My favorite sex position?”
Steve glares at Bucky who just barks out a laugh. Against his will, Steve feels himself turning red again.
“Don’t worry, I know it’s not seemly for Omega’s to talk about sex in front of Alphas.” Bucky rolls his eyes, a curt reminder of their conversation at breakfast. “But you better know it, though. Might come up at any of these cracker barrels you’re going to attend.”
“For the record, I do know it,” Steve insists.
“Alright. I know yours too, for the record.”
Bucky looks like he’s trying to hide a grin.
Steve chooses to ignore his comment.
“How do I like my coffee?” he asks.
“Black, no sugar.”
That is … also not a lie.
(For a split second, Steve thinks back to that night. How he’d wondered how Bucky liked his coffee in the morning.
In the end, it hadn’t been important. There was no one there to drink it with.)
“What about you?” Steve asks although he knows he won’t get an answer.
“Omegas shouldn’t consume any mind-altering substances. It’d just stimulate their anxious and promiscuous tendencies,” Bucky rattles off, word by word from that dreaded pamphlet. “Tea’s ok, though. My favorite kind is Earl Grey.”
“Favorite scent?”
“Leather and sandalwood,” Bucky says. “No more private questions, honey. What is my earliest memory?”
They quiz each other for the better part of the next two hours. After that, they go through the perimeters and purposes of the mission again. It’s more to calm their nerves, like reading one’s notes one last time before the exam, than anything else.
Before they know it, the nav tells them their destination is rapidly approaching. Steve takes an exit off the freeway and soon they’re rolling through a non-descript small town a bit bigger than their hometowns up north. The streets look clean, only a few shops appear to be out of business. Despite it being a Monday, they don’t see many people out and about.
A few minutes later, they turn left into their street. It’s a picture-perfect neighborhood with middle-sized houses and colorful lawns.
Steve, having grown up surrounded by rat-infested dumpsters and the constant sounds of sirens in Brooklyn, feels like he’s been teleported straight back to the 50s.
Bucky is quiet next to him now, taking in their new surroundings with a carefully constructed mask of curiosity on his face.
The nav directs them to a comparatively small two-story house right in a cul-de-sac. It’s got pale yellow paneling and a tidy front yard. A big moving truck is parked on the street in front of it.
Steve distantly recognizes some of the “movers” – they’re SHIELD agents he’s seen having lunch at the cafeteria or hurrying across the hallways. They leave and enter the house like a colony of hard-working ants.
Steve parks their car in front of their garage and loosens his seat belt.
“Ready?” he asks Bucky.
Bucky stops staring at their new home and gives Steve a long look.
“Ready.”
---
Fury, or whoever picked this house, has taste, Steve has to admit.
The house looks like it could be an advertisement for quaint, suburban living. It’s got a big kitchen with an island for Bucky to prepare meals at and a decent sized dining and living area. Upstairs, two bedrooms overlook a garden with several flower beds and a patio, fully equipped with a big barbecue grill.
(Steve will have to tend to a garden, he realizes now. Maybe he should’ve spent less time at the gym and more time learning how to operate a lawn mower.)
He and Bucky tour the house for a while, acting like they’re already vaguely familiar with the layout.
Unlike their temporary apartment back home, this house does have a guest bedroom. Steve doesn’t spend much time inside it on their tour – they both know that neither of them will sleep in there.
Once the movers have dropped all the boxes off and unpacked the furniture, they leave with a generous tip from Steve and a nod in Bucky’s direction.
Soon, they’re alone in their new home.
“I’ll do the bathroom and the kitchen, you the rest?” Bucky asks, stemming his hands on his hips.
He nods towards the few boxes with their supposed belongings.
“Sure,” Steve agrees and stacks two boxes on top of each other to carry upstairs.
They spend the rest of the day unpacking. Steve takes the opportunity to look through his new wardrobe for the first time. Coulson kept his promise – there are more conservative as well as more relaxed clothes hidden in several boxes.
He leaves the boxes labeled Clothes – James untouched and continues with unpacking his office stuff.
Between laptop chargers and a brand new printer, he finds framed photos of Bucky and himself. The two of them on a beach, in front of the Eiffel tower and what must be their mating ceremony. Bucky looks stunning in his black suit.
The SHIELD agents who photoshopped these together with original photo material from them did one hell of a job. Steve quickly buries the photos beneath a stack of printer paper to put up later before he stares at them for too long.
When he retreats back downstairs, Bucky’s just about finished with stocking the kitchen.
“What do you want for dinner?” Bucky asks as he pushes a drawer shut. “We’ve got the ingredients for pasta or pasta.”
“Pasta, then,” Steve says and slides on one of the barstools next to the kitchen island.
“Alright,” Bucky says and starts preparing their meal.
Dinner happens mostly in silence. They’re both exhausted from the day and overwhelmed with all the new impressions. They go to bed early.
Tonight, they’ll try to renew their batteries. Tomorrow, they’ll start their mission in earnest.
---
Steve presses the doorbell and retreats a few steps back to Bucky’s side. A couple moments later, a man in his mid-thirties opens the door. He’s got a balding head and dark, furrowed brows.
“Hi,” Steve says. “I’m Steve Miller, this is my mate, James.”
Bucky gives a smile and a short wave.
“We just moved in next door and wanted to say hello,” Steve continues.
They’ve already met the neighbor on the other side of their new home – a Beta woman in her sixties. She’d gushed over the brownies Bucky had baked as a welcome present but offered nothing of interest otherwise.
Steve hopes that they’ve got more luck with this neighbor.
He extends his hand and puts on a friendly smile. The guy, Alpha, a few years older than him, Steve estimates, accepts the handshake.
“Oh, yeah, you moved in yesterday, didn’t you?” the man asks. “We’ve been wondering for a while who bought the house.”
Nosy.
“I’m Matt,” the guy says.
“Nice to meet you, Matt. Yeah, we’re originally from New York, and I couldn’t really make time to look at the house in advance. But I guess we were right to trust our realtor,” Steve says, peppering in a little chuckle.
“These are for you,” Bucky says, handing over another plate of brownies. “I hope we weren’t too much of a nuisance yesterday with all the movers and trucks parking in the street.”
The neighbor – Matt – takes the plate and lifts one brow.
“Thanks, these look really good. You made them yourself?”
“James is a godsend in the kitchen,” Steve says as Bucky nods.
“Then you can teach my Omega a thing or two,” Matt laughs, although there is something else hidden deep in his voice. Something dark and deep like a well.
“I’m sure he would love that,” Steve says, touching the small of Bucky’s back. “We haven’t really met many people yet.”
“There’s a street fair going on next weekend,” Matt says, leaning against his doorframe. “You should stop by, meet the other people from the neighborhood.”
“That would be great,” Steve says. “I guess, we’ll see you there, then. Don’t let us keep you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Thanks again,” Matt says.
He lifts the plate one last time and closes the door behind himself.
They make their way back home in silence, but the minute the door falls shut behind them, Bucky turns to Steve.
“I need to meet that Omega.”
---
They spend the next week getting used to their new surroundings. They check out their local supermarket and Steve starts looking for jobs.
Bucky struggles to make acquaintances, though.
The people are more open to talk to Steve, but they seem wary of the newcomers. Every smile is delivered with careful consideration, every handshake given with hidden cautiousness.
Steve hopes that Matt will prove to be a useful contact to get a better look into this eerie community. They’ve only managed to sneak passing glances at a female Omega leaving and returning to the house next door, almost always with Matt in tow. Up until now, the Omega next door remains an unknown factor.
Before they know it, they’ve been in their new home for a full week.
Bucky tried getting in contact with the people organizing the street fair but was told his baking skills weren’t needed.
(“Talk about southern hospitality,” he’d muttered when he’d ended the call.)
Without anything to contribute, they’re attending the street fair empty handed.
Matt was right – it does seem like a good opportunity to get to know their new neighbors.
Several tables decked out with food and cakes are lined up a few streets over. Somewhere a band plays songs Steve recognizes from the conservative radio channel that’s popular in the area. A guy dressed up as a clown sells popcorn to kids.
Steve feels strangely out of place. It’s like he lives inside a commercial for the perfect suburban community. Like the blood he has on his hands from past missions could taint this scene.
He grips Bucky’s hand tighter, mostly to re-focus himself on the task at hand.
They make their way through the fair, careful to nod at every person they’ve encountered in the past days. At the end of the street, right next to a tin can toss game, Bucky spots Matt with a group of strangers.
He nudges Steve in the right direction and lets himself be guided towards them.
None of these people seem familiar, apart from the female Omega standing next to Matt.
Steve guesses she’s a couple of years younger than Bucky. Her blond hair is pulled back into a braided knot and she wears a red summer dress. None of that can distract from the miserable expression she wears on her face, though.
Steve recognizes her from the few times he saw her leaving the house next door. By the look of it, Matt’s not the only one that thinks their union has room for improvement.
“Matt,” Steve smiles.
They approach the small group gathered around their neighbor.
“Steve, hey, you made it,” Matt says and introduces Steve and Bucky to the rest of the people.
They’re locals as well, living in the adjacent streets of their neighborhood. Steve shakes the hands of Alphas and their Omegas but pays special attention to the woman Matt introduces as Yelena.
The group makes idle small talk, asking Steve how he likes the neighborhood so far, and what he figures he’ll do professionally from now on. The Omegas in the group stay quiet throughout, not interrupting the Alphas or voicing their own opinions at least once.
It’s unnerving.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Steve can see Bucky trying to make eye contact with Yelena.
She doesn’t seem very interested in his efforts, however. Instead, she keeps her eyes on something far away, brows continuedly furrowed.
The atmosphere around them shifts ever so slightly a few minutes later. The voices around them grow quieter as the laughter of the children dies down instantaneously.
Steve turns around and sees parents pulling their pups back from the middle of the streets to make room for a small group of people moving towards them.
Steve feels like his gut is drenched in ice water when he notices the reason for the commotion.
Right there in the middle of the street, shaking hands and doling out smiles, is Alexander Pierce.
He’s less tall than the videos and photos made him appear, but his aura stretches all the up to Steve without problem.
People of all designations seem to migrate towards him, wanting to bath in his attention and sheer vicinity.
A sour looking muscled man follows Pierce wherever he goes. Trailing behind his Alpha to his left is Benjamin Pierce. He looks like a lost puppy.
Steve can see Bucky’s posture stiffening ever so slightly – he’s noticed Pierce as well. Matt keeps talking, but he seems just as distracted by the politician as the rest of the onlookers.
Pierce exchanges some more pleasantries, before his eyes travel over the crowd, scanning the scene.
With hawkish precision, they settle on Steve.
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