Epilogue: The Glare

Sam must not have gotten as good a sleep on that couch as Steve had thought.

Either that, or he was just a little stir-crazy from recent events—and for that, Steve couldn't really blame him—or maybe Sam was just one of those people who was always ornery in the mornings.

Either way, he was giving Steve heck over their breakfast (which was shockingly close to noon for Steve's sensibilities) while Bucky and Natasha sat at the kitchen table, one watching warily and the other sipping her tea.

"And I don't want you drinking orange juice out of the carton, either," Steve found himself insisting, almost slipping into his 'I'm Captain America and I'm in charge' voice.

Sam was having none of it as they argued in front of the stove. "A man has rights. This is America. And I got my right to waffles!"

"We're having ham and eggs," Steve retorted.

"You can have your super-soldier protein shakes all you want, but some of us want a little sugar in the morning." Sam pushed Steve's arm roughly, but it hardly budged him.

It took just a second for Steve to realize that the low, angry growling noise was coming from Bucky.

He turned around.

Bucky was glaring at Sam, who lifted his hands in surrender and backed away, muttering, "Whoa."

Steve tried to spread his hands in a sign of peace, which was hard to do with a nylon turner in one hand. "It's okay," he told Bucky. "He's not gonna hurt me."

Bucky's arresting gaze shifted to Steve, and then to Sam, his eyebrows still knit.

Sam waved at himself and then at Steve. "Do I look like I could move all this?" he asked.

Steve rolled his eyes a little and turned back to the eggs in the frying pan.

Bucky didn't growl again, so he figured that was a victory.

Sam leaned towards Steve's ear and hissed in a mock whisper, "Steve, your buddy is giving me the 'I'm about to gut you' glare."

"He's not gonna gut you, Sam," Steve answered, completely focused on working the turner under one of the eggs.

"How do you know?" asked Sam.

Steve flipped the egg and looked over his shoulder at Bucky. Bucky caught his eye and bashfully stared at the table, trying to hide his face in his hair.

Steve smiled and turned back to the frying pan.

"Okay, and now you have telepathy?" Sam grumbled. "Super-soldiers, I tell you..."

Steve crossed the kitchen and set a plate of eggs and ham in front of Bucky. "Sam is funny," he said to his pal with a gentle smile. "He messes around and tries to give me a hard time, but that's because he likes me."

The corners of Bucky's mouth twitched up for a moment in a shy almost-smile. "I know," he whispered. "I used to talk like him."

Steve grinned. "Yeah, you did, all the time. Are you jealous?"

Bucky turned away, a soft look in his eyes and a little color coming back to his cheeks.

"And now you're talking like I ain't even here," Sam complained. "Where's my respect, man?"

Bucky glared at him.

Steve grinned at Bucky and then at Sam. "I'm beginning to sense a pattern here," he said.

Sam crossed his arms. "All right, fine. I know when I'm not wanted. I'm gonna go eat on the couch, and you two grandfathers are gonna be missing out." And with that, he snatched up his breakfast and trooped off to the den.

Bucky watched him go, a question written on the lines between his eyebrows.

"Grandfathers," Steve echoed with a smirk. "Because we're both almost a hundred years old."

Bucky looked up at him, the calm in his eyes an unusual but welcome visitor, and then he jumped at Sam's voice.

"And I'll even drink my orange juice out of the glass, thank you very much!" Sam shouted from the den.

"Can I get you a bendy straw, youngster?" Steve called back.

"Watch your smart mouth, Rogers!" snapped Sam.

Steve grinned at Bucky.

Bucky offered a shaky smile in return.

Natasha shook her head and muttered into her tea, "Amerikantsy. Nu blin."

THE END

(is only the beginning)

A/N: Okay, I'm done for real now. Reviews are waffles!