A/N: Kind of (and by kind of I mean 100%) stole the idea of Sam baking from the amazing Fernandidilly-yo, you need to go check them out.

Between breaths, Sam bakes.

And nothing too fancy, not like Tony's caterers or like any experienced person with an apprenticeship in baking or anything like that, he just. Bakes.

Easy things, like chocolate chip cookies and vanilla cakes and sometimes, if he's in a good mood, he'll make you a strawberry smoothie that tastes like something you'd find in a five-star restaurant.

It's at times like these that Bucky likes to join him, watching silently and marvelling at the sheer number of things available to put into the batter.

He's like a cat, Sam thinks to himself, watching the way that Bucky sidles up to the counter and watches with roving eyes, back muscles tense and weight distributed to his legs, though his position makes it look as though he's resting on his arms. Smooth and lithe, Sam thinks, Bucky hasn't lost any of the agile grace from when he was the Winter Soldier.

"What, you get bored of hanging out with Stevie?" Sam teases as he folds the batter for some sugar cookies.

"What, you think I always hang out with Stevie?" Bucky tosses back, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no, of course not," A slight smirk lights on Sam's lips, "You also like braiding your hair with Nat, right?" At Bucky's narrowed eye stare, he sighs, "Nothing wrong with that, it's nice to see you being comfortable with everyone else."

Bucky plays with the tips of his hair and then stares at the spatula in Sam's hands, forehead creasing. Sam can tell that he wants to change the subject but isn't sure how polite it would be. He's strange like that sometimes, having no sense of privacy but still attempting to retain something of what he once was, still trying to figure out where the line is drawn and how far he has to go to reach it.

"Sugar cookies," Sam says, pulling some aluminum foil from the cupboards. "Want to help?"

Bucky hesitates, childish eagerness lighting his eyes but the hesitancy that saturates his every movement slowing him down as he says quietly, wistfully, "Ma used to tell me stories about sugar cookies, but I never thought that they were real."

It hurts, hearing things like that. Watching Steve's eyes light up as they get vegetables, real-life vegetables for dinner, watching Bucky marvel at how soft the pillows on the couch are (not even Tony's fancy little silk pillows, just normal ones lying on the couch), hearing the two of them trade stories of the strange new world and how it amazes them with its consumeristic ways and excessive abundance.

Sam hates it. He does, hates how Steve seems so reverent over such simple things, hates that Bucky is awed when he eats his fill and isn't hungry when he finishes his plate, hates it so much that he might scream.

But the moments that make them happy.

Like here.

Sugar cookies.

He hates that Bucky thinks they didn't exist.

Hates that Bucky lived in an age where sugar was something special, for birthdays and Christmas and not much else.

But he loves seeing Bucky smile like this.

He loves that he can spoil him like crazy, and no one calls him out on it because everyone does it.

He likes that.

"Wait until you eat them," Sam grins, "They're amazing."

Bucky beams, a grin splitting his face, cheeks wide and eyes blazing like a fire. "I'm going to eat them all!" He says, excitedly, like a child on Christmas.

Sam laughs and dares not to contradict Bucky, deciding instead to hold out his hand. Palm up, still on the counter. A way that the Avengers have developed for touches, fond and soft, without triggering someone.

Bucky beams and rests his hand on Sam's, giving it a tight, excited squeeze.

"Maybe save some for the others?" Sam laughs, "Like three. One for Steve, one for Peter, and one for Wanda."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "And the others?"

Sam pretends to think about it.

"Clint and Natasha bedazzled all of my shirts last week," he recalls.

Bucky hides his smile, ducking down his head and Sam's eyes widen.

"You helped them, didn't you, you little sneak," he gasps, and Bucky snickers. Same shakes his head, sighing, "Okay, fine, you're saving four cookies. I'm taking one, just for that. Jerk, do you realize how long it took to take all the studs out?"

Bucky blinks at Sam, eyebrows raised, "You're just taking one?" He pauses, and smile returning, "So worth it."

Sam swats Bucky's arm and shakes his head, "Come here and help me put the dough on the tray."

In the end, Bucky eats himself sick on half the batch and Tony puts the rest in the fridge, citing, "I'm not about to let you barf all over my floor, tots," grinning as he sneaks one off the tray (he's nowhere near subtle, he knows it and they know it, but he knows that they'll let him get away with it and that's really all that matters).

By the next day, though, the cookies are gone, and there are crumbs on Bucky's bed.

Sam just sighs and ruffles Bucky's hair. "We'll make pancakes next week, okay?"

Bucky's wide grin makes Sam wonder if they could just forget any pretense of a diet and just make sweets forever.

(Thankfully, aliens attack a week later and he gets all the excess exercised away.)

Between breaths, Sam and Bucky bake.