"Zero fucks given. Next please."
“Yeah,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. “Zero fucks given. Next please.”
Steve stared between his face and the tablet, visibly struggling for composure.
“But -” he said. “But she’s wearing a little jacket. She brings you things when you’re sad!”
“I don’t get sad, Steve,” he said, patient as possible, “I get freaked out, I get pissed, occasionally I get both pissed and freaked out. I don’t need a dog to bring me shit, I need a dog to keep me focused, bring me back to Earth. Something that’d make me safe to be in public. That one I’d accidentally tread on.”
“Okay,” Steve said, the furrow that said he was concentrating hard appearing between his brows. “Okay so something bigger, something - ”
“Less floofy,” Bucky said, flicking past something that looked more like a teddy bear than a dog.
“How about this one?”
The dog on the screen was big, friendly looking, beaming with its tongue hanging out and its one eye half-closed with the size of its smile. Draped half across him was a blond guy, scruffy and barely shaved and with the bluest eyes Bucky’d ever seen.
“Says Lucky’s owner works away a lot, he’s a fully trained therapy dog, this Clint guy’s looking for someone to walk Lucky and in exchange he’s willing to lend him for bad days, says you can come pick him up with a couple hours warning.”
“I get to pick up the owner, too?” Bucky asked, and Steve rolled his eyes.
“Okay,” he said, “next -”
“Nah, wait,” Bucky said, flicked back and took a longer look at the matching grins on dog and man, and decided he could afford to give a few fucks.