I’m the One Who Wears Cashmere
inspired by @reioka‘s idea about Bucky wearing sweaters on assassin missions because it’s cozy.
Tony really hated that Natasha was putting him on a blind date, because he could pick out his own people just fine. “The last one you picked try to murder you,” Natasha says flatly.
“You try to murder Clint literally everyday he visits your apartment with his dog, are you sure you’re the best candidate to tell me this?” Tony asks. Natasha shrugs.
“Well, I have a reason to try and murder him. Lucky gets on my couch. The only thing that gets on that couch is me, blankets, and occasionally pizza rolls.”
“Pizza rolls are not an occasional thing, you buy them in the forty-count bags,” Tony replies. “Do I really have to go on a date? I could be building a death ray right now.”
“A.) Don’t build a death ray unless my people rise again. B.) You’ll like this guy.”
“Natasha, you moved from Russia when you were, like, twelve. Don’t call them your people, I’ve already been asked by Steve if I’m harboring a communist.” Natasha actually snorts at that.
“Steve was joking. He knows that he’s really the one who works hard and seizes the means of production.” Tony actually laughs at that. “By the way, wear that oversized red sweater that you swear you didn’t steal from Rhodey. It looks good on you.”
“It makes me look like I’m twelve,” Tony whines.
“No, it doesn’t. No twelve year old has awesome facial hair.”
“You agree it’s awesome?! Score! I told Stephen it was cool.”
“Whatever. You’re meeting Barnes at the soup and bread restaurant on the corner. You know, where Boris sells his ‘authentic’ knives?”
“Oh my god, it’s one of your creepy friends. No, nope, nada. I’m not going.” Natasha levels him with a glare that would be enough to overtake the roll of president and maybe get a free coffee from that hipster place a block over. “Fine, I’m going. But if I don’t come back by one in the morning…”
“I’ll just tell Rhodey that you went on a date and he’ll go ballistic and call the military to find you or whatever. Move, Clint’s coming over to watch Dog Cops with me.”
Bucky is at the restaurant, sitting by himself for all of ten minutes. He hates that Natasha threatens to do this to him. Apparently, he needs “regular interaction.” Whatever that is, he gets it. He pets a dog everyday. Talks with Boris about his knives. Hisses at cats because they’re as bad as Steve’s friend Sam is. (He hates Sam. And his insistence that birds are better than dogs, because They Are Not.)
Natasha texted him that there would be a man in an over-sized red sweater. Bucky doesn’t bother trying to make assumptions; while Natasha is great at many things, setting up dates isn’t always the best. She thought Johnny Storm would’ve made a great match for Sharon, which the most hilarious thought since dogs falling off slides.
Tony sees Bucky, the guy with the Murder Face and a menu in front of his face. He could just ditch this. Tell Natasha that everything was great. But then he runs the risk of hurting this Bucky’s feelings, and that is Not A Good Thing. So, he sits down at the table, and the man puts his menu down.
That face is the best thing since Rhodey showed him that video of Steve falling in the parking lot. (They have a weird friendship, and Rhodey just flat out does not Tolerate Steve a lot.)
“Hello,” Bucky says, voice all gravelly. “Are you Tony?”
“Yes, hello,” Tony says. “You’re Bucky right? Because if this is the wrong booth, then I am ditching whoever Natasha said was Bucky. Wait, you’d never know me if you weren’t Bucky, okay, cool. Oh, wow, this is a thing I’m doing. Rambling.” Bucky smiles at him, and that is like gold all on its own. That could be currency, oh god. Bucky Smiles, worth a million dollars.
“How was your day today?” Bucky asks, sliding him a menu.
“It was pretty good, not gonna lie. I saw two dogs and one video of a baby giraffe,” Tony says. He’s not afraid to admit that dogs and videos of baby animals are awesome. “How was your day?”
“I killed a guy,” Bucky says with a shrug. “I also bought a new sweater.” Tony laughs, because he’s just so casual with the joke that it makes him sound like he actually killed a man.
“What’s the sweater like?” Bucky thrusts out his sweater sleeve, and Tony gets to touch it. It’s soft, a cable knit. It actually is a nice color; a dark green that Tony would wear too. “Oh my god, that’s so soft.”
“Yeah, it was on sale too!” Bucky adds. “Seventy-five percent off.”
“That. Is. Amazing. Where?” So, conversation starts. They talk around their food and drink. Bucky learns that Tony is an engineer, super smart, and knows Steve.
They’re walking home–well, Bucky is walking Tony home. Everything is going great, Bucky is telling him about Supreme Evil Sam, when someone is ahead of them. They look dangerous; bulky, breathing heavy, basically every jock Tony had experienced in high school. “Hey buddy,” Tony says, trying to move. The guy grabs him arm–what the heck–and turns him around to face Bucky.
“It’s you or him,” he growls.
“Bucky, please either call 911 or get him breath mints, this guy’s breath is rank,” Tony says as calmly as possible.
Instead, Bucky grabs a knife and nails the guy in the head. It is safe to say that Tony was not expecting that. “Oh god oh god Bucky what the hell did you do oh my god–”
“Tony, please be quiet and help me drag him to my car,” Bucky says. Tony stands frozen. “Tony, I told you what I do for a living. I kill people.”
“Are you gonna kill me?”
“You’re too sweet to kill.”
“Oh my god thank you, that’s so sweet–NO WAIT YOU KILL PEOPLE?!” Bucky rolls his eyes, having the decency to look at least sheepish. “Bucky, no offense, but no one kills someone in sweaters.”
“They’re cozy,” Bucky says. He pops the trunk, lifting the body in. Tony can’t look, and pulls out his cellphone. “Don’t call 911. I’ve been tracking this guy for months. He’s a human trafficker.”
“I’m calling Nat,” Tony says shakily. “Oh my god, what am I gonna do? I can’t go to jail, the judge at court hates me and will sentence me to death!”
“There’s more than one judge, Tony,” Bucky says. “And you’re not going to jail.”
“Hello?” Natasha answers. “Tony, this better be an emergency.”
“You didn’t tell me that my date kills people for a living,” Tony hisses into the phone. “And in a soft sweater!”
“Put him on the phone,” Natasha says curtly. “Clint, don’t try and dominate Lucky in this round, you’ll never win.” Tony passes the phone to Bucky.
“You aren’t supposed to reveal that until the third date,” Natasha hisses. “Did we go over all this for nothing?”
“To be fair, he’s taking it better than Steve did,” Bucky defends. “And Tony likes that I pet dogs everyday and my sweaters.”
“Okay, fine. Come to my place with the car. I’ll dump it.” Bucky nods. “Clint, I swear to god if you touch my borscht I’ll cut your arm off. How do you think Bucky got his arm?” Bucky snorts, hanging up.
“We need to go to Natasha’s.”
“Wait, she knows about this?!”
“She helped me get the job. I don’t kill innocent people,” Bucky says, blush forming. God, he’s getting sappy over murder. Not something that happens every day. “I kill the really, really bad ones. Like human traffickers and people who want to release rare diseases into the atmosphere. I saved Iowa from destroying itself last month.” Tony nods.
“Oh. So it’s bad people?” Bucky nods. “Okay, that’s not so bad. But what if you ruin your sweaters?”
“I’m too good to ruin any of my sweaters,” Bucky boasts. Tony rolls his eyes.
“Sure you are.” Bucky grins at him. “So, next date, I’m choosing where we go, and I choose a shelter so we can volunteer and walk dogs.”
“Best date ever,” Bucky agrees solemnly.
Their third date goes a bit sideways; they have to wash a sweater that got drenched. Bucky cries. Tony tries to placate him with funny videos of cats falling and stories about his utter disappointment of a robot that is his pride and joy, Dum-E.