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How's My Driving?

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Am I driving courteously?

Call 1-800-451-0287

466294

That was the last thing Steve saw before he slammed on the brakes. It was too late. The screech of metal on metal was probably the third most horrifying sound Steve had ever heard in his life.

Steve’s front airbag deployed and he let out an oomph as it smooshed his face. He swears it wasn’t two seconds later that he hears sirens. Wait. He was driving downtown. Near the Police Department. Of fucking course.

Steve hears a knock on his window and a muffled “are you ok?”

Groaning, Steve turns. He feels something warm and sticky running out of his nose. He really hopes his nose isn’t broken. Because his windows are tinted, he fumbles with the button to make it go down. Shit. It’s not working. He lets out a sigh. He unbuckles himself, pushing at the stupid, fucking airbag that’s not deflating fast enough. He finally is able to grab his door handle and opens the door.

Steve hears a grunt. When he looks up, he realizes that his sunglasses must have flown off during impact so all he can really see is a guy holding his right hand up to his nose against the bright sun.

“Punk, I think you broke my fucking nose,” the guy says a bit muffled.

Steve’s eyes adjust a little bit and he sees that the other guy has shoulder length black hair and holy fucking shit is this guy missing an arm?

“Sorry. Are you a witness? Did you see that asshole? Who brakes suddenly going 55?” Steve demands suddenly angry. He hadn’t even seen what company the van was for, but that jerk was definitely going to get a piece of Steve’s mind.

“Well excuse me for not wanting to hit a fucking dog,” the stranger suddenly becomes defensive his posture changes. Steve realizes that he’s face to face with the idiot that was driving the van.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees a young, timid-looking cop approaching. “Uhm,” she starts.

“What?!” they both turn towards her and snarl.

“Nevermind. I think I need my supervisor,” she says and turns around to walk towards the two patrol cars directing traffic around Steve’s car and the van.

Steve and the stranger turn back to glare at each other, daring the other to say the first word. Finally, not even three seconds later, Steve says, “Look, asshole, you could have killed someone. Why and how the hell are you driving that van around anyways? If I were your boss, I’d never would have hired you as a driver!”

“Why? Because I only have one fucking arm?! Yeah, pal, I saw you looking. That’s DIS-CRI-MI-NA-TION!” The stranger enunciates the last word while getting closer to Steve’s face and getting louder.

“NO! What the fuck? It’s cause your dumb ass decided to brake out of nowhere!”

“I told you it was because I didn’t want to hit the dog!”

“What dog? There is no dog!” Steve gestures wildly at the side of the road where there’s woodland and no sign of a dog.

“Well, that’d be my fault really. I shouldn’t have let Lucky off his leash this close to the road.”

Steve and the van driver turn and there’s a slightly shorter man who is in fact holding the leash to a golden retriever that’s panting happily.

“Name’s Clint. This here’s Lucky. I really have to thank you for not hitting my bestest guy here uhh…” Clint trails off.

“Bucky.”

“Bucky, then. He literally saved my life and helped me figure out I kinda needed hearing aids. Which is also kinda the reason why we were so close to the street. I turned them down to enjoy some of the quiet because the birds are in their fucking mating season and got a bit turned around on the paths.”

“That’s ok. I’ve seen too many jerks hitting dogs because they don’t want to brake,” Bucky says throwing Steve a dirty look.

“Why are you looking at me? I didn’t know there was a dog!” Steve starts flushing pink now that he’s calmed down realizing that there was an actual reason Bucky braked.

The cops come towards them after having taken their time when they saw that both parties were making a scene with each other. During the interview, Steve kept sneaking glances at Bucky realizing that Bucky not only stopped for animals, but was also really attractive. When the EMT’s arrived and declared no concussions and nothing broken, they were all given a report number and the cops left them to call for a tow. Steve thought he saw Bucky glancing at him as well, but it could just be the same old look everyone gave him when they realized he was bigger than he forced himself to appear.

Steve watched Bucky on his phone, presumably with his employer by the grimace on his face. Steve calls Sam and asks if he can come pick him up since triple A is taking his car soon. As he’s on the phone with Sam, he reads the side of the van. Black Widow: For All Your Floral Needs When a Loved One Passes. Huh. Flowers.

It’s awkward when they both stand there once they’re both off their phones. Clint left after Lucky thoroughly licked Bucky’s hand. Steve was not jealous that he only got a cursory sniff thank you very much.

“So,” Steve says.

“Nothing to say, bud” Bucky responds.

Sam comes shortly and Steve is relieved because the silence was getting to him and it was getting hard avoiding looking at Bucky. Steve makes Sam wait until he sees Bucky get into a sleek car that pulls up. Steve catches a flash of red hair and the other car speeds off.

Three weeks later, Steve has his car back. Luckily, there wasn’t much damage. He’s more careful to keep a larger distance behind cars now. Not in case of dogs or anything. He’s at a red light changing radio stations and when he looks up,

Am I driving courteously?

Call 1-800-451-0287

466294

Steve presses the bluetooth button and says, “call 18004510287.” He waits impatiently for two rings. The light turns green. The van merges into the lane that leads to the ramp for the highway. Steve can’t follow. Steve has to get to work. Steve-

“Black Widow, Natasha speaking.”

“Uhh.” Steve is very eloquent.

“I swear to God, Tony, if you’re trying to order yourself flowers again I will castrate you.” The voice doesn’t change from the professional tone that picked up.

“Uhm, no. Actually, I was calling to report on a driver,” Steve manages to get out.

“Oh. Well, I apologize. What’s the van number?”

“466294.”

“Shit. What’d he do this time?”

“No! I mean I wanted to commend him. Great driver. Wonderful really!” Really Steve?

“Tony, is this you?” Now Steve is a little frightened at the tone of the voice.

“No? My name is Steve. Steve Rogers. I think the driver’s name might be Bucky?”

Silence.

“Bucky quit three weeks ago. Wade’s driving that van now.”

“Oh.” Nice, Steve.

“Wait, how do you know Bucky?” Natasha sounds curious now.

“I think I’ve made a mistake,” Steve rushes out and hangs up.

His office building is coming up so he signals his left turn and tries to will his blush down. What was he thinking? Just because he thought about Bucky every day randomly didn’t mean he had to make that call. He might be an idiot.

Steve’s day went by so slowly. The slowest. So slow. He was ready to bang his head on his desk when the the clock finally clicked over to 5:00. Good enough. Not that the government needed anything from him today. Steve grabbed his things and sprinted down the stairs.

He got to his apartment complex and grabbed his mail in the lobby. All he wanted to do was change and go work out the itch under his skin that he hadn’t been able to get rid of on the top floor of his building. After that, he was going to order food and finally finish the first season of Hawaii Five-0.

Steve shuffled through his mail. Bill. Bill. Spam. Bill. Spam. Police Department? He opens that one and it’s the report from three weeks ago. He scans it quickly and it tells him everything he already knows. Except Bucky’s information. Rather, James’ information?

Steve vaguely remembers handing over his license, verifying his address, writing his cell number… Steve realizes he could call Bucky. How creepy would that be though?

He’s internally debating the pros and cons about calling Bucky. The number is RIGHT THERE when his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. Steve’s been staring at Bucky’s number on the report that he thinks he’s seeing things again when he pulls out his phone. PTSD is not fun.

He slides to answer.

“This is Steve Rogers,” he says trying to keep any hope or waver out of his voice.

“Hey, so I don’t mean to be invasive and I don’t even know if you remember me, but how do you forget someone you were in an accident with. You probably have a girlfriend or whatever, but Natasha is holding out on pizza and I’m huuungrryyy. She saw the report and it had your number and I had no way to contact you before and she says you’re definitely interested. I don’t know how she knows that, but anyways, I was wondering if maybe you wanted-”

“Yes,” Steve answers immediately.

“To be murdered. You didn’t even know what I was going to ask you, asshole!” Bucky doesn’t sound nervous anymore.

“Well,” Steve calmly, how in the hell is he calm? “If I was standing here debating calling to ask you out and you called talking about the report and girlfriends, then I figure you’re calling for something I should have asked you about three weeks ago.”

“Well, yeah,” Bucky says defeated.

“So, yes. Dinner Thursday?” Steve mentally makes sure to tell his manager tomorrow that he’s leaving early the next day.

“Works for me. Do you want to text me tomorrow where you want to eat?”

“Yeah,” Steve says grinning dopily. “Yeah, I’ll text you.”

“Good,” Bucky replies. “And stop calling Natasha to tell her Wade’s a good driver!” Bucky hangs up laughing.

They cause a scene in the restaurant arguing if the showrunners of Hawaii Five-0 are going to keep pushing bromance between McGarrett and Danno or if they’re actually going to realize that brojobs are in need between the two, then text each other after they part until neither can keep their eyes open.