Anonymous asked: jane foster/bucky barnes unlikely friendship y/y? bonding over their superheroic boyfriends, bucky being in denial about his feelings, jane braiding bucky's hair and teaching him the proper way to put on eyeliner?
"Jesus Christ, not again," said Bucky when Jane Foster lit up like fucking Christmas came early and rushed across the room to grab at his metal arm.
"Oh my god,” she breathed.
"You know too many scientists," said Bucky to Steve, glaring. "This is the third time this has happened.”
"Look at the flexibility on the exterior—oh my go—the joint, the joint right here,” said Jane.
"Lady, that’s my arm you’re groping,” said Bucky.
"Yeah, whatever, give me a second," she said.
"You know I’m a legendary killer, right?"
"Pssh," she said. Then she blinked and looked up at his face for the first time. "Can I please take it apart with a screwdriver?”
"Jesus Christ," said Bucky again.
But unlike when Tony Stark or Reed Richards had tried this, Bucky nudged his arm forward a little to let her see how the shoulder joint worked. Maybe it was the fact she came up to about where Steve used to at his side, maybe it was something about tiny people with big brains, maybe it was something about courage and conviction in small packages.
He found her again a couple of days later.
She didn’t even look up when he joined her on the roof. She had something big and telescope-y set up and was on her back underneath it, fiddling with a screwdriver.
"Hiya, Doctor Foster," he said.
"There’s a two window period where the transit of Venus is visible across the sun," she said. "I’m getting this ready to track the progress tomorrow."
"Nifty," he said.
"It’s rare enough that it usually only happens once a lifetime," she said. She slid out from under the telescope—he was assuming it was a telescope at least. He offered her a hand up and she took it, even though it was the metal one.
"Once in a lifetime, huh?" he said.
"Unless the lifetime is yours of Captain Rogers, of course," she said.
He blinked. It was the tone she said it in—not pity, not envy, not mistaken belief in—in whatever it was that made Coulson stammer in front of him and Steve, like they were in the same boat. She said it like it was fact.
And it sort of was, too. She was talking about Venus, not what his lifetime had been like.
"You mean maybe this happened way back when only me and Steve didn’t know about it?" he asked.
"More likely that you wouldn’t have had any way to see it," she pointed out. "Not many people got into telescopes those days."
"Could I—" he started to ask.
"My sky is your sky," she said, waving a hand. "Now hold this up for me while I fix this."