howdy.

They'd tried, while you were captive, to make it happen between you both. So many cold rooms and so much pain. But it'd been so easy out here. So natural for you and for your wolf, to allow your instrincts to take over and your body to open to this new life.

Your hand drifted to your swollen belly. Not so big, yet, but big enough that you sought comfort at every opportunity.

James had searched for more blankets than you'd ever seen, even his friends had brought some. Though they'd left these tentatively at the edge of your clearly in a large plastic bag, waving their hands slowly in greeting before backing away.

They were kind, you were sure, but it was too much for your wolf. Her pawing at your mind, pacing in anguished circles at the thought of them taking your pup away. No matter how many times James assured you that it wasn't going to happen.

You'd used the blankets to make the huge nest that you found yourself snuggled up in. Perfectly placed on the middle of the bed James had found for you back at The Compound, a place you'd never really visited but that sotunded awful.

You were drifting into another nap when James gently pushed the door opened.

"Hey, baby, how're you feeling?"

You have him a wan smile, still tired from a morning spent throwing up and trying to inject the rehydration medicine James had brought you.

"Sleepy."

"Do you wanna be sleepy on the porch, it's nice out?" He held the door open, letting the warm breeze into the cabin along with a few stray leaves.

"Maybe."

That was good enough for James, who was with you in two strides, lifting you up with a secure arm tucked against your back, the other under your knees.

Instantly, you snuggled into his neck, breathing him in and letting your body relax into his hold.

He set you down slowly, lowering your feet so that you remained pressed against him the entire time. The gentle roundness of your belly keeping you slightly further apart than you'd like.

"Missed you today, 'Mega." He kissed your temple and cheeks, behind your ears, and nuzzles his bite on your neck.

"Missed you too Alpha, the winds been singing today."

"Yeah?" Bucky smiled down at you, cupping your cheeks. "Dance with me then."

"But there's no music," you smiled back, he could be so silly, your Alpha. How could you dance without proper music!

"There doesn't have to be real music, besides you just said the wind's singing."

He gave an exaggerated bow and then reached for your hand, you let him twirl you towards him. The wind picked up again, making his long hair fly out from behind his ears, twisting around his face while he led you in a slow, clumsy, waltz around the porch.

"If you want real music, I could get you a radio." He offered.

Always the hunter, even if it was just for your whims.

"That's okay, I'd rather you didn't go out again today."

"Okay, I don't need to go."

"Are you sure? You'll stay with me? No more meetings and training and Steve and Sam?"

"No more of anything but you." Bucky kissed you again, hands tilting your face towards him, his whole body surrounding you. And you felt safe, this was your nest, not just the blankets, the cabin, James, his arms and loving kissing.

In your belly, the pup pushed outwards and James slid his hand down to the little foot kicking against you.

Tony nodded, pushing to his feet. He raised his glass, barely waiting for the others to do the same before saying, "Yes, here's to our favorite trio of idiots. Took them five years to figure it out, and they bungled all over the place along the way. Now, we're here, right, to celebrate their, what, seventh year together? Here's to another year of their combined brain cells, few though they are."

"Hear, hear," rang out between the clinking of glasses.

You took a sip, enjoying the way the discussion devolved yet again. Several past incidents of your combined idiocy where each other were concerned took over once more. All your friends quickly forgot you, Steve, and Bucky were even there as they tried to successfully one up each other for the best story they had about you three.

"Darling, you're evil for doing this to them yet again," Bucky murmured in your ear.

His warmth breath sent a delightful shiver down your spine, even as you hid your smile behind your glass.

"But we love that you're this devious. Gives us the perfect opportunity to slip away," Steve added, not wanting to be left out. His hand slid down your back until your chair stopped his progress. Leaning into your space, his voice remained soft as he asked, "Why don't we get out of here? Our room is waiting, and I'm quite eager to see what gift you've gotten us this year, sweet angel."

"I'd much rather unwrap our sweet girl here."

Bucky shot you a salacious wink that had heat rushing to your cheeks even after all these years.

"You would, jerk."

Sensing they wouldn't stop if you didn't step in, you slid out of your chair. Your hands slid into each of theirs and tugged them out of their seats.

They didn't need to be told twice.

As the others at the table continued their lively discussion, you three snuck off to the elevator and hopped inside the moment its doors opened.

While you should've probably felt guilty for bailing on your anniversary dinner with the others, you couldn't help the thrill of spending the evening with your two men alone more. It certainly helped that the others had kinda come to expect this from you three after you managed to derail and distract them over the years. With how easy it'd been after that first year, you'd made it easily a game to continue with each new year you celebrated.

"You know we may have been idiots back then," Bucky started as the doors shut, "but I wouldn't trade any of it."

"Not even all the pining that we suffered?" you asked, recognizing this part of the ritual of your ritual all too well.

Bucky shook his head. "Nah, it got us here."

"He's not wrong, sweet angel."

You glanced between them, finding nothing but sincerity and love reflected back.

"You're both right. It did, and I'm looking forward to having many more years like we've had so far."

The elevator opened on your room's floor.

As you three spilled out, your grip on them tightened even as your grin transformed into a smirk, leaning into their shared space to whisper, "Now, what would you like to unwrap first: the gifts I got you or me?"

Your two soldiers' eyes darkened with promise of a night that you wouldn't soon forget.

Bucky had been right, you thought as you prepared to race them to your shared room. Sure, you wouldn't make it but a couple steps, but those few steps were all you needed to have their arms around you again.

That's all you'd wanted for so long, and now you had it.

All of your doubts and pining seemed mere stepping stones to get you to this moment, and it finally came. You had them, and they had you. Nothing would make you give them up after learning what love truly was for the first time with them, and they you.

Idiots in love, for sure, but now wiser and so much more in love than ever.

Steve’s sparring with Sam in SHIELD‘s gym when Clint saunters in with a cup of coffee in his hand.

He wafts through the agents doing their strength or cardio training and stops in front of the mat where Steve and Sam are trying to stay on top of their combat skills.

Drinking his coffee in long sips, Clint does his best to look incredibly bored.

“What?” Steve pants as he flips Sam over onto his back.

Sam lands on the mat with a heavy thud. He gets up and barges at his sparring partner, but Steve simply ducks and uses Sam’s momentum against him.

Sam makes a frustrated noise when he lands on the mat again, face-down this time.

“Fury wants to see you,” Clint says and scratches his stubble.

“Why?” Steve asks as he extends a hand towards Sam and lifts him up.

“What do I know?” Clint grumbles. “You know what he’s like. I was just unfortunate enough to pass him in the hallway when he needed a messenger boy.”

“We’re kind of busy here,” Sam injects and wipes the sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

Clint just gives him a pointed look.

“I’ll go shower,” Steve relents and claps Sam on the shoulder. “Good work.”

“I almost had you there,” Sam says as Steve’s walking off the mat and towards the locker rooms.

“You sure did,” Clint mumbles in that sarcastic drawl of his.

The last thing Steve hears before the locker room door closes behind him is a decidedly less sarcastic shriek from Clint that sounds suspiciously like he got his nipple twisted.

---

The shower’s hot water is a blessing on Steve’s skin. It doesn’t wash away the tension in his gut, though.

Fury wanting to see him can only mean one thing: a new mission.

Despite all his years at SHIELD, Steve never got rid of the nervous twitch that settles in his bones at the prospect of a new job.

He imagines it must feel similar to stage fright. It also feels eerily like the first day of school or basic training or college – not knowing any of the new routines or expectations or classmates yet.

It’s a wide stretch of possibility opening up in front of him.

Steve rinses the shampoo and body wash off him and exits the shower stall.

It’s the not knowing that makes him nervous. He’ll be fine as soon as he gets his briefing from Fury – once he knows what he’s up against.

Steve wouldn’t be this good at his job if his nerves didn’t stop tingling before he got out into the field. You don’t survive undercover missions in the pits of foreign cartels or homeland security threats if you’re still twitching like a sinner in church by the time shit gets real.

He tries to think of the possible projectile of the mission while he’s getting dressed. There are rumors about a new drug ring close to the Canadian border. Maybe Fury wants him to gather intelligence on that.

Steve exits the gym and makes his way down long nondescript hallways until he arrives at Fury’s office with his hair still damp. He knocks on the door and tries to ignore the flutter in his stomach.

“Yes,” Fury’s voice comes faintly from the other side of the door.

Steve enters the office – and almost hurries out again right away.

His stomach all but drops at the sight of Bucky Barnes lounging in one of the chairs in front of Fury’s desk.

No, no, no shrills through Steve’s mind like a siren.

Bucky turns around and looks Steve up and down. He’s dressed casually in a t-shirt and his trademark leather jacket. Steve at least tries to look put together whenever he spends time at HQ. He’s never seen Bucky give the same courtesy to the unofficial dress code.

Even his hair has a certain fuck it-attitude to it. It sticks up like he ran his hand through it all day or like he just rolled out of bed and – no.

Steve does his best to reel himself back from that particular dump fire of memories.

Bucky’s mouth twists into a smirk.

“Did you swim here?” he asks when his gaze settles on Steve’s hair.

Steve catches the mischievous glint in Bucky’s grey eyes and forces himself to look away.

He also forces himself to ignore the way his traitorous heart skips a beat when he feels Bucky’s gaze on him.

“Director Fury,” he says instead, nodding at his boss.

“Sit down, Rogers,” Fury says and points to the vacant chair.

Steve takes a seat next to Bucky and resolutely does not spare him a look.

(He also would very much like to stop breathing, because Bucky apparently still uses the same aftershave. He doesn’t need to be reminded of that smell.)

Steve tries to keep his eyes on anything that isn’t Bucky. He settles on the photograph of Fury with his cat that feels weirdly out of place next to all his medals and certificates lining the walls.

“We got intel on a political party from the south with alarming views and even worse gain in the last six months. Have you heard of Alexander Pierce?” Fury cuts straight to the chase.

“No, sir,” Steve says as Bucky shakes his head.

Fury drags a photograph from the files next to him and slides it in front of them. Steve estimates the man’s age in the early sixties. He’s clean shaven with fading red hair and a stern look in his eyes.

“Pierce’s family got rich with oil. They’ve been wielding statewide political influence for decades now, but Alex here,” Fury taps onto the picture, “has decided to make a name for himself in a more personal manner.”

Fury leans back into his chair and his face clouds over.

“The Pierce’s have been members of the Traditional Designation Party for decades now.”

He looks in Steve’s blank face.

“It’s no surprise you haven’t heard of it. A small but extreme sub-party of the Conservatives, no more than three hundred members in the last ten years. But Alexander Pierce’s been on the boards of several Fortune 500, steadily recruiting new influential members. He became head of the party two years ago and took over the city council of his home base during his first run. The party’s got 30,000 members nationwide as of last week. And it keeps growing at an alarming rate.”

Fury gives them both a long look.

“How familiar are you two with the party’s views on an Alpha’s and Omega’s place in society? Barnes?”

“I know the basics. Took a course on gender studies in college, sir,” Bucky says.

Steve can’t help but throw Bucky an incredulous look.

“What?” Bucky asks when he catches him looking.

“What about you, Rogers?” Fury asks.

“Can’t say I have much expertise in that area.”

“You might want to read up on that. These fuckers are crazy.”

Fury hands them each a paper with a short report. Steve’s eyes skim over the text.

Words like obedience and duty stick out like sore thumbs.

“Basically, they believe in a set hierarchy of designations. Alphas at the top, Betas in the middle, Omegas at the bottom. It’s the Omega’s duty to submit to the Alpha, bear pubs and make as few problems as possible. The Alphas, given their ‘inherent strength and overall superiority’,” Fury paints quotes into the air with his fingers, “rule the world. Betas are really just there to deal with everything in between.”

In the perimeter of his eyes, Steve can see Bucky tensing up. A new tightness settles into his shoulders as he leans down further over his report.

“Pierce has managed to transform these views into political action points. No more abortion rights for Omegas, split education according to designation, hefty tax releases for bonded couples. We only need to look at the last hundred years to see that whenever people are disillusioned or feel left behind by society’s progression, they light up whenever someone offers them a simple solution. According to Pierce, economic decline and the rising unemployment rates can both be solved if we all just remind ourselves of the good old values.” Fury says the last words in a sarcastic sing-song. “People lap that shit up. Sadly, Pierce’s smart. He knows he can’t pull out the big guns until he has enough support. He’s already dangerously close to petitioning to make Omegas second-class citizens but it’s not enough to shut him down legally yet. Unfortunately, his inner circle is loyal to a fault. So, that’s where you come in.”

Steve feels himself sitting up a bit straighter.

“I want you to go in and gather as much intelligence on Pierce as possible. What are his plans, who are the people pulling the strings, information like that. Gain his trust and report back to me.”

“For how long?” Bucky asks.

“As long as it takes, Barnes. You got a pending dinner reservation?” Fury says.

“No, sir,” Bucky mumbles.

Fury gives him another look and then returns to his notes.

“You’ll be Alpha and Omega Miller and I got you a nice two-bedroom house in Pierce’s hometown, ready to move into in six weeks. It’s got underfloor heating. You can thank me now.”

Steve’s heart pauses for two beats.

Absolutely not.

Fury holds out two thick files for them. Very distantly, Steve notices Bucky rolling his eyes as he reaches for the papers.

“We’re supposed to be mates?” Steve asks Fury flabbergasted.

Even he can hear the panic in his voice.

“Nice to see you’re paying attention, Rogers,” Fury huffs.

Steve barely manages garbled sounds as a reply. Fury shakes the file he’s still holding out to him with an annoyed look. Steve leans forward and takes the papers on autopilot.

There’s no way he’s going to spend an indefinite amount of time on an undercover mission with Bucky Barnes. Hell, he’d rather do paperwork for a whole year. Pretending to be mates with Bucky means touching and sleeping in the same bed and kissing and – again, Steve stops himself right there.

He can feel heat pooling in his abdomen, and sporting a semi now isn’t going to convince Fury to pick someone else for the mission. Or maybe it will, Steve’s not sure.

He is very thankful for his scent blockers, though.

Fury starts talking again, but Steve struggles to pay attention.

He catches a few words on acclimation, personas and the timeline, but really he’s still hung up on the thought of spending a prolonged amount of time in Bucky’s immediate vicinity.

It’s not like anything important won’t be written in his file anyway.

Steve startles to attention when Bucky gets up next to him and leaves the office. The meeting seems to be done with. He can feel a pair of eyes on him, but he resolutely doesn’t turn around. Once the door falls shut, Steve takes a deep breath.

“You’re still here,” Fury comments and looks up from his papers.

“Um,” Steve starts and hates how small he suddenly feels again. “I was wondering if Thor might not be better suitable for this mission. As the Alpha, I mean.”

Fury stares at him with his good eye.

“Thor’s due to go on a different mission next month. Is there a particular reason you’re questioning my operational planning?”

Fury’s tone is even more clipped than it usually is.

“Or maybe Scott could take over Barnes’ part,” Steve tries now, increasingly desperate.

“What are you asking me here, Rogers?” Fury grunts, leaning back into his chair.

Steve considers his next words very carefully.

“Why Barnes? And why me?”

“Because Barnes is our best Omega undercover agent. And you’re our best Alpha one. I was very impressed with the work you did on your last mission if you must know. And there’s a lot riding on this one.”

Steve can feel his resolve crumbling at Fury’s words. He may be trying to wiggle his way out of an assignment right now, but he’s still a soldier that wants to do right.

“I need you two to do the best you can so we can stop Pierce’s bullshit before it gets too far. If he gains too much support before he introduces his plans to send Omegas back to the fucking Middle Ages, it’ll be hard to stop him. And Omegas make up a good chunk of the constituents we as a democratic institution are here to protect.”

Steve winces internally. Fury knows exactly what he’s doing with this little reminder of constitutional rights.

His boss is quiet for a moment.

“Is there any personal business here I should know about that threatens this mission?” he asks eventually.

Steve does his best to withstand the piercing look in Fury’s eye.

“No, sir,” Steve hears himself saying.

“Good. You got all the relevant information in your file. See you on Monday.”

With that, Fury reaches for his phone and barks, “Hill!” into the receiver.

Steve can acknowledge a dismissal if it slaps him in the face like this. Fury doesn’t pay any attention to him when he gets up and leaves the office.

What did he get himself into? This day started out just fine and now he’s going to play house with the one person he’d swore he wasn’t ever going to think about again. It’s just like –

Steve turns a corner and collides straight head on with another body.

“Whoa, whoa. People usually buy me dinner before they get their hands all over me,” Tony goddamn Stark all but purrs when they both regain their balance.

Like this day couldn’t get any worse.

“Sorry, didn’t see you,” Steve grits out and tries to walk away.

He should’ve known better. Stark’s nothing if not annoyingly insisting when he wants to be.

“Oh, what got your panties in a twist?” Stark asks and cocks a grin.

With his designer suit and colorful handkerchief, he looks ridiculously out of place in a government agency like SHIELD.

“Trouble with the ladies? Or the gentlemen?” Stark pries.

“It’s classified,” Steve says to get Stark to back off as quickly as possible.

He doesn’t even know why Stark strolls through SHIELD’s hallways like he owns the place. He may be a billionaire, but apart from a long-abandoned weapons deal with the government, Stark’s not actually military.

Steve tries to remind himself that he doesn’t care about Stark, with his inappropriate jokes and cocky demeanor. He riles Steve up to unknown degrees, even when he doesn’t say anything at all. It might be the sheer amount of privilege and entitlement that oozes out of him. It definitely is, come to think about it.

“Classified, huh? Those are the best kind of romantic endeavors.”

Stark actually winks at him.

“Don’t let me keep you,” Steve says to no avail.

“I wouldn’t mind being kept by you,” the other Alpha says and lets his eyes very pointedly travel over Steve’s chest.

Steve, rolling his eyes, turns on his heels and huffs a very belated “Goodbye”.

He heads straight back to the gym to get his things from the locker room. Sam already left, to no one’s surprise. Steve contemplates going for another round at the sandbags to punch out all thoughts about the upcoming mission, but he knows that won’t help much. Besides, he doesn’t really want to get back into his already sweaty workout gear.

Instead, he grabs his duffel bags, stuffs Fury’s file inside and makes for the HQ’s exit. He’ll just get some groceries on the way home, make himself some sad excuse of dinner and then drown his sorrows in whatever movie shows up first on his “recommended” list.

Steve’s barely walked through the big glass doors of the lobby onto the parking lot, when a smooth voice reels him back in.

“See you on Monday.”

Steve stops in his tracks and turns around to see Bucky smoking near the entrance. He’s got the cigarette wedged between his fingers, bringing it up to his lips for another drag. His gaze I s hard to read. Mocking, maybe? Teasing?

“You should quit that,” Steve says automatically and nods to the cigarette.

He almost winces when he remembers that he’s said the same exact words to Bucky once before. It had been a dark outside, with music wafting through the humid summer air. They were both a few years younger. Steve had still thought of Bucky as a possibility back then.

(The empty bed and the cruel laughter in the locker room the next morning had all but

stumped that hope, though.)

Steve searches for clues that Bucky remembers their exchange as well, but he doesn’t find any. Bucky simply looks down at his cigarette as he taps off the ash. When he finds Steve’s eyes again, his expression is still the same.

“I’ll have to,” Bucky says, his gaze never wavering. “It’s not what good Omegas do.”

Steve can hear the slightest tilt of sarcasm in his voice. Steve can also feel his face heating up and his heart beating faster.

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

In lieu of a smart reply, Steve simply turns around and walks off to his car. He throws his duffel bag onto the passenger seat and decidedly does not look at Bucky when he passes the entrance on his way out of the parking lot.

It’s only when he’s about to turn left into traffic that he allows himself a quick look into the rearview mirror.

Bucky’s still staring in his direction.

---

SHIELD’s HQ is nestled deep into the countryside somewhere outside New York. It’s a bit too far to commute, so most of the staff and agents live in one of the few quiet, nondescript towns close by.

Steve, having grown up in Brooklyn, used to miss the hustle and bustle of the city, but he’s come to appreciate the silence and slow way of living.

On missions, every decision can risk his life, the success of the job or both. In the town where he lives now, a lot of decisions are made for him. There are only two bars. Three supermarkets. If he wants to catch a movie with Sam, he has to go to the cinema on Third Street.

Steve stops by the supermarket that’s closest to his apartment and stocks up for the days ahead. He mostly grabs things on autopilot. It’s a routine shop, anyway. Frozen pizza, canned beans, a few protein bars – he buys the same staples almost every weekend.

Steve likes this routine. It feels secure and reliable. It’s everything his life on missions isn’t.

The older Beta at the cashier tries to engage him in the good-natured small talk they dabble in every Friday, but Steve’s mind is elsewhere.

Back at his apartment, he puts on a wash with his sweaty workout clothes, stores away his groceries and sits on the couch while his pizza bakes. He tries selecting a movie from his watchlist, but he’s still zapping by the time the oven beeps.

To make matters worse, he burns his hand when he gets the pizza out. Steve winces when he runs his hand underneath lukewarm water.

He should just go to bed. He really doesn’t want to know what other unpleasant surprises this day has in store for him.

Steve selects a movie at random when he sits back down with his meal on a plate and an angry looking red patch on the back of his hand. He’s munching on his last piece of pizza when he officially gives up.

He still has no idea what this movie is about, but every time the main character’s love interest smirks, it takes him straight back to Bucky smoking outside SHIELD’s entrance.

Damn Fury and damn his own stupid moral compass.

All it took for his mind to slip back into its old routine of thinking about Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, was one meeting and a few lingering glances.

Steve’d been doing so good. He went out with other Omegas. Even had one or two flings. He buried this sappy infatuation with Bucky Barnes in the deepest pits of his consciousness.

Even Sam doesn’t know about that one regretful night a few years back.

He’s thirty-one goddamn years old and he sits here thinking about his unrequited crush like he’s still a teenager with bad acne and even worse asthma.

Steve stops the movie and fetches Fury’s file. If he can’t stop thinking about today, he might as well be productive.

The file contains a rough estimated timeline of the mission. They have another meeting to go over the mission’s details on Monday. From there on, they get six weeks to develop believable characters, to familiarize themselves with their new roles and prepare a plan for gathering intel on Pierce.

The official start date is on June 20th. The file doesn’t state an estimated end date.

Normally, this wouldn’t bother Steve. He’s been on a mission that went on for more than two years. He doesn’t have any family he needs to be available to. All his friends work for SHIELD in some capacity.

But Steve’s never been on a mission with another person before. It’s always been just him.

And he liked it that way. He trusts his instincts and competence. He knows he’s stress-resistant and endurable.

But spending an undisclosed amount of time so closely with another person – relationships are bound to be muddled. Steve tries not to think too much about how this is supposed to work out if the relationship is muddled to begin with.

He’s also never had to attune his own working style to someone else’s. Steve doesn’t know a lot about Bucky’s way of doing things. He made a very conscious effort to avoid all things Bucky Barnes in the last few years.

But what is he supposed to do? Fury’s not going to budge on the agents assigned to this case, that much is clear. And there’s no way in hell Steve’ll go up to his boss and tell him he can’t complete a mission because he’s still hurt over an one night stand from several years ago and is afraid that that neither his dick nor his heart will survive sleeping in the same bed as Bucky Barnes.

Fury made it clear that a lot rides on this mission and Steve’s never been one to shy away from responsibility.

With a deep sigh, Steve turns the page.

There are several pages with detailed intel on Pierce, as much as is available to the public.

Steve makes a mental note to look him up online and find videos of the guy. It’ll help to hear him speak, see him move, witness his aura.

A slender pamphlet slips out as Steve turns another page. It reads The Traditional Designation Party – A guide to a fruitful bond on the front.

The crease between Steve’s eyebrows grows deeper and deeper the longer he reads. It seems like this pamphlet is distributed to newly bonded mates but also serves as a guideline on how Pierce’s party views designation roles in general.

Omegas are natural caregivers, it says in the first chapter. They thrive in the safe environment of the home but are quickly overwhelmed by the fast and ever-changing modern world outside their known perimeters. Therefore, it’s an Alpha’s duty to protect their mates from making unnecessary decisions and, at the same time, provide them with enough mental stimulation to stay content.

Steve reaches the section on Behavior and has to fight a shiver.

He remembers the history lessons in high school on how the Omega Rights Movement brought along a significant wave of changes that made Omegas legally equal to Alphas.

The reality looks different of course. There’s still a clear discrepancy in pay and the leading figures in organizations are still mostly Alphas. But Omegas now reach legal independence with their 18th birthday and can hold down a job without an Alpha’s approval.

Steve remembers how incredulous he’d felt when his history teacher had told them that Omegas hadn’t been allowed to have their own bank account once upon a time.

Omegas are subservient to Alphas. They are built to rely on the Alpha’s guidance and protection. This logically expands to all financial, legal and social decisions.

Fury was right about how Pierce wants to take Omegas rights right back into the Middle Ages.

Omegas relish in feeling secure. This is best achieved by reminding the Omega of their natural place. Certain behaviors help to implement their inherent status. For example, an Alpha may have their Omega kneeling beside them during meals and feeding them by hand. It centers the Omega and accentuates the Alpha’s role as the provider.

Steve reads this paragraph multiple times until he’s sure he understood correctly. The thought of anyone, let alone any of the strong, independent and resilient Omegas he knows, kneeling at someone’s feet because of their designation, makes him grit his teeth in anger.

He tosses the pamphlet on the far side of his coffee table, not even bothering to look into the chapters on Correction and Starting a Pack. Steve really doesn’t want to know what those entail.

It’s frightening how the party manages to twist everything that’s imbedded in an Omega’s and Alpha’s genetic code into something that fits their narrative. Into something extreme and gross and patronizing.

An Omega’s wish for safety means they’re not capable of taking care of themselves. An Alpha’s longing to protect justifies clipping their mate’s freedom and right to make decisions on their own.

There is no question that Steve’ll stay on the mission. He needs to do everything in his power to stop these ideas from gaining any more momentum. If it means pretending to be mates with Bucky, so be it. He’s been standing up to bullies ever since he understood the concept.

Steve’s not going to stop now.

With new determination in his bones, he gets up, grabs a beer from his fridge and opens his laptop. He spends the next two hours looking at videos of Pierce.

Luckily, there is more than enough video material online to form a good impression on the guy. He seems to hover close to a lot of powerful Alphas. Sadly, Pierce is really fucking charismatic. Steve can see how he reels his audience in, how he manages to grab and command everyone’s attention.

Steve only stops clicking on the next video when he feels his eyelids drooping. He turns off his laptop and lets his head fall back against the headrest of his couch.

He already feels exhausted and it’s only the first day. The mission hasn’t even properly started.

With a deep groan, he forces himself to get up and get ready for bed. He’s out like a light the second his head touches his pillow.

But his dreams don’t grant him the reprieve he desperately needs. Grey eyes and plush lips waft before his eyes, snippets of their night together, memories of how Bucky’s skin had felt underneath his fingertips …

Steve still hears Bucky moaning by the time he jolts awake in the early morning. Even a cold shower can’t stop the way his body reacts to the images his unconsciousness conjured. Steve squeezes his eyes shut and bangs his head a couple of times against the tiles of his shower.

He survived the army and five undercover missions in seven years. But this, this is it.

Steve can feel it.

He’ll do anything for this case to be a success. But it might actually be the death of him.

- - -

“I like it that way,” Rosie declared, stabbing her fork into some broccoli and recoiling. “I think it’s cause of Mr. Bucky.”

Y/N lowered her fork, giving Rosie all of her attention. “What do you mean?”

“Cause Mr. Bucky’s like me,” Rosie explained. “He gots one arm too!”

“I think you’re right,” Y/N agreed. “They’re so used to him, they just didn’t think about it when they saw you. Which by the way,” she licked her thumb, putting it against Rosie’s face and wiping away some stray ketchup, “is a good thing.”

Rosie nodded, carefully chewing her chicken. “Can I have an arm like Mr. Bucky’s?” She asked.

“Mr. Bucky’s arm was made special for him,” Y/N reasoned. “You can have an arm, but I don’t think it’ll be like his. Since yours will have to be made for you. Does that make sense?”

Rosie’s face held a slight disappointment. “Yes Mommy.”

*******

Bucky became Rosie’s favorite person (other than Y/N) after that. Every morning, the first thing the child did as soon as her and her mother arrived at work was seek out Bucky. She’d run through the common floor, yelling for him until he would appear, arms wide, smile on his face, and greet her. After the first couple of days of this, Bucky made sure to be waiting just outside of the elevator, crouched down so he could easily scoop Rosie up as quickly as possible.

Y/N heart swelled as she observed Bucky’s gentle way with Rosie. How carefully he held her, the way his voice changed when he spoke to her, his willingness to let her decorate his metal arm with unicorn stickers, everything reminded Y/N of that feeling she got when she first saw him. That deep within that gloomy facade was a kind man who just wanted to feel joy again.

And Rosie, she had an endless supply of antics to get him smiling.

“Come on Barbie!” Rosie egged on from the floor of Y/N’s office, bouncing a Barbie in a poofy pink ballgown across the floor to mimic walking. “The magic ponies need our help!”

“Barbie, it’ll be faster if we use the car!” Bucky suggested, moving another doll.

Thor, who had been roped in by Rosie, blew a raspberry as he dragged a neon pink car with an astronaut in it across the floor. “You ladies need help?” He asked in his signature deep voice.

Bucky and Rosie let out a simultaneous big gasp “BUZZ LIGHTYEAR?”

Y/N laughed, fingers finally leaving the keyboard she had been clacking away on. Bucky’s head popped up, eyes meeting hers, his expression warm, welcoming. Y/N stiffened, heat seeping into her cheeks. She hid her smile behind her hand, making her laugh a giggle as she turned back towards the computer screen.

Another time, her and Pepper decided to take a shortcut through the kitchen.

“Lady Wanda, you killed my dragon!” Rosie smacked her fist on the table, making a paper crown droop down her head. Bucky, standing behind her chair, immediately adjusted the crown for her.

“I did not!” Wanda answered. “My queen, I can assure you that it was Lord Bruce. Sir Tony, Master of Whispers, told me so.”

Rosie inspected her fingernails. “So you didn’t kill my Fluffy, but you let Lord Sam upchuck my throne!”

“Usurp,” Bucky corrected in a whisper.

“Usurp!” Rosie repeated.

“Seriously, which one of you irresponsible jerks let her watch House of the Dragon?” Sam asked.

“Do you dare call our good queen a liar?” Bucky threatened, wielding an empty paper towel roll.

“I want trial by wombat!” Rosie yelled excitedly.

“Combat,” Bucky amended.

“Combat!” Rosie swung her arm wildly in excitement, crown flying off.

“You’re gonna be outnumbered soon,” Pepper commented, eyes glued to her clipboard.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked, pressing the button for the elevator.

Pepper glanced up from her clipboard, staring at Y/N over the rim of her reading glasses. “It’s simple math.”

“What is?”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “One,” she said, pointing at Y/N with the eraser end of her pencil. “Plus one,” she moved it in Rosie’s direction. “Plus one,” the eraser now singled out Bucky. “Equals three. Get it?”

At that moment, Bucky noticed Y/N, blue eyes seemingly brighter as he lifted his right hand in a wave.

Y/N waved back, movements eager. “Yup, simple math,” Pepper confirmed, causing Y/N to quickly lower her hand.

“He’s just being nice.”

Nice doesn’t play with Rosie regardless of if she asks or not. Nice doesn’t let the her climb into his lap so he can read a book to her. Nice doesn’t gather his friends so they can watch the her little plays or magic shows she comes up with. And nice certainly doesn’t take time out of his day to bake cookies with her so she’ll stay out of her mother’s hair while she works.

No, this, this was something else. A strange, comforting thing that made Y/N’s heart warm, her cheeks ache, gave her a relief that someone else adored Rosie just as much as her. Deep down, her heart yearned for this to be not just her professional life, but her personal life.

The universe gave her three signs that this could be.

One.

Bucky stood in the doorway, knuckles gently knocking on the wood frame. “Knock knock,” he said.

Rosie, sitting on the floor scribbling in a coloring book, perked up at the sound. Like lightning, she pushed herself off the floor, jogging over to him. “Bucky!” She yelled, dropping the honorific Mr. like she tended to do these days, hurling herself into his legs. “You’re finally back!”

“He just went to the grocery store Rosie,” Y/N assured, as she finished up typing the date and tine of Natasha’s interview with Woman’s Health Magazine into an Excel cell. “He said he would be back.”

“I did,” Bucky agreed, bending over to pick Rosie up. “And I promised Rosie Posy that if she behaved I’d take her to the park.”

“I was good!” Rosie declared, nodding vigorously. “Tell him Mommy!”

Y/N looked up from her laptop. “She was on her best behavior,” she confirmed, with a thumbs up.

“Yay!” Rosie exclaimed.

Bucky chewed his lip, feigning deep thought. “Wait a minute, there were two conditions remember?” He asked Rosie.

“No there-“ Rosie went silent as Bucky whispered something in her ear. “Oh yeah there was!”

Y/N crossed her arms, wary of where this was going. “Another condition?”

“You come with us,” Bucky clarified, to which Rosie enthusiastically added a “Yeah!”

“I’d love to,” Y/N said. “But I’ve got work to do!”

“You’re always working!” Rosie pouted.

“Mommy needs money,” Y/N reminded her.

“Mommy needs a break,” Bucky suggested. “Seriously, Y/N, take a break.”

Y/N shrank in her seat, back aching to get up and move around, but the grip of financial wellbeing tightened around her like a vise. “I dunno.”

“If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you were helping me with an errand. You’re our assistant, that’s your job isn’t it?” He strode across the room, readjusting Rosie so he could hold her with one arm, using his other to extend his hand towards Y/N. “Come on,” he said, his voice softer, “Let’s have some fun.”

Y/N reached out, movements hesitant, before finally enclosing his hand in hers. “Let’s go.”

****

“I thought you said the park?” Y/N queried.

“This is the park!” Bucky replied, his free arm sweeping in a wide motion.

“Central Park?”

“Yeah, the only park in New York that matters!”

“Mommy! Bucky! Can we go to the zoo?” Rosie asked.

“Anything you want!” Bucky moved so that Rosie sat on top of his shoulders.

“Of course baby,” Y/N added, beaming at Rosie’s excitement.

Rosie kicked her legs against Bucky’s chest. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

The day passed in a whirlwind, Bucky and Y/N taking turns guiding Rosie through the park, watching her joy with smiles on their faces. They toured the zoo, laughing at Rosie’s impression of the animals, sat on a bench eating ice cream while observing people, faked interest every time Rosie pointed out a dog.

“This is nice,” Y/N commented, holding her hair out of her face as a nice breeze flew by. Her eyes locked onto Rosie, a few feet away, holding a bag of duck feed between her stump and her body, using her hand to throw handfuls at the ducks with no strategy in mind. “I haven’t been able to do this sort of thing with her in a long time.” She sighed, long and tired. “That’s the thing about always working, I miss moments like this.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Bucky said. “You should be able to take time for yourself and Rosie. Do nice things.”

“I haven’t had nice things in nearly five years,” Y/N said.

“That’ll change soon.”

Y/N turned her head, scrutinizing him. “How do you know that?”

Bucky shrugged, “I just do-“

“Can we go ride the merry-go-round? I’ve never been.” Rosie, who had jogged up to them unnoticed asked.

Y/N and Bucky blinked in surprise, before gathering themselves.

“Of course!”

“That sounds fun!”

Carnival music filled the air as technicolor horses surrounded them. “I want this one!” Rosie declared at a lilac colored horse.

“Sure baby,” Y/N bent down to help Rosie onto the horse, but Bucky stopped her.

“I’ve got this, you pick a horse.”

Y/N’s brow arched. “What?”

Bucky scooped Rosie up, sitting her in the saddle. “Moms get to have fun too.”

“Pick that one Mommy!” Rosie motioned with her head to the pastel blue stallion next to her. “We can ride together.”

“Alright alright,” Y/N conceded, throwing her leg over the horse.

Bucky positioned himself between them, one hand supporting Rosie, the other Y/N. The floor beneath them lurched, the carousel rotated forward as the music grew louder and lights flashed. Rosie squealed as her horse drew up before coming back down. “It’s moving!” She shouted, a twinge of fear in her voice.

Y/N laughed, loud and clear without restraint. “It’s supposed to do that Rosie. Just hold tight.”

“I’ve got you,” Bucky interjected as Rosie wrapped her hand around the pole tighter.

“Don’t let go,” Rosie pleaded.

“I’ve got both of you, I promise.”

After a rotation, Rosie realized Bucky was truthful. She loosened her grip on the pole, lips slowly curling into a smile as she relaxed.

“You’re doing good Rosie,” Y/N encouraged from her horse.

“So brave,” Bucky added.

Rosie beamed, cackling with joy at the compliment as the world spun around them. Y/N and Bucky joined her, their laughs a choir of happiness amidst a vortex of technicolor. Y/N threw her head back, shaking hair out of her eyes before glancing back towards Rosie. Instead, she met Bucky’s eyes, steel blues locked on her. His chest stuttered as his breath hitched, his cheeks flushing a slight shade of pink. The warmth that so often flooded Y/N’s cheeks when Y/N was with him struck again. She averted her gaze shyly, repositioning her hands to help hide her face.

The carousel slowed, coming to a full stop. “Aw,” Rosie complained, wiggling her legs in the hopes the ride would start again.

“We can come back another time,” Bucky said as he plucked her off the horse.

“Okay,” Rosie replied sadly, turning around to gaze upon her beloved horse one last time.

As they exited the ride, Y/N dug her phone out of her pocket. “Rosie, wanna take a picture in front of the carousel?”

“Yeah!” Rosie lifted her arm so Y/N could lift her. Y/N searched the area for somewhere to temporarily put her phone.

“Here,” Bucky extended his hand, “I can take it.”

Y/N handed him her phone. Bucky swiped to open the camera app, lining them up just right when a woman tapped him on the shoulder. “I can take your photo,” she offered. “That way the whole family can be in it.”

“Oh,” Bucky didn’t know what to say to that, thrown off by the offer.

“That’d be great,” Y/N threw him a line, “thank you.” She motioned with her head for Bucky to stand next to her.

“Yeah,” Bucky recovered, passing the phone to the woman. “Thanks.” He stepped next to Y/N awkwardly, attempting to keep his distance when Rosie reached for him with her arm. Y/N wobbled from the sudden movement, her and Rosie swaying. Bucky quickly slung his arm over Y/N’s shoulder, balancing her and providing extra support for Rosie, who was now able to get her arm around him.

“Say cheese,” the woman instructed.

Rosie grinned. “CHEESE!”

The woman tapped the button a few times before giving the phone back to Y/N for approval. “What a beautiful family,” she commented as she walked away.

“Thank you,” Y/N said as she admired the photos. “Wow, these are……” she trailed off, heart aching. Every photo she ever had with Rosie was just the two of them, having Bucky there, filling the empty space, like he belonged there, made her heart flutter.

“They’re nice,” Bucky finished.

“Yeah, nice.” Y/N pocketed the phone, “I think we should head back now.”

Two

Y/N grabbed her water bottle, annoyed to find it empty. With an inconvenienced sigh, she rose from her desk, stretching her back for a moment before heading towards the kitchen. The closer she got to the common area, the louder the music became. She stepped into the common room, blinded by a light. Blinking speedily, she recovered, cocking her head in confusion when she realized her assailant to be an Iron Man helmet hanging from the ceiling like a disco ball. Music blasted from the bluetooth speakers accompanied by several men’s voices, all painfully off pitch.

“You can dance!” Tony, donned in a powder blue feather boa, began.

“You can jive!” Bruce, a lopsided pair of shutter frames from the dollar store on his face, added.

“Having the time of your life!” Steve and Thor shared Mjolnir, using it as a microphone.

Rosie shrieked as her and Bucky spun into the room, skirts of her giant princess dress poofing around her elegantly.

The men continued. “See that girl, watch that scene, digging the dancing queen!”

Sam slid into the room on his knees, performing a terrible falsetto akin to a dog whistle.

Y/N clapped, impressed by this so called cover band. “Great job boys,” she stifled a laugh. “I especially loved that falsetto,” she added sarcastically.

“Mommy, mommy,” Rosie hopped over to her, glitter flying off of her dress. “Join our dance party!”

“Take a break,” Bucky suggested, extending his hand out to her.

“Oh no thank you,” Y/N said, holding up her water bottle. “I’m just here for a refill.”

“Hey, she made us join,” Tony feigned a complaint, sauntering over to Y/N. “Besides,” he paused, flinging the boa off of him and around Y/N’s shoulders. “As your boss I command that you join the party. You need to socialize with your coworkers more oft—-whatever the hell managers with sticks up their ass say.”

“Language,” Steve reminded, eyes flickering from Tony to Rosie.

“Sticks up their butts,” Tony corrected, eyes rolling.

“Please Mommy,” Rosie begged, pouting with her eyes wide like a puppy.

“Yes please,” Bucky joined, mimicking her.

The song changed to another bouncy, drum heavy beat. “There’s a girl who’s been on my mind, all the time.”

“Oh alright!” Y/N caved, crossing the boa across itself with flair with one hand while shoving her water bottle into Tony’s chest. “But only because I love Sussudio!” She took Rosie’s hand, letting her lead her into the center of the room, body moving to the beat. Bucky, Sam, Steve, and Bruce joined them, taking turns swinging her and Rosie around. Meanwhile, Tony and Thor climbed onto the dining room table, owning every movement like it was a stage.

Phil Collins’ drums faded away into something slow, easy. “Ugh pause,” Tony scoffed, “F.R.I.D.A.Y sk-“

“No!” Rosie interrupted. “It’s the slow song!”

“Exactly, kid, we’re gonna-“

“But Mr. Tony, you promised!” Rosie stomped her foot.

“Promised. Promised wha-“ Tony cut himself off when Thor whispered in his ear. “That’s right! I need to go buy more ice cream!” He jumped off the table.

“And I need to polish Mjolnir,” Thor said, scrambling after Tony.

Bruce, Steve, and Sam glanced at each other all nodding. “I promised Natasha I’d water her plants,” Bruce interjected.

“I need to return a library book,” Sam declared, shaking his head.

Y/N and Bucky’s eyes fell to Steve.

“I uh…….I have yoga!” Steve shouted, jogging out of the room.

Bucky’s brow furrowed, confused. “What was that about?” He asked.

Y/N shook her head. “I don’t kn-“ she peered down, Rosie holding her hand. “You dance with Bucky Mommy.”

“Oh Rosie, I can’t I-“

“May I have this dance?” Bucky bowed in front of her, offering her his hand.

“I-I…”

“Please Mo-“

“Yes,” Y/N whispered. “I mean, yes you can,” she repeated, louder, fingers closing around Bucky’s.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y,” Rosie called out.

“Yes Miss Rosalie?” The AI answered.

“Play the slow song!”

“Playing Careless Whisper.”

Bucky gently pulled Y/N closer, one hand resting around her waist. He led her in a slow gentle sway as George Michael crooned.

“You know,” Bucky began, “I’m starting to think Rosie and the guys planned this.”

Y/N giggled. “Oh you think so?” She asked, eyes bright and crinkling.

“Mmmm, I have some theories,” Bucky faked ignorance before breaking into a chuckle right as the iconic saxophone riff blared.

“I don’t mind though,” Y/N said quietly, resting her head on his shoulder. “Do you?”

Bucky locked eyes with her. “No,” he replied, holding her tighter with a sparkle in his eye. “I don’t mind at all.”

They were so lost in each others’ eyes neither noticed the music shut off; or the four year old hiding conspiratorially around the corner with her cohorts. “It’s working!” Rosie exclaimed.

“Shhhh, shhhh!” Multiple mischievous voices replied.

Tony put his hand over Rosie’s mouth. “They can’t know we helped you plan this remember?”

Rosie nodded.

Tony removed his hand, squatting to be at eye level with her as the other did the same. “Step One of Operation Get Rosie A Dad is a success, but we can’t be seen here,” Tony explained, putting his hand out, which Rosie put on top, followed by the rest. “We meet tomorrow to discuss further strategies. Got it?”

The team sounded out their affirmations.

“Okay, and break!”

Three

Bucky had to go away for a week. A mission in London with Steve, Nat, and Sam.

Rosie pouted when she learned this, lip quivering, her arm wrapped around her body, the only way she could mime crossing one’s arms.

“Don’t worry Little One,” Vision said calmly, gently moving a strand of Rosie’s hair behind her ear. “We’ll still have fun.”

“And Bucky will be back before you know it,” Wanda, who had generated a red aura around her hands, attempting to distract Rosie, tacked on.

Rosie sniffed. “I’ll try, but I miss him.”

“That’s okay,” Wanda took Rosie’s hand, making the red fog envelope them both. She pushed her other hand downwards, sending them both floating in the air. “I miss him too, why don’t we go make him a drawing for when he gets back?”

“Okay.”

Y/N observed as Wanda flew Rosie out of earshot. “Vision?”

“Yes Miss Y/N?”

“It’s not an overly dangerous mission is it?” Y/N asked, voice quavering.

Vision smiled assuringly. “No Miss. Just helping MI6 with reconnaissance. Nothing too dangerous.” He spun around, flying after the girls.

“That wasn’t reassuring at all.”

****

A week later, Rosie glued herself to the window, eyes up to the sky, searching for a jet. “When’s he back?”

“Soon Rosie,” Y/N said from the table where she was playing Scrabble with Vision and Clint over her lunch break. “Why don’t you come sit do-“

“Mommy! Mommy! He’s back! Look!”

Y/N stood up, turning around just in time to see the jet descend onto the landing strip below them. Rosie dashed up to the table, snatching a piece of paper. “Let’s go!” Rosie yelled, making a beeline towards the elevator.

“Rosalie Y/L/N don’t run!” Y/N scolded as Rosie smacked the elevator.

“Well you heard her,” Clint interjected waving his hands. “Go!”

Y/N sped over to the elevator, making it in just in time before the doors closed. Rosie bounced with excitement, examining the buttons. “Which one?” She asked.

“This one,” Y/N pointed and Rosie hit.

Moments later, the elevator opened, the returning Avengers coming into view. Rosie didn’t bother waiting, taking off like a track star. “Bucky!” She screamed.

“Rosie!” Bucky yelled back, lowering himself to the ground. Rosie practically tackled him, both of them rocking backwards with the force, causing Bucky to set his hand on the ground.

“I missed you,” Rosie declared, hugging him tight.

“I missed you too Sweetheart.” Bucky’s eyes scanned upward, finding Y/N. “And you too,” he added.

“Safe travels I hope?” Y/N queried.

Bucky nodded. “Nothing too crazy, couple of fights here and there, maybe a car chase.”

Y/N snorted.

Rosie pulled back, showing Bucky the paper. “I made this for you.”

“You did?” Bucky asked, accepting the paper. He unfolded it, revealing a messy crayon drawing of three stick people in a field of flowers. “Oh this is so pretty. The yellow you picked captured the sun perfectly. And I love the contrast of the red and blue flowers, very professional.”

“It’s me, you, and Mommy” Rosie said proudly. “When we sent to the park.”

“I’ll keep it always,” Bucky vowed. “Can I get another hug?” Rosie gave him one. “I have something for you too.” He shouldered his bag off carefully, unzipping and grabbing something quickly. “Do you know who this lil’ guy is?” He asked holding up a bear clad in a navy coat, bright red hat, and yellow rain boots.

“Paddyton!” Rosie exclaimed, taking the bear from Bucky and squeezing it tight.

“You know I found him exactly where the book said. Just wondering around Paddington Station. Do you believe that?”

“I love him,” Rosie said, giving Paddington a kiss.

“What do you say?” Y/N reminded her.

“Thank you,” Rosie said, burrowing her face into Paddington shyly.

Bucky returned to the bag, retrieving a white box with a black ribbon and gold insignia on it. He stood to his full height, holding it out to Y/N. “I’ve got something for you too.”

“For me?” Y/N queried, waiting for Bucky to nod before taking the box hesitantly. Carefully, she pushed the ribbon off of the side, dangling it off of her arm as she opened the lid. Separating the tissue paper, she found a white and green box of perfume. “Bucky,” Y/N gasped. “What….I….” She was at a loss for words.

“You work so hard,” Bucky said, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “You do everything for everyone. I just felt like it was time someone did something nice for you.” His eyes fell to the floor for a second avoiding her gaze temporarily before coming back sheepishly.

Y/N balanced the gift box in one arm while pulling the perfume box out. Bucky removed the gift box from her arms, giving her full range of motion. She took note of the name as she slid her finger under the seal; Creed Fleurissimo. Sliding the bottle out she removed the cap, shoulders relaxing at how pleasant the smell was.

“The saleswoman said it’s supposed to smell like a fairy tale,” Bucky explained. “Apparently there used to be an actress named Grace Kelly who fell in love with a prince. And the prince commissioned the perfumers to make this for her for their wedding day. Don’t know how true that is.”

“I haven’t had perfume in years,” Y/N whispered, a slight crackle in her voice. She met Bucky’s gaze, eyes dampening. She threw herself at him, giving him a hug. “It’s beautiful. Thank you Bucky.”

Bucky’s held her tight, giving a small affectionate squeeze. “Anything for you and Rosie.”

Y/N withdrew, her mouth speaking the thought she had all week before she could stop herself. “You wanna come over for dinner tonight?”

Bucky’s breath hitched, the question unexpected. “You want me over? Are you sure?”

Y/N spritzed some perfume onto her wrist, testing how it smelled on her skin. “Mhmm.”

“You should come Bucky!” Rosie chimed in. “We’re having s’getti!”

“That’s my favorite!” Bucky replied, giving Rosie a wink. “Yes, I’d love that,” he addressed Y/N.

“Does 6:15 work?” Y/N asked.

“Perfect,” Bucky confirmed.

Y/N returned the perfume bottle to the box, setting it back into the gift wrapping Bucky still held onto. “Well let you get some rest,” she said, taking it from him. She acknowledged Rosie then “Come on baby, we need to let Bucky rest a bit. Plane rides make people tired.”

“Okay,” Rosie skipped along side her, clinging to Paddington. “See you tonight Bucky!”

Bucky waved. “Looking forward to it.”

As Y/N returned to her office, she crossed paths with Tony, who sniffed the air. “Are you wearing perfume?”

“Yes,” Y/N answered, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear to hide how flustered she was. “Bucky brought it back from London.”

Tony took note of the brand symbol on the box, resisting the urge to whistle. “That’s nice.”

“Yes.” Y/N walked into her office, a wistful tone to her voice. “It is.”

Walking in your apartment after your shift, you felt dead on your feet. You had worked both jobs that day. It was just after 11 and you had to be into work at 7 the next morning. “Hey, babes!” Your room mate (and best friend) glanced at you. “You got a package today. I put it on your bed.” 

“Thanks.” You dropped your bag before slipping off your sneakers. “I work tomorrow morning, but I’ll be home for dinner. Will you?” 

“No, I go in at noon tomorrow, then I’m sleeping over Hux’s.” Kat had been dating Hux for just over six months and you loved them together. You’d been floored when you were told she was dating a man whose name sounded like he came from money. The two of you did not come into contact with men like that! However, he did not. Huxley Lawson the third was a middle class guy whose parents had big dreams for him. “Why?” 

“Wanted to know what to plan to make for dinner. Since it’ll just be me I know I can go simple.” In other words: sparse and cheap. 

Kat chuckled and shook her head. “Just include protein!” She called after you as you made your way to your room, grinning as she heard you laugh. It was a running joke that she was the ‘dad’ of the apartment. Her father had visited once and you knew where she got the ‘protein’ from. You’d made the two of you pasta with butter and seasoning. He’d stared at your bowl and asked where the protein was. You’d told him ‘at the store’ jokingly. 

Once in your room, you were curious who could have sent you something. There was no return address, but it was from someone local from what you could tell from the markings from the post office. Ripping it open you saw your wallet. “Thank God!” You breathed. You’d lost it the week before and had been hoping it would turn up so you didn’t have to go through the hassle of dealing with everything. Opening it, you gasped. There was over a grand in it. That had not been there before. You set that aside and lifted the folded note that had been under it. 

Found your wallet. Don’t look for more work, you have me. Expect more. 

-B

P.S. I hope I picked a good replacement for your old wallet. It had clearly seen better days!

“What. The. Fuck?” You set it aside and pulled out a new pink sparkly wallet. It was still in its plastic and everything. There was nothing else in the box. No clues to who the hell this man was. Putting everything back in the box, you just stared at it as you chewed on your lower lip. On the one hand: you needed the money, but getting another job would have worn you down even further. On the other: some strange man gave you a ton of money and wanted to what? Be your anonymous sugar daddy??? 

Bucky stood across the street from your building and told himself you’d be out of that shithole soon. When he saw you step out, he stood up straight. You were a burst of color in a sea of browns, greys, and blacks. You were talking to who he assumed was your roommate animatedly. In your hand was that new pink sparkly wallet he had bought you. Grinning, he let you get a few feet before crossing the street to trail you. 

Now, despite his ‘career’, stalking hadn’t ever been his thing. He got around that by telling himself this wasn’t stalking. It was protection. You were an angel that needed to be kept safe. He was the one to do that. Steve and Sam were checking out your jobs to see how safe they were at the moment. 

“I’m so excited!” You squealed. “Her music is so much fun.” He knew which concert you were talking about, too. He’d been seeing advertisements everywhere for it. Some local pop singer that was blowing up lately.

“Thank your mystery man.” Your best friend giggled. “We couldn’t have afforded these tickets without him.” When you’d told her what was in that package she had stared at you for a good minute or two before telling you that it was weird, but it wasn’t like you could give the money back. So, you’d spent $150 on these two tickets, stocked your kitchen with $500 worth of groceries, put some aside for emergencies, and then you had $200 for this night out. “Wonder if he’s hot.” She mused, making Bucky smirk. The two of you were in heels so catching up to you had been easy. 

You snorted at that. “You’ve been reading romance books again, haven’t you?” You nudged her lightly. “No prince, mafia don, cowboy, rock star, or professional athlete is going to turn up, declare me as his and then whisk me away so I can quit one of my jobs.” 

Oh, if you only knew. He thought to himself. 

“Oh, you read them, too. Don’t act all innocent.” Your best friend countered. Now he wondered what books you were reading. 

When you glanced at her he saw you were blushing. Ohhhh those kinds of books. Finally, the two of you were crossing the street and he was off to buy tickets to that concert. And look into romance books.

Sam Wilson was trailing ten yards back, his face a mask of sweaty determination. "I am... an Avenger," Sam panted, "I have flown... through alien portals... why am I... following two... super soldiers... around a track?"

Steve slowed his pace, dropping back to run alongside Sam. Without saying a word, he reached out his flesh hand and gave Sam a firm, grounding pat on the shoulder, the physical touch a silent encouragement. "Almost there, Sam. Think of the bacon."

"I am thinking of the bacon," Sam groaned, leaning his weight slightly into Steve’s side as they turned the corner. Thinking to just colapse to the ground if it's not for his own ego. Especially in front of the Winter Soldier whose absolutely not gonna live it down. 

"I’m also thinking of a world where you two doesn't have a cardiovascular system made of vibranium."

Now, inside the Compound, the atmosphere was different. The gym was quiet, there's a rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a heavy bag echoing through the space. Natasha was holding the bag, her lean muscles tensed, while you delivered a series of sharp, tactical kicks.

After a few sets, the automatic doors hissed open. Tony Stark stumbled in. He looked like a man who had been put through a blender. His hair was a bird's nest, his shirt was crinkled, and he was clutching an empty mug like a holy relic. He didn't see them immediately as he was just navigating by scent toward the nearest espresso machine.

"Tony," you said, your voice dropping into a stern tone that remind Tony of his mom. Tony jumped, nearly dropping his mug. His eyebrow furrowed and ready to fire whoever was talking, until he turned around and the two of you. "Ah! My two favorite Widows. Good morning—or evening? What planet is this?"

You walked over and crossing your arms. You didn't stay at a distance but stepped right into his personal space, reaching up to feel his forehead. "You didn't sleep again? Tony, your eyes are bloodshot and you smell like oil and regret."

"I had a breakthrough, honey." Tony mumbled, leaning his head forward until it rested on your shoulder. He was a billionaire genius, but in this moment, he was just a tired man seeking a vertical nap. "Bucky's arm is bothering him again. I couldn't leave the brooding super-soldier like that."

Natasha approached from the other side, slinging an arm around Tony’s waist to keep him upright. "Lab's closed. Now. Eat your breakfast, then go get some sleep. You look like shit, Stark."

"I'm too rich to be bullied like this," Tony complained, though he let them lead him toward the kitchen like a lost toddler.

When Tony and his two protective mother hen arrived, the kitchen was a disaster zone. The scent of frying bacon—Steve’s promise—filled the air.

But the peaceful morning vibe was currently being interrupted by a theological debate.

"I am telling you, Clint Barton, the jar was clearly marked with the seal of the All-Father!" Thor’s voice boomed, his massive hand clutching a half-empty jar of your homemade peanut butter jam.

Clint, who was perched precariously on top of the refrigerator—his favorite place to hang, glared down. "It had a sticky note that said 'Clint’s PB - Do Not Touch or Die,' Thor! I don't care if you're an Asgardian, you don't mess with a man's protein."

The peanut butter wasn't just any peanut butter. He'd spent an embarrassing amount of time convincing you to make that particular batch for him, insisting that store-bought never tasted right. you rolled your eyes the entire time, but you made it anyway. It was his jar.

"It is a creamy delight! I required it for my toast bread!" Thor declared. Clutching the empty jar to his chest before raising it triumphantly, as though preparing to march it into glorious battle.

Steve, who now was flipping pancakes nearby, just sighed. He walked over, placed a hand on Thor’s bicep to lower the jar, and used his other hand to reach up and tug Clint’s ankle. "Down, Clint. Thor, we have six more jars in the pantry. There is enough peanut butter for everyone."

"Aye, but it is not her peanut butter!" Thor insisted indignantly. "My favorite brunette made this one!"

Bruce looked up from his tablet, seated on the couch in front of the TV, which served as little more than background noise. Despite the shouting match unfolding in the kitchen, he looked remarkably at peace. Catching his eye, you wandered over and slipped onto the stool beside him as though the archer and the God of Thunder weren't currently fighting over your famous homemade peanut butter.

The moment you leaned your head against his shoulder, Bruce instinctively draped an arm around you. Without looking away from his tablet, his fingers began absentmindedly tapping a gentle rhythm against your arm.

"They’ve been at it for twenty minutes," Bruce whispered.

"Make it thirty," Bucky said, walking in from his shower, smelling like sandalwood. He walked straight to the counter, grabbed a piece of bacon, and then approached you and Bruce. Instead of taking a seat, he simply stretched out across the rest of the couch, resting his head in your lap. He let out a quiet sigh as your fingers drifted through his hair, the tension in his shoulders gradually melting away beneath your gentle touch.

The physical closeness was everywhere. It was how they stayed grounded. After years of being weapons, they needed the tactile reminder that they were human.

By afternoon, our mightiest heroes had formed in the living room. A massive, sprawling sectional sofa held the weight of the world. Tony was out cold, his head in Steve's lap whose sitting on the floor, leaning against the base of the couch, sketching. Thor was sprawled across three cushions, snoring like a freight train. Sam was using Thor’s stomach as a pillow, reading a book.

You were sandwiched between Bucky and Natasha. Bucky had his metal arm draped over the back of the sofa, his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt, while you had your legs draped over Natasha’s lap. Nat was braided your hair into intricate patterns, her movements slow and meditative.

"Pass the popcorn," Clint whispered from his perch atop the back of the sofa, his legs dangling just behind Bucky’s head.

Bucky reached out, snagged the bowl, and handed it up without looking. "Shh. Stark’s finally quiet. Don't wake the man."

"I'm not asleep," Tony mumbled from Steve's lap, his eyes still closed. "I'm just... recalibrating my eyelids."

You shifted, snuggling closer into Bucky’s side. He adjusted his grip, pulling you in until your head tucked into the sweet spot beneath his chin. He pressed a quiet, lingering kiss to the crown of your head—a simple kiss, on a Sunday afternoon with the realization that he never wanted to be anywhere else.

"You guys are gross," Sam muttered from Thor’s stomach, though he didn't move.

"Shut up, Wilson," Bucky muttered at the exact same time you said, "Shut up, Birdman."

You reached for the phone on the nightstand without looking at it, eyes gritty and swollen. You extended the reservation at the front desk through the app. You went to the bathroom, knees weak. You drank a few mouthfuls of water because your tongue felt like paper.

Then you crawled back into the bed and let the dark swallow you again.

The third day arrived without ceremony.

Light leaked around the edges of the curtains. Your stomach clenched with hunger you didn’t have the energy to answer. Your throat ached from dehydration and crying and silence.

You stared at the phone for a long time before you turned it on, as if the device itself might explode the moment it reconnected you to other people’s expectations.

The screen lit up.

Notifications stacked like bricks.

Missed calls. Voicemails. Texts.

Bucky. Again and again and again, his name a constant pulse you could feel in your bones even without sound.

Wanda. Pietro. Steve.

And then– your mother.

Your thumb hovered over her name.

You called her every day. You always had, since you started university. Not because she demanded it, but because she worried. Because the idea of you being alone in a city that didn’t know how to be gentle made her anxious enough that her voice would go tight the moment a day passed without hearing yours.

Seeing her missed calls made your stomach twist with something worse than grief.

Guilt.

You didn’t have the strength to speak. Not to her. Not yet. Not with Bucky’s words still sitting in your mouth like poison.

So you did the next best thing: you controlled the message.

You opened the group chat – the one with all of them, the thread that usually ran on jokes and memes and Pietro’s chaos and Wanda’s dry commentary and Steve’s occasional dad-texts.

Your fingers shook as you typed.

I didn’t do anything stupid. I’m not answering the phone.

You hit send before you could overthink it.

Then you opened the family chat – your mother, the relatives who cared in their own clumsy ways, the tiny net you’d been held in since you were four.

You sent the same thing.

I didn’t do anything stupid. I’m not answering the phone.

Immediately, the little typing bubbles appeared. Someone responding. Someone panicking. Someone asking where are you and are you safe and please call me.

Your phone started ringing.

You didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

You looked anyway.

BUCKY.

Your chest tightened so hard it hurt.

You turned the phone off again.

The quiet dropped over you like a blanket – too heavy, but familiar.

And you slept.

As if your body forced hibernation on you, like it had decided the only way to survive was to shut down completely and make up for all the exhaustion you’d been carrying long before that dinner: the thesis, the TA work, the constant balancing act of being fine, of being helpful, of being good – and Bucky.

The fourth day came with a different kind of awareness.

Not relief.

Not healing.

Decision.

You sat up in the hotel bed and stared at the beige wall across from you. The air-conditioning hummed. Somewhere down the hall, a door closed. A cart rattled over carpet.

Your hands were steadier than they had been the night you left his apartment.

The shame was still there. The fear, too. But underneath it, something else had settled into place. A hard, clear thought.

If he’s right – if there’s something wrong in me – then I want to know where it started.

Your biological parents had rejected you.

You wanted to know why.

Not to punish them.

Not to beg.

To understand the origin of the problem – to look at it directly until it stopped being a shapeless monster in the dark.

You opened your laptop.

The familiar login screen blinked at you like nothing had happened, like the world was still made of passwords and folders and neat categories. Your files were there. Your thesis notes. Your research. Your tabs still open where you’d left them days ago, frozen mid-thought.

And in the mess of documents and saved links and half-finished drafts, there were the last pieces of your private search – the one you’d been conducting in the background for months, not quite ready to admit to yourself what you were doing.

A name. A thread. A lead.

Miami.

Your pulse kicked.

You didn’t let yourself hesitate.

You booked a flight for the next day.

One-way.

Not because you knew how long you would stay.

Because you refused to decide your entire future from inside a hotel room two blocks away from the life that had just shattered.

Then – because there was one person you couldn’t disappear from completely without tearing something else open – you turned your phone back on long enough to do one thing.

You opened Pietro’s chat.

Your fingers hovered for a long time above the keyboard.

You had never lied to Pietro. Not really. Not about the things that mattered. He was the one person you had always given the whole truth to, even when it made you feel ugly.

So you wrote.

It started messy. It became precise. It ran long.

You told him about the dinner at Bucky’s. About the candle. The pasta. The way Bucky had looked like he was bracing for impact.

You told him about the laugh – one sharp, wrong sound – and the way it had changed Bucky’s face in an instant.

You wrote the words Bucky had said. All of them. You didn’t soften them. You didn’t protect him. You didn’t protect yourself, either.

You told Pietro about walking through New York at night until your feet went numb.

About the bridge.

About leaning over the railing and realizing, with a terror that made your stomach roll, that you didn't want to die – but in that moment it had been so tempting to make everything stop. The pain. The shame. The fear. The feeling that since the day you were born, no one had wanted you.

You told him about pulling yourself back. About the sob that saved you. About the hotel two blocks from your apartment. About sleeping like your body was trying to erase you.

And you told him about the decision.

You wrote about your biological parents. The rejection. The question you couldn’t stop asking.

You wrote about the lead you’d found. The trail that pointed to Miami. The flight you had bought.

Then you ended the message with the only thing you could ask for, the only thing you could trust Pietro to give you without breaking.

Don’t tell anyone where I'm going. Not my mother. Not Wanda. No one.

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering over send.

And then you hit it.

The message delivered.

A small, quiet act of trust.

A thin thread connecting you to one person in a city full of voices you weren’t ready to hear.

Then you turned your phone off again.

And in the silence that followed, with Miami sitting on your screen like a door you hadn’t opened yet, you breathed in slowly and let the air out.

Not peace.

But something close to purpose.

When your message hit the group chat, Bucky’s phone was in his hand before his brain caught up.

He called you immediately.

It rang twice.

Then voicemail.

His thumb stabbed the screen again, like repetition could change reality.

Straight to voicemail.

Again – because he was apparently still the kind of man who thought persistence could undo cruelty.

Voicemail.

He stared at the dark screen for a second, breathing too hard, then opened the chat again.

I didn’t do anything stupid. I’m not answering the phone.

He read it once.

Then again.

Then a third time, slower, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something that made sense.

His throat tightened so sharply it hurt.

He didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or cry at the fact that after everything – after what he had said, after what he had thrown – you had still thought to reassure everyone. You had still taken the time to stop people from panicking about the worst-case scenario, even while you were disappearing.

It made him feel sick.

It made him feel small.

His gaze drifted to the space where your spare key had been on his counter, the one that had been yours, the one he had held like a guarantee.

Yesterday – yesterday, with his hands still shaking from shame and adrenaline, he had shoved that spare key into Steve’s palm like it was contraband.

Just in case, he’d said. If I lose my mind, don’t let me–

He didn’t even have to finish the sentence. Steve had looked at him like he wanted to hit him and had taken it without a word.

Bucky exhaled shakily. He was glad he’d done it.

Because otherwise he would already be at your apartment. He would already be letting himself in. He would already be tearing through drawers and closets like your life was a crime scene and he was entitled to evidence.

And the worst part was – he could picture it. Could picture himself doing it. Could picture the desperation turning into something ugly and frantic.

He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes.

Twenty minutes later, someone knocked.

Not a polite knock. A familiar one. Three sharp raps that sounded like a decision.

Bucky opened the door to Steve.

Steve looked exhausted. His face was drawn tight, hair uncombed, the kind of tired that didn’t come from a lack of sleep so much as an excess of worry. His eyes flicked past Bucky immediately, scanning the apartment like he expected to see you sitting on the couch.

“You saw it,” Bucky said hoarsely.

Steve didn’t answer right away. He stepped inside, and Bucky noticed – absurdly – the way Steve’s shoulders stayed tense, like he didn’t trust himself to relax in the same space as Bucky.

“I saw it,” Steve said finally.

Bucky swallowed. “I tried calling.”

“I know.”

It wasn’t sympathy. It wasn’t accusation either. It was just… fact. Another brick in the wall.

Steve’s gaze landed on the kitchen table – still half-set, still wrong. The candle stub. The plates. The untouched meal that had become a monument to what Bucky had ruined.

Steve’s jaw flexed.

“She turned her phone off again,” Steve said.

Bucky’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Yeah.”

Silence settled for a beat.

Then the knock came again – faster, urgent, almost frantic.

Wanda.

She stood in the doorway with tears in her eyes and both hands wrapped around her phone like she’d been holding it too tightly for too long. Her cheeks were flushed, and her breathing looked unsteady, like she’d walked here quickly – like she’d run.

She didn’t look at Bucky at first.

She looked at Steve.

As if Steve was the stable thing in the room. The safe thing.

Then her eyes snapped to Bucky, and whatever was in her expression made his stomach twist. Not just anger.

Disgust.

Behind her, Pietro appeared – shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes like knives. He didn’t hesitate. He walked straight in like he owned the air, like he could barely stand not to.

He looked at Bucky and his stare sharpened.

If Steve hadn’t been there, Bucky was almost sure Pietro would have hit him.

Maybe more than once.

Bucky held his hands open a fraction, instinctively, not in surrender but in a strange, helpless plea – I know, I know, I know.

Pietro’s mouth tightened. “Don’t,” he said, low.

Bucky’s throat worked around nothing. “Pietro–”

“No,” Pietro repeated, louder this time. “Don’t say my name like we’re friends right now.”

Wanda’s breath hitched. She blinked fast, trying to keep the tears from spilling, and failed.

“She’s alive,” Wanda said, voice shaking. “She actually– she actually made sure we knew she was alive.”

Bucky flinched like the words were a slap. Because that was exactly what it was.

You had been the one to protect everyone from fear. Not him.

Not Steve.

Not the people who loved you.

You.

Then Bucky’s phone rang.

A different ring. Not Steve. Not Wanda. Not Pietro.

He looked down at the screen.

MOM

Your mother.

His pulse jolted. His mouth went dry instantly.

Steve’s eyes narrowed. Wanda went still. Pietro’s gaze dropped to the phone and sharpened again, like of course – like this was the final layer of consequence settling into place.

Bucky answered before it could go to voicemail, because sending your mother to voicemail felt like a new kind of unforgivable.

“Hello?”

Her voice came through tight and strained, the kind of controlled panic that had been held in check by sheer force of will.

“James Barnes,” she said, and there was no greeting in it. No softness. “What is that message?”

Bucky shut his eyes.

“I–”

“Don’t,” she cut in. “Don’t ‘I’ me. She sent a message to the family chat saying she hasn’t done anything stupid and she’s not answering the phone.” Her voice rose on the last words, sharp with fear. “Do you have any idea what that does to a mother?”

Bucky’s throat burned. He looked at Steve helplessly, like Steve might have a script for this too.

Steve didn’t move. Didn’t save him. Just watched, grim and steady, as if this was a debt Bucky had to pay in full.

“You were supposed to have dinner together,” her mother continued, voice trembling now. “She calls me every day. Every single day since she moved here. She didn’t call yesterday. She didn’t call the day before. And now this–”

Bucky’s grip tightened around the phone. “She’s alive,” he said quickly, the words coming out too fast. “She’s– she’s okay. She just– she needs time.”

“Time from what?” her mother demanded. “From who?”

Bucky’s chest constricted. He glanced at Wanda – at the tears on her lashes, at the fury in her posture. At Pietro’s expression, lethal and protective.

He swallowed hard.

“From me,” he admitted, voice rough. “She– she left during dinner.”

There was a beat of silence on the line, the kind where you could hear someone trying not to break.

Then, “What did you do to her?”

Bucky’s stomach turned.

He could have lied. He could have softened it. He could have tried to protect himself.

But the truth had already made a crater in the middle of everything.

He looked down at the phone like it was heavier than it should be.

“I said something I shouldn’t have,” he managed. “I hurt her.”

Her mother’s voice went very quiet.

And that was worse than shouting.

“How,” she asked, each syllable precise, dangerous, “did you hurt my daughter?”

Bucky’s mouth opened.

No sound came out.

Because there was no way to explain it that didn’t sound exactly like what it was.

And in the charged silence of the room – Steve rigid, Wanda crying, Pietro staring him down – Bucky realized something with a clarity that made him dizzy.

This wasn’t just a fight between you and him anymore.

This was the moment the entire circle started to see what you had been carrying.

And what he had done to you.

Bucky’s throat worked around the truth like it was glass.

He could feel Steve’s eyes on him, steady and unforgiving. Could feel Wanda’s shaking breaths. Could feel Pietro’s stare like a hand wrapped around the back of his neck.

On the line, your mother waited.

Bucky swallowed hard. Then he said it.

Not the version that made him look less monstrous. Not the version that skirted the sharp edges. The real one.

“I told her,” he said, voice hoarse, “that she was probably just like her biological parents, incapable of loving anyone and that maybe it was the reason they didn't want her.”

Silence.

It didn’t last long – maybe a second – but it felt like the whole apartment held its breath.

Then a sound came through the phone that made Bucky’s stomach drop.

A small, broken noise.

Your mother didn’t scream. She didn’t curse. She just… made that sound again, like her lungs had forgotten how to pull air in without pain.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Oh my God, sweetheart–”

She wasn’t talking to him anymore.

She was talking to you, to the absence of you, to the image of you hearing that sentence back in your own head until it became truth.

Bucky’s eyes burned. His fingers tightened around the phone until his knuckles whitened.

“I didn’t mean it,” he tried, because he was an idiot, because he was still reaching for any sentence that might soften what couldn’t be softened.

“You said it,” your mother breathed, and the way her voice cracked on the words was worse than any anger. “You– James, how could you–”

Her breath hitched. Then the tears came, audible and uncontrollable.

“I– she calls me every day,” she sobbed, voice muffled, as if she’d clapped a hand over her mouth. “Every day. She always calls me. And she didn’t– she didn’t–”

Bucky closed his eyes. Shame flooded him, thick and choking.

He heard movement beside him.

Steve stepped forward without asking, hand out.

Bucky didn’t resist. He couldn’t. He let Steve take the phone from his grip like a weapon being removed.

Steve lifted it to his ear, and his voice – calm, grounded, controlled – filled the space Bucky had poisoned.

“Ma’am,” Steve said quietly. “It’s Steve.”

A sob.

“I’m sorry,” Steve went on, and he sounded like he meant it in a way Bucky didn’t deserve. “I know. I know this is–” He exhaled slowly. “She’s alive. She sent a message. She hasn’t done anything to hurt herself.”

“Then where is she?” your mother cried, desperate. “Why won’t she answer me?”

Steve’s gaze flicked to Bucky for a split second – hard, warning – then softened again as he spoke into the phone.

“She’s scared,” Steve said. “And she’s overwhelmed. She needs time, but she’s safe. I promise you. We’re going to find her, okay?”

Bucky flinched. We. As if Steve hadn’t just been handed the job of cleaning up his mess.

Your mother’s breathing was ragged on the other end.

“I need to hear her,” she whispered. “Please, Steve. I need to hear her voice.”

Steve’s jaw flexed. His fingers tightened around the phone.

“I know,” he said, gentler. “I know. We’ll get you that. But right now the best thing you can do is… is stay by your phone, okay? If she reaches out, don’t push. Just– just tell her you love her. Tell her she’s not in trouble.”

A broken laugh, wet with tears. “She’s never in trouble. She’s– she’s my baby.”

Steve closed his eyes for a second, like the words hit him somewhere deep.

“I know,” he repeated. “I’m going to call you again as soon as we have anything. I promise.”

Your mother’s sob quieted into sniffles. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Steve echoed, and then, softly, “Try to breathe.”

Steve ended the call before it could unravel again.

The apartment went quiet in the wake of it, a charged, dangerous quiet.

Wanda wiped at her face with the back of her hand, eyes red, jaw set like she was holding herself together with sheer will. She didn’t look at Bucky. Not once.

Pietro did.

His breathing was uneven, shoulders rising and falling like he’d run here on pure adrenaline. His hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles were pale. For a second, Bucky thought – stupidly – that Pietro might walk away because Steve was there. Because Wanda was there. Because there were witnesses.

Pietro’s gaze sharpened, and Bucky understood.

Witnesses weren’t going to save him.

Pietro crossed the room in two steps.

Bucky didn’t have time to brace.

The punch landed squarely, a clean, solid impact that snapped Bucky’s head to the side and sent a bright flash across his vision. Pain bloomed along his cheekbone, hot and immediate. He tasted copper.

His hand came up instinctively, fingers pressing to his face. He blinked hard, trying to steady himself.

Pietro stood in front of him, chest heaving, eyes blazing with something too fierce to name.

“You don’t get to say that to her,” Pietro rasped, voice low and shaking. “You don’t get to put that in her head.”

Bucky tried to speak. No words came.

Pietro stared at him for one more second, the rage in his face warring with something like grief.

Then he turned on his heel and walked out.

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the glass in the windows.

Silence followed – thick, ringing.

Steve didn’t move from where he’d been standing. He walked to the kitchen like his body needed an anchor, then planted both hands on the counter, leaning into it like he was physically restraining himself from doing something he would regret.

His shoulders rose with a slow, controlled breath.

When he spoke, his voice was tight.

“Get some ice,” Steve said, not looking at Bucky. “And don’t say a word.”

Pietro came back five minutes later.

Not because the anger had disappeared – Bucky could still feel it in the air like electricity – but because Pietro had decided he needed to breathe before he did something that couldn’t be walked back. He opened the door without knocking and stepped inside like he hadn’t just slammed it hard enough to shake the windows.

His cheeks were flushed from the cold. His eyes were still too bright.

He didn’t look at Bucky right away.

He started pacing.

Back and forth across Bucky’s living room, boots scuffing the floor, hands raking through his hair and then clenching at his sides, as if his body didn’t know where to put all the force of what he was feeling.

“Did you ever wonder,” Pietro said suddenly, voice sharp, “why she hates wearing a swimsuit?”

No one answered.

Pietro’s pacing didn’t slow.

“Or even a tank top in the summer?” he went on. “Why she never wears anything backless? Why she never wears a dress with an open back?”

Wanda’s mouth parted like she wanted to say something, then closed again. Her gaze dropped. Her eyes were glassy.

Steve didn’t move. His hands were still planted on the kitchen counter, knuckles white, body held rigid like restraint was the only thing keeping him upright.

But something flickered behind Steve’s eyes – memory, recognition.

He remembered you in his bedroom years ago, turning away as you pulled your shirt on, shoulders hunched like you were bracing for someone to see too much. He remembered you tugging the fabric higher, the way you’d shrugged off his touch when his fingers had drifted toward your back.

He’d thought it was teenage insecurity.

You had been younger than most of the girls in your class. Two years. Smarter. Quieter. Always watching. He’d assumed it was about that – about not feeling confident in a body that everyone else seemed so comfortable in.

He’d never asked.

Because you had smiled and told him you were fine.

Because you were always fine.

Pietro let out a short, humorless laugh, the sound raw and exhausted.

“When she was in the orphanage,” he said, and the word came out like something bitter, something he had chewed on for too long, “and kids disobeyed…”

His pacing slowed, just for a moment, as if he was forcing himself to say it clearly.

“They got hit with belts,” Pietro said. “Across the back.”

The room seemed to tighten.

“Sometimes for stupid shit,” Pietro went on, voice rising despite himself. “Sometimes because they talked during Mass. Sometimes because they held hands.”

His laugh turned harsher, more disbelieving than amused.

“She doesn’t have physical scars. But that place literally taught her not to reach,” Pietro said. “Not for comfort. Not for closeness. Not for anybody.”

Silence dropped over the room like ash.

Bucky stood very still, ice pack pressed to his cheek, his other hand braced on the back of his couch as if he needed something solid to keep him from tipping over. The skin around his eye throbbed.

He didn’t say a word.

He couldn’t.

Pietro stopped pacing and turned, finally fixing his gaze on Bucky.

His eyes weren’t just angry now.

They were devastated.

“Did you never notice,” Pietro asked, voice lower, shaking, “how she never went looking for affection from her mom?”

Bucky flinched.

Pietro stepped closer.

“Did you never notice,” Pietro repeated, “how she always waited for it to be offered? How she never demanded anything? Like she didn’t believe she was allowed?”

Bucky’s throat worked. He swallowed and tasted metal again.

Pietro’s jaw clenched. He pointed at him with a sharp, accusing motion – not theatrical, just precise.

“And you,” Pietro said, voice breaking on the last word, “you never wondered why she clung to you every time you climbed into her bed when you were kids?”

Bucky’s breath caught.

Pietro’s hand dropped, but his eyes didn’t.

“Like it was something she could lose any day,” Pietro finished, quieter now. “Like you were a thing she had to hold onto with both hands because people don’t stay. Because they never had.”

The words landed heavy, filling every corner of the room.

Steve’s shoulders rose with a slow inhale, and for a moment it looked like he might turn, might speak, might try to mediate.

He didn’t.

Wanda’s tears finally spilled, silent, tracking down her cheeks.

Bucky stared at Pietro, ice melting against his skin, and felt the truth of it settle in his bones with nauseating clarity.

You weren’t distant because you didn’t feel.

You were careful because you had learned, long before any of them, that reaching could get you hurt.

And he had taken that lesson you’d fought your whole life to outgrow… and driven it straight back into you with a single sentence.

“Why didn’t she ever say anything?” Bucky’s voice came out rough, scraped raw by hours of panic and the bruise blooming along his cheekbone. He didn’t look up when he asked it, like meeting anyone’s eyes would make the question sound even worse. “To her mom, or… or to me. She always said she didn’t remember.”

Pietro stared at him like he’d asked why fire burned.

“With the intelligence she has?” Pietro said, flat. Disbelief sharpened the words. “You think she didn’t know exactly what she was doing?”

Bucky’s jaw flexed. His fingers tightened around the ice pack until the plastic crinkled.

Pietro took a step closer, not threatening now – just relentless.

“She was a kid,” Pietro said, and then he corrected himself with a bitter little shake of his head. “She was four. And she was already… ahead. She understood patterns before most kids even understood consequences.”

Bucky swallowed. “She– she didn’t have to keep it from–”

Pietro cut him off. “You don’t get to decide what she ‘had to’ do to survive. And frankly? I think she was right to keep it from you.”

The room went still again. Wanda’s arms were crossed tight over her chest, shoulders curled inward like she was trying to hold herself together.

Pietro’s voice stayed controlled, clinical even, the way it did when he slipped into the part of his brain that knew how to explain trauma without falling apart under it.

“She thought it was safer not to say anything,” Pietro said. “You really don’t see that?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up, confused and pained. “Safer?”

Pietro’s mouth twisted. “Yeah. Safer.”

He gestured once, sharp, like he was pointing to something obvious.

“She probably decided that if she said she’d been punished,” Pietro continued, “then it meant she had done something wrong. And if she had done something wrong, then she could be sent back.”

Bucky went pale.

The words didn’t sound reasonable when you were an adult in a warm apartment surrounded by people who cared about you.

They sounded terrifyingly reasonable when you were four.

Wanda’s voice came out small, instinctively defensive, as if she could protect you by insisting on the truth.

“But her mom would never–”

“I know,” Pietro snapped, and the interruption was immediate, harsh with frustration. He dragged a hand through his hair, then forced himself to breathe. “I know. Everyone here knows that.”

His voice lowered again, steadier now – professional, but still edged with grief.

“But she didn’t,” Pietro said. “Not in her body. Not in her nervous system. Not in the part of her that was still living in that place.”

He looked at Wanda briefly – softer for half a second – then back to Bucky.

“She was four,” Pietro repeated. “She understood more than most kids her age already did. And she acted on a defense mechanism that kept her safe through trauma. Silence. Compliance. Don’t make trouble. Don’t give anyone a reason.”

Bucky’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes burning. He didn’t speak.

Across the room, Steve’s hands were still braced on the counter, but something in him snapped.

His fist hit the wood with a sharp crack that made Wanda flinch.

Steve stared at the countertop for a long moment like he couldn’t look at anyone without breaking something. Then a short, disbelieving laugh escaped him – dry, humorless, full of a kind of self-loathing he didn’t usually let out.

“She never told me I should report my father,” Steve said, and the words came out too fast, too raw, like he hadn’t meant to say them aloud. He swallowed and shook his head once, eyes bright. “She never pushed. She never–”

He let out another ugly little laugh, the sound caught between grief and anger.

“That’s… that’s one of the things I loved about her,” Steve said quietly, as if the admission tasted wrong now. “That she didn’t try to fix me. She just– she was there.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was packed tight with hindsight.

With the realization that what they had once called gentleness, what they had once called patience, what they had once called maturity – had been a survival strategy.

And you had been carrying it alone.

Steve finally turned.

For a while he had been holding himself against the kitchen counter like it was the only thing keeping him from doing something irreversible. Now he straightened slowly, shoulders squaring, jaw tight, and looked directly at Pietro.

“She’s going to call you.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement – firm, certain, the way Steve spoke when he had decided something was true and didn’t intend to negotiate with the universe about it.

Pietro met his gaze without flinching. He nodded once.

“Or she’ll write,” Pietro said quietly. “Probably not today. Maybe not even this week.” He exhaled, as if he was forcing the air to move through lungs that wanted to lock up. “But I know she will.”

Wanda’s posture had gone rigid beside him, arms crossed tight, face wet with tears she hadn’t bothered wiping away. The idea of waiting – of doing nothing – looked like it hurt her as much as the fear.

Pietro’s eyes flicked to her, and something softened there for half a heartbeat before he set it back into place.

“And when she asks me to come,” Pietro said, voice low, steady, “I’ll go.”

Bucky stood a few feet away, silent, bruised, ice pack melting against his skin. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He barely seemed to be breathing.

“And when she asks me not to tell you anything,” Pietro continued, and now he looked at Wanda directly, “I’ll do that too.”

Wanda’s throat bobbed. “Pietro–”

“It won’t be against you,” Pietro cut in gently, the gentleness making the words heavier, not lighter. “It’ll be for her.”

Wanda’s eyes squeezed shut. She nodded, once, like she was accepting something she didn’t want to accept because the alternative was worse – because pushing would only make you pull further away.

Steve nodded too.

Not approval. Understanding.

He pushed off the counter and took a step into the living room, gaze sweeping over all of them – Wanda’s grief, Pietro’s fury held in check, Bucky’s hollowed-out silence like a crater in the middle of the room.

Steve didn’t say we’ll find her.

He didn’t say call me if–

He didn’t say anything at all.

He just turned and walked out of Bucky’s apartment without even a goodbye, the door closing behind him with a quiet finality that felt like a verdict.

For a few seconds, no one moved.

Wanda wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, breathing shaky. Pietro watched the closed door, jaw clenched, as if he was counting to ten inside his own head.

Then Wanda reached for her coat.

“We should go,” she said, voice thin.

Pietro nodded. He grabbed his keys, then paused, eyes landing on Bucky one last time.

There was no apology in Pietro’s face. No comfort. Just the hard, helpless truth of consequence.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

He opened the door for Wanda, let her step out first, then followed, shutting it behind them a little harder than necessary.

Bucky was left alone in the sudden silence.

The apartment looked exactly the same as it had before – dishes on the table, candle stub, the faint smell of garlic that now felt like something rotten.

But everything in it had changed.

He stood there with the weight of the revelations settling into his bones – your childhood pain, the scars no one had asked about, the reasons behind every distance he had misread as emptiness.

And beneath all of that, heavier than anything else.

The consequences of his own words.

The knowledge that you were out there somewhere in the city, living inside the echo of what he had said – and that he had no right to reach for you now.

The next morning, when Pietro finally got your message, he read it once.

Then again.

Then again.

He stood in the middle of his kitchen with a mug in his hand, the kind of cheap ceramic thing you’d bought him as a joke – something bright and ridiculous that said World’s Best Auntie because you liked watching him pretend he wasn’t sentimental.

The words on his screen didn’t fit with anything bright.

They didn’t fit with anything ridiculous.

They fit too perfectly.

His jaw clenched so hard it ached. His throat worked like he was trying to swallow fire. His eyes burned, not with tears – yet – but with something far more dangerous.

He read the part about the dinner. The laugh. Bucky’s words.

He read the part about the walk through the city like you were trying to outrun your own skin.

Then he read the part about the bridge.

The line where you admitted – so plainly, so calmly – that you had wanted, for a moment, to stop everything.

Something inside Pietro snapped.

The mug left his hand before he consciously decided to let go.

It flew across the room and shattered against the wall in an explosion of ceramic and coffee, fragments skittering across tile like startled insects. A brown stain bloomed down the paint in slow drips.

Pietro stood there breathing hard, phone still in his fist, the sound of the impact echoing in the silence.

Then he looked back down at the screen.

He saw it again: your request.

Don’t tell anyone where I'm going. Not my mother. Not Wanda. No one.

And the part about Miami.

And the reason – your need to understand, to dig down to the root and look it in the face, because you couldn’t carry the idea that you were the problem without proof.

Pietro’s hands started shaking.

He pressed the heel of his palm to his mouth and stared at the floor for a long moment, forcing himself to breathe through the urge to run straight to Bucky’s apartment and break every bone that could throw a sentence like that at you.

You had asked him not to tell about Miami.

So he wouldn’t.

Not until you said otherwise.

Not because he didn’t want them to know. But because this was the first boundary you’d ever drawn that wasn’t made out of politeness. This one was made out of survival.

He moved on instinct, the way he always did when he needed to turn emotion into action, and he picked up his phone again.

He called Wanda.

She answered quickly, voice still raw from yesterday. “P?”

Pietro tried to speak and found that his anger had turned his words into jagged pieces.

“I–” He exhaled hard through his nose. “I got it.”

There was a beat of silence on the line. Then Wanda’s voice went quiet.

“The message,” she said.

“Yes.”

Wanda didn’t ask what it said. Not yet. Like she already knew it wasn’t something she could hear alone in her apartment without breaking.

Pietro closed his eyes. His throat burned.

“There’s more,” he managed, voice rough. “There’s… a lot more.”

Wanda’s breathing hitched. “Is she–”

“She’s alive,” Pietro cut in immediately, because he could not handle Wanda spiraling on top of everything else. “She’s alive.”

A shaky exhale from Wanda. Relief and pain tangled together.

Pietro stared at the shards of the mug on the floor. “But I can’t–” His jaw clenched. “I can’t talk about this over the phone.”

Wanda went silent, understanding snapping into place. “You want Steve.”

“And him,” Pietro said, and the word came out like a stone. “Bucky.”

Wanda’s voice tightened. “Pietro–”

“They need to know,” Pietro said, fierce. “Not–” He swallowed hard. “Not because I want to punish him. Because if we don’t understand how bad it got, we’re going to do something wrong next. We’re going to push. We’re going to spook her. And she won’t come back.”

The last part hurt to say out loud.

Wanda didn’t argue. She couldn’t. Her voice was small when she answered, “Okay.”

There was a pause, then the sound of Wanda moving – keys, maybe, or pacing. She was always doing something with her hands when she was trying to keep her head above water.

“I’ll set it up,” Wanda said. “We’ll meet at Steve’s.”

Pietro exhaled, slow. “Thank you.”

They hung up.

A couple of hours later, Pietro was at Steve’s apartment, and the energy in him had nowhere to go.

Like the night before, he paced.

Back and forth across Steve’s living room, shoulders tight, jaw clenched, hands flexing at his sides like he was trying not to grab onto anything and crush it. He moved like a caged animal – like a lion in a too-small enclosure, circling the same few feet of ground because there was no exit he could use yet.

Steve was there – quiet, grim, sitting forward on the couch with his elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the floor like he was bracing for impact. Wanda hovered near the kitchen, arms wrapped around herself, eyes red-rimmed.

Bucky was there too.

Bruised. Silent. Sitting stiffly in an armchair like he didn’t deserve the couch.

Pietro didn’t look at him for long. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d keep his hands to himself.

Three times, Pietro opened his mouth.

Three times, he stopped.

Because there were things in your message that weren’t just information. They were pieces of you he had been trusted with.

And he couldn’t – couldn’t – just throw the part about the bridge into the air like it was a fact on a timeline.

Not like that.

Not without care.

Not without making sure it didn’t become something the others would weaponize against you later – panic disguised as love.

So he paced.

He swallowed.

He tried to find the right way to break everyone else’s hearts without breaking yours in the process.

“You need to understand something,” Pietro said.

His voice was rough, like he’d been grinding his teeth for hours. He stopped pacing long enough to look at them properly – at Steve first, then Bucky – and the way his gaze moved between them made something tighten in the room.

“First,” he said, “she and I… we never kept anything from each other. Nothing.”

Steve’s head lifted slightly. Bucky’s jaw clenched.

Pietro saw it land – the realization, sharp and immediate. The sudden awareness that whatever had happened between you and them over the years, whatever had been unsaid or misread or mishandled, Pietro had known. All of it. Because you had trusted him with everything you didn’t dare hand to anyone else.

“Second,” Pietro continued, and his tone shifted into something more controlled, more deliberate, like he was forcing himself to speak in clean lines instead of breaking apart. “She isn’t suicidal. She isn’t clinically depressed. She never has been.”

Wanda’s hands tightened around her own arms. Steve didn’t move.

“I’m not saying she’s never been like three quarters of teenagers on this planet,” Pietro added, sharp with the need to be precise. “Sad sometimes. Closed off. Overwhelmed. That’s human. I’m saying she has never – never – wanted to end her life.”

He stopped again, as if his body couldn’t hold still and speak at the same time. He turned toward the window, staring out at the street below like he needed distance from their faces.

Then he exhaled, and the sound trembled.

“Four days ago,” Pietro said, quiet now, “after dinner. While you were running around looking for her…”

Bucky flinched.

Pietro didn’t look at him.

“When she didn’t go to Wanda,” Pietro went on. “When she didn’t go to me. When she didn’t go to Steve. She just… walked.”

His fingers came up to his face, dragging down slowly like he was trying to wipe exhaustion off his skin.

“And at some point,” he said, and his voice cracked despite how hard he tried to keep it steady, “she stopped on a bridge.”

Wanda’s breath hitched. Steve went very still.

Pietro’s eyes stayed fixed on the window. On the glass. On anything but them.

“She leaned over the railing,” he said. “And she looked down.”

The room tightened. Every piece of air in it felt too heavy.

“And that phrase,” Pietro continued, the words coming slower now, like each one cost him something, “was looping in her head. The one you gave her.” His voice sharpened for a second, the anger flashing through the restraint. “That even her parents didn’t want her when she was born.”

Bucky’s face went pale.

Pietro’s hand covered his mouth briefly. When he lowered it, his fingers were shaking.

“She scared herself,” Pietro said, and now the exhaustion was in the words too – bone-deep. “Not because she wanted to die. Because for one second… she pictured stopping everything.”

He swallowed hard.

“Stopping the pain,” he said. “Stopping the shame. Stopping the fear.”

Silence swallowed the room.

Pietro turned away from the window finally, eyes bright and furious and devastated all at once.

“During that second,” he said, voice low, breaking around the edges, “my best friend thought it would be simpler to just… stop being on this earth.”

His chest rose and fell, sharp with the effort of holding himself together.

“And she stepped back,” Pietro added, almost viciously, as if he needed them to know this part too. “She didn’t do it. She didn’t want to. But she thought about how easy it would be – and that is what your words did.”

He let the sentence hang there like smoke, like a warning, like a line no one could pretend hadn’t been crossed.

Steve’s voice was barely more than air when he finally spoke.

“Where is she?”

For a moment, Pietro didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t know, but because saying it out loud made it real in a way he wasn’t sure any of them could handle.

“In a hotel,” Pietro said at last.

His gaze slid, briefly, toward Bucky. He didn’t bother softening the next part.

“Because she was afraid he–” Pietro jerked his chin toward Bucky, “–would show up at her place.”

Bucky flinched like the words were a second punch.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Steve spoke again, quieter still, but steadying as he forced himself to say it.

“Bucky gave me her key the next day,” Steve said. “To keep himself from… from barging in.”

Pietro’s expression didn’t change much, but he nodded once, acknowledging the point without letting it absolve anything.

“Good,” Pietro said simply. “That was the right call.”

Wanda’s eyes were wet again. She wiped at her cheek with the side of her hand, breathing uneven.

Pietro’s phone sat heavy in his pocket like a secret.

“Tomorrow,” Pietro added, and his voice went hard with it, “she’s getting on a plane.”

Steve’s head lifted sharply. “Tomorrow?”

Bucky’s hands curled at his sides. His voice came out hoarse, frayed by everything he hadn’t been allowed to say.

“Why?” he demanded suddenly, and the emotion in it wasn’t controlled at all. It scraped on the way out. “Why would she–”

Pietro let out a short, bitter sound that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“Why,” Pietro echoed, and his eyes cut to Bucky, sharp and merciless. “Because she’s trying to figure out where she comes from.”

Bucky’s mouth opened. No words came.

Pietro’s smile was all teeth and no warmth.

“Because she wants to understand if the problem really is her genes,” Pietro said, voice low. “Because someone put that idea in her head and then left her alone with it.”

The room went very still.

Wanda’s breath hitched. Steve’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping as if the weight of it made looking up impossible.

Bucky looked like he’d been hollowed out.

And Pietro watched him, expression unreadable except for the one thing that was unmistakable: he wasn’t done being angry.

Not even close.

“Where is she going?” Bucky tried again, like if he phrased it differently the answer would change. His voice came out strained, uneven – too much emotion packed into too few words. “Just– where?”

Pietro didn’t even blink.

“As if I’m going to tell you,” he shot back.

Bucky’s jaw tightened. The bruise under his eye pulled painfully with the movement. “Pietro, I’m not– I’m not asking so I can–”

“So you can what?” Pietro’s tone was sharp enough to slice. “Show up? Corner her? Apologize until you feel better? Until she tells you it’s fine because she always tells people it’s fine?”

Wanda flinched at the edge in his voice. She looked exhausted, like she’d been running on adrenaline and tears for four days straight. Her arms were wrapped around herself, hands gripping her sleeves as if she needed something to hold onto.

Steve didn’t move. He sat forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed somewhere on the rug like if he looked directly at any of them, he’d do something he couldn’t undo. His knuckles were still faintly red from the day before.

Bucky swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I just want to know she’s safe.”

“She’s safe,” Pietro said immediately – then his expression darkened again. “Safer than she was four days ago.”

Bucky flinched like the words were a slap.

Pietro took a slow breath through his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but that only made it more dangerous. It was the voice he used when he had decided he was done negotiating.

“I’m going to say this once,” Pietro said. “You are not entitled to her location. You are not entitled to her time. You are not entitled to her forgiveness, or her attention, or even her explanation.”

Bucky’s fingers flexed at his sides. He looked like he wanted to argue on instinct – like the part of him that had always treated access to her as a given was still scrambling for footing.

Steve’s head lifted slightly at that – just enough to watch Bucky’s face, like he was measuring whether his friend was about to make it worse.

Bucky’s shoulders rose and fell with a shaky breath. “I know,” he said, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Pietro’s gaze didn’t soften.

“If she asks me to come,” Pietro continued, “I’m going. If she asks me to stay quiet, I’m staying quiet.” He glanced at Wanda, and his voice gentled by a fraction – just a fraction, like the gentleness cost him. “And if she asks me to pass something along, I will. But it will be on her terms. Not yours.”

Wanda’s eyes filled again, and she wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand like she was angry at her own tears.

“She won’t even tell her mom,” Wanda whispered, voice cracking. It wasn’t accusation. It was heartbreak.

Pietro’s jaw clenched. “She asked me not to,” he said, simply. “And when she asks for a boundary, you don’t test it. You don’t pick at it. You don’t ‘just this once’ it to make yourself feel better. You respect it.”

The words hung in the room like a set of rules no one had ever written down, because none of them had ever needed to. Not until now.

Bucky stared at the floor. His hands curled, then uncurled, like he couldn’t decide whether he deserved to be furious or should only be ashamed.

“I didn’t–” he started.

Pietro’s eyes snapped to him.

Bucky stopped.

He tried again, quieter. “I didn’t think. I didn’t mean–”

“I know you didn’t think,” Pietro said, and there was something viciously tired in it. “That’s kind of the theme, isn’t it?”

Bucky’s face tightened, pain and anger twisting together. “Don’t–”

“Don’t what?” Pietro stepped closer, not threatening with his body, but with his honesty. “Don’t talk to you like you’re responsible for your own choices? Don’t make you sit in the consequences of your own mouth?”

Bucky’s breath shuddered. His eyes were bright now, but not with tears – yet. With that brittle, overwhelmed shine of someone trying not to crack.

Steve’s voice cut through the tension – low, controlled.

“Pietro,” Steve said, not as a warning, but as a grounding point. “We understand.”

Pietro’s gaze flicked to him, and for the first time since he walked in, his expression shifted into something like recognition. Steve wasn’t asking him to stop because Bucky’s feelings mattered. He was asking him to stop because the room was close to becoming a place where people said things they’d regret.

Pietro held Steve’s gaze for a beat, then nodded once.

“Good,” Pietro said. “Then act like it.”

He grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair, movements sharp and purposeful. Wanda watched him, hesitant, like she was torn between wanting to stay and wanting to follow the person who knew how to carry this without collapsing.

Pietro didn’t look at Bucky as he moved toward the door, but his voice reached him anyway.

“If she reaches out,” Pietro said, hand on the knob, “and she wants you to know something, you’ll know.”

Bucky’s throat tightened. “And if she doesn’t?”

Pietro paused. Not long. Just enough to make the silence hurt.

“Then you live with that,” Pietro said.

He opened the door.

Wanda took one step forward. “P–”

Pietro glanced back at her, and his expression softened in a way that made Wanda’s lips tremble.

“Come on,” he said quietly.

Wanda hesitated only a second longer. Then she grabbed her coat and followed him, pausing in the doorway to look back at Steve. Her eyes were red, her face tight with the effort of holding herself together.

“Steve,” she whispered, as if she needed permission to leave him with this.

Steve nodded once. It wasn’t dismissal. It was understanding.

Wanda’s gaze flicked to Bucky – brief, pained, not forgiving. Then she stepped out.

The door closed behind them with a muted click.

The apartment felt instantly larger and emptier, like the air had been sucked out and replaced with something cold and thin.

For a moment, neither Steve nor Bucky moved.

Bucky stood near the armchair like he didn’t know where to put his body. His cheek throbbed under the ice pack he’d been holding, but he barely seemed to feel it. He stared at the closed door as if he could still see Pietro’s silhouette on the other side.

Steve stayed where he was on the couch, elbows still on his knees, hands clasped so tightly the knuckles stood out. He looked like a man trying to hold back a tide.

Finally, Bucky exhaled, shaky and bitter.

“He thinks I’m going to–” Bucky swallowed hard. “He thinks I’m going to hurt her.”

Steve’s eyes lifted slowly.

“You already did,” Steve said, voice flat.

Bucky flinched as if Steve had hit him too.

“That’s not–” Bucky stopped, because arguing felt obscene. He dragged a hand through his hair, fingers catching at the roots like he was trying to anchor himself. “I just want to talk to her. To fix it.”

Steve’s laugh came out short and joyless.

“You can’t fix what you said,” Steve replied. “You can’t unsay it. You can’t go back four days and decide to be a different person at that table.”

Bucky’s eyes finally filled, the brightness spilling over into something wet he refused to let fall. He blinked hard.

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered.

Steve stared at him for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter – not kinder, just more tired.

“I know you didn’t mean that,” Steve said. “But you meant to hurt her. You wanted to win the moment. You wanted to make your pain her fault.”

Bucky’s face twisted. “She laughed.”

Steve’s jaw tightened.

“And you decided that meant she deserved to be destroyed?” Steve’s tone sharpened, anger finally cutting through the restraint. “Bucky, she laughed because she was blindsided. Because she was terrified. Because you dropped a bomb on the one person who has been bending herself into knots for years trying to be ‘easy’ for you.”

Bucky looked away.

Steve’s voice dropped again – dangerously calm.

“And you were going to propose to Natasha,” Steve said.

Bucky’s shoulders tensed.

Steve didn’t let him dodge it.

“You didn’t tell me, and I’m supposed to be your best friend,” Steve continued. “You didn’t tell Wanda. You didn’t tell Pietro. You didn’t even tell Natasha’s friends, I’m guessing.” His eyes narrowed. “So tell me– was that about Natasha? Or was it about proving to yourself you could pick someone who wasn’t her?”

Bucky’s breath caught.

“That’s not–” he started, and then he stopped because the truth was sitting in his throat like a stone.

Steve watched him, unmoving.

Bucky’s voice came out raw. “I wanted a normal life.”

Steve’s expression tightened in something like disgust – at the phrase, at what it had been used for.

“A normal life doesn’t require you to crush the people who love you,” Steve said.

Bucky’s eyes squeezed shut for a second. A tear slipped anyway, quick and humiliating, vanishing into the bruise-darkened skin under his eye.

“I didn’t know she’d leave,” he whispered.

Steve’s gaze flicked down, then back up, and his voice went almost soft – almost.

“That’s the problem,” Steve said. “You counted on her not leaving.”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again, because the words you always come back echoed between them like a ghost.

Steve stood slowly, as if sudden movement might crack the room open. He crossed to the kitchen, not to run away, but to give his hands something to do. He picked up a glass from the counter, set it down again, then braced his palms against the edge like he was holding himself upright.

When he spoke, his voice sounded stripped.

“She used to hide her back,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky’s head lifted, confused.

Steve swallowed. “When we were together. I thought it was insecurity. I thought it was… being younger. Being self-conscious.” His jaw flexed. “I didn’t ask.”

Bucky didn’t move.

Steve’s fingers tightened on the counter. “She never asked me to report my father,” he said again, like the thought kept circling back and he couldn’t get away from it. “I used to think it was because she trusted me. That she respected my choices.”

His laugh was hollow.

“It was because she learned that reaching gets you punished,” Steve said. “She learned that if you make noise, you get sent back.”

Bucky’s face went ashen.

Steve turned his head slightly, looking at Bucky now, eyes sharp with something that wasn’t just anger – something wounded.

“And you looked at her,” Steve said, voice low, “and you called her empty.”

Bucky’s throat worked. “I was–”

“Scared,” Steve finished for him. “Yeah. So was she. She’s been scared her whole life.” Steve’s voice tightened. “Difference is, she didn’t use her fear like a weapon.”

Silence stretched.

Bucky stared at the floor, shoulders shaking once, almost imperceptibly, like his body was finally registering the weight of what he’d done.

“What do I do?” he asked, and the question sounded like a confession. Like surrender.

Steve didn’t answer right away.

When he finally spoke, it wasn’t comforting.

“You stop chasing her for your own relief,” Steve said. “You let Pietro handle it. You let her decide if she wants you anywhere near her again.” He paused, and his voice hardened. “And you take a long look at why you thought hurting her was easier than admitting you love her.”

Bucky flinched, but he didn’t deny it.

Steve straightened from the counter, gaze fixed on something far away.

“She’s going to rebuild without us for a while,” Steve said, more to himself than to Bucky. “And we don’t get to interfere just because it scares us.”

Bucky’s breath came out shaky.

Steve looked at him then – really looked – eyes tired, jaw set.

“If she comes back,” Steve said quietly, “it’ll be because she chose to. Not because you dragged her.”

Bucky nodded once, small and broken.

And in the silence that followed, the absence of you sat between them – heavy, undeniable – like the shape of everything they had taken for granted finally showing itself in full.

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BUCKY taglist: @metal-armed-muse | @greatenthusiasttidalwave | @highhopes1008 | @phoenix-in-writing | @mollyherondale | @sassandscribbles | @alyssinwunderland-blog-blog | @pattiemac1 | @buckysdecaflove | @fantasyfootballchampion | @sebbymybaby21 | @theoryxwaller | @apenny4thots | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @allthingswickedpodcast | @vicmc624 | @strangerthing93 | @galaxygoddess30 | @peachiestevie | @evilplansandstuff | @nicobidd | @i-lie-here-charmed

Thursday started out stressfully for Peri.  She had no opportunity to discuss anything brought up with Bucky the night before as he left early with George.  As far as she knew, what happened between them was known only to them, since neither Sam nor Marge mentioned that they were aware of the situation.  After breakfast Sadie insisted that Sam, Marge, Mikey and Sully play board games with her.  Peri retreated to her office and dealt with her usual tasks first, including sending in Bucky's acceptance as a judge for the school science fair.  She held off emailing the Ambassador's office for more time to decide about the job.  With at least two weeks needed at the best of times to set up Peri's diplomatic credentials and make arrangements for her accommodations, the earliest she could start was mid-January anyways.  An extension likely wouldn't be a problem. 

Once more, she read through the code of conduct for the House of Representatives, confirming that being in a relationship with Bucky was seen as a power imbalance if she continued to work for him in any capacity.  After searching for any other instances of a elected official continuing to stay in office while in a relationship with a staff member, she sat back in her chair and fretted.  It didn't look hopeful.  The only thing in their favour was that all the examples she found were of already married people in a sexual relationship with an underling.  That became the real scandal that led to their resignations.  She and Bucky were widowed and hadn't even kissed.

At lunch, the strain of how to navigate this must have shown on her face.

"Esperanza, are you feeling alright?" asked Rosa, looking at her with concern.  "You look pale."

"I guess I'm a little stressed," admitted Peri.  "Lots of things to deal with before I go home tomorrow."

"Anything I can help with?" asked Marge.  "I don't mind pitching in."  She looked at Sadie.  "Sweetie, do you mind if I help Peri this afternoon to get her work done?  Perhaps Uncle Sam and the others can help you build a snowman in the yard."

"Yeah!  A snowman."  Of course Sadie was all for that as she turned to Sam in excitement.  "Can we make a snowman ... please?"

Marge gave Sam a look that told him to go along with it.

"Sure, we can build a snowman.  We build them all the time in Louisiana."  The bodyguards smirked.  "I'm sure the guys can help make it the biggest snowman in the neighbourhood."

Sadie clapped her hands at the prospect of making a giant snowman in their yard and began throwing out ideas to decorate it.  No one was going to say no to her.  As soon as lunch was over, Marge accompanied a reluctant Peri back to her office.  Once inside, she closed the door behind her, and gazed at the younger woman with understanding.

"What?"  Peri fidgeted with her hands.  "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Sam and I know what's going on," replied Marge, gently.  She approached the younger woman.  "You're in love with Bucky and you're trying to find a way to keep your jobs and each other."  Shaking her head, she took her by the hand.  "So far, you haven't found anything that will allow you to be together, not without giving something up."

Hearing it spoken out loud broke Peri's control and she melted into the older woman's arms.  After several minutes of allowing herself to cry, she backed away, grabbing several tissues at once to dab at her eyes, then blowing her nose.  Settling down in one of the armchairs, she fidgeted with her hands, not wanting to look at Marge.

"You must be disappointed in me," she murmured.  "Barely six months in the job and I crossed a line."

"That's just it.  You haven't crossed a line.  Neither of you have, yet."  Marge pulled her chair closer, then reached out and took Peri's hands in hers.  "In fact, you've both shown a lot of restraint.  Sam and I noticed the looks between you last night, and if we noticed, then Bucky's colleagues and office staff also noticed.  We were outside your suite when Bucky came out."

"Oh, no."  Peri felt like she was going to be sick.

"It's okay.  He told us that you hadn't even kissed, much less been together.  If there is one thing that is known about Bucky, it's that he tells the truth, even when it doesn't show him in a good light.  A lot of people in Washington complain that it makes them look bad.  He knows how to keep a state secret but he won't compromise his honesty to make himself look good."

"What is he planning?" asked Peri, suddenly realizing that he probably didn't say anything to her that morning because she would try to talk him out of it.  "He's not going to resign, is he?"

"No."  Marge shook her head.  "Sam and I talked him out of it last night."  Squeezing the younger woman's hands, she took a deep breath.  "We think it's better that you resign but not for the job in London with the Ambassador."

A feeling of dread came over Peri.  "What does that mean?"

"It means that before the end of the day, Bucky is going to tell the Ethics Committee that you two wish to begin a personal relationship.  Because you both recognize that a relationship is not possible under the current code of conduct, you have chosen to leave for a cooling off period.  If they ask him to resign as well, he will swear under oath before the Committee that he has not acted inappropriately and neither have you." 

"Quit my job and then what do I do?  Who is going to do this job if I'm not here?"

"There is always someone who has the skills necessary for the position," replied Marge.  "That's not to downplay how important you are to this household.  You soon became more than a personal assistant, and Bucky admitted that his attraction to you started before he ever revealed his feelings.  The love that you have didn't happen the usual way of the affairs that go on here.  He was willing to give it all up for you."

"But I still can't stay."

"No, you can't stay in this job, but I know that you need one and I'm still trying to figure that out for you.  I told you when we first met that I had written the book on HR.  That much was true, but after my husband died I decided it was time to step back and spend more time with my grandchildren.  My successor, who I recommended, let me down, by making cutbacks in areas the board thought weren't important enough to retain.   The result was Elle DeForest was placed with this family that was still grieving the loss of a wife and mother."

"Bucky told me."

Marge nodded.  "I've worked as an HR consultant ever since but the board wants me back in charge."  She shook her head.  "My heart isn't in it.  They aren't the same company I put so much into.  The job isn't always about making money, something my successor didn't understand.  It's about providing a service to people that they can trust, a promise to take care of the client's needs.  They still think that the company only provides a product, as if finding the best candidate to be the go-to person is comparable to an object whose value goes up or down depending on the market.  That makes them another run-of-the-mill HR company.  You understand the importance of being of service."

"But I'm really just a secretary," answered Peri.  "I read Bucky's personal correspondence then make sure he deals with the important ones.  If the kids need to see the doctor or dentist I schedule the appointments.  Placing orders for him is not rocket science.  It's really not worth what he pays me."

"It was to him.  You took care of the things that individually seemed small but together formed the backbone of his life.  By doing that you gave him the time to be an effective representative and you also gave him more time with the kids; time that was hard for him to find before."

"What exactly are you saying?"

Until that moment Marge wasn't sure exactly how she could help Peri.  She had a lot of confidence in Peri's work skills but in many ways she was under-utilized as a personal assistant.  An inspiration came to her in a flash and she built on it as she spoke.

"Travel with me as my personal assistant, while I assess a company's hiring practices and help them integrate more soft skill concepts into how they choose their employees.  There are some courses that you can take to acquire some professional designations.  With most of them online you can study as we travel.  Some can be done in person here in Washington once you return for good in a few months.  I've helped develop most of them and I'm pretty sure you'll breeze through.  Together, I think we can figure out a niche for you to set up your own company, one that you'll be able to run mostly from a home office with an occasional business trip.  Best of all, you can have the life you should have had with your first husband, with a family, only it will be with someone who won't lie to you, or cheat on you.  It will be with a man who loves you very much."

"Who is going to take over from me while I'm gone?  It can't be just anyone."

"No, it can't.  But you can be involved in choosing them.  The job can be posted on several online job databases as soon as you resign.  Over the Christmas holidays, you and I can vet the applicants together, check their references, and choose the best ones to interview by Zoom.  If we're still not satisfied we can fly in for a quick in-person session.  By the beginning of the new year we should have the right person ready to start.  Bucky's pretty sure he can manage for a little while until they get established."

"I don't know.  What type of niche in Human Resources can I fill with a home based company?"

"We'll figure that out together."  Marge squeezed Peri's hand again.  "I'm invested in you, not just in the business but because I want to see you and Bucky happy together.  You've both been through so much.  If the Ethics Committee wants to talk to you and confirm that you are wanting the relationship with Bucky by your own free will, then you'll have to face them, but I know of a few skeletons in the closets of some of the honourable members.  There may be rumours and gossip from the media but you've already managed to deal with some of that and you can always talk to your parents, me or Sam about it."

"My parents know?"  She groaned.  "They were worried this would happen."

The older woman looked at her watch.  "They should by now.  Bucky was going to do a video call with them and explain the situation, considering he made some promises to them.  I think they'll be very happy for you to find a principled man with two amazing kids that they already care about."

What else could she say?  Somehow, just when things seemed bleak, Bucky, Marge and Sam came up with a way for them to be together, by separating for a few months while Peri took on learning a new job.  She wouldn't be around for the kids, meaning that she couldn't continue their piano lessons but maybe one of the applicants could.  Anything was possible.

For a few hours they thought that everything was going to work out their way.  Bucky called Peri to confirm that he informed his staff and the chairman of the veterans' committee about the relationship then he reported their growing attraction to each other to the Ethics Committee chairman.  He had yet to hear back from him about an appearance before the entire committee.  He also told her that he had a good conversation with her parents.  His positive mood about that call seemed to bolster the belief that they could make this work.  As for the kids, he wanted to wait until he got George home from school before they told them together.

It was Brad who burst their bubble, texting her to be ready for a call on the office landline at a specific time.    Then Sam suddenly brought Sadie back inside from their snowman building activity, helping the little girl get out of her winter clothes in the foyer.  He asked Rosa to watch her while he called everyone else into the office.  Evan and Keith weren't there as they were already on their way to pick up George and Bucky.

"What's going on Sam?" asked Peri, when the last of the other four bodyguards came in, all of them looking perturbed.

He looked out the window of the office, then closed the blinds.

"The press is out there," he said.  "Someone from the Ethics Committee leaked the details of Bucky's meeting with the chairman.  They've already been identified and asked to resign for revealing confidential information but the word is out now."

Before he said anything more, the office phone rang and Peri answered it.

"Brad?  I have everyone in here.  Apparently, the press are outside the fence.  Is it true?  Did someone alert them about me and Bucky?"

He sighed.  "One of the other representatives who's always critical of Bucky leaked it.  He claims he didn't know it was confidential but no one's buying it.  The chairman asked him to resign from the committee and he'll be facing an ethics investigation of his own because of it."  Another sigh came over the line.  "It might get worse before it gets better.  I'm drafting a response from Bucky but he's in the car on the way to pick up George from school so it won't go out until he has a chance to look at it and decide if he wants to say it himself or just release it as a statement on social media."

"Peri should be given the opportunity to be heard, shouldn't she?" asked Sam.  "This affects her as much as it affects Bucky.  You know what they'll say about her."

The silence from Brad was initially ominous then he cleared his throat.  "Of course she should.  I can prepare a statement for you.  We can either release it on your behalf or you can speak to the press yourself.  It's up to you, Peri."

A croak came out of her mouth at first and she coughed a little.  "I'll read it first before I decide."

Brad accepted that and ended the call.  The others waited a moment, then Guillermo spoke up.

"Does this mean you're not leaving for that other job?"

"I'm turning it down but I can't stay employed with Bucky.  Now that it's out in the open I'm not sure what's going to happen." 

She glanced at Marge, hopeful the older woman understood why she didn't say anything about her proposal.  Guillermo stood up from where he sat and approached Peri.  Despite his size and presence he projected a sense of compassion as he crouched before her.

"I know the rules about relationships between an elected official and an employee are there for a reason, but it shouldn't be a one size fits all thing.  I think you belong here, in this house.  Bucky and the kids are better with you here.  You're family."

He left, followed by the other bodyguards who expressed similar sentiments.  When it was just Peri, Marge and Sam left she looked at both of them.

"This is exactly what I was afraid would happen."  Clasping her hands together she rested them in her lap.  "Promise me that you won't let Bucky resign over this."

"He's stubborn," admitted Sam.  "We talked him out of it last night but he'll walk away from all of it if he feels it's the right thing to do."

Until Bucky got home there wasn't much she could do but she had every intention of telling him that she wouldn't allow him to sacrifice his political career for her.

Unfortunately, her good intentions meant little as Bucky received the phone call he had been dreading while on the way home.  His mother-in-law, Sadie Brody, died late that afternoon and in accordance with Jewish tradition would be buried the next day.  Bucky and the children were leaving in a few hours, as Mrs. Chambers made the arrangements for the private jet to leave sooner.  On his arrival home he would have just enough time to pack for himself and the kids before they were driven to the airport.

With the rest of the household in a bit of a frenzy helping them get ready, Peri went into her office to see if Brad had drafted her response to the situation.  Just before his email was another email from the ambassador's office, withdrawing the job offer.  Even though she was going to turn it down, it was disappointing that they didn't want an explanation.  Moving on to Brad's message, she felt numb reading the words that sounded more like an apology and less like an expression of betrayal for the casual way some congressman with a hate for Bucky pointed a finger at them for daring to develop feelings. 

The unauthorized release of the report of a developing relationship between myself and Representative James Barnes has prompted the necessity of a response.  Let me be clear:  there has been no impropriety between us, no abuse of position, manipulation or coercion in our relationship.  We simply reached a point where our personal feelings for each other required Representative Barnes to advise the proper authorities of the situation.  In accordance with the Rules of Conduct forbidding me from remaining an employee of the Representative I have tendered my resignation effective immediately and will undergo a cooling off period of several months before resuming our personal relationship.

As she read it for at least the tenth time, there was a knock on the door.  Bucky stepped in, his face full of concern.  Peri gestured to the computer.

"Brad's draft of my response," she stated.  "Not sure whether to laugh or cry."

Bucky came over to the desk and leaned over, reading the draft.  When he finished he turned so he could lean against the desk with his arms folded, while Peri remained seated.

"Mine's much the same, except I express my regret at putting you in the position of resigning.  Still sounds like an apology for being human enough to fall in love with you."  He sighed, then reached out with his right hand to her.  Taking it, she squeezed it, then leaned her face against it.  "I'm sorry about this but not for loving you."

"Marge offered me a job."

"She told me.  I think you should take her up on it but that's just me being supportive.  The selfish part of me doesn't want you to leave."

She smiled slightly and released his hand, sitting back in her chair.  Then she leaned forward and opened a program on her computer.  Bucky stayed where he was as she wrote a short document, then printed it.  She placed it on the desk and signed it before handing it to him.  He didn't need to read it to tell him what it was.

"Don't you dare resign," she whispered.  "If they pressure you, fight it.  We may have pushed the limits but we didn't break any of their precious rules."

"I won't."  He cleared his throat.  "I'll tell the kids that you won't be back after Christmas but that you are coming back in late March or early April.  We'll miss you."

"Me too.  I should go get their presents.  They can open them on the flight."

She stood up to leave as Bucky straightened up with her but didn't try to go past him.  One moment they were standing there quietly and in the next moment their lips had met in a kiss that felt like a preview of what was to come.  His soft lips caressed hers gently at first before claiming her with more intensity.  It startled her how much firmer and warmer his body seemed now that they were holding each other in a deliberate embrace.  The clean woodsy scent of him filled her brain, forever imprinting itself as belonging to the man who was totally and completely hers.  There was none of the tension of the previous close encounters where they had held themselves back.  The way he cradled her head with one hand while pulling her closer with the other was setting the compass and lighting the beacon that would eventually guide her back home, back to her found family.  Just after their lips parted but before they released each other Bucky pressed his cheek against hers.

"Come back to us as soon as you can, my love.  Until you return our family is incomplete."

"I will," she whispered.  "I promise."

Stepping away from him and breathing deeply to calm herself, Peri gazed at the man before her, without looking away like she usually did.  She almost laughed at the thought that her sister Renée was right.  He was too handsome to be real but he was hers and that would have to carry her through the next few months.

April

There were many times that Peri imagined what she would say and do when she showed up at the door of Bucky's house from her self-imposed exile.  None of it compared to the reality when Jacob entered the gate code and they slowly opened to let the car in.  As it approached the house, she saw Bucky waiting on the steps, holding Sadie on his hip while George stood stoically beside him.  Sadie was almost vibrating with excitement and squirmed to be let down before the car stopped.  As soon as the car door opened, the little girl succeeded and ran to her with open arms.

"Peri!"  Kneeling down to meet Sadie, she was almost bowled over as the soon to be four year old ran into her and promptly burst into tears.  "You came back!"

"Of course I came back.  I promised I would."  She tried to pry Sadie's arms from around her neck but the girl had her in a tight grip so she stood up with a little groan as she was definitely heavier, holding her closely.  George hung back a little, reminding her of the day she first met him.  He was always more sensitive with his feelings and she still remembered the look of betrayal that flashed over his face on the day she had to say goodbye.  Looking sympathetically at him, Peri lowered her voice a little.  "Hello George."

"Hi."  His greeting was barely audible.  He looked up at Bucky who squeezed his shoulder.  "Are you staying?"

She looked back at Jacob and the new guy, Andy, who were unloading her luggage from the trunk.  "Well, I left a lot of my stuff here knowing I was coming back and that's the rest of it, right there.  I missed you, all of you, so much."

George's lips trembled, then he looked away to wipe his eyes.  Bucky kneeled down to him and whispered into his ear, then took his handkerchief out and dabbed at his son's face.  With a nod to Bucky, he walked over to Peri and looked at her intently before hugging her around the waist.  Lowering Sadie, Peri kneeled so she could hug both of them, kissing them on the sides of their heads.  Hearing someone blowing their nose, she looked in the direction of the sound and saw Jacob hastily putting his handkerchief away.

"Don't mind me," he said.  "I'm a sucker for emotional reunions."  He looked at her with a straight face.  "Where do you want your things taken?"

"The in-law suite," answered Bucky.

"Bucky's room," said Peri, at the same time. 

For an awkward moment there was no sound from anyone, then Bucky cleared his throat.

"My room."

Jacob picked up a suitcase, as did Andy, then made eye contact with George.

"Do you think you can carry one of the smaller bags?  Sadie, I could use your help, too."

The children each picked up a smaller bag and followed the two bodyguards into the house. 

"I didn't want to make any assumptions," said Bucky, as he stepped a little closer to Peri.  "We haven't ...."

"I appreciate that but with my parents coming for Sadie's birthday party next weekend I just thought it was easier for me to get my things moved upstairs sooner rather than later."  A small grin appeared on her face.  "Besides, do you really think those kids are going to let us sleep alone at first?"

His eyes crinkled at the thought.  "You got me there.  Better to have the king sized bed for the sleepover."

She took in his appearance.  "You cut your hair.  Did Kent do it?"

"Yeah," grinned Bucky, self-consciously running his hand through it.  "He did.  Didn't mind doing it over a few days.  For a former hair stylist he's been a good fit as a personal assistant.  Andy is great, too.  He plays piano and offered to take over the kids' lessons until you came back." 

"I know," she smiled.  "He told me on the drive here, plus I kept in touch with Guillermo and he passed it on.  He misses everyone."

Reaching for her hand he pulled her closer.  "I've missed you."  Hesitating, Peri looked over to the fence, then up into the sky.  "No photographers, no drones and I don't care if they're watching.  Our relationship is public knowledge now but officially we make no comment on our personal affairs."

Cupping her cheeks in his hands, Bucky lowered his lips to hers, welcoming her home with the sweetest kiss.  It was better than the one he said goodbye with; better because it put all the doubt and uncertainty behind them.  This was a new beginning and once she was settled in, they could take their relationship as far as they wanted.  Just after the kiss, but before Bucky put his arm around her shoulder to lead her into the house, Peri stopped and took one of his hands in hers.

"I love you, and if it's too soon to ask then I understand."  This was harder than she thought it would be.  Taking a breath she faced him.  "How soon can we get married?"

Without hesitating, Bucky answered.  "Next Saturday.  We get two weeks off for a spring break after Good Friday.  Considering that's Sadie's birthday party, we probably want to wait for the Saturday after."

She expected him to ask why she was asking but he didn't say a word.  Instead, he gazed at her steadily.  Swallowing nervously, she looked to the house then back up at him. 

"After that?"

"We get a few days around Memorial Day, and the week of July 4th off but we're expected to be working in our districts then, so I'm busy until August when we get the whole month off."

"August," she breathed.  "I don't want to wait that long.  I'm 37, and I love George and Sadie but ...."

His kiss this time was full of want and desire for her.  It's suddenness surprised her but it also gave her the feeling that he knew exactly what she wanted more than anything.  Perhaps, he wanted this as much as her.  When he finally released her, the way he looked at her made her feel soft and warm inside.

"Sunday, then," he murmured.  "Everyone that matters will be coming for breakfast before they go back home.  We can get a license this week and an officiant for Sunday morning after breakfast.  If your parents are willing to stay for the week, we can even get away for a quick honeymoon.  If you want us to be married before you have your own child, I'm on board."

"Is it too soon?" She suppressed a cry when he shook his head while smiling at her.  "Next Sunday?"

"Esperanza, the woman who gave me hope that I could be happy again, will you do me the honour of marrying me, and becoming the mother of my existing children, and those to come?"

"Yes," she sobbed, then laughed as he picked her up and lifted her above his head before letting her slide down so he could kiss her again.

They walked into the house with his arm around her shoulder and hers around his waist.  A few minutes later, there was laughter and congratulations shared from the kids and the staff.  Andy opened his wallet and took out a twenty dollar bill, handing it to Jacob.  He didn't mind being wrong in how fast the proposal happened.  This was one of the best bodyguard jobs he'd ever had, much better than guarding some entitled celebrity.  He truly understood what the others had told him when he first started; these were good people, the type you would do anything to protect.  They were like family.

The End

Series Masterlist

Thursday started out stressfully for Peri.  She had no opportunity to discuss anything brought up with Bucky the night before as he left early with George.  As far as she knew, what happened between them was known only to them, since neither Sam nor Marge mentioned that they were aware of the situation.  After breakfast Sadie insisted that Sam, Marge, Mikey and Sully play board games with her.  Peri retreated to her office and dealt with her usual tasks first, including sending in Bucky's acceptance as a judge for the school science fair.  She held off emailing the Ambassador's office for more time to decide about the job.  With at least two weeks needed at the best of times to set up Peri's diplomatic credentials and make arrangements for her accommodations, the earliest she could start was mid-January anyways.  An extension likely wouldn't be a problem. 

Once more, she read through the code of conduct for the House of Representatives, confirming that being in a relationship with Bucky was seen as a power imbalance if she continued to work for him in any capacity.  After searching for any other instances of a elected official continuing to stay in office while in a relationship with a staff member, she sat back in her chair and fretted.  It didn't look hopeful.  The only thing in their favour was that all the examples she found were of already married people in a sexual relationship with an underling.  That became the real scandal that led to their resignations.  She and Bucky were widowed and hadn't even kissed.

At lunch, the strain of how to navigate this must have shown on her face.

"Esperanza, are you feeling alright?" asked Rosa, looking at her with concern.  "You look pale."

"I guess I'm a little stressed," admitted Peri.  "Lots of things to deal with before I go home tomorrow."

"Anything I can help with?" asked Marge.  "I don't mind pitching in."  She looked at Sadie.  "Sweetie, do you mind if I help Peri this afternoon to get her work done?  Perhaps Uncle Sam and the others can help you build a snowman in the yard."

"Yeah!  A snowman."  Of course Sadie was all for that as she turned to Sam in excitement.  "Can we make a snowman ... please?"

Marge gave Sam a look that told him to go along with it.

"Sure, we can build a snowman.  We build them all the time in Louisiana."  The bodyguards smirked.  "I'm sure the guys can help make it the biggest snowman in the neighbourhood."

Sadie clapped her hands at the prospect of making a giant snowman in their yard and began throwing out ideas to decorate it.  No one was going to say no to her.  As soon as lunch was over, Marge accompanied a reluctant Peri back to her office.  Once inside, she closed the door behind her, and gazed at the younger woman with understanding.

"What?"  Peri fidgeted with her hands.  "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Sam and I know what's going on," replied Marge, gently.  She approached the younger woman.  "You're in love with Bucky and you're trying to find a way to keep your jobs and each other."  Shaking her head, she took her by the hand.  "So far, you haven't found anything that will allow you to be together, not without giving something up."

Hearing it spoken out loud broke Peri's control and she melted into the older woman's arms.  After several minutes of allowing herself to cry, she backed away, grabbing several tissues at once to dab at her eyes, then blowing her nose.  Settling down in one of the armchairs, she fidgeted with her hands, not wanting to look at Marge.

"You must be disappointed in me," she murmured.  "Barely six months in the job and I crossed a line."

"That's just it.  You haven't crossed a line.  Neither of you have, yet."  Marge pulled her chair closer, then reached out and took Peri's hands in hers.  "In fact, you've both shown a lot of restraint.  Sam and I noticed the looks between you last night, and if we noticed, then Bucky's colleagues and office staff also noticed.  We were outside your suite when Bucky came out."

"Oh, no."  Peri felt like she was going to be sick.

"It's okay.  He told us that you hadn't even kissed, much less been together.  If there is one thing that is known about Bucky, it's that he tells the truth, even when it doesn't show him in a good light.  A lot of people in Washington complain that it makes them look bad.  He knows how to keep a state secret but he won't compromise his honesty to make himself look good."

"What is he planning?" asked Peri, suddenly realizing that he probably didn't say anything to her that morning because she would try to talk him out of it.  "He's not going to resign, is he?"

"No."  Marge shook her head.  "Sam and I talked him out of it last night."  Squeezing the younger woman's hands, she took a deep breath.  "We think it's better that you resign but not for the job in London with the Ambassador."

A feeling of dread came over Peri.  "What does that mean?"

"It means that before the end of the day, Bucky is going to tell the Ethics Committee that you two wish to begin a personal relationship.  Because you both recognize that a relationship is not possible under the current code of conduct, you have chosen to leave for a cooling off period.  If they ask him to resign as well, he will swear under oath before the Committee that he has not acted inappropriately and neither have you." 

"Quit my job and then what do I do?  Who is going to do this job if I'm not here?"

"There is always someone who has the skills necessary for the position," replied Marge.  "That's not to downplay how important you are to this household.  You soon became more than a personal assistant, and Bucky admitted that his attraction to you started before he ever revealed his feelings.  The love that you have didn't happen the usual way of the affairs that go on here.  He was willing to give it all up for you."

"But I still can't stay."

"No, you can't stay in this job, but I know that you need one and I'm still trying to figure that out for you.  I told you when we first met that I had written the book on HR.  That much was true, but after my husband died I decided it was time to step back and spend more time with my grandchildren.  My successor, who I recommended, let me down, by making cutbacks in areas the board thought weren't important enough to retain.   The result was Elle DeForest was placed with this family that was still grieving the loss of a wife and mother."

"Bucky told me."

Marge nodded.  "I've worked as an HR consultant ever since but the board wants me back in charge."  She shook her head.  "My heart isn't in it.  They aren't the same company I put so much into.  The job isn't always about making money, something my successor didn't understand.  It's about providing a service to people that they can trust, a promise to take care of the client's needs.  They still think that the company only provides a product, as if finding the best candidate to be the go-to person is comparable to an object whose value goes up or down depending on the market.  That makes them another run-of-the-mill HR company.  You understand the importance of being of service."

"But I'm really just a secretary," answered Peri.  "I read Bucky's personal correspondence then make sure he deals with the important ones.  If the kids need to see the doctor or dentist I schedule the appointments.  Placing orders for him is not rocket science.  It's really not worth what he pays me."

"It was to him.  You took care of the things that individually seemed small but together formed the backbone of his life.  By doing that you gave him the time to be an effective representative and you also gave him more time with the kids; time that was hard for him to find before."

"What exactly are you saying?"

Until that moment Marge wasn't sure exactly how she could help Peri.  She had a lot of confidence in Peri's work skills but in many ways she was under-utilized as a personal assistant.  An inspiration came to her in a flash and she built on it as she spoke.

"Travel with me as my personal assistant, while I assess a company's hiring practices and help them integrate more soft skill concepts into how they choose their employees.  There are some courses that you can take to acquire some professional designations.  With most of them online you can study as we travel.  Some can be done in person here in Washington once you return for good in a few months.  I've helped develop most of them and I'm pretty sure you'll breeze through.  Together, I think we can figure out a niche for you to set up your own company, one that you'll be able to run mostly from a home office with an occasional business trip.  Best of all, you can have the life you should have had with your first husband, with a family, only it will be with someone who won't lie to you, or cheat on you.  It will be with a man who loves you very much."

"Who is going to take over from me while I'm gone?  It can't be just anyone."

"No, it can't.  But you can be involved in choosing them.  The job can be posted on several online job databases as soon as you resign.  Over the Christmas holidays, you and I can vet the applicants together, check their references, and choose the best ones to interview by Zoom.  If we're still not satisfied we can fly in for a quick in-person session.  By the beginning of the new year we should have the right person ready to start.  Bucky's pretty sure he can manage for a little while until they get established."

"I don't know.  What type of niche in Human Resources can I fill with a home based company?"

"We'll figure that out together."  Marge squeezed Peri's hand again.  "I'm invested in you, not just in the business but because I want to see you and Bucky happy together.  You've both been through so much.  If the Ethics Committee wants to talk to you and confirm that you are wanting the relationship with Bucky by your own free will, then you'll have to face them, but I know of a few skeletons in the closets of some of the honourable members.  There may be rumours and gossip from the media but you've already managed to deal with some of that and you can always talk to your parents, me or Sam about it."

"My parents know?"  She groaned.  "They were worried this would happen."

The older woman looked at her watch.  "They should by now.  Bucky was going to do a video call with them and explain the situation, considering he made some promises to them.  I think they'll be very happy for you to find a principled man with two amazing kids that they already care about."

What else could she say?  Somehow, just when things seemed bleak, Bucky, Marge and Sam came up with a way for them to be together, by separating for a few months while Peri took on learning a new job.  She wouldn't be around for the kids, meaning that she couldn't continue their piano lessons but maybe one of the applicants could.  Anything was possible.

For a few hours they thought that everything was going to work out their way.  Bucky called Peri to confirm that he informed his staff and the chairman of the veterans' committee about the relationship then he reported their growing attraction to each other to the Ethics Committee chairman.  He had yet to hear back from him about an appearance before the entire committee.  He also told her that he had a good conversation with her parents.  His positive mood about that call seemed to bolster the belief that they could make this work.  As for the kids, he wanted to wait until he got George home from school before they told them together.

It was Brad who burst their bubble, texting her to be ready for a call on the office landline at a specific time.    Then Sam suddenly brought Sadie back inside from their snowman building activity, helping the little girl get out of her winter clothes in the foyer.  He asked Rosa to watch her while he called everyone else into the office.  Evan and Keith weren't there as they were already on their way to pick up George and Bucky.

"What's going on Sam?" asked Peri, when the last of the other four bodyguards came in, all of them looking perturbed.

He looked out the window of the office, then closed the blinds.

"The press is out there," he said.  "Someone from the Ethics Committee leaked the details of Bucky's meeting with the chairman.  They've already been identified and asked to resign for revealing confidential information but the word is out now."

Before he said anything more, the office phone rang and Peri answered it.

"Brad?  I have everyone in here.  Apparently, the press are outside the fence.  Is it true?  Did someone alert them about me and Bucky?"

He sighed.  "One of the other representatives who's always critical of Bucky leaked it.  He claims he didn't know it was confidential but no one's buying it.  The chairman asked him to resign from the committee and he'll be facing an ethics investigation of his own because of it."  Another sigh came over the line.  "It might get worse before it gets better.  I'm drafting a response from Bucky but he's in the car on the way to pick up George from school so it won't go out until he has a chance to look at it and decide if he wants to say it himself or just release it as a statement on social media."

"Peri should be given the opportunity to be heard, shouldn't she?" asked Sam.  "This affects her as much as it affects Bucky.  You know what they'll say about her."

The silence from Brad was initially ominous then he cleared his throat.  "Of course she should.  I can prepare a statement for you.  We can either release it on your behalf or you can speak to the press yourself.  It's up to you, Peri."

A croak came out of her mouth at first and she coughed a little.  "I'll read it first before I decide."

Brad accepted that and ended the call.  The others waited a moment, then Guillermo spoke up.

"Does this mean you're not leaving for that other job?"

"I'm turning it down but I can't stay employed with Bucky.  Now that it's out in the open I'm not sure what's going to happen." 

She glanced at Marge, hopeful the older woman understood why she didn't say anything about her proposal.  Guillermo stood up from where he sat and approached Peri.  Despite his size and presence he projected a sense of compassion as he crouched before her.

"I know the rules about relationships between an elected official and an employee are there for a reason, but it shouldn't be a one size fits all thing.  I think you belong here, in this house.  Bucky and the kids are better with you here.  You're family."

He left, followed by the other bodyguards who expressed similar sentiments.  When it was just Peri, Marge and Sam left she looked at both of them.

"This is exactly what I was afraid would happen."  Clasping her hands together she rested them in her lap.  "Promise me that you won't let Bucky resign over this."

"He's stubborn," admitted Sam.  "We talked him out of it last night but he'll walk away from all of it if he feels it's the right thing to do."

Until Bucky got home there wasn't much she could do but she had every intention of telling him that she wouldn't allow him to sacrifice his political career for her.

Unfortunately, her good intentions meant little as Bucky received the phone call he had been dreading while on the way home.  His mother-in-law, Sadie Brody, died late that afternoon and in accordance with Jewish tradition would be buried the next day.  Bucky and the children were leaving in a few hours, as Mrs. Chambers made the arrangements for the private jet to leave sooner.  On his arrival home he would have just enough time to pack for himself and the kids before they were driven to the airport.

With the rest of the household in a bit of a frenzy helping them get ready, Peri went into her office to see if Brad had drafted her response to the situation.  Just before his email was another email from the ambassador's office, withdrawing the job offer.  Even though she was going to turn it down, it was disappointing that they didn't want an explanation.  Moving on to Brad's message, she felt numb reading the words that sounded more like an apology and less like an expression of betrayal for the casual way some congressman with a hate for Bucky pointed a finger at them for daring to develop feelings. 

The unauthorized release of the report of a developing relationship between myself and Representative James Barnes has prompted the necessity of a response.  Let me be clear:  there has been no impropriety between us, no abuse of position, manipulation or coercion in our relationship.  We simply reached a point where our personal feelings for each other required Representative Barnes to advise the proper authorities of the situation.  In accordance with the Rules of Conduct forbidding me from remaining an employee of the Representative I have tendered my resignation effective immediately and will undergo a cooling off period of several months before resuming our personal relationship.

As she read it for at least the tenth time, there was a knock on the door.  Bucky stepped in, his face full of concern.  Peri gestured to the computer.

"Brad's draft of my response," she stated.  "Not sure whether to laugh or cry."

Bucky came over to the desk and leaned over, reading the draft.  When he finished he turned so he could lean against the desk with his arms folded, while Peri remained seated.

"Mine's much the same, except I express my regret at putting you in the position of resigning.  Still sounds like an apology for being human enough to fall in love with you."  He sighed, then reached out with his right hand to her.  Taking it, she squeezed it, then leaned her face against it.  "I'm sorry about this but not for loving you."

"Marge offered me a job."

"She told me.  I think you should take her up on it but that's just me being supportive.  The selfish part of me doesn't want you to leave."

She smiled slightly and released his hand, sitting back in her chair.  Then she leaned forward and opened a program on her computer.  Bucky stayed where he was as she wrote a short document, then printed it.  She placed it on the desk and signed it before handing it to him.  He didn't need to read it to tell him what it was.

"Don't you dare resign," she whispered.  "If they pressure you, fight it.  We may have pushed the limits but we didn't break any of their precious rules."

"I won't."  He cleared his throat.  "I'll tell the kids that you won't be back after Christmas but that you are coming back in late March or early April.  We'll miss you."

"Me too.  I should go get their presents.  They can open them on the flight."

She stood up to leave as Bucky straightened up with her but didn't try to go past him.  One moment they were standing there quietly and in the next moment their lips had met in a kiss that felt like a preview of what was to come.  His soft lips caressed hers gently at first before claiming her with more intensity.  It startled her how much firmer and warmer his body seemed now that they were holding each other in a deliberate embrace.  The clean woodsy scent of him filled her brain, forever imprinting itself as belonging to the man who was totally and completely hers.  There was none of the tension of the previous close encounters where they had held themselves back.  The way he cradled her head with one hand while pulling her closer with the other was setting the compass and lighting the beacon that would eventually guide her back home, back to her found family.  Just after their lips parted but before they released each other Bucky pressed his cheek against hers.

"Come back to us as soon as you can, my love.  Until you return our family is incomplete."

"I will," she whispered.  "I promise."

Stepping away from him and breathing deeply to calm herself, Peri gazed at the man before her, without looking away like she usually did.  She almost laughed at the thought that her sister Renée was right.  He was too handsome to be real but he was hers and that would have to carry her through the next few months.

April

There were many times that Peri imagined what she would say and do when she showed up at the door of Bucky's house from her self-imposed exile.  None of it compared to the reality when Jacob entered the gate code and they slowly opened to let the car in.  As it approached the house, she saw Bucky waiting on the steps, holding Sadie on his hip while George stood stoically beside him.  Sadie was almost vibrating with excitement and squirmed to be let down before the car stopped.  As soon as the car door opened, the little girl succeeded and ran to her with open arms.

"Peri!"  Kneeling down to meet Sadie, she was almost bowled over as the soon to be four year old ran into her and promptly burst into tears.  "You came back!"

"Of course I came back.  I promised I would."  She tried to pry Sadie's arms from around her neck but the girl had her in a tight grip so she stood up with a little groan as she was definitely heavier, holding her closely.  George hung back a little, reminding her of the day she first met him.  He was always more sensitive with his feelings and she still remembered the look of betrayal that flashed over his face on the day she had to say goodbye.  Looking sympathetically at him, Peri lowered her voice a little.  "Hello George."

"Hi."  His greeting was barely audible.  He looked up at Bucky who squeezed his shoulder.  "Are you staying?"

She looked back at Jacob and the new guy, Andy, who were unloading her luggage from the trunk.  "Well, I left a lot of my stuff here knowing I was coming back and that's the rest of it, right there.  I missed you, all of you, so much."

George's lips trembled, then he looked away to wipe his eyes.  Bucky kneeled down to him and whispered into his ear, then took his handkerchief out and dabbed at his son's face.  With a nod to Bucky, he walked over to Peri and looked at her intently before hugging her around the waist.  Lowering Sadie, Peri kneeled so she could hug both of them, kissing them on the sides of their heads.  Hearing someone blowing their nose, she looked in the direction of the sound and saw Jacob hastily putting his handkerchief away.

"Don't mind me," he said.  "I'm a sucker for emotional reunions."  He looked at her with a straight face.  "Where do you want your things taken?"

"The in-law suite," answered Bucky.

"Bucky's room," said Peri, at the same time. 

For an awkward moment there was no sound from anyone, then Bucky cleared his throat.

"My room."

Jacob picked up a suitcase, as did Andy, then made eye contact with George.

"Do you think you can carry one of the smaller bags?  Sadie, I could use your help, too."

The children each picked up a smaller bag and followed the two bodyguards into the house. 

"I didn't want to make any assumptions," said Bucky, as he stepped a little closer to Peri.  "We haven't ...."

"I appreciate that but with my parents coming for Sadie's birthday party next weekend I just thought it was easier for me to get my things moved upstairs sooner rather than later."  A small grin appeared on her face.  "Besides, do you really think those kids are going to let us sleep alone at first?"

His eyes crinkled at the thought.  "You got me there.  Better to have the king sized bed for the sleepover."

She took in his appearance.  "You cut your hair.  Did Kent do it?"

"Yeah," grinned Bucky, self-consciously running his hand through it.  "He did.  Didn't mind doing it over a few days.  For a former hair stylist he's been a good fit as a personal assistant.  Andy is great, too.  He plays piano and offered to take over the kids' lessons until you came back." 

"I know," she smiled.  "He told me on the drive here, plus I kept in touch with Guillermo and he passed it on.  He misses everyone."

Reaching for her hand he pulled her closer.  "I've missed you."  Hesitating, Peri looked over to the fence, then up into the sky.  "No photographers, no drones and I don't care if they're watching.  Our relationship is public knowledge now but officially we make no comment on our personal affairs."

Cupping her cheeks in his hands, Bucky lowered his lips to hers, welcoming her home with the sweetest kiss.  It was better than the one he said goodbye with; better because it put all the doubt and uncertainty behind them.  This was a new beginning and once she was settled in, they could take their relationship as far as they wanted.  Just after the kiss, but before Bucky put his arm around her shoulder to lead her into the house, Peri stopped and took one of his hands in hers.

"I love you, and if it's too soon to ask then I understand."  This was harder than she thought it would be.  Taking a breath she faced him.  "How soon can we get married?"

Without hesitating, Bucky answered.  "Next Saturday.  We get two weeks off for a spring break after Good Friday.  Considering that's Sadie's birthday party, we probably want to wait for the Saturday after."

She expected him to ask why she was asking but he didn't say a word.  Instead, he gazed at her steadily.  Swallowing nervously, she looked to the house then back up at him. 

"After that?"

"We get a few days around Memorial Day, and the week of July 4th off but we're expected to be working in our districts then, so I'm busy until August when we get the whole month off."

"August," she breathed.  "I don't want to wait that long.  I'm 37, and I love George and Sadie but ...."

His kiss this time was full of want and desire for her.  It's suddenness surprised her but it also gave her the feeling that he knew exactly what she wanted more than anything.  Perhaps, he wanted this as much as her.  When he finally released her, the way he looked at her made her feel soft and warm inside.

"Sunday, then," he murmured.  "Everyone that matters will be coming for breakfast before they go back home.  We can get a license this week and an officiant for Sunday morning after breakfast.  If your parents are willing to stay for the week, we can even get away for a quick honeymoon.  If you want us to be married before you have your own child, I'm on board."

"Is it too soon?" She suppressed a cry when he shook his head while smiling at her.  "Next Sunday?"

"Esperanza, the woman who gave me hope that I could be happy again, will you do me the honour of marrying me, and becoming the mother of my existing children, and those to come?"

"Yes," she sobbed, then laughed as he picked her up and lifted her above his head before letting her slide down so he could kiss her again.

They walked into the house with his arm around her shoulder and hers around his waist.  A few minutes later, there was laughter and congratulations shared from the kids and the staff.  Andy opened his wallet and took out a twenty dollar bill, handing it to Jacob.  He didn't mind being wrong in how fast the proposal happened.  This was one of the best bodyguard jobs he'd ever had, much better than guarding some entitled celebrity.  He truly understood what the others had told him when he first started; these were good people, the type you would do anything to protect.  They were like family.

The End

Series Masterlist

The Siberian facility was a place of clinical cruelty.You had looked after many soldiers before. Men who were just flesh and bone, broken and put back together.

The winter soldier was one of them. In his files, there was no name,but you knew the truth. In the restricted archives, you had caught a glimpse of an old photograph. James Buchanan Barnes.

And in that sterile white wing, you were the only source of warmth he had ever known. The Hydra protocol dictated that the Asset was a tool, not a patient, and you were never meant to look him in the eye.Yet, you were the one who cleaned the crimson off his skin after a mission, the one who whispered soft words when the memory wipes left him trembling like a lonely child.

HYDRA didn't care about his comfort, only his functionality. But you wanted to give him more than that.Yes,there was no kindness allowed in this place. But they didn't have to know about it,did they?

He never answered, but his breathing would slow, his flesh hand twitching toward your sleeve.

Hydra, however, viewed his occasional flickers of humanity as a flaw in his design.They noticed how his weight shifted when you entered the room, and how his gaze tracked your every movement.To rectify this, they administered a new experimental serum—a cocktail designed to amplify his aggression and solidify his obedience. They wanted a hound that would tear through enemies without hesitation and follow every order with robotic precision.

The scientists had strapped him down tightly to the iron chair, pumping the dark chemical into his veins while he roared in agony.

The serum worked, but Hydra had underestimated the nature of human attachment.You had stood helpless in the corner of the laboratory, your hands clenched behind your back, forced to watch as his veins blackened against his pale skin.

The obedience didn't manifest as a mindless, robotic state.Instead, the chemical broke the mental dams that kept his desperate longing for you under control. It twisted into a territorial focus on the only soul who had ever offered him a touch of grace. The serum didn't make him loyal to Hydra; it locked his focus entirely and irreversibly onto you.

The transformation was instantaneous. The moment the steel doors clicked shut and you were left alone in the medical bay, his gaze locked onto yours.

“Nurse,” he rumbled.

Before you could process the threat, he lunged forward. His body crashing you against the wall with a force that rattled the frames on the bedside table. His metal hand caught both your wrists above your head, holding them tight. He pressed you into the cold wall, leaving you breathless.

The serum coursed through him, igniting a simmering rage beneath the surface. His eyes were dark,wild and ravenous.He had imagined this before in the quiet moments of cryo-sleep. He had imagined kissing you tenderly under a softer sun. But he couldn't do that anymore,not with the serum running in his veins. The gentle caress was lost,replaced by a fierce longing to possess, to etch your essence into his soul, to herald you as his own.

He ripped your scrub top open, the fabric shredding under his strength. He shoved your legs wide, his knee forcing your thighs apart as he yanked his trousers down. He was already rock-hard, leaking a heavy amount of pre-come from the intensity of his arousal.

Without a word of warning, he drove himself into you.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as he buried himself deep in one singular thrust. He was too large, too hard, stretching you to the absolute limit. And god,you loved it.He didn't give you time to adjust; he began to hammer into you with brutal intensity.

As he drove into you,his metallic touch glided from your delicate wrists to your fragile throat. He didn't squeeze hard enough to kill, but he gripped you with a firm pressure,just enough to draw the breath from your lungs, igniting a wave of forbidden desire that coursed through you.

“Look at me,” he commanded. His voice seemed to rattle the very bones in your chest.

You lifted your chin, meeting his feral gaze. He adored the way you crumbled, the way your chest heaved as you fought for breath beneath his hand. It was the only way he knew how to express his devotion—through violence.

He picked up the pace, his hips slamming against yours with a wet sound. He was relentless, his movements aggressive.

“Do you like it?” he growled, tightening his grip on your throat, forcing your head back against the wall. “Do you like how I take you?”

You couldn't even answer, only nodding frantically, your body shaking with the intensity of the friction.

You swallowed hard, your voice coming out as a needy whimper. You reached up, your fingers digging into the thick muscles of his biceps, pulling him even closer if that were even possible.

“Yes...” you gasped, your voice strained and breathless. “Yes, Soldat... I love it. I love how you... how you take me.”

The moment the praise left your lips, a low, sound ripped from his throat. The serum had amplified his need for approval.

As the climax began to build, Bucky’s movements became almost manic. He surged forward, his metal arm pinning you even tighter against the wall. He craved to leave a part of himself inside you, a permanent reminder that he belonged to you and you belonged to him.

“I'm going to fill you,” he whispered.

With one final thrust, he bottomed out, his hips locking against yours. He let out a low roar as he came, a thick release that filled you to the brim. He didn't pull out; he stayed buried deep inside you, pumping every drop of his seed into your womb.

He remained there for a long time, his forehead pressed against yours, his hand still loosely circling your throat. He leaned in, kissing your jawline with a softness that contrasted the violence of the act.

“My angel” he murmured. “My everything.” He was breathing heavily, his eyes still dark with the remnants of that feral hunger.

You reached up, your trembling fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck. You could feel him shivering slightly, the aftershocks of the serum and the orgasm leaving him vulnerable in a way he only ever was with you.

His eyes left yours, and you immediately missed them. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” you told him. “Do you wanna start by telling me what’s on your mind?”

He took a deep breath, scrubbing his hands over his thighs. “I don’t… know how to do this.”

The crease between your eyebrows reappeared as you listened to him. “I don’t expect you to.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, “how do you just—?” Bucky shook his head. 

“Take it back,” you coaxed. “Can you tell me the subject you wanna talk about?”

“Hydra,” he replied.

“That’s a good start.”

“That was a terrible start.”

“Bee, it was not.”

“Whatever,” he grunted. 

“What about Hydra?” 

“Something… small,” he answered, looking around the room for a safe place to land.

“Small, okay,” you thought aloud. “Do you have something particular in mind?”

He nodded.

You waited for a few moments, giving him space to breathe. 

Bucky’s voice was quiet, his guarded tone cracking slightly when he said, “They called me ‘it’.”

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. A cruelty you should have anticipated, but a possibility you had no desire to entertain.

“ ‘It’ instead of ‘he’,” he clarified, voice low and throaty. 

“How did that make you feel?” You tried to keep your voice as quiet as his.

He snorted uncomfortably. “That’s… complicated.”

“I can understand that.”

Bucky went quiet again, hands clasped together. He was hunched over his knees, elbows atop them, unable to even turn his torso in your direction. 

“Do you feel better now that you said it aloud?” you tried.

“A little.”

“It still feels like there’s more to get out, though,” you said, trying to finish his thought for him.

He nodded, still hunched over his knees. 

“I’m here whenever you’re ready. Even if you just wanna write it down and show me.”

Bucky was completely hiding his face from you. “It was just one more thing designed to… to break me.”

You swallowed harshly. 

“I was always ‘the Asset.’ ‘Soldat.’ ‘It’. I don’t even think I recognized it till recently,” he admitted.

“What did it make you feel when you realized it?” you asked hesitantly.

“Worthless.” He guarded his stomach as though it'd been punched. "I think it was the final thing that made me stop resisting.”

You knew what he meant; anyone’s mind would have given way to that kind of brainwashing. “Did you feel like that when you were the Soldier?”

His shoulders tensed. “I didn’t feel anything.”

You couldn’t decide if you thought he was lying. “When did you feel?”

“The chair,” he stated matter-of-factly.

You’d been strapped to that chair when they attempted to wipe your memories clean during your two weeks in Siberia.

“Right before the ice,” Bucky continued, the apathy in his tone constant. “When they said the fucking words.”

You knew what that meant. It was something you'd figured would have helped them in the process of brainwashing him; likely a series of ten to twelve words that would make no logical sense together.

He pressed his palms into his eyes, and you could tell he was trying not to cry. The moments passed wordlessly and painfully. 

“(Y/N),” he lamented, “all they have to do is say those fucking words, and I’m back where I started from.”

“I’m not gonna let that happen,” you stated.

He shook his head. “You can’t promise that.”

“Bee, look at me,” you pleaded. “Look at me.”

He picked his head up from his palms, only slightly turning his face toward yours. 

“Those words have no power here.”

Bucky dropped his face back into his hands, and you allowed him the space to grieve.

****

“Doc,” he huffed, emerging from his room and gesturing to his metal arm. “It’s actin’ up again.”

One side of your lips turned upward. 

“Where’s it givin’ you trouble?” You dried your hands on the towel beside you before retreating to your room to grab your toolkit. “I can probably guess based on where you spilled coffee you wouldn’t let me clean up—”

Before you could process what was happening when you returned, Bucky took off the Henley he was wearing. 

Of course, you’d seen him shirtless before, but trying to comfort him after a nightmare didn’t leave much room for staring. This was different. The setting sun gave his naturally slightly tanned skin even more ridges over the top of his muscles, casting him in a hazy glow. 

You tried to shake yourself out of it, but of course, he noticed before you could. Just as you thought you’d regained your composure, Bucky’s right hand came up to tuck an imaginary loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

He knew exactly what he was doing, and the way he chuckled when your hands stuttered over your tools confirmed it. 

“Distracting me doesn't make for a good repair,” you pretended to grumble, smiling while heat rose to your cheeks. 

Bucky tensed under your hands and tools, groaning occasionally when you touched one of the shorted wires. 

“Sorry,” you told him. “I’m not tryin’ to hurt you, I promise.”

Bucky nodded, and it was then you noticed how hard he was trying not to grimace. 

“If you need a break, tell me,” you ordered. 

He huffed out a laugh, his voice strained. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ‘ma’am’,” you scolded playfully. 

“You’re almost fifty-nine, (Y/N), I think that qualifies you as a ‘ma’am’,” he tried to tease through the pain. 

“Then I’m gonna start callin’ you ‘Gramps,’ given you’re almost ninety-nine.”

Bucky scoffed at you before laughing at himself. “Sometimes, I forget how old we are— ah!” He grabbed your hand to still it with his right one when you hit a particularly sensitive wire near his shoulder joint. “Sorry, sorry… keep— keep going.”

Your eyes stayed glued to his face, despite the fact that his were not meeting yours. His chest heaved from the effort to keep from crying out. 

“Does your shoulder always hurt like this?” you asked, trying to distract him.

“There’s good days ‘n bad,” he answered through clenched teeth, trying to suppress a whimper.

“Does anything make it better?” Your breath caught when he grunted in pain. 

“No.” He cleared his throat, trying to regain composure.

“Okay, the worst should be over now,” you said, blowing out a puff of air. 

 He nodded, eyes closed and trying to catch his breath.

You finished fixing his arm in silence, but you could feel his eyes on you the whole time.

When you finally screwed the last plate of his arm back in place, he let out a breath in relief. “Thanks, Doc.”

You smiled. “Always.”

You found Bucky seemed to more actively seek small touches. Never in a way that was outright offensive or an attempt to tease; it was always for comfort. Always designed to anchor himself to you. 

It started with his right hand against the small of your back, the touch feather-light as he slid past you in the kitchen. Then, it was a brush of his fingers against yours when he took his coffee mug from you the next morning. He didn’t recoil or freeze when you looked up at him through your lashes, he merely had an amused look in his eyes on his otherwise stoic face. 

The boldest he’d gotten was the brush of his right thumb against your chin when you’d accidentally gotten spaghetti sauce on it from the dinner he made you.

Bucky always sat on your left side at the kitchen counter; you’d learned he was sensitive about anyone standing near his metal arm. 

You’d noticed him staring at you through the dim light of the main room. “Do I have something on my face?”

In a surge of confidence, he gave you one pleading look which you answered with one of your own. Then, he reached out, using his thumb to gently swipe it off your face. 

Your breath caught in your throat at the touch. “Thank you.” 

The right side of his mouth twitched upward. 

****

“Doc,” Bucky groaned. It was the most desperate you’d ever heard him.

Immediately, you careened into his room.

He had his metal arm slung over both eyes, the sheets and blankets tangled around him. 

“Migraine?” you asked for confirmation's sake.

He nodded weakly.

“What do you need right now?” You lowered your voice considerably. 

“Can you…”

“Can I…?”

“Fuck, Doc, stop makin’ this hard,” he groaned.

"I'm sorry."

He kept trying to force out his question. “The thing you did when I was all jittery…”

You pursed your eyebrows, thinking a minute. “Brushed your hair?”

“That…” he trailed off. 

“I’ve got you.”

When you returned from the bathroom with a brush in your hands, you closed the curtains over the newspaper-covered windows just enough to leave the room dimly illuminated.

He shuffled down in his bed, letting you sit on the mattress with your back against the wall behind it. Bucky then flopped down again with his metal arm still covering his eyes, but this time, in your lap. You knew he knew of his effect on you by the small smirk on his lips.

Choosing to let your heart pound for the moment, you gently brushed through as much hair as you could with his head resting in your lap, every once in a while pausing to massage his scalp and temples. 

“God,” he moaned, “you have no idea how good that feels.”

Your hands worked their way down his neck and shoulders as you prevented heat from pooling in your stomach at the double entendre in his words.

“Jesus,” you laughed breathlessly, “you’ve got some killer knots here.”

“Hydra didn’t exactly hire a masseuse for me, (Y/N),” he grumbled playfully.

“You know I wasn’t taking it there,” you pinched the skin you were working lightly.

When your hands started to venture toward the junction of his left shoulder and metal, you hesitated. Bucky’s breathing deepened, the sound almost pleading.

“It’s fine,” he urged you. 

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Fuck, (Y/N), yeah, I’m sure,” he replied impatiently.

“Okay, okay.” With a gentler pressure than the one you’d used on the rest of his shoulders, you brushed over the edge of the scarring.

“They’re from me.” Bucky cleared his throat. “Kept trying to tear it off.”

You felt sick. It'd been an idea you'd toyed with but desperately wished to be wrong about. Unsure of what to say, you opted to stay silent; a choice Bucky seemed to be okay with.

Slowly, some of the tension melted from his body. Although he was still hurting when you were finished with your massage, the pain became bearable enough for him to take his hand from his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he swallowed, peering up at you cautiously.

You kept carding your fingers through his hair, stopping to braid a few strands every so often. “Always.”

Tags for this series are open!

It was short, the tug on your leg.

You peer down to see a little girl. Soft brown hair with little clips to keep it out of her face, round face and blue eyes that were full of fear.

“Hey there,” you say, and crouch down. “You okay?”

She blinks, tears falling down her cheeks. “I can’t find my daddy.”

“Hey, hey,” you reach to rub her shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

She lets out a sob, unable to control the hysteria shaking her small frame.

“Oh sweetheart,” you breathe, and offer her your hand. “Hold my hand, we’ll find your daddy. Don’t worry.”

She continued to sob, unrestrained sounds that twisted your heart.

You walked slowly down the aisle, allowing her to keep pace with you, heading for the large central aisle where it would be easiest to be found.

“El!” You hear someone shout.

“Daddy?” The little girl turns her head, her eyes alert and wide.

You peek over your shoulder to see a man rushing over.

“Oh my babygirl,”

The girl lets go of your hand, her little feet pushing her forward into the arms of the man.

You smile to yourself, relieved, yet feeling a little out of place at witnessing the reunion.

The man presses his forehead to the little girl’s, his daughter you assumed.

“Are you okay?” He spoke quickly. “You aren’t hurt?”

She shakes her head. “I saw glitter pens, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he spoke as if to himself. “You’re safe.”

It was then his eyes flicker up to you. They are the exact same shade as his daughter’s, a light blue that gave away more emotion than any expression. His hair was the same colour also, pulled back into a messy bun. His face differed from hers entirely, a strong jawline marked with stubble peppered with grey, and faint lines across his forehead and eyes.

He scoops his daughter up with ease, her body looking tiny next to his large build.

“Hi, uh,” he shifts awkwardly.

“Hi,” you press your lips together nervously.

“I, uh, thanks for taking care of my Eileen,” he says.

You shake your head. “It was nothing, only for a few minutes.”

“Still,” his lips twitched. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” you shrug and turn to walk away.

“Come back!” the little girl, Eileen, called.

“El,” you hear her father hiss. “Leave the lady be.”

You feel a tug on your hand, and peek down to see the girl, who must have forced her way down and rushed to catch you.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

You tilt your head, giving it quietly.

“Pretty,” she smiles. “You’re pretty.”

“Eileen Barnes,” you hear her father call out disapprovingly.

“What?” Her eyes moved to her father. “She’s pretty.”

Her father sighs. “She’s busy, babygirl. Let her go.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, and crouch to Eileen’s level.

“I think your dad is wants to get going,” you tell her softly.

She frowns, her eyes appearing watery once again. “I don’t want to.”

Her father stepped closer.

“Eileen,” he put a hand on her back. “That is enough.”

His voice was gentle yet firm.

“But Daddy,” she began to protest. “She’s pretty and kind. Can we be friends?”

“El, it’s not that easy,” he breathes.

“It’s okay,” your voice came out stronger. “Eileen?”

She peeks up, her eyes meet yours.

“I can be your friend,” you say to her.

“Daddy’s friend too,” she insists. “Daddy is always alone. Daddy needs a friend.”

“Eileen,” her father’s face was starting to go red.

You laugh quietly. “That’s up to your daddy.”

She looks up expectantly at her father.

“El, I—” he looks at you, eyes moving up and down you.

“You are pretty,” he murmurs. “Really pretty.”

You feel blood rush to your cheeks.

Eileen beams, her eyes moving between you and her father.

“I’m Bucky,” he holds out a hand to you. “Bucky Barnes, this is my daughter, Eileen.”

You reach out, allowing him to shake your hand, his hand rough to touch, yet gentle.

“Hi,” you breathe, still a little flustered from his compliment.

Bucky smiles, an expression that makes your heart stutter a moment. The pull of those pink lips, the way it crinkled at the edges of his eyes. It felt like you could stare at him for days and never tire of him.

“I—” he cleared his throat. “Look I know this is, uh, weird. But, Eileen likes you, and she won’t stop until I ask. Would you… do you want to get coffee sometime?”

“Oh,” you stammer. “Yeah, sure.”

You reach into your bag, ripping off the bottom of your shopping list and pulling out a pen, then scribbling down your phone number.

You fold it in half and hold it out between your fingers.

He takes it carefully.

“Text me?” You ask with a small smile.

“Uh,” his eyes move to your lips for a moment. “Yeah, yeah. I will.”

Your smile widens and you pat Eileen on the head.

“See you around then,” you say. “Eileen… Bucky.”

Eileen looks up at her father grinning.

“She’s nice,” she says as if it were the most important thing in the world.

Bucky holds the piece of paper tightly between his fingers, eyes on you walking away.

“Yeah, she is.”

That evening you’d checked your phone constantly, waiting for the text that never came. You checked again the next morning to nothing, and began to wonder if you’d written the wrong number.

A few more days pass, when you hear your phone buzz once.

You reach over from your place on the sofa, eyes still on the comforting program you are watching.

A quick glance shows a text from an unfamiliar number.

Hey, it’s Bucky. We met at the grocery store the other day. Do you still want to meet for coffee sometime?

A small smile graces your face, warmth filling your veins. He hadn’t forgotten.

I’d love to. Any recommendations? x

You send the text without thinking, jerking slightly as you realise that you’d put a kiss on there out of habit.

A few minutes pass before the next buzz.

There’s a coffee shop in the park?

Immediately another text followed.

Eileen will be coming, she can play on the swings whilst we chat x

Your lips part, seeing him also put a kiss made you smile wider.

That’ll be nice. I’d love to see Eileen again! x

She’s dying to see you again, been pestering me every day to skip work to take her x

You laugh at that.

I’d skip work for her x

There is a brief pause.

I would too, if I could. Would Saturday work for you? Say around 9am? x

You check your calendar briefly, confirming what you already knew - you weren’t busy.

That will be fine. Pretty early don’t you think? x

El will be asking when we are going all day if not. She likes to get me up at 6, and there is no stopping her once she is up x

You laugh again to yourself, there was something endearing about how this man complained about his daughter, yet you could hear his adoration for her.

I’ll be sure to get there in time for Eileen x

Appreciate that, doll. See you Saturday x

You duck your head slightly at the nickname, slightly embarrassed at how your heart squeezed despite being alone.

The park is quiet, filled with only a few people running or cycling and the distant sounds of birds.

It takes a few minutes to walk to the coffee shop, the temperature is warm, not too hot to be uncomfortable but cool enough you could wear a light jacket.

The air fills with the smell of freshly baked goods and coffee, the shop itself is small, most of the seating outside on paving slabs overlooking a playground.

You linger a moment, only seeing people enter to take out and then depart. You turn, scanning the area before reaching for your phone checking for a message. There was none.

You silently remind yourself it is only ten to nine, he wasn’t late.

The sound of your name startles you. Your head whips around until you notice little Eileen running at you.

You crouch down allowing her to fling her little arms around you.

“You came!” She declared as you broke apart.

“Of course,” you reach and boop her nose with your index finger. She grins, reaching to do the same to your nose.

You hear someone chuckle above you, and look up to see Bucky. He’s in dark blue jeans, a wool jacket with a hint of red peeking underneath.

“Hi,” you smile at him.

“Hey,” he greets you.

“Daddy!” Eileen rushes back to her father, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward.

“She came! She came!” The little girl bounced in place with enthusiasm.

“Easy El,” he speaks softly. “I’ve already lost one arm, I don’t need to lose another.”

You get to your feet, noticing the girl pulling on his metal fingers.

You feel yourself smiling at the sight. “Shall we go in?”

Bucky nods politely, wrapping his hand around El’s.

“Ohhhh,” Eileen pulls away from her father, the moment you enter. “Look daddy! Pain a-“ she frowns as she thinks. “Pain Aux Chocolat!”

Bucky chuckles with a shake of his head.

“She has a lot of energy,” you note.

“Yeah,” he puts his hands on his pockets, glancing at you a moment before returning his gaze back to the little girl. “She’s always like this.”

“She wanders off a lot?”

“Mhm,” he sighs. “She saw some glitter gel pens when you found her. One minute he was next to me, I turned to reach for some tins and then she was gone.”

“All that for gel pens?” You ask, amused.

“Yep,” he gives a slight smile. “They kept her busy whilst I made dinner.”

You let out a snicker.

“What?” His eyes now return to you.

“I’m sorry,” you press your lips together to suppress your smile. “That’s cute.”

“Hm,” he huffs. “Cute, eh?”

You give him a timid shrug and step forward to join Eileen.

“Hi,” you greet the barista. “Can I have a Latte, one croissant, a pain aux chocolate…” you look down to Eileen. “Would you like a drink, El?”

“Hot chocolate!” She declares. “Please.”

“A hot chocolate,” you turn to Bucky. “Bucky, what would you like?”

He recoils in surprise and approaches, your back tingles as you feel him behind your back. “A black coffee please.”

The barista puts it all in and you pull out your card, tapping it against the reader.

“They’ll just be a few minutes,” the barista tells you.

“Thanks,” you smile and walk around.

“You should have let me pay,” Bucky shakes his head, his hand holding El’s again.

“It’s fine, I wanted to get Eileen something,” you give her a grin.

Bucky sighs.

“Is he always grumpy?” You ask El, teasing him.

“Yes,” she nods.

“El,” his lips twitch and eyebrows scrunch together. “Please.”

The barista then placed down the drinks with two paper bags.

“Thank you!” El chimed in a sing-song voice, eagerly reaching for the drinks.

You get there first, picking up the ones in her reach.

“Thanks,” Bucky sounds immensely grateful. “Eileen, please be careful, they’re hot.”

She gives him a sassy look.

“Why don’t you take the food?” You compromise.

Eileen nods, reaching to take the paper bags.

Bucky reaches to take his coffee. “Let’s find a seat.”

He leads you outside, it remains quiet, peaceful. Bucky strolls to the table closest to the playground, whilst your eyes remain on his back, his wide shoulders.

He pulls out a chair, then another, places his cup down and picks up his daughter to help her up into the chair.

“Take a seat, doll,” he gestures, letting you sit first before taking the last seat.

You carefully reach over placing the hot chocolate in front of Eileen and taking the Croissant.

Eileen seems too distracted by her own food to pay any mind to anything else.

Bucky chuckles fondly before taking a long sip of his drink.

“Want any?” You ask him as you pull part of the croissant apart to eat.

“Hmm,” he considers for a moment. “Sure.”

You smile, ripping off the other end. He leans over parting his lips slightly, you carefully put the piece in his mouth. His mouth closed and he chewed carefully.

You have to sift your eyes away, a warmth filling you at how he’d trusted you.

“Daddy never eats here,” Eileen cuts through your reverie, her blue eyes on her father as she concentrated. “Says it's bad for his muscles.”

You raise an eyebrow and smirk at Bucky.

He leans back, sipping his coffee and doesn’t say a word.

“You enjoy the gym?” You ask.

“Not as much as I’d like,” he places his cup down again. “I’m ex-Army.”

“What do you do now?” You ask, taking a sip of your own drink.

“Boring office job,” he admits. “But I can work from home, and take care of this one.”

He pats his daughter on the head.

“What about—“ you pause, hesitating.

“Eileen’s mother?” He finishes.

Eileen looks at her father, as though sensing the tension of the moment, then at you.

“Mummy works away,” she speaks as if she has said it a thousand times, her eyes suddenly appearing tired.

“Busy lady,” you reply.

“Mmm,” you hear the disapproval in Bucky’s tone. “Eileen, do you want to go try the swings whilst we chat?”

“Huh?” She perks up, then drops from her seat. “Yay!!”

She runs off eagerly into the playground.

“Stay in my sight!” He calls after her.

You watch Bucky once more, his face smooth yet his eyes soften, betraying the love he has for his daughter.

“El’s mother,” he begins, eyes still on his little girl. “She doesn’t come to see Eileen much. El barely remembers her.”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, unsure what to say.

He shrugs. “We have each other. It’s enough.”

You gently place a hand on his arm. “You’re a single parent, you shouldn’t have to face it alone.”

“Despite what El told you, I do have friends,” his eyes return to you. “They are few, but I couldn’t have gotten this far without them.”

You nod, relieved. Bucky’s eyes then flicker over you, taking you in.

“You look lovely,” he comments.

“Thank you,” you lean back, hoping the distance will hide the blush on your cheeks.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t have a real first date,” you allow your eyes to drift back to him, his eyes on his daughter - now climbing steps on a slide. “You deserve to be taken out for dinner.”

“You don’t need to explain,” your voice is soft. “Your little girl has to come first.”

His head turns slightly, giving you a faint smile. “Thank you.”

“Besides, I wanted to see El again,” you continue. “She’s adorable.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, she is.”

There is a moment of silence. You keep your eyes on Bucky, taking in how his eyes never strayed from his daughter, occasionally drinking his coffee whilst his other hand lay on his lap.

“What do you do for work?” Bucky’s voice is quiet.

You twitch a second. “It’s pretty boring. I'm an archivist. Spend all day typing up what is written in old dusty books, or help people find old dusty books.”

He chuckles. “Sounds like it makes you happy.”

Your voice gets caught in your mouth for a moment. “It does,” you admit.

Bucky shifts then, turning his seat towards you.

“Would you like another drink?” He asks, the creases in his expression giving away his nerves.

“No, thank you,” you shift to face him. “I would like to just talk.”

He smiles then. Not the faint twitches of his lips before, a real smile. It seemed to light up his whole face, brightening his eyes, crinkling at the edges and his forehead.

“Your eyes,” you lean forward, heart thrumming a little harder from his gaze. “They’re incredible.”

His face drops, lips parting slightly as he drinks in your words.

“Uh, thank you,” he stammers.

You smile at him, and reach over to place your hand on his.

He swallows, suddenly nervous. “Do you like Italian food?”

“Yeah,” you respond. “Why do you ask?”

“There’s a little Italian restaurant not far from my place,” he says. “We could go, if you’d like.”

“With Eileen?”

He shakes his head. “Eileen is staying with my friend on Tuesday night. It would be just the two of us.”

“I think I’d enjoy that,” your lips twitch.

“More than this?” He playfully responds.

“It’s nice,” you smirk. “And I adore Eileen. But I’d also like to get you alone.”

“Alone, huh?” He chuckles. “That might be difficult.”

You grin at his face, he seemed so happy, a far cry from the grumpy man from earlier.

“I can share,” you tease.

“Yeah?” He turned his hand over, fingers interweaving with yours.

“Yeah.”

Bucky squeezed your hand. “You know in a fight she’d win, every time.”

“I know,” you nod. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Daddy!” Eileen was running over. “Did you see? Did you see? I was so fast.”

You suppress a laugh.

“Oh, I’m sorry, babygirl. I missed it,” he responded. “Go again, I’m watching.”

The little girl’s eyes narrow, eyes flickering between the two of you before running back, climbing the steps and flinging herself down the slide at speed.

“Oh my—” you begin to get to your feet in fear for her.

“Relax,” Bucky mutters. “She’ll be alright.”

“Did you see, Daddy?” Eileen shouts.

“I saw,” he calls back. “You were faster than my bike.”

Eileen beamed, running back over the bark chips to the table.

“That was fun!” She declared.

Bucky grins, pleased to see his little girl so happy. “Need a rest?”

She nods, climbing onto the chair. “I need a drink.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at his daughter.

“Please,” she adds.

“Good girl,” he shakes his head fondly, reaching down into a bag Eileen had been carrying, passing over a drink bottle from the side to her.

She happily slurped through the straw.

“You’re a good dad,” you nudge him gently.

“I try,” he murmurs.

“Daddy’s happy,” she notices and then looks at you. “You’re happy.”

She takes another sip. “You make Daddy happy.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, El,” he chuckles.

“You laugh when I’m silly. Or Uncle Sam is silly,” she says.

“Uncle Sam?”

“My best friend,” Bucky explains. “He’s a pain, but he takes care of El when I can’t.”

“It’s nice of him to take care of Eileen,”

“I love Uncle Sam!” El declares in agreement.

“Because Uncle Sam lets you stay up till 8pm, and brings you chocolate,” Bucky shakes his head in disapproval.

She shrugs, taking one more sip from her drink before taking off again.

“What time do you want to meet on Tuesday?” You ask.

“I’ll book the table for seven,” his eyes were on his daughter.

You nod. “Seven then.”

He nods, his eyes flickering back to you.

“I’ll be waiting.”

You shift from one foot to the other, tugging at the material of your dress praying it’s not too short. You chose a simple red dress that hung just above your knees, in the hopes of being alluring yet modest.

You hear someone call your name, your eyes flicker around, seeing no one until you turn and spot Bucky.

He’s dressed semi formally, jeans, black boots, a light blue shirt that matched his eyes and a leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

“Hello,” his voice is quiet yet warm, his left hand holds out a small bunch of flowers with a nervous smile. “These are for you.”

You cannot contain the smile that crosses your face. “Thank you.”

His face remains still, but his eyes betray his relief. “I wasn’t sure what you would like,” he confessed.

You shake your head, stepping closer. “They are beautiful.”

“Shall we—” he hesitated. “Shall we go in?”

You nod, holding the flowers in one of your hands and reaching out with the other to offer your hand.

Instinctively, the fingers of his right hand weave between yours. They are gentle yet slightly rough to touch, yet somehow the feel of them sends a slight tingle up your arm.

Bucky guides you forward to the door, holding his jacket with his thumb and the rest of his fingers grasping the handle, holding it open for you.

“Thank you,” you give him a smile.

His lips twitch slightly upward, and follow you into the restaurant.

It’s small, yet quiet, simplistic in its decor.

You blink as you take it in, eyes flickering as he tugs your hand carefully to speak to the server.

“Table for two, under the name Barnes,” his voice is low.

The server nods. “Ah yes, I have it. Good to see you Mr Barnes.”

They pick up two menus and lead you to a small table to the side, a little out of earshot of the nearest table.

“Here,” Bucky pulls out a chair for you as the server places down the menus.

“Thanks,” you sit, place the flowers carefully under your chair and shrug off your jacket.

Bucky gives you a nod of satisfaction before taking his seat, slinging his jacket casually over the back.

“Any allergies we need to be aware of?” The server asks.

You shake your head.

Bucky doesn’t speak, his eyes remain on you.

The server nods and departs.

“You’re quiet,” you notice.

“I normally am,” he leans back, his gaze still intense.

Now it felt like a first date, the momentarily silence, the awkward feeling sinking into your stomach. Was this a mistake? Did he really like you?

“I come here with Sam,” he breaks the silence.

“Like— on a date?” Your tone is casual yet teasing. His nose crinkles together for a moment before he lets out a soft chuckle that shoots through you, the sound of it makes you want to join in.

“No,” a slight smile remains on his face. “We’d end up killing each other at the mere suggestion of sharing anything.”

You smile easily. “I share.”

“I remember,” he exhales. “Not sure I can say the same.”

Your lips part slightly at the implication.

“You look nice,” he adds, before allowing his eyes to move slowly over you.

There was something there, in the tenor of his voice, the way he was so obvious, yet taking it slow. It drew you in dangerously fast.

You feel blood rush to your face.

“So do you,” you admit quietly, eyes on the stubble of his jawline. Even with his long hair slicked back and the stubble, he looks smart, and the shade of his shirt brings out his features. “You’re— you’re pretty.”

His eyes widened a moment before a real smile graced his face. “Not sure I’ve been called pretty before.”

You pursue your lips. “Well, I think you are.”

He leans over the table as if to speak for no one to hear. Instead a voice interrupts you, the server.

“Can I get you any drinks?”

You see a flash of frustration on Bucky's face, and observe him inhale as if to calm himself.

“I’ll have a glass of white wine please,” you say, giving the server a polite glance.

“I’ll have a beer,” Bucky’s voice was low, tight with emotion that was barely contained.

“I’ll be right over with them,” they walk away again.

Once out of earshot you hear Bucky make a noise of dissatisfaction, one that makes you cover your mouth to hide laughter.

“Eileen is right, you are grumpy,” you allow yourself a small giggle once the server is out of earshot.

“Aren’t you?” His eyes never strayed away from yours. “They had to interrupt when things were just getting interesting.”

“There is no rush,” you say softly.

“I only get tonight with you sweetheart,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know when we will get time like this again.”

“I don’t mind Eileen coming,” you remind him.

“I’d rather not have the questions,” he admits. “El was so young when her mother and I separated. I never expected to meet someone else. I never prepared her for it.”

Your head tilts, sensing guilt.

“Bucky,” you lean forward. “We don’t have to rush, or do anything you don’t want to. You don’t have to feel any guilt.”

His eyebrows come together. “It’s not—” he pauses. “It’s been me and El for so long. She has always been my priority.”

You nod. “As it should be.”

The server then approached again, placing drinks on the table, then asked for the order. The pair of you are quick to order, wishing to return to the conversation.

As soon as they left, Bucky reached to take his glass, having a sip.

“I can’t give you what I’d want to give you,” his voice is quiet, almost tired. “I can’t put you first. If my babygirl needs care when we have a date, I have to pick her.”

He sounded as if he were convincing himself.

“Well, we aren’t there yet,” you speak lightly. “Why don’t we see how today goes before worrying about the future?”

He closes his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath.

“You’re right,” he nods, and his right hand reaches over. “We have to make the most of this.”

You copy him, stretching to take it — his large hand eclipsing yours.

“I’ve never seen you around town before,” his voice was quiet. “Not before the other week, have you just moved here?”

“Mm,” you hum the affirmative. “About six months ago, I was offered a higher paid position at the museum. Thought it might be more of a challenge.”

“And is it?”

You sip your wine at the thought of your job. “It feels like I’m doing three people’s jobs,” you admit. “There is more to record, more things to go wrong, more people to cover for.”

You finish your drink and sigh.

“I love it, but I’m not sure the pay is worth the workload,” your voice is quiet.

“Mm,” he hums. “You’re overworked.”

You shrug. “For now,” you give him a half smile. “It’s been stressful the past few months. The move, new job… but meeting you gave me a little bit of normalcy.”

You pause before admitting the next part.

“I was looking at my phone to see if you’d text me, rather than panicking over bills,” you keep your eyes to the table. “It was nice.”

He chuckles softly.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to text you,” he breathed. “I— I was afraid. It’s been so long since I did this.”

“You’re good at it,” you reassure him. “You make me feel seen. You’re listening to me, paying attention to me even when I’m not asking you anything.”

“You’re more interesting,” he says, his fingers now making patterns on the back of your hand.

You shake your head slowly. “You’re an ex-army vet, with a metal arm and an adorable little girl. You are far more interesting.”

It was then your food was brought over and placed before you continue.

“I might have many stories to tell, but many of them aren’t pleasant, sweetheart,” his tone is dark and warning. “I haven’t lived a pleasant life.”

You let go of his hand, picking up a doughball from his plate and holding it between your fingers in front of him to eat.

Bucky eyes you for a moment before biting into it. Something about feeding the man felt strangely intimate.

“If you give me a chance,” your voice came out quiet yet determined. “I’d like to help you create some nice stories. Happy stories. Some about Eileen that you can embarrass her with when she’s older. Some about you and Sam… and maybe some about you and me.”

His brow furrows, contemplating.

“I'd enjoy that,” he admits.

You squeeze his hand a moment before starting to eat. The two of you eat, not quite in silence but in a comfortable quiet where you’d occasionally speak to comment on the food.

You peek up to look at Bucky, the blue of his eyes seem endless as he ponders.

“What is it?” You ask.

“What do you do outside work?” His eyes flicker up to you.

“Currently, not much, I’m still decorating,” you admit. “I like going on walks.”

“Hmmm,” he leans back.

“What about you?”

“Most of my time is taken up by Eileen,” he admits, his eyes still distant. “Or I tinker with my bike.”

“You ride motorbikes?” You tilt your head in interest.

Bucky nods. “Even when I was a kid. My friends and I used to piece together scrap to ride around.”

He pauses a moment, measuring your interest before continuing. “Working on bikes led me to the Army. I thought I could get a degree through them. Didn’t turn out as I planned.”

He looks down to his hands. “I ended up a Sniper. Turns out my hands were good for things other than fixing bikes.”

You could hear the stiffness in his voice, but he continued as if he could no longer contain himself.

“I got promoted to Sergeant,” he then twitched, his metal arm flexing slightly. “Then I lost my arm, and was allowed to resign my commission.”

“I met El’s mother a few months later,” his eyes then locked on yours. “I was still recovering, and she didn't look at me with pity. Things went fast, El came along and…”

His eyes appeared to look behind you, distant as though reliving a memory.

“When I proposed she said no,” his jaw came together, eyes watering slightly. “She screamed about how she’d put up with me for the past two years, and how Eileen and I were holding her back, keeping her life on hold, stopping her career.”

His eyes flicker back to yours.

“El thinks her mother walked away,” his voice was quiet. “But in truth, the next morning I packed up and took El with me. She was seven months old. Her mother never even contested when I requested custody of her.”

“You never got in trouble for taking El?” You wonder.

“No,” he shakes his head. “As I said, my custody was never contested. In truth, I believe she wanted me to walk out and take El with me.”

You lean over, taking both his hands in yours.

“You did the right thing,” you speak softly.

“So I’m told,” his eyes are sad, guilt etched into the lines of his face.

“What would you like for dessert?” You ask, keeping your eyes fixed on him, trying to distract him from his train of thought.

“Hmm?” He blinks. “I don’t know…”

“I was thinking of a tiramisu,” you say. “But the sorbet also looks good.”

“I usually skip and have a coffee,” he admits.

“We could share,” you suggest. “If you’d like.”

His eyes refocus.

“I can’t remember last time I had a tiramisu,” a semblance of enthusiasm began to seep into his voice.

You smile, heart fluttering slightly at your success.

You remove the silk gown slowly before hanging it up, and slipping into your bed.

You allow yourself a soft sigh, eyes closing your eyes as your fingers interlock, remembering the feel of his hands on yours.

Just as your hands begin to trail up your arms, there is a faint buzz. You ignore it, shifting under the covers in an attempt to keep warm.

You hear another buzz, and groan slightly as your eyes flicker open.

Your hand aimlessly reaches for your phone on your bedside table. With a tug, the cable disconnects and you pull the phone in front of your face to see Bucky’s name on the screen.

Your thumb lingers for a moment before pressing the green button and raising the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” You keep your voice quiet, to avoid disturbing others.

“Hey,” you hear the soft rumble. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No,” you admit. “Just got to bed.”

“Mm, sounds nice,” you hear him rummaging around. “El insisted on a bedtime story, and that I stay with her until she fell asleep.”

He inhales slowly, and you hear his heavy footsteps. “Haven’t got a shower yet.”

“Go and get one,” you encourage him sleepily.

He chuckles on the other end. “Are you falling asleep, sweetheart?”

“Your voice is nice,” you admit in a haze.

His laugh is brighter. “Good. I’m sorry I called, I— I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Bucky,” you blink in an attempt to keep awake.

“It’s been a long time since I met someone who seemed intent on my happiness,” he goes quiet for a moment. “My life is dedicated to Eileen, there is no room for myself.”

You shift to sit up.

“You deserve to be happy,” you say softly. “Eileen wants you to be happy too.”

“Mm,” he murmurs. “I’d like you to come with us.”

“Bucky?”

“Eileen and I were planning to go to a Science Museum in a few weeks,” he says. “I would like you to come with us.”

“I thought you didn’t want to confuse El?”

“Well,” he exhales. “Fuck it. She likes you. I like you. I want you there and I know El would too. It’ll be hard, and we may have to struggle. But, how I feel — it is worth it, you are worth it.”

You blink away at your tired eyes.

“Bucky, I don’t know what to say,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to, sweetheart,” his voice is smooth, like butter, soothing. “Just be there. That's all I ask.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll be there.”

It took three weeks before a date was set.

So here you stood, in the shadow of the museum, a large backpack on your back and eyes flickering across the car park.

You hear a screech of excitement before you feel something collide with your legs.

“You’re here!” You peek down and smile at the girl clinging to your legs

“Hey El,” you greet her, and attempt to crouch down. She backs off for a moment before seeing your open arms, and jumping into them, almost launching you backwards.

You hear a chuckle from above and you give her a squeeze. Your eyes flicker up to Bucky, his shadow casting over the pair of you, protecting you.

“Hey,” he says softly. He is wearing a plain shirt and jeans, a backpack over his shoulders.

Your eyes are unable to resist flickering over the broadness of his shoulders to the way the shirt clung to his arms, down to the veins along his forearms. Seeing him in person like this suddenly made all those video calls and texts worthwhile.

Eileen backs away, stepping back towards her father and giving you a grin.

Without even thought you straighten up, still overshadowed by the man slightly.

“Hey,” you greet him. “What’s with the bag?”

“It’s for a picnic,” he shrugs. “Didn’t want to pay for the cafe.”

You tilt your head and look at Eileen. She looked unfazed, as if it were normal.

“I made ham and cheese!” El declared proudly. “And boring salad for Daddy.”

Bucky visibly rolled his eyes. “It's chicken, and my salads are to die for.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Is there enough to share?”

“I made two,” El bounced in excitement.

He pats her on the head gently.

“She insisted we make enough for you,” he shrugs casually. “El, hand please.”

The little girl reaches up automatically, taking his hand whilst Bucky holds out his metal hand to you.

“Shall we?” He suggests.

The inside of the museum is wide and open, a glass roof overhead of the central rocket filling the auditorium.

“Oooo,” El begins to rush forward, dragging her father with her. “A rocket!”

Bucky smirks in amusement at his daughter and gives you a wink.

“It’s a replica of the Rocket from Apollo 13,” Bucky keeps his eyes fixed forward.

Eileen bounds forward to the glass fence. “Three, two, one… Blast off!”

You smile and look over to Bucky who you also see smiling.

“She likes space?”

“I showed her the Artemis launch, and she’s been obsessed ever since,” he squeezes your hand. “She gets it from her father.”

“You like space?”

“Anything Physics,” he nods. “Engineering especially.”

“Nerd,” you tease him.

“Remind me what your job is again?” He sasses back, eyes returning to his daughter. You gently nudge him playfully with your arm, fingers still interlocked with his.

A slight tremor runs through him as he chuckles.

“You’re cute,” he keeps his eyes on Eileen, who is now standing entranced by a small screen showing the launch of a rocket. “People usually aren’t brave enough to tease me.”

“Because you are ex-Army, and built like a house?” You ask, your eyes remain on him, taking in how his hair was down — kept behind his ears.

“Mm,” he agrees. “I have what Sam calls a resting bitch face.”

You snicker, and feel Bucky’s eyes flicker to you.

“You aren’t denying it?”

“You do have this tendency to look a little…” you pause. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“No?” His lips twitch for a moment.

“No,” you repeat. “You’re gorgeous even with the resting bitch face.”

“Mm,” he lifts your joined hands, brushing his lips across your knuckles. “Thanks.”

The next few hours were filled with the excited squeals of Eileen at the different exhibits. Space suits, moon rocks, and a long documentary on the International Space Station. The three of you ended up in the large auditorium, sat on a bench with the picnic spread out in front of you.

Eileen sat talking animatedly about space, about all the planets she had looked up in books, what astronauts did in space and how much she wanted to see the stars.

Through it all Bucky never once interrupted her, to try to deter her from her dream. He nodded and spoke to her casually, almost like an adult.

“You okay there, honey?” Bucky’s voice broke you out of your thoughts.

“You’re such a good Dad,” you say without thinking about it.

He gives you a gentle smile, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “Thank you.”

You look over to Eileen who seems content eating her sandwich, whilst carefully colouring in a page she’d been given. Her eyebrows were scrunched together slightly, and the grip on her small pencil was tight.

“Is it like this all the time?” You wonder. “With you and Eileen?”

“What do you mean?”

“Peaceful, just out having fun,” you say.

“No, this is a treat,” he admits. “Normally we spend our weekends at home, we might go to the park or take a walk.”

“Just father-daughter time,”

“I guess,” he shrugs.

“Daddy colours with me,” Eileen interrupts, taking a sip of her juice. “In our NASA colouring book.”

You smirk and from the corner of your eye spot Bucky, placing his metal hand over his face.

“Daddy bakes with me. We made cookies!” She declares proudly.

Bucky chuckles, allowing hand to fall back to the table. “The icing was everywhere.”

“It was yummy!” She waves her arms in excitement. “Can you make cookies?”

You give her a gentle smile. “Yeah.”

Eileen gasps in excitement. “Come to my house! Let’s bake cookies.”

You laugh quietly.

“Maybe another time,” Bucky reaches over to calm her. “We have more of the museum to see.”

Another hour passed, walking through the long exhibit on the Solar System. The corridors were dark, covered with small lights to represent stars, every so often opening up into a room for each planet, projections of the planet flowing onto the walls, with paintings of the surface of the planet.

Upon reaching Saturn, you hear the sound of rocks for Saturn’s Rings.

“This is incredible,” you murmur.

Ahead, Eileen was bounding forward, keeping a close but far enough she could watch first.

“It is,” he agrees, squeezing your hand. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,”

“Would you like to visit an observatory?” He sounded nervous.

“With El?”

He shook his head. “She’d get bored of the talk. I— I have always wished to go.”

“Bucky,” you smile at him, flattered that he was willing to openly be himself with you. “Of course, I will.”

“You will?”

“Sure, sounds kind of romantic,” you shrug shyly. “Sat looking up at the stars.”

“Maybe,” he sounds unsure.

You squeeze his hand as you speak. “Bucky, you don’t need to give excuses. If you want to go to an observatory, we can go. All I want is to be with you.”

He stiffened a moment before keeping pace with you again, his eyes moving from your face to his daughter.

“You really want that?”

“Yeah,” your voice is quiet against the vast expanse of projected space. “I like spending time with you both.”

You feel a kiss against your hair. “Thank you.”

Your eyes flicker to glance at the lights crossing his features, then forward again. Your mind slowly began to list other date ideas, not just an observatory. Walks under the night sky, visits to climbing walls for El, maybe a motorcycle show or two.

A small smile remained on your face as you leaned into Bucky, feeling a sense of contentment amongst the stars.

One, two, three.

You count the knocks as you tap against the door.

Immediately you hear the sound of rushed footsteps, before the door flings open.

And there he is.

It takes a moment to process the sight in front of you. Bucky stood inside in a white tank top, with simple grey sweatpants and slips on his feet.

“Hey,” his voice is soft. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You feel heat creep up your cheeks, recalling the dazed rush you’d been in. Receiving his text asking you to come round, changing frantically from your loose shirt and leggings into a summer dress, checking yourself in the mirror, once, twice and then a third time before leaving.

“Did you need something?”

He gives you a simple nod and steps aside. “Come in.”

You step inside, taking care to remove your shoes as you hear the click of the door shutting.

“Here,” Bucky passes you, heading straight to the sofa.  You glance around the room, it isn’t as messy as you anticipated. There were no signs of El or her toys. Just a glass of water on the coffee table, and a beer bottle on the side table.

He slumps onto the leather, one arm up perched on the back as he nods down next to him.

You pursue your lips as you sit down, curious.

“Breathe,” his voice is soft. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

You take a shaky breath. “I thought you might’ve—“

You blink to try and hide the tears in your eyes. “I thought you were breaking up with me.”

His lips parted for a moment before he allowed his head to fall back slightly, chuckling.

 “It’s not funny,” you protest weakly.

He stills a moment, tongue moving visibly inside his mouth, leaving you slightly entranced. The things he could do with that tongue…

“I’m sorry I worried you,” his tone was gentle, the fingers of his metal hand tracing your collarbone over your shirt. “Eileen is having a sleepover with a friend.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Really?”

He gave a soft smile as he nodded. “She’s been begging me for months. I thought it might be time.”

“And you invited me?” You twitch, beginning to understand.

“I’ve missed you,” he admits. “The phone calls don’t feel like enough.”

A surge of warmth filled your heart softly running through your veins.

“I missed you,” you reach over to lay your hand on his thigh. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see you.”

His fingers begin to play with the hair at the nape of your neck. “You’ve been busy, I understand.”

You lean into his hand, the cool metal cupping your cheek.

“So have you,” your voice cracks.

“Hm,” his face relaxes into its usual expression, slightly grumpy with the lines on his face plain. “Too busy.”

Almost of its own accord your hand most up, brushing against the cotton stretched across his chest before allowing the tops of your fingers to linger on the stubble on his jaw.

“I was going to cook you dinner,” he confesses. “Got too eager and invited you before I could decide what to cook.”

You begin to smile, thumb brushing his chin. “That’s okay, I’m just glad to be here.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You’ve dressed up, and I didn’t even cook you dinner.”

The leather of the sofa squeaked as you shuffled closer to him, legs brushing.

“We can order take out?” You suggest. “Order pizza, lounge around with bad TV on.”

He chuckled. “Now that is a good idea.”

He reached into his pocket for his phone, flicking his fingers across it.

The next few minutes were filled with the quiet chatter of debating which pizza to order. Unconsciously, you find yourself pulled closer to him, practically leaning on him as you look at the screen.

“Hm,” he grunted. “It’s going to be a while, sweetheart.”

You allow your head to fall into his shoulder, allowing your eyes to close. His metal arm tightens slightly around your waist.

“What a shame,” you murmur sarcastically.

“Did you have plans?” he teases back.

You tilt your head up as your eyes open. “I wasn’t sure how late you’d want me to stay.”

“Oh,” he breathed and shook his head. “Doll, I want you to stay all night.”

“All night?”

“You think I’d let my baby girl out of my sight for the night if I didn’t?” He points out.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. “You wanted to—“

“I hoped,” his flesh hand was in your hair now, holding you in pace whilst his left kept you against him. “I can’t keep up this façade, pretending I don’t want more with you. Like you don’t brighten both our lives with your presence.”

“Bucky,” your breaths are shallow, fast, eyes fixed on his.

His face contorted, several emotions passing across his face whilst his eyes softened.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he pleads. “I couldn’t bear to go through it again.”

Your eyes water slightly, heart tightening in empathy. The past month he’d held back, only holding your hand, or pressing a kiss to your forehead. You’d feared the lack of intimacy indicated no interest, but now you knew otherwise.

He had avoided moving too fast out of fear of repeating the past.

“It’s not too fast,” you promise. “I did wonder why you held yourself back.”

“I’m sorry,” he frowns. “I— I didn’t want to lead you on. I like you, in fact, I adore you. You’ve worked past the steel I’ve forged around my heart to make your home there, and you’ll never leave.”

You swallow audibly.

“When I met you,” your voice is quiet. “All I wanted to do was try and put a smile on that face. You looked so shaken from El wandering off, and concerned about disturbing me. My heart went out to you. The more time we spent together, the more you showed me every facet of who you are. The more I found myself wanting to be around you. Ironically, you make me happy when all I wanted was to do that for you.”

“You make me happy,” he gives you a nod before licking his bottom lip. “Let me show you.”

His breath fans across your face, and you faintly smell beer on it. A slight movement and his lips are on yours, keeping you secure against him as you reciprocate feeling the softness of his lips but not pushing any further.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is thick as his forehead leans against yours.

“Have you been drinking?” You say quietly, your heart sinking at the thought of him being drunk.

“Oh,” he hand drops from your face, reaching behind him to pick something up and show you the brown bottle — mostly full. “I took a sip when I heard you knock, I needed some courage.”

You glance at the bottle, feeling your muscles loosen up and give a relieved laugh.

“Sorry,” you apologise.

“Don’t apologise,” he shakes his head. “Want one?”

“No, thanks,” you reach up to allow your fingers to tangle in the hair, flowing from above his ear to the base of his neck.

“Fair enough,” he takes a long sip before placing it back on the side table behind him. You quietly laugh again. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” you grin. “Needing a beer like you’ve never spoken to a woman. It’s cute.”

“I don’t need a beer to speak to a woman,” he pretends to be offended. “I need a beer to speak with you.”

You snort. “Corny.”

Unable to hold the serious expression, he laughs lightly.

“I am,” he agrees, then leans forward to press a quick peck to your mouth.

“Hey!” You complain with a laugh of your own. “Bucky!”

His left arm tightens around your waist a moment, and he continues to tease you. “Sweetheart.”

“You’re so—” you wave your arm in mock frustration.

“Devastating handsome?” He winks.

Your voice gets caught in your throat, making a choking noise. His eyes widen slightly his horror, hand moving up to rub your back.

“You okay?” His tone dips in concern.

“You made me choke on my own spit!” You accuse him.

A relieved look passes his face.

“Thank fuck,” he breathes, his hand still gently moving up and down your spine.

The sight of him suddenly felt too much. The fear in his eyes, the pink of his lips pressed together, the way his jawline twitched slightly as he strained.

“You are handsome,” you admit, leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss to the edge of his mouth.

“Yeah?” His lips twitch up slightly.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “And kind, and funny.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “And you’re the most generous woman I have ever met. Beautiful, gentle and caring. You ask nothing of me, you accept my poor excuses for not being with you—”

“Taking care of your daughter isn’t a poor excuse,” you interrupt.

“Let me finish,” he presses a finger to your lips. “You don’t mind Eileen being on our dates. You ask after her, treat her as your own.”

His blue eyes soften. “She loves you, you know?”

Your lip trembles slightly. “I love her.”

Bucky’s lips pull up into a proper smile, a rare sight. “As do I.”

The doorbell then rang.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Coming!”

In a flurry of shuffling and cursing, Bucky got off the sofa and headed to the door. The sight of such him stumble around, almost tripping brought a giggle to your lips.

You hear him grumble at you down the corridor before enthusiastically greeting the delivery driver, exchanging pleasantries before re-emerging into the room, carrying several boxes under his arm.

“You remain wordless, amused as he lays out the boxes onto the coffee table.

“Ah,” he slumps back next to you, remote in hand to turn on the TV. The chatter and music seemed faint compared to the sound of Bucky shifting to grab his beer again and reach for a slice with the other.

“Happy now?” You tease.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Been a long time since I had an evening like this.”

“Should I leave you alone with—?” You nod to the food.

“No,” he answers quickly, placing his beer down, then swapping the pizza from one hand to the other before holding out his free arm. “Get over here.”

You shuffle over, half your body covering his, as he finishes off his slice.

“Here,” his left arm holds you as his right reaches over for another slice. “Open.”

You blink a second before opening your mouth to allow him to feed you. You chew slowly, taking in his relaxed expression.

“This is nice,” you admit. “Domestic, comfortable. Like… home.”

He freezes for a moment. “Like home?”

You nod softly. “Better, because you’re here.”

“Yeah?” He asks rhetorically. “We could make this more permanent, honey.”

“What do you mean?”

“You could stay over,” he suggests. “Spend the weekends with El and me.”

“I thought you didn’t want to cause Eileen any confusion?” You say quietly. 

He snorts. “I’d cause her more by keeping you away.”

“And what if we sleep together?”

“We will cross that bridge when we get to it,” he snags another piece, taking a big bite to avoid speaking further.

“Bucky,” you voice is almost a whine. 

“Hush and eat your food,” his voice is gentle, no semblance of harshness in his tone.

“Yes sir,” you mutter, reaching over to join him in having pizza.

Slowly, as the take out boxes emptied, you ended up laid down, Bucky underneath, his back against the armrest, whilst your head was on his chest as your fingers brushed against his shirt.

Every so often, you’d move up and kiss him, softly. Taking your time to make the most of being alone with him. Then he’d occasionally move, tilting his head down to push his lips against the crown of your head, then tilting your head back to kiss you lazily, no force behind it, only a tempered heat that sparked the desire for more.

“Hey,” you hear him murmur. “You awake, sweetheart?”

“Barely,” your voice is a whisper, his body rumbles as he chuckles.

“Need me to carry you to bed?” His tone is teasing again.

“I— I don’t have any clothes,” you don’t move despite the comment.

“You can have some of mine,” he promises. “Come on, doll. Let’s get you in bed.”

As he moved, keeping you on his lap before turning and picking you up with surprising ease, it occurred to you that this is what he probably did with Eileen every night. Let her tire herself out before scooping her up and gently putting her under the covers.

It was a basic act of love. Something Bucky was used to, rather than the awkwardness of trying to force something on a date.

You barely notice where you are until he pops you onto what you assume is his bed. He goes to his drawers pulling out several pieces of clothing

“Here,” he gently tosses you a grey shirt. “I’m gonna change. Feel free to use the bathroom.”

He leaves through the open door, and you hear his footsteps as he heads down the corridor.

The room is dimly lit by the light filtering from the neighbouring bathroom, the bed sheets a simple navy blue, and upon the drawers were framed photos. Several were of Eileen, one was of Bucky, his arm around a man you didn’t recognise — Sam, you assumed. Then there was another, a new one, that you recognised. It was you, sat next to Bucky on the bench in the Space Museum. The photo was blurry, having been taken by Eileen herself, but even so you could see the happiness in Bucky’s eyes, the slight tilt in his lips.

You hadn’t realised you were standing until you reached to touch it, eyes watering slightly at his sentimentality.

“Hey,” his voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “You okay, doll?”

“You framed this?” Your voice is shaky.

“Of course,” he speaks casually. “It’s the only picture I have of you.”

“It’s only been two months,” you peek over at him from the corner of your eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” you feel him step behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. “Whether you know it or not, you’ve brightened my life. You’re important to me.”

“Bucky,” tears begin to fall down your cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’m not worth your tears, baby.”

“Yes, you are,” you sniffle, placing your hands on his. “You’re worth it all.”

You feel his breath against your ear, lips brushing faintly against your hairline.

“Still sleepy?” He asks.

Your head twists to look behind you then up at him. “A little, but I want you more.”

His eyes widen slightly at your words. “You’re sure?”

You nod, turning in his arms, and wrap your own arms around his neck.

“Yes,” you agree. “Nice and slow. Like you said.”

“I can do that,” he pulls you forward, stepping back until he falls back onto the bed, bringing you with him.

“Buck!” You laugh as you land on his chest, the thin cotton of his pyjamas gave little protection when your hands brushed his hardness of his chest.

He chuckles. “Buck, eh?”

You feel heat rush to your cheeks. “It kind of slipped out.”

“It’s okay,” he pulls you up carefully until you are face to face. “It’s more than okay.”

“You don’t mind?”

He shakes his head with a gentle smile. “I only allow those closest to me to call me Buck.”

“Yeah?”

The smile turns into a smirk as he hums in approval, leaning up to kiss you.

The kiss is different again, slow like before but with clear intent. A hand reaches to cup your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone. His lips move with precision, taking care not to push too far.

“Slow,” he murmurs against your lips as if reminding himself. You lean down this time, pressing gentle kisses across his face, working down to his neck before giving it a nip with your teeth.

“Easy,” his fingers brush through your hair. “Gonna get me off before our clothes are off.”

You giggle quietly. “Sorry.”

“No apologies,” his hand moves from your head to tilt your chin up. “Don’t be sorry for any of this. This is perfect.”

You pull back, and catch the hurt in his eyes. Your chest tightens with guilt, and you manage a deep breath before reaching under your skirt — pulling the dress off in a single movement.

“Oh,” his hands fall to your hips, eyes locked on your bare chest only covered by a simple bra. “That’s not slow, sweetheart.”

“I want to feel you,” you admit as you reach down, hands roaming up his arms as you lower yourself back down onto him.

He doesn’t say a word, instead his right hand moves up your skin, leaving a soft tingle in its wake, before stopping just at the hem of your bra.

“May I?” His voice is low with desire, eyes on your chest.

You nod, feeling enraptured by the sensation of his hands on you. His hand slid under your bra cupping your breast, then brushing his thumb over your skin.

“They’re real soft,” he murmurs, concentrating on how his fingers seemed to disappear into them.

“Been a while?” You guess.

His eyes flicker to yours. “I never got to experience this — to just touch. To get to know someone so intimately.”

“Here,” you reach up and pull down the straps on your bra, then unhook from behind you and throw it on the floor. “I trust you.”

He pulls himself further up, keeping you seated on his lap whilst his hands hovered over you.

“Still okay?” He asks, and you nod.

The sensation of one hand cold and the other warm, sent your mind into overdrive with sensation. Your nipples perking up slightly in interest as his fingers squeezed.

You reach forward, humming quietly at the feel of him on you, and reach for the bottom of his top.

“May I?” You whisper.

“Please,” he removes his hands and allows you to pull it over his head. Your breath catches in your throat for a moment at the sight of him.

You had known he was well built, and big, but seeing him without a shirt felt altogether different. Large shoulders framing his chest. Curiosity breaks through, your hands drift onto his chest, brushing softly against his chest, downwards as you notice there is no six pack, only the feel of muscle with a healthy layer of fat. It felt soft, like somewhere you wished to lay your head on every night.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” He asks, eyes fixed on your every expression.

“It feels nice,” you admit.

“Don’t exactly look like I’d fit the cover on Men’s Health, do I?” His tone is joking, but you scowl at him regardless.

“Yet you probably could lift a small car with those muscles,” you say, fingers now pressing into the muscles of his arm, one hand exploring soft muscle the other tracing the plates of his arm.

“That’s what the metal arm is for,” he jokes and leans forward to press a kiss to your mouth again.

You laugh as you pull away from the peck. “Could you lift me?”

“Easily,” he admits casually.

“Very humble,” you tease him, as his fingers begin to trace your sides.

“You asked,” he smirks.

“I did,” you agree, brushing your nose against his. “I’m curious what else,” your hand roams over his metal arm. “This arm can do.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. “Dirty.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. He laughs then, all tension removed from the moment. 

”Bucky,” your voice is almost a whine.

“Breathe,” his voice turns soft. “It’s just us. You don’t have to hide anything.”

You give him a playful scowl, then shake your head.

“Are you asking me to talk dirty?” Your voice is slightly hesitant.

”Only if you want to,” his fingers made patterns on your bare sides. “Or I can…”

You feel his lips brush your cheek before speaking low in your ear. “You have no idea how hard it has been to keep our dates safe for El’s eyes. Trying to keep my eyes off you. When we first met—”

He pauses, shifting back to stare at you, suddenly serious. “I’m sorry about that. I checked you out and spoke without thinking. I was as embarrassed as you were, it’s why I wished to escape, and why it took me so long to text you.”

Your arms tighten around his neck. “You’re only human.”

He lets out an awkward chuckle, licking his bottom lip anxiously. “Thanks”

You lean forward to press a kiss to his mouth, moving slowly as you press yourself against him. One hand presses against the small of your back as the other slides up to cradle the back of your neck.

You gasp as he turns, causing you to land on your back head against the pillows looking up at him.

“Had enough talking?” His voice breaks slightly.

You nod, still slightly wide eyed.

“Good,” he buries his head into your neck, inhaling through his nose as his hands moved down to your underwear.

Your own hands mirrored his, reaching to pull him free. The moment dragged, suddenly the urgency of made it feel like no matter how hard either of you tried the clothes were just not coming off.

“That was more difficult than when it was my first fucking time,” he grumbles, kicking his leg to ensure he was completely bare.

You laugh quietly and shake your head. “Come here.”

He leans down again to kiss you. Even as your lips moved with his your could feel him against you, the warmth of his skin against your chest, your hands feeling the muscles of his back.

With a groan, his hips roll over yours to allow you to feel how hard he was. Your legs lift instinctively to allow him easier access.

There were no words passed between you. Bucky only lifted himself slightly to look into your eyes as you give a tiny nod to confirm you were consenting to all of it.

A hand abruptly landed on your thigh, curling inwards before moving between your bodies reaching to grasp himself and line himself up.

“It’s been a while,” he admits. “If I do anything it hurts, or anything you don’t like. Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

“Okay,” your voice is breathy, almost silent from the tension of the moment.

His blue eyes stay fixed on you, reading your expression before you feel the tip of him press against you.

He moved slowly, as if he feared that moving too fast would break you in half. Yet somehow it made everything better. You gasped as you stretched around him, friction building despite your arousal and the an ache that had previously gone unnoticed seemed to soothe as he bottomed out.

You exhale slowly as he pressed his forehead against yours, the room silent other than the sound of heavy breathing.

“You okay?” His voice broke slightly at the intensity.

“Yeah,” you respond, reaching so your arms wrap around him, hands grasping his shoulders. From the corner of your eyes you see the showdown of his own arms bracing himself above you.

Bucky keeps his eyes on yours. “Keep yours eyes on me, please.”

His hips move and withdraw slightly before pushing forward gently. A moan gets caught in your throat as you feel the stretch again.

The look in his eyes is intense, focused and his jaw ticks slightly as he concentrates.

“You’re making it real hard to hold it together honey,” he voice come from between clenched teeth.

“Slower?” You suggest and he shakes his head sharply.

“That’ll kill me,” his lips twitch in amusement at the thought. “I need to move.”

You brace your feet against the softness of the bedsheet, allowing your thighs to wrap around his hips lightly.

“Then move, Bucky,” you whisper your encouragement. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

He remains still, his eyes still focusing on you.

“Trust me?”

The words seem to stir something in him, his face softens, jaw loosening and he lets out a sharp exhale as though he had been holding his breath.

In a single movement he pulls out, then in an instant he pushes back in, watching as you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

His body begins to move in rhythm, faster than the first few thrusts but enough you find yourself keeping up, attempting to sync up with him.

The room felt oddly quiet only than the soft slapping of skin and your breathy sighs of pleasure.

“Feels good,” he murmurs, and leans down brush his nose against yours. He begins to move faster, just enough that you see him groan, his mouth passing yours a moment before leaving a trail of saliva from the edge of your lips to jawline.

“Bucky,” you moan as you feel him give a hard thrust and hold it there.

“More?” He suggests, his lips at your ear.

“Please,” your eyes sting slightly as your chest tightens slightly, desperate.

He pulls himself up to hover over you. One hand grasping your thigh, pulling it up, swinging your calf over his shoulder and pressing down.

“Oh f—” you cry out as you feel him push deeper, brushing against a spot that sends a flood of warmth through you.

“There,” he inhales, taking a moment whilst his left hand brushed your side, the cool of the metal leaving tingles in its wake before slipping down between your legs. “I’ve got you.”

The headboard banged against the wall with his next thrust, your voice gets caught in your throat, lips still parted as he hits with such precision you begin to fear being overheard at the noises you suppress.

“Let it out,” he commands, tone gentle. “I wanna hear it.”

Your voice cracks slightly as a long moan escapes you. “Bucky, please—”

“Close?” He asks and you nod frantically.

It was then he leaned down to kiss you, your bodies still rocking in an attempt to sync up, your legs begin to tremble around him. The metal of his fingers brushed the swollen nub between you, forcing your apart just a moment as your back arches into him with a soft cry, before he presses himself down on you. His weight holding you in place, mouth suppressing your sounds. His fingers continue, rubbing hard against you as he snaps forward hard.

Your body clamps around him, your cries muffled by his mouth. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, as you feel him continue, the friction against your walls making your eyes roll.

Bucky kisses your deeper then, almost as through to push you further into the mattress as he presses hard against your walls before his large frame shudders, and you feel a rush of liquid alongside your own.

His forehead lays softly on top of yours, and you watch his entire face soften. His eyes are shut, lips slightly parted as he breathes deeply before letting out a quiet laugh.

“Bucky?” You whisper, his eyes flicker open. The blue piercing through you.

“That was reckless,” he chuckles, shifting his weight to prop himself on both arms. “No condom.”

“Oh,” heat rushes to your cheeks as you realise the slight faux pas. You lips part to apologise.

“Don’t apologise,” he cuts you off. “I haven’t felt like this in nearly a decade. Just doing something because it’s fun, consequences be damned.”

You swallow, fingers reaching up to brush against his cheek. “I like that.”

“Yeah, enough to do it again?” His voice is quiet, nervous.

“Now?” You suppress a smile.

“Maybe in an hour,” he shrugs. “Was thinking of a bath? Then we can sleep, get El and maybe brunch?”

“That sounds…” your eyes gaze over for a moment, consumed by domestic thoughts. Sitting in the living room, colouring with Eileen. Having Bucky laid on your lap, running your fingers through his hair. Maybe a day would pass when you’d surprise Eileen with a sibling.

“Sounds nice,” you agree.

His shifts instantly, scooping you into his arms to carry you into the bathroom. His arms tighten around you instinctively and you hear him murmur above you.

“As long you’ll have me, I’ll be here.”

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He doesn’t like to ask for things, but that doesn’t stop his head from running wild with lewd, obscene images that almost make him blush. He’s got a vivid imagination, and he’s spent more showers and nights than he’ll admit indulging in it. The images of you on your knees, ass up and cunt exposed—or folded in half beneath him, or riding his cock and crying his name—seep into his dreams, until he can’t close his eyes without being haunted by the idea of how gorgeous you’d be, coming apart for him. Even after you get together the dreams won’t relent. You’ve woken up many nights to Bucky almost humping you in his sleep, his eyes fluttering and your name falling from his lips. You indulge him, and pretend you don’t notice the dark stain on the front of his sweats in the morning. It’s hotter than he needs to know, anyway.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Back in the 40s he might’ve been called a womanizer, but the standards were different. Fooling around wasn’t too kinky, and often didn’t really even go past second base. And after Hydra, intimacy was mostly forgotten. Bucky knows what he’s doing, but with your body more than his own. He’s good at the hand and mouth stuff—so good you sometimes still can’t believe it—but penetration takes a while for you both to build up to. Sometimes he still blows it a little early when you put your mouth on him, not used to that kind of warmth and care. He’s a quick learner, though, and it doesn’t take long for you both to find a nice, shared rhythm in how you fuck.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

At first, when you’re still learning each other, he says there’s nothing better than some good, old fashioned missionary. It’s the good, Christian boy in him coming back out, taught well by his Ma that rough is no way to treat a lady. But then you talk him into doggy, and he’s a goner. The way he gets to hold you up with a single arm and play with your clit with the other, the way your arms give out from how well he’s giving it to you, the vision of your ass in the air, it’s enough to drive a man mad. Combine that with how you moan when he forces your back to arch—giving him an even deeper angle, making your walls clench down around him like a sin—and he never stood a goddamn chance.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He might’ve been playful before, and after a while he starts to find it again, but sex is mostly something serious. It’s close, vulnerable, impossibly intimate. He doesn’t do casual, and it shows. A single smile might not be cracked some days, but the worship of your body more than makes up for it. His brow gets furrowed in concentration, his mouth hangs open with awe, and if you’re lucky, his lips twitch slightly when you shiver under his touch. He calls you perfect, and you’ve never believed anyone more.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

The military training doesn’t fade away. Bucky keeps himself clean and neat, more for himself than anyone else. He lets a little hair grow out as he settles into an easier life, but it’s well-groomed and clean. When his chest hair comes back he thinks about keeping that shaven as well, but you just manage to talk him out of it. He lets you have that. It’s another thing he learns to love about himself, just because of you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

While reserved at first, Bucky quickly becomes the most romantic man you’ve ever known. Random gifts are frequent, too the point that you’re so spoiled as to expect them. It translates smoothly into sex, where he gives and gives and gives until you almost can’t take it anymore. Praise is showered down like flower petals, affection whispered into your skin and kissed onto your lips. You can almost feel his love in every single touch, and even if you couldn’t, it falls from his lips like a prayer when he’s buried inside of you. He kisses you almost every second, everywhere he can reach, every inch of you that he wants you feel.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Before he met you, it was something he did quick and fast in the shower when he needed some release. An itch he needed to scratch, a way to quickly relieve stress before moving on with his day. But then you’re there, and it becomes another part of his devotion. It starts with shame—his head bowed, his hand braced on the wall, his cum slipping down the drain while he pretends it’s on your face—but quickly evolves into something more. He whispers your name into countless pillows and sheets before he has you, then discovers his favorite part of this century. Calling you while he’s away, and moaning your name into the phone while you gasp his, and he hears your pussy, wet and ready for him in the background.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Bucky loves your voice. How it gets breathy and high for him when he’s got you on the edge, how it whimpers and calls out his name like a song, even how it scolds him when he gets on your bad side. You could say anything to him, and he’d find his pants getting tight and his hands flexing to touch you. You notice, and whisper sweet nothings in his ears when you want to work him up. He grunts and forms a fist on his thigh, trying to stop himself from tossing you onto the table and giving you something to really moan about.

He’ll never admit it, but there’s nothing he loves more than wrapping around you like a shield. Than—even if he’s not—feeling bigger than you, like a protector rather than a weapon. When you’re cradled in his arms he feels almost worthy of it, when your little pussy tightens around him, he’s sure this is exactly where he needs to be, and when your hands tangle together and his envelopes yours, he’s sure he’s never going to let go.

There’s nothing more he loves more than a mouthy girl who can tell him off and boss him around, half because you’re never sexier than when you’re confident, and half because that’s a confidence and sass he gets to fuck right out of you. The one place he wants you dumb and babbling is below him, trusting that he’s taking good care of you, blinking up at him with doe eyes and a blown out, cockdrunk expression. You get the attitude right back when he’s done, but he just chuckles and rolls his hips just right, making you stutter and whine. His girl is nice and stupid for him, and just him, and that’s exactly what he wanted.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bucky doesn’t know how good it can feel to take you against the wall or in the kitchen until he does, and suddenly he wants to fuck you in every corner of the apartment. There shouldn’t be a place that you haven’t felt good in, a spot in this home that doesn’t know how perfect you are. And after testing every single surface and edge, he finds that he might be in love with taking you on the floor. There’s something desperate and dirty about it, that you can’t wait for the bed to crawl all over him and bed. He gets to cradle you in his arms and keep you safe from the low windows of your apartment, or hold you above him and protect you from the ground. You’re even more of a mess after, when he takes you like that, and that’s just how he likes it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

At first it’s small things. Touches and flashes of bare skin that make him feel like a teenager again, a kiss on his cheek that makes his cock twitch or a squeeze of his shoulder that forces him to squeeze his eyes shut for control. Then you get more comfortable together, and you start sassing him, and he’s never realized he could be this fucking horny. It doesn’t matter what you’re saying or how you’re saying it, if you’re talking at him—rolling your eyes or bossing him around or huffing about something silly—he wants to crawl over you like a tiger and kiss you until you’re giggling and starry eyed. There’s nothing better in the world than his smart girl, and there’s no one better to deal with it than him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

The lines are harsh and clear, grooved into the bedrock of your relationship, along with Bucky’s trust. Nothing with binds, nothing where he can’t see you, nothing in public and nothing that might really hurt you. His metal hand doesn’t go around your throat, you tap out immediately if anything is too much, and you tell him exactly what you want so he can give it, and nothing more. And he gives it. Over and over with ease, but only as you ask. And you ask. He’s too good not to.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Bucky likes eating you out, a little more than he thinks he should. It’s easy to him, a simple way to get on his knees and show you just how good he can make you feel. You get whiny, when he’s got his head between your thighs, and that’s just how he likes you. Writhing and squirting on his face, pulling at his hair until he groans your name against your cunt, and you let out a strangled gasp of his name. It makes him feel more human, more grounded, and so impossibly real. You’re softer than anything else he’s ever known, and tasting you is the closest he can get to being drunk. When you get on your knees for him, though, he sometimes tries to pull you back up. He never wants you to feel like you have some kind of obligation, and it can take a while to convince him you’re there because you want to be. He always comes apart embarrassingly fast, when your warm lips wrap around his cock. It’s hard to blame him. You just have that effect.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can go fast and rough, but you have to beg him for it. He never wants to go harder than he has to, and there’s a low fear under every movement that he’s going to snap you in half. He prefers to kiss every inch of your body and draw out the time he’s buried inside of you, losing himself in your heat and dazed, adoring expression. He can be mean like that, if you want him to be. The pace has nothing to do with teasing you like you deserve, with slow, lazy thrusts that bully against your g-spot, giving so much and not enough, all at once. Making you cry for him, perfectly safe and wound tight enough to burst beneath him, just how he likes you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Sex is important enough that Bucky doesn’t like rushing it, but sometimes you get to him—bending over in a little dress, sitting on his lap and rolling your hips in the way you know drives him mad—and his cock gets so hard he can’t help himself. If there’s no one around he’ll hitch up your skirt or shove his hand into your pants, playing with your little pussy until you’re dripping for him and begging. When he decides you’re ready he thrusts in brutally, rutting up into your cunt with his face pressed into your neck and his moans low and desperate. You both cum with gasps, and Bucky slaps your sensitive clit. He’ll nip at your neck and warn you not to tease him again. You never listen. You know he likes it too much.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Maybe when he was younger, Bucky might’ve let a pretty girl talk him into something crazy, but now he’s old. Tired half the time, itching to get out of his skin the other half, sure what he likes in bed and—more importantly—sure of what he doesn’t. You’re the only one who can get him to take the small step outside his comfort, because he knows you wouldn’t ask if you didn’t really want it. And there isn’t much he wouldn’t do for you. A small experiment that makes you cum all over him is a small sacrifice to make .

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

The super solider serum has it’s benefits, and this might be the only one that Bucky never regrets. Before he was batting a strong two or three with proper recouperation time, but now he can go up to ten without flinching. He’s more than grateful for it. He’s worried he wouldn’t be able to keep up with you, if he didn’t have that extra leg up. Your appetite for him is so great that you push him to his limits, and he didn’t know that was possible, but he still lets you every time. You seem determined to find out exactly how long he can go for. He’d be worried about it, if he wasn’t having the time of his life.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

A lot of things have changed in the past century, and toys are a one of the things Bucky hasn’t really gotten yet. He doesn’t need one for himself, and he’s of the mind that—with how expensive vibrations are—there’s no need for you to have one either. He’s got a mouth and cock that can go all night, and a metal arm that can work like a toy if you’re that needy and desperate. You’d never thought to throw out your vibration until you had a massive super soldier next to you in bed. Metal fingers can fuck you until tears are springing to your eyes, and he can move his thumb so fast across your clit it basically feels like you’re at the mercy of a toy. A toy with soft lips, that drawl low praise and look at you like you’re an angel. Who could need anything else?

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Bucky doesn’t like to be too public or obvious—another roll over of 40s sensibilities—but if you’re begging for it, he won’t stop himself from landing a sharp, teasing slap on your ass or tracing his fingers up your inner thighs. Never enough to make you do anything rash, but that’s not his goal. He wants to see you squirm and flush, to smell that sweet arousal pooling between your legs. He’s making sure that, when he finally does get his hands on you, you’ll be more than ready for him. Just how he likes it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not too loud unless you really get him going. Most praise and dirty talk is whispered in your ear or against your skin, and his own grunts and moans are low and controlled. But then you get your mouth on him, or clench down on his cock just right, and a deep, loud moan rumbles through his chest. You toy with his balls in a trembling hand, and he doubles over with lidded eyes, almost shouting your name for the whole of New York to hear. You smile at him, kissing every roar off his lips, and his control starts to slip, only for you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Phone sex is something he never wants to give up. He has to leave frequently, for missions and meetings and work, and the knowledge that you’re still thinking of him like he’s thinking of you almost gets him there all on its own. A lewd part of him likes the idea that someone might hear him calling your name through the thin hotel walls, so everyone knows how well you’re worshipped, how thoroughly he adores you. He likes just the sound of your voice calling his name. He thinks he could make it off of phone sex only, for at least a month. He’d need you back eventually, but this is almost enough.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Bucky was packing before the serum, but it didn’t neglect his cock when it made everything bigger. The first time you see him, you’re worried you’ll barely even be able to get the head in. He’s got a cock so big it makes your mouth water and your eyes prick with tears from just sliding between the lips of your pussy. Once you tried to talk him into a dildo because it would’ve been smaller and easier. He always kisses your brows and coos that you can take it, and you can, but barely. The stretch hits places inside of you that you didn’t know you had, and Bucky has the nerve to be sweet and humble about it. It just makes it easier, though. So, so much easier, when that monster cock is attached to that perfect man.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Before you, it was more of an itch that he really couldn’t ignore, no matter how he tried. He had a drive, but it was more mechanical. Then you strolled into his life, and suddenly he’s something akin to an animal. You can walk around the apartment in pajamas and slippers, and Bucky feels his dick twitch to attention. He wants to be as close to you as he can, all the time, and if that means bending you over the closest surface and showing you just how much he loves you, than so be it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He might not need it like most people, but Bucky loves his sleep. He’d keep you both in bed all day, just cuddling and napping and having mindblowing sex if he was allowed to. Once you’re both settled and cleaned up, you’re not allowed out of bed for at least a few hours so Bucky can get some rest. He sleeps better after sex, and better with you in his arms, and the two combined can even work to keep the nightmares at bay. He tells you that it’s all you, but you think it’s him. Working to get past it, to stay with you, to find slices of peace and hold onto them, with you laying right where you belong, at his side.

His last lead had been in Brooklyn of all places, but with SHEILD in disarray and his work at the VA up in the air, he'd been happy to spend a few weeks with Steve prowling around some of his old haunts.

But it came to nothing.

In the end Sam decided he needed to head home and deal with some things for his sister and brother-in-law. They had two young kids now and their parents business needed all the help it could get.

The night had drawn in quick and close, the hot muggy air a reassuringly familiar feeling, so Sam had his windows down, one arm resting on the door. He took a moment as the house came into view, turning the car towards the water and killing the lights.

He'd missed both the stars and the fireflies while he'd been in Brooklyn. The stars were instant, like a switch flicking, his headlights went off and the sky lit up. But the fireflies took their time, slowly massing over the water and swirling around the trees.

The house itself was quiet, but there was something not quite right about the porch. Sam pulled the gun from his glove compartment and went low, slowly circling the wooden railing until —

"Wilson."

Barnes' voice was unmistakable.

Sam sighed, lowering his gun. "Barnes, what the hell are you doing here?" He hissed, climbing the porch stairs two at a time. "Also you look like shit, did you walk here?"

"Yeah," Barnes put his boots up on the white railings and Sam batted at his shins, moving him over on the bench. "It's a very long way to walk, I didn't bring my hair dryer with me. Too heavy."

"I'm sure it was." Sam sat heavily beside him. "Why are you here? Steve's looking for you, you know."

"I know, I'm just…I'm just not ready for that yet. He'll make a big deal out of everything."

"Everything like you running off again?"

"Yeah."

"You could've at least let me know, I've been looking everywhere for you. I've been in every YMCA in the New York area."

"S'not my fault." Barnes shrugged and Sam squeezed his hands together to try and dispell some of his frustrations.

"If you wanted to come down here, I'd have driven you."

"I know, couldn't put you at risk though."

"You can put my sister and her family at risk sitting on her porch?"

"No surveillance here, it's easier. Anyway, I wanted to bring you this."

Barnes moved a small paperbag across the bench and Sam peered inside.

"What's this for?"

"Your birthday, it's tomorrow, right? Figured you wouldn't have told Stark and his do-gooder avenging gang."

Sam snorted a laugh, "nah I didn't tell 'em. How did you know though?"

Barnes shrugged, "I just know. Happy birthday, Sam." He stood, brushing his hands on his dirty jeans. "Have a good day with your family."

"You leavin'? Come in, have some food, a good night's sleep, maybe a damn shower?"

Sam stared Barnes down, waiting for him to fight it. But the other man just looked tired.

"Like you said, putting your family at risk."

"I've got an apartment, you can go there. Just — don't leave again without telling me. I won't tell Steve, but — tell me?"

Barnes considered it for a moment and then nodded, a hint of a smile at his lips.

"Okay, just for you. For your birthday." He insisted.

"Deal."

Barnes held his hand out and Sam shook it, their hands lingering for a moment.