Mars

Heart-shaped strawberries, put in a baby blue Tupperware and arranged neatly in a little circle around some honey.

“You dip fruit in honey, Bucky Barnes?” Alexei asked when he saw it.

Bucky had only shrugged. “It tastes good.”

“Would be sweet, no? Very sweet. Like cream.”

“It’s not like cream.”

“No, not cream, cream.”

Bucky had stared at him incredulously, and Alexei had sighed, snapping his fingers.

“Yelena, what is word for cream in English.”

“Cream is word for cream.” Yelena hadn’t looked up from her phone, and Alexei had sigh.

“No, cream is word cream. This is other cream. White and fluffy like cat. Soft, like baby’s bottom, sweet like world between woman’s legs-“

“Jesus, man.” Walker had groans. “Are you talking fucking whipped cream?”

Alexei had clapped his hands with a grin, everyone had started groaning, and Bucky and his strawberries had gone unnoticed for the rest of the flight.

But the next one, it was Yelena asking if he bought them, or cut them himself. Walker wanted to know if Bucky liked strawberries because they were girl fruit, and Yelena punched him in the face. Bob nervously asked to taste one, and Bucky had handed it over because he was the only one not being an ass about this. Even Ava teased that if he could do heart, he must do other shapes, and everyone distracted themselves coming up with what other form the strawberries could be cut into.

They seemed to be entertained by the thought of Bucky eating strawberries cut in the shape of dicks, and Bucky had let them laugh. It didn’t bother him all that much, when he was the one eating them, they tasted perfect—you’d done something with cinnamon that he didn’t understand, but was as amazing as you were—and he knew the answer to all their questions, no matter how mocking they were.

“Why honey?” He’d asked you while you cut them, leaning over your body with his chin on the top of your head.

“Because it goes with cinnamon.” You’d hummed, and Bucky had grunted.

“Well, why cinnamon.”

“Because it tastes good, James.”

“Why.”

“Because.” You’d leaned back, giving him an amused look. “You’re like a toddler, you know that?”

Bucky had smiled—the small, secret smile he saved only for you—and leaned down to press a deep, sweet kiss to your lips.

“Only for you.” He’d murmured, and you’d smiled, looking back to the strawberries with a pretty flush.

He loved standing like this. Where you were wrapped tight in his arms, and he could pretend he was never going to have to let go. He could bury his nose in your hair and smell the shea butter you made him use as well, but always just smelled better on you. He could rub his hands on your sides and feel you squirm, just press his face into your neck and feel your every word vibrate through his body.

Bucky would stand like this forever, if he could.

But he did have a job. A job he had to go do, soon.

So you made him lunch, to tide him over until he saw you again. A little reminder that he was loved, that someone as good as you loved him. The rest of the team could have their jokes, because Bucky was loved.

Loved by a woman who he might’ve been able to woo in his best years—before he was missing a damn arm and woke up in the middle of the night fighting ghosts—but who he’d never even dared to dream of having a chance with now.

He didn’t like strawberries before you liked them. He didn’t care to bring lunch to work—he didn’t even need it, if he had a large breakfast—before you started volunteering to make it for him.

“I don’t want you to get hungry.” You’d said, pouting up at him, and he’d have to be a fool to tell you no.

Not when you take so much time to make it, just for him. Not when you can do other shapes—stars and moons and flowers and even a damn snowflake, and probably a dick if Bucky asked, although you might start giggling so much it wouldn’t be safe to let you near a knife—but you do hearts just for Bucky.

Because somehow, you’re something that’s just for Bucky.

A secret, good thing that he doesn’t have to share with the team.

Love that isn’t caught up in politics or old fights that bleed through time. Just you, and Bucky, and heart-shaped strawberries.

He lets the team keep teasing.

It’s hard to mind, when he’s the one who gets to eat the strawberries in the end.

Yelena notices it first.

They’re in the truck on some mission in Alaska, with no wifi for streaming and the truck rattling so loud it gives her a headache. She asks Bucky to put on the radio while he drives. He says no. She keeps asking, over and over, until he caves and turns it on with a scowl.

And she’s happy with it. It’s just a top 100 station—some good, some bad, depending on taste—but Yelena likes it plenty, and it’s enough to calm her brain down.

Once her brain is calm, she starts to notice things.

Things like Bucky’s hand tapping on the wheel. Like his mouth, moving silently along with the lyrics of a few songs.

How his nose scrunches when some songs start—like he knows they’re going to be bad—but he smiles to himself for others. His knee bounces with some baselines. His head bobs along with the music.

He knows the songs.

“You like pop music?” Yelena asked, and Bucky started slightly. Like he forgot she was there.

“No.” He grunted, and Yelena scoffed.

“Really.”

“Yeah. We’ve had this conversation. I like-“

“40s music. I’ve heard.” Yelena narrowed her eyes, watching him carefully. “You seem to know the radio songs.”

His jaw ticked. “I have ears. I remember things.”

“Impressive, since you are a million years old.”

Bucky gave her a tired look. “I’m a hundred.”

“Most people have no minds by a hundred. But you- Look at you. You enjoy Lady Gaga.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

He was lying through his damn teeth, and they both knew it, but Bucky was pretty sure he had the upper hand. Yelena could accuse him all she wanted, she’d never guess why Bucky already knew all the songs. Never be able to work out that he listened them so he’d know what you liked. That he liked certain ones more than others because he’d think of you singing them in the shower. That he hated certain ones because you hated them, and you knew more than he did.

Bucky would sit at your feet and listen to you ramble about racist country singers for the rest of his damn life, if he could. He’d listen to you talk about anything, because you were passionate about everything, and you never looked prettier than when you cared.

You’d get all flushed, your nose would wrinkle, your hands would wave around as you gestured, and Bucky didn’t understand half of the actual words you were using—what a stan was, how idol seemed to have a meaning very different that he remembered, or what the hell a fandom was—but he liked how you said them. Like how you’d just pet his head sometimes while you spoke, and how happy you’d look when he repeated something you said a few days later, to prove he’d been listening.

So he’d learned all the words to your favorite songs, because it made you happy. Just like you’d learned how to dance to 40s music with him in the kitchen, even if you stepped on his shoes and mostly just stared at him with shining eyes while he led you around.

He didn’t mind doing that, either. It felt like heaven to have you in his arms. And you’d always giggle when he spun you around, and ask him questions about the 40s he only would ever give you the answers to. You’d smile at all his stories. You’d ask to watch the movies he liked, read the books he’d enjoyed, listen to more of his music.

The least he could do was memorize a few songs. It made you smile.

And Bucky felt like a real good husband, when he made you smile.

Nobody needed to know that the Winter Soldier enjoyed pop music. That didn’t strike fear in the hearts of adversaries, and people would probably want to know his opinions, when they were just yours echoed.

He did sing along to the next song, though. Under his breath, but audible. Just to mess with Yelena.

She gaped at him. “You- You are singing-“

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bucky drawled, smirking at the road.

Yelena narrowed her eyes. Turned down the radio and leaned forward, scanning over Bucky’s face.

He gave her a bored look, brows raised in amusement.

Yelena leaned closer.

“You are strange, Bucky Barnes.” She muttered, and Bucky snorted.

“Really? Hadn’t noticed.”

“Stranger than usual.” Yelena continued, like she hadn’t heard him at all. “Very strange.”

Bucky just shrugged, and Yelena hummed.

“I am onto you. I will figure out what strange music secrets you keep.”

Bucky laughed again. “You do that.”

“I will.”

“Alright.”

“Alright.” Yelena mocked, slumping back into her seat. “What do you think of Rihanna, Bucky Barnes?”

Bucky knew what you thought of Rihanna. Knew that you wished she’d make more music, something he actually agreed with. The woman had good beats, and used a lot of real instruments. Those had been some of the easier songs to get through.

“I don’t know who that is.” He repeated, but probably after pausing for too long.

Yelena huffed like she didn’t believe him. Bucky was probably playing with fire, by not shutting this down firmly. But he really couldn’t bring himself to care.

He wouldn’t stop listening to the songs. And it wasn’t his fault they were so damn catchy.

He did wish Yelena could hear you sing along to them, though. You did it a hell of a lot better than he did.

And Bucky got lost in thought about you again. He didn’t feel his grin, pulling at his face from the thought of you.

Yelena narrowed her eyes.

Something was up with Bucky Barnes. Music and strawberries. Soft things, for soft people, which he was not. Maybe he had been kidnapped, and this was a clone. Yelena could fight a clone. That would be quite easy.

But the easy thing was rarely the answer. Which was annoying.

It didn’t matter.

Yelena would figure out what Bucky was hiding.

And if it was something that let her fight a clone, well. Worse, stranger things have happened.

Bob and Ava realize next.

They’ve known about the strawberries. Everyone has known about the strawberries. Only Bob knows about the music—Yelena told him—but Ava’s noticed things as well.

Liking Bucky smiling at his phone. Going to bed before everyone else, and waking up before them as well. And it shouldn’t be strange that a solider goes to bed early, but it’s how he goes to bed.

Bucky makes a big show of it. He stands up, announces that not to bother him unless someone is dying, and still try to handle that yourselves, then marches off to his room.

Ava walked past it last week. And she knows she’s not supposed to—something about privacy—but Bucky had a book she’d wanted, and doors are just suggestions that people think keep them safe anyway.

She phased through the wall, and found the room empty. Completely and totally empty. No noise from the bathroom, no lump in the sheets. Nothing.

The book had been on the nightstand. She’d taken it and gone, but wondered.

If the room was always empty.

If Barnes was up to something.

Bob just thought the music thing was nice.

“Maybe he just likes pop music?” He’d offered to Yelena, who’d shaken her head.

“No. Bucky Barnes does not like this.”

“I- That can’t be true-“

“It is.”

“He likes some books.” Bob had said, a little desperately. “And… Sam Wilson’s his friend. They have to do something together.”

“They fix boats.”

“See! That’s liking something-“

“This is not a boat, Bob.” Yelena had snapped. “This is music. It is important, because Bucky likes it, and he does not like things.”

And that wasn’t entirely true.

Bucky didn’t like most things. He didn’t like crowds, or snow, or most movies until you liked them and suddenly he understood what everyone was making such a big deal about. He didn’t like planes or trains, and boats were fine, and he hated going most anywhere until you’d started riding on the motorcycle with him. He didn’t like resting, or eating, or the dark, but then you made him do spa nights with him and suddenly all those things were fine.

“Your hair is better than mine.” You’d murmurs, running your fingers through it, and he’d sighed.

“That’s not true, doll.”

“It is.”

“Nothin’ I got is better than you.”

You’d hummed, smiling to yourself as you started to braid on of the thicker locks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He’d sighed, like he was pained you didn’t believe him. “I don’t sneak around for just anyone y’know.”

“Well, you don’t have to sneak around for me-“

Bucky had said your name, rolling onto his back with a sigh.

You’d given him an innocent look, and he’d swallowed. Reached up to trace your features, his voice low and serious.

“You know I can’t risk something happenin’ to you. I don’t like hiding either, but-“

“I know.” You’d kissed the inside of his wrist. “I’m just reminding you. Just in case.”

You’d smiled at him, and he’d smiled slowly back. His eyes shining with that quiet, relaxed awe that was yours, and yours alone.

The world could have Bucky in whatever role they made him play. He always went along with it, as long as he was helping, no matter how many times you casually floated the idea of him retiring. There was always another reason he had to keep going. Another part of him they wanted to take away from you.

But this, the peace and silent, but immeasurably powerful love that radiated off of him, it was all yours.

“I love you.” He’d murmured, and you’d brushed a little hair from his face.

“I know.”

He’d frowned. “You’re not gonna say it back?”

“You know I love you-“

“Yeah, but I like hearin’ you say it, doll-“

“I love you, James, I love you so much-“

Bucky had rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just bein’ mean to me.”

You’d giggled, leaning down until you were hovering only inches away. “You like it,” you’d whispered. “Gives you an excuse for later.”

Bucky’s eyes had flashed, his hand slowly sliding down around your neck, and you’d laughed again. Sat back up and gently nudged his shoulder.

“I love you, old man.” You’d pushed a little harder. “Flip over, I’m braiding your hair.”

He’d groaned, but still flipped back onto his stomach. His face had been pressed into your thigh, one arm around your middle and the other rubbing up and down your calves as you braided. When you’d finished, you’d tied it, and he’d dove for you like an animal.

The braid had somehow survived the night, even if you couldn’t really walk.

And Bucky had kept it in. It was a little under the thicker top layer of his hair, so no one would see it, and if he couldn’t wear his ring at work he wanted something that was made of you.

Then the hair tie would got lost in a fight, and the braid came almost completely undone. He used to go back to you, and sheepishly ask you to redo it. And you always would with a smile and no complaints, and Bucky could never hate time he got to spend at your feet, but he also liked learning things.

Braids were good for ropes. They could busy his hands, if he was stuck on the jet too long and no one was looking at him.

If you ever had daughters together, he’d need to know how to do them, the exact way you did.

So he asked, and you taught him.

And Bob and Ava are in the common room talking about the Baby Shark song with Ava tries to braid her hair, but she’s not all that good at it. She usually just keeps it inside the suit.

Bob offers to help. He’s worse.

They’re seconds from going to grab Yelena when Bucky walks in with a bored expression, and finds Bob’s hands in Ava’s hair, both of them looking like they just got caught doing something wrong.

“What’s wrong with you two.”

“Bob can’t braid hair.” Ava says plainly, and Bob frowns.

“Well I- I’m trying- But it’s- There’s so much of it-“

“Yeah, I got it.” Bucky sighs, then frowns at Ava. “Can’t you braid your own hair?”

Ava sniffs, raising her chin. “I never learned. But thank you, for reminding me of that childhood norm I missed out on-“

“Christ, it’s not like I’m all sunshine and-“ Bucky had sighed, ran a hand over his face, then nodded to himself. “Alright. Bob, move.”

Bob had moved, hands in the air like a surrender, and Bucky had taken his place.

He’d worked fast. Very fast. Fast and neat, because he’d been practicing on himself and you, and he was pretty damn good at it now.

That was a good braid. Bucky stood back with his hands on his hips, nodded, and marched out without another word.

Bob and Ava sat there for a moment. Bob stared, and Ava reached back carefully to touch the braid.

It felt alright. There weren’t stray hairs, and the pattern was tight.

Which meant Bucky had given her a braid of… Above average quality.

Ava looked at Bob, and found his mouth open. Their eyes met, neither really sure what to say other than-

“What the fuck was that?”

Alexei notices next.

He doesn’t know it, but the rest of them have a running bet. Yelena told Bob about her theory, Bob pulled Ava into the room, and they all put a week of chores on the line for who’s going to realize last.

Yelena thinks it’s going to be Bucky, not picking up on the fact that everyone is onto him. Ava thinks it’s John, his head too far up his ass to make such observations. Bob thinks it’s Alexei, simply because no one else had money on Alexei, and he wasn’t allowed to simply not participate.

For a while, it seems that they’re all on even footing. Bucky keeps coming and going, smiling at his phone and suddenly knowing how face masks and baking and different soaps work, and no one else seems to be picking up on anything odd.

Then Alexei asks Bucky to go out with him.

“Night on the town, Bucky Barnes.” Alexei claps his shoulder with a wide grin. “We will find many beautiful woman, all looking for attention from great Red Guardian and Winter Soldier!”

Bucky grunts. “I’m good, thanks.”

“I know, you enjoy moping around Watchtower, why am I so alone, where is love- It is because you hide, I will help you stop hiding-“

“I’m not-“ Bucky sighs, and shakes his head. “Maybe next week. I’ve got plans tonight.”

He walks away, leaving Alexei frozen in the middle of the room.

Bucky Barnes does not have plans. He does not do plans. He’s dragged places by his neck, then returns to sulking in mysterious places around the tower. Usually when Alexei asks him to go out, he gets a very similar no, but then he asks again and gets a grumbled fine.

Alexei doesn’t want to go out anymore anyway. There is no better drinking partner than Bucky Barnes. His moody, handsome face pulls in attention, and Alexei gets to swoop in and charm everyone that Bucky turns down with tight words and a half apology. It’s a perfect system.

Bucky is messing with the perfect system.

“Yelena.” He stomps into the living area with a scowl. “Something is wrong with Bucky Barnes.”

Bob groans. He’s the first person to lose the bet.

Alexei doesn’t believe it at first, when they lay it out for him. Strawberries and pop music are not evidence of having a woman. Hair is not either. Alexei can braid hair. He used to do it for Yelena and Natasha, all the time.

“Mother taught you how.” Yelena points out, and that is a fair point. He’d leave it in knots before Melina showed him how not to.

But he would have noticed, if Bucky Barnes had a girlfriend. He lives in the tower. Alexei is Guardian, he knows who comes in and out of their home. If Barnes was hiding secret girl, he would have been the first to realize.

“Or she doesn’t live in the tower.” Ava drawls. “Bucky has been hiding an awful lot, lately. Maybe he goes to her.”

Alexei thinks this is insane. Why would one ever leave the Watchtower? It has magic robots, a kitchen with two ovens, and a pool. America is beautiful country. Robots. Ovens. Pools.

But Ava is exactly right.

The first few months of your relationship, Bucky had still been staying at the Watchtower. He’d entertain Alexei’s outings, knowing he was just there for—as you say it—eye candy. He’d drink and mope about not being with you, maybe call you and tell you how pretty you are, then stumble home and dream about being in your arms. Sometimes he would end up in your arms, managing to drink enough that it actually effected him, thinking home when he got in the Taxi, and ending up swaying on your doorstep.

You’d smile at him, when you opened the door.

“Did you drink the whole bar?”

“Only half.” He’d mumble, leaning against your door. “I love you.”

You’d giggle. He loved your giggle. It was a sound of pure joy, almost like the songs his Ma used to make him sing in church.

He understands church more, now that he has you. He’d build a whole house in your name, and make sure it was even half as beautiful as you were. He talks to you every day, texting even when he knows you won’t respond for hours, the chance of your attention worth every bit of his time. 

“I love you too.” You’d say, flushing and beaming at him. You’d get bashful and nervous, the first times he’d say it. Like you weren’t sure it was real.

And back then, he’d have to linger like a street dog at your door, staring at you hopefully under you asked him inside.

Now he has a key. He takes off from the Watchtower while no one is paying attention. Stops at the corner store to get you chocolate and flowers—he does this every time, you’re considering opening a shop—before heading to the other side of town.

To you.

He has a key to your apartment now. It’s his apartment too.

Houses are the kind of thing you have to share, when you’re married.

“You’re an hour early.” You say when he opens the door, and he chuckles.

“Can’t be early to my damn home, doll-“

“Bucky-“

He turns from closing the door, and his jaw almost falls off his face.

He is very early.

You’re in one of those thin, lacy things you get yourself to try and give him a damn heart attack. Sheer and tight, highlighting curves and making you somehow more than naked. There’s still the small robe, but it doesn’t hide anything at all.

But your hair isn’t done, your face clear of makeup for him to ruin.

Part of him likes it more. You look like an angel.

And it would be a shame for him to make you waste all your fancy products and put in so much effort, when he’s going to wreck you no matter what.

“I’m early.” He rasps, and you cross your arms.

“You have to go out. I’m not ready yet-“

“You look pretty ready to me, doll.”

You flush under his heated, almost rabid gaze. You’re already getting sore between your thighs, and he’s just standing across the room.

Setting down the flowers and rolling up his sleeves. Waiting patiently for you to beckon him over, tongue darting over his lips as his gaze rakes over your body, and your knees are getting weak.

“I’m trying to give you something nice.” You squeak, and Bucky laughs.

“You are giving me somethin’ nice-“

“Well, it- It’s going to be better than this-“

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

You breathe sharply, and Bucky raises his brows.

He’d been ravenous before you were married. Somehow, now, it’s even more than before. He touches you like he’s trying to leave a mark. To remind you that even when he can’t be home, there isn’t a single moment you’re not on his mind.

“Green light?” He mutters.

You nod, then remember the rule.

Words.

“Yes. Please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

And outside, Yelena, Ava, Bob, and Alexei, frown up at the series of windows, trying to figure out which one Bucky disappeared into. It was Alexei’s idea to follow. He wanted to prove Bucky was simply sick, rather than leaving him to try and pick up women alone.

Right now, his odds aren’t looking good. Bucky doesn’t buy chocolate and flowers for himself.

“Maybe he’s on the other side of the building?” Bob suggests, after almost an hour of staring at Bucky-less windows.

The words are barely out of his mouth before Yelena spots it.

Bucky and a strange woman, stumbling into a room, their mouths practically attached. His shirt is gone. She’s wearing something that looks like it used to be lingerie. Bucky tosses her onto the bed, kisses her ankle, then moves to the window.

He closes the blinds, leaving the team gaping up on the street, all thinking the same thing.

Bucky Barnes has a secret girlfriend.

John notices last.

They’re on a mission in some small city, and it’s fast. Clean. No slip-ups—for once—which means no extra paperwork to file. Yelena makes them go to the mall. They have a Petco, five makeup stores, and a cinnabun. There’s never going to be another chance like this.

It’s in one of the makeup stores that John finally gets clued in. Yelena doesn’t like any of the perfumes she’s looked at—and made everyone else look at, because they should all stop smelling like sweet and damp ass—and Bucky points out that she hasn’t been cleansing her nose after each one with the coffee.

He suggests a specific perfume. It’s not overly floral and sweet like what Yelena’s been trying. He thinks she’d like it, and she does.

And John is suspicious.

“Barnes has a wife.” He hisses to Ava, and she snorts.

“Aren’t you late.”

“What does that mean-“

“It means we’ve all known he has a girlfriend for months, you’re the last person to-“

“No. I didn’t say girlfriend. If he’s with someone, it’s a wife.”

Ava pauses. Looks over her shoulder, to where Bucky is staring at this phone, lost to the world.

He smiles at something on the screen, then looks up like he’s checking nobody saw.

“Why do you think it’s a wife.” She says slowly, and John shrugs.

“He knew perfumes.” Walker says loftily. “You don’t learn perfumes for a girlfriend. That’s wife shit.”

Ava frowns. His logic is flawed. Downright incorrect.

But he did reach the right conclusion, even with the wrong equation.

Bucky learned perfumes for you before you were even engaged. Before he got a key to your apartment, or you talked about a future, or he bought the ring. And he’d gotten that ring fairly early, too.

Right after he spent three hours before your anniversary, researching perfumes to figure out the exact kind you’d like as a gift. He’d gone to stores, looked up guides on line, even sneakily asked Yelena questions to figure out what she liked, how it related to her personality, then apply his findings to you.

He’d been nervous when he’d made his choice. He didn’t get nervous anymore, but his palms had been sweating, his thoughts racing at what might happen if you hated the gift. You were too sweet to break up with him over just a perfume, but Bucky knows how small things can crumble a whole foundation. A good gift showed you he cared. That he’d been paying attention. It build trust, and grew affection. With that, he’d be showing you how serious he was about this. If you knew he was serious, that opened a million more doors that he’d only been holding as fantasies.

Moving in together, sharing a life. Marriage. Maybe partial retirement, removal from the public eye. Being allowed to go out with you in public without having to be so damn careful. Eventually getting a house. Maybe a cat—he liked cats—and, if you wanted it, one or two kids.

But none of that would happen if you didn’t know he was serious. If he’d already messed up by getting you the wrong perfume.

He’d played it super normal, when he’d given you the bag. Collected and suave, not sweating out of his ass, certainly not praying to the whole universe that you’d at least not hate it-

“Bucky.” You’d gasped, holding the bottle with delicate hands, like it was made of crystal. Like it was his heart, rather than some glass. “You didn’t have to-“

“Wanted to.” He’d grunted. “Do you-“

“I love it. I- I’ve wanted this one for a while, actually, but- James, I know how much this costs-“

Bucky had kissed your cheek, letting the prideful, golden feeling in his chest bloom.

“You’re worth it.” He’d muttered, and your smile had been worth more than a whole damn store of perfumes.

He’d gotten the ring that Monday, before he went back to the tower. Spent every moment apart from you that weekend researching cuts and carats, just like he had the perfumes.

When he’d proposed, he’d told you that he’d been half a man before you.

You’d told him that even if that was true, you would’ve fallen in love with him if he was a tenth of a man. That just a sliver of him was easier to love than every other man on the planet combined.

They’re all dancing around it. How to tell Bucky they know about his girlfriend—or wife, as John keeps loudly insisting.

A few times, Alexei tries to start a conversation about  what kind of women Bucky likes. Bucky stares at him, giving only grunts as answers, and Alexei gives up fast. Yelena asks if he’d want to go on a vacation to the Bahamas with anyone, and he just shrugs. Ava’s taken to stalking him through the tower, trying to catch a slip-up that gives her the perfect moment for confrontation. Walker has been talking about jewelry and perfume so much, Bucky asks if he’s getting back together with his ex.

Bob doesn’t really want a part of any of this. He thinks that if Bucky wants this to be a secret, they should respect that.

Everyone else thinks that’s boring.

They’ve pooled their time, to manipulate the perfect way to reveal that they know. It’s a needlessly elaborate plan, with far too many uses of a t-shirt gun, a blimp, and a pure-bred horse.

But it will work. They’ve spent months getting it right. By the end of the week, Bucky will admit he has a girlfriend—or wife—and they can start teasing him about it, as is their right.

The plan will be implemented tomorrow. They’ve prepared. Nothing will go wrong.

Then, in the middle of a meeting about some organization either having too many automatic rifles—or not enough, but none of them are really paying attention—there’s a knock on the door.

Everyone freezes. There’s not a single person in the building, who doesn’t know the rule. Never interrupt Valentina. Not even if the world is ending. You wait until she’s ready to hear about the apocalypse, then you speak.

She’s scowling at the head of the table, but waves a tight hand for Mel to answer the door.

When she does, everyone cranes their head to see who’s about to get fired. But it’s not an employee or agent, standing in the hallway.

It’s a beautiful, anxious looking woman holding a smooth lunchbox. She’s shifting on her feet, wearing a thick coat and diamond ring, looking around like the walls are the tallest thing she’s ever seen, and-

She’s the girl from the window.

Wearing a ring.

John would be smug, if he wasn’t trying to wrap his head around how that was Bucky’s wife. But it’s not just him.

You’d looked pretty from the window. Up close, it’s no wonder Bucky wanted to keep you to himself. You might’ve been able to defeat Thanos with a smile.

“Hi,” your voice is soft, your expression like a doe in headlights. “I- Um- Bucky forgot his lunch.”

You hold up the black box, and Valentina clears her throat.

“And you’re who exactly?”

“Um-“

“An assistant?” She shoots Bucky a glare. “I don’t see why you should get an assistant, James, you barely even do anything-“

“Bucky does things.” You stand a little taller, eyes narrowing on Valentina. “He does a lot of things, and- You don’t even give him pet insurance-“

“He doesn’t need pet insurance-“

“Yeah, because my boss is a nice person-“

“Darling.” Bucky stands up quickly, moving to block you from Valentina’s venomous glare. “You didn’t tell me you were coming, I would’ve met you downstairs-“

“I wanted to surprise you.” You mumble, lips pulling into a pout. “Sorry.”

“’S alright.” He glances over his shoulder, to everyone’s aghast, almost offensively shocked expression. “I gotta finish this meeting, you know where my room is?”

You nod, still looking too damn sad, and Bucky sighs. He leans forward to kiss your cheek, keeping his voice low enough only you’ll hear.

“I coulda gotten something from the café, y’know.”

“Yeah, but- You’d forget to.”

Bucky chuckles, squeezing your waist gently. “You’re too good to me, doll.”

“Hm.” Your smile returns, paired with a pretty flush. “I don’t think I am.”

You touch his arm, leaning forward to press a tiny, quick kiss to his lips. It takes everything Bucky has, not to drag you back and make out until you’re both dizzy. The only thing that manages to stop him is the eyes of his teammates, glaring daggers into his back.

You walk away with one last smile over your shoulder, and Bucky waves with a foolish grin.

Then he turns, braces his hands on his hips, and sighs.

“We’re gonna do this now, aren’t we?”

Valentina scoffs. “Do what, make you explain why you’re bringing your little civilian into the tower without approval-“

“She is approved.” Bucky grunts. “She’s my emergency contact, that grants her automatic access.”

Bob’s eyes widens. “Wow, it’s- You’re that serious? Not that you wouldn’t be, just- I didn’t know girlfriends could be emergency contacts. I always thought it was, um- Family. Only?”

“Anyone can be a contact.” Bucky grunts. “And- Jesus-“ He sighs, running a hand over his face.

There’s no point lying about it now. Might as well get it over with.

“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my wife.”

Walker shouts I knew it. Yelena starts demanding her winnings from Ava, and Alexei starts grumbling about not being invited to the wedding.

But none of them are all that surprised.

“Did you all… Know?” Bucky snaps, and Yelena rolls her eyes.

“Of course. You were obvious, like dog after bone.”

“I was not, and- That doesn’t make sense-“

“We all knew, Bucky.” Ava shrugs. “But it makes sense. She’s beautiful.”

At that, Bucky grins. He’ll be angry at them later.

Right now, he’s just standing tall with pride.

“Yeah. She is.”