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Chapter Text

"What are you doing?" Bucky asks, bewildered eyes looking down at your arms wrapping around his waist.

"It's a hug," you playfully explain. "I'm showing you affection."

"Affection? I hate it."

"Oh," you shrug, pulling away from him. "Sorry."

He takes another step forward, putting himself back in your embrace. "Do it again."

Chapter Text

"I'm telling you, you're lucky you've never met that cat," Sam cautions, walking right on your heels. "It's a viscous, little-"

"Watch it," Bucky curtly warns, unlocking the door to his room. He closes the door behind you and Sam and sets his jacket on his small couch. "Alpine, where are you? I've got someone for you to meet."

You scan the room until your eyes fall onto a white cat leisurely stretching out on the window sill before hopping onto the counter in front of Bucky. 

"How's my best girl?" Bucky coos, gently stroking the cat behind the ears. When he sees you smirking at him with an eyebrow slightly raised, he immediately backtracks, "After you, of course."

You shake your head, playfully scoffing, "Of course."

"Well, I hope you're ready to apologize," Sam huffs to the cat, who takes a large swipe at Sam the second he gets close to him. "You see?! Vicious!"

"Aww...it's okay," you coo to the cat, slowly moving your hand closer to the counter. "Was Sam mean to you?"

Alpine hesitantly sniffs at your hand, but doesn't back away nor does she try to scratch at you. "See? You were just defending yourself, weren't you?"

"Excuse me?" Sam scoffs.

"Nobody appreciates you. Do they?" you continue as she runs herself against your hand.

"She's a bad cat," Sam insists. 

"She's nothing but a sweetheart," you say, lightly stroking her back.

"Maybe she's just a good just of character," Bucky chuckles.

"I've actually heard that before!" you add. 

"Thanks for that," Sam sarcastically remarks, shaking his head at Alpine. 

Chapter Text

“Okay, exactly how long is this going to go on?”

You tear your eyes away from Bucky to look at an exasperated Sam, who at some point walked into the conference room without you or Bucky ever noticing. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this!” Sam frantically gestures between the two of you. “You’re acting like a bunch of high schoolers. The puppy eyes. The blushing, the flirting, the longing stares. You’re driving me crazy!”

“You are insane,” Bucky grunts to Sam. At least you think he's talking to Sam, it's a little hard to tell considering he's barely looked away from you and still wryly smirking in your direction. 

“Am I? Because something happened, something neither of you will talk about, and I’m not putting up with it anymore.”

“Nothing happened,” you insist, though you and Bucky share a fleeting, anxious look. 

“What did you do?” Sam demands, staring at Bucky.

“What makes you think I did anything?”

“What did you do?” Sam repeats. 

“Sam,” you interject, shaking your head. 

“Fine, if you two won’t tell me - I know someone else who knows. FRIDAY, can you call Steve to the conference room?”

“Why are you calling Steve?" Bucky questions, though his voice wavers in conviction. "Don’t start involving other people in your weird conspiracies.”

“Weird conspiracies?” Sam scoffs, his accusations cemented after hearing the anxiety and trepidation in the way you and Bucky are speaking. “For almost an entire month, I’ve watched you two watch each other. When I don’t catch him staring at you, you’re staring at him, you two don’t talk anymore, you’re both weird and giggly when you are in the same room. Obviously something happened.”

"Hey...guys," Steve starts, faltering when he feels the strange atmosphere in the room.

"Steve, take a seat," Sam gently urges, gesturing to the seat right beside him. 

“I...I actually have to go. I should go - do that thing,” Steve nervously stammers.

“And I've got a debrief that won't write itself," you lie, abruptly standing up out of your seat. 

“I’ll go help you,” Bucky eagerly offers, fumbling to get out of his seat. 

“Everyone sit,” Sam demandingly orders. All three pairs of eyes remain downcast like petulant children as you all take your seats around the conference table. “Good, now will someone tell me what’s going on?”

Steve, looking particularly uncomfortable, opens his mouth to spill every single detail he has.

“Steve,” Bucky warns, swiftly kicking him in the shin. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Steve,” Sam gently encourages, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder. “It's okay. Just tell me what’s going on and all this will be over.”

Keeping your eye contact with Steve, you subtly shake your head, mouthing, "Don't do it."

“Look at what you’re doing to poor Steve, he’s dripping sweat. How could you do that to Steve?” Sam asks, gesturing to Steve with anxiety literally seeping out of his pores. Your mouth twists as you try to stop yourself from putting Steve out of his misery. “So I’m going to have to pull out the big guns, huh? What about rule number one?”

“Aww…” you groan, clutching the sides of your seat. “Don’t ‘rule number one’ me. It’s not what you think.”

“What’s rule number one? Don’t set things on fire,” Bucky quips, trying to break the frantic, tense atmosphere. 

“No,” Sam states, still pointedly eyeing you to let the guilt trip break your resolve. “It’s honesty. Don’t lie to me, don’t omit things, even if she thinks it’s something that I don’t want to hear. And I give her the same respect.”

"You're not getting anything out of me," you huff, crossing your arms as you sit further back in your seat. 

Sam nods, walking away from you and back to Steve. "A chain is only a strong as it's weakest link. Fold, Steve."

"Don't you dare, Steve," Bucky warns.

"Fold, Steve."

"He's got nothing, Steve! Don't listen to him," you insist. 

"Fold," Sam repeats.

“They kissed! I saw them kissing!” Steve blurts.

"Dude," Bucky winces, throwing his hands up in frustrated defeat. 

"I'm sorry!" Steve sputters. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help it!"

"It's because you're weak, Steve. Weak," Sam enunciates, leaning over Steve's seat. 

Chapter Text

"Ten bucks says he does it," Sam quietly mutters to you. 

"I'll bet you fifteen he does it with the shield," Bucky adds.

"20 if he lands on his knee with the shield in front of him," you offer in return.

"All three? When was the last time he did all three?" Sam scoffs.

"Take it or leave it."

"You've got yourself a deal," Sam smugly murmurs, looking up to carefully watch Steve's next move. 

You three watch as Steve finally jumps from the elevated platform. Each filled with anticipation, Steve lands on the ground, one knee bent down, and with the shield proudly displayed in front of him. 

"Damn it," Sam hisses.

"Told you, superhero landing," you snicker. 

"I think I need to work on the landing," Steve says, standing up to shake off the landing. 

"No, Steve," you interject, holding your hand behind your back as Sam and Bucky reluctantly hand you your wager. "It was perfect."

Chapter Text

"Just leave me here to die," you groan, your forearm thrown over your eyes to block out the blinding light.

"Can you please stand up?" Bucky sighs.

"No, he's gonna make me run again."

Bucky's about to speak when he hears Steve's familiar call, "On your left."

"We get it, Steve!" you angrily shout, still splayed out on the grass. 

"People need to see this side of you more often," Bucky quips, watching you glare as Steve laps you again. "Sunshine, my ass."

"I hate you guys," you tiredly exhale. 

"How about we make this fun?"

"How?" you reply, propping yourself up on your elbow. 

5 minutes later...

"On your left," you call.

Sam's eyes snap over his shoulder to possibly the funniest and most infuriating sight he's ever seen. Bucky running with the most smug smile Sam's ever seen, and you slung on Bucky's back with a shit-eating grin to taunt him after he dragged you out of bed for a run. "That's cheating!"

"No one likes a sore loser, Sam," you call over your shoulder, Bucky already leading him by several meters. "Work smarter, not harder!"

Chapter Text

"And who are you?"

"Your worst nightmare," you quickly respond, giving the villain your best stoic expression. The second the words leave your mouth, you sigh, your shoulders slumping. You press you hand to the earpiece. "Okay, no, you were right, Sam. It's corny."

"I told you! No one can pull that off. It's a stupid line," Sam bitterly huffs.

"He's only mad because he tried the line and he couldn't pull it off either," Bucky chuckles over the comms.

"Guys," Steve interjects. "Focus."

Chapter Text

"Are those potato chips?" Sam asks, his eyes suspiciously narrowed at the little plastic containers proudly displayed on MJ's bake sale table.

"They're kitchen sink cookies," MJ languidly shrugs. 

"But what's in them?" Sam reiterates. 

"They're kitchen sink cookies," she repeats with a monotone inflection. 

"But-" Sam starts, only to shake his head as though he's given up asking. "Never mind."

Chapter Text

"You know, sometimes I wish I could fly," you audibly wonder, flipping through the channels in the common room.

"What? Why?" Sam scoffs, reaching across the large bowl of popcorn between the two of you to take the remote from you. 

"I dunno," you shrug, holding the remote just out of Sam’s reach. "I just think it'd be cool."

"Because having powers isn't already cool?"

"But I think flying would be really cool."

"There's a literal cartoon about a kid with your powers," Sam deadpans, an increasingly annoyed look on his face as he tries for the remote again.

"I'm not seeing your point."

"Flying is my thing," he states.  "Stick with your own gimmick."

"Fine," you deeply sigh, your shoulders slumping. The silence remains for a moment, but then you break it again, "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I have a cartoon?"

"No,” he huffs, finally grabbing the remote as you’re distracted. “But maybe someone will write a book about you or something."

"Yeah, okay," you mock in clear disbelief. "Who would read an entire book about us?"

Chapter Text

"Sam?" you call, slowly creeping through the eerie abandoned warehouse. "James?"

You continue walking, the small flame in your hand your only source of light as you scan the area, still alone after somehow being separated. "Peter?"

You suddenly stop, chuckling to yourself, "I don't even know a Peter."

Chapter Text

"Nice haircut," Sam chuckles, ruffling Bucky's newly cut hair.

Bucky swats Sam’s hand away, turning to glare at him. "Don't touch me."

"Jeez, touchy," Sam grumbles, clutching his smacked hand to his chest  

"I just don't like people touching me."

That's when you walk in.

The first thing you do after almost a week away from the Compound is greet Sam with a hug, then you turn all of your attention to Bucky. You practically throw yourself on the couch, curling yourself up next to him, and pecking him on the cheek.

He wrinkles his nose, though the slight smile and faint blush on his face defy the annoyed expression he tries to keep on his face. 

Still curled into Bucky, you take a large deep breath of relief. You reach over running your hand through Bucky's hair. "I like your haircut. Looks nice."

"Thanks," Bucky mutters, quietly relishing in the praise. 

"You know, Bucky doesn't like-" Sam begins.

Bucky abruptly cuts Sam off, shooting a glare over his shoulder. "Shut up, Sam."

Chapter Text

"So you and Barnes?" the random SHIELD agent whose name keeps evading you asks. "You're like together together?"

"Yeah," you nod, shoving the rest of your gear into your locker. "Sounds about right."

"Like, how serious? Like 'you've told your parents' serious?" A quick, inadvertent snicker leaves your mouth at the agent's question. The agent frowns, clearly unhappy at your reaction to his question, "What?"

You clear your throat, trying your best to stifle laughter. "Sorry, it's really not that funny."

"What?" the agent insists. "Maybe I'll think it's funny."

You highly doubt he will. 

"Orphan," you explain, pointing to yourself. Then you point to Bucky across the room. "Born in 1917. No parents to tell. We did tell Sam though!"

"Who's Sam?"

"What about Sam?" Bucky asks, unsubtly staking his claim by snaking his arm around your waist. 

You roll your eyes at Bucky before turning back to the agent whose name you still can't remember, "Wait, what was your question again?"

"Oh, er... nothing," the agent sheepishly mutters. 

"Alrighty then..." you excessively nod. "Nice talking to you..."

"Tim," the agent supplies, a incredulous look on his face. 

"I knew that," you scoff. 

"Right," the agent murmurs, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks away with a uncomfortable smile and tip of his head. 

"Who the hell was that?" Bucky humorlessly chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

"Honestly? I have no idea."

Chapter Text

You were so close to making it back undiscovered.

So, so close.

It was really only because you loved him that you were willing to go such dramatic measures to keep the secret of one of Bucky's favorite pastimes. But just as you're in the home stretch, the hallway leading to your room now in sight, you run right into Sam. Or reason one of two Bucky wanted to keep this secret. 

"Whatcha got there?" Sam asks, nudging his head to the plastic bag you haphazardly tucked behind your back when you saw him approaching you in the hallway. 

Despite knowing exactly what he's talking about, you lift up the clear plastic cup in your right hand. "A smoothie."

He frowns, his eyes narrowing at you. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing," you guiltily scoff. 

"Alrighty then..." he suspiciously nods. 

Okay," you agree, sidestepping Sam as he stands in the middle of the corridor. "Good talking to you."

Just as you're about to pass him, he quickly grabs the bag from behind your back. "Ah-ha!" He throws the bag open, quickly examining the contents. His eyes flicker back to you, his expression stuttering as he looks at the innocuous balls of yarn in the plastic bag. "It's... yarn? Since when do you know how to knit?"

"Yes..." you slowly agree, nodding your head. "The knitting supplies are for me."

"Everyone in this Compound is so boring now," he groans. "There's nothing to do."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

He shrugs, handing your bag back to you. "Probably."

"Okay... well, I should be going," you awkwardly excuse yourself, jutting your thumb in the direction of your room. You hold up the bag again, "Got lots of knitting to do. Very exciting."

"Call me when you decide to be fun again!" Sam teasingly calls after you.

"Will do!" you shout over your shoulder, quickly scurrying back to your room. 

You've barely unlocked your door when Bucky throws the door open, quickly scanning both sides of the hallway for anyone that might be lurking nearby. "Did anyone see you?"

"God, you're so paranoid," you guffaw, rolling your eyes as you step into your room. "But on a completely unrelated note, you might have to knit Sam a sweater."

Chapter Text

"Hey," Bucky whispers, gently stirring you. You groan, cracking a bleary eye open, the light streaming in through the sheer curtains is enough to get you to shut your eyes again. "Come on. We gotta get up."

"Oh no," you groan, turning out of Bucky's embrace.

He huffs as though you've insulted him by leaving his embrace. "What?"

"You're a morning person," you groggily whine, tossing the comforter over your face.

"It's 11 o'clock," Bucky corrects, tugging the comforter off of your face.

"Still technically morning."

He snorts, brushing your unruly hair out of your face. "Or maybe you're tired because we were up half the night binge watching Friends."

"I'm not seeing your point."

Chapter Text

"Wow," you awe looking at the shooting star streaks across the night sky. "You know, apparently, if you wish on a shooting star it'll come true."

The two of you lay side by side on the Compound roof. Bucky sweetly hums, still tracing little stars onto the palm of your hand.

"What do I need to make a wish for?" he asks, watching you more than the meteor shower illuminating the night sky above you. "I've already got everything I want." 

"Aww..." you coo, tenderly stroking his cheek. "You're so lucky no one else was here to witness that corniness."

He rolls his eyes, scoffing, "Please, you love it."

You playfully scrunch your nose, "Yeah. I do."

Chapter Text

"Sam!" Bucky bellows down the corridor. 

Your shoulders slump as you hear the commotion barreling down the hallway. You pinch the bridge of your nose, murmuring to yourself, "Not this again."

"Hide me, hide me, hide me," Sam quickly pleads as he bolts into the conference room. 

"He still mad at you?" you wryly guess as he scrambles around the circular table for a place to hide.

"Sam!" Bucky shouts, his voice now just around the corner.

"Definitely," Sam yelps, ducking behind you. "You won't let him kill me, right?" 

"Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't find you earlier," you chuckle over your shoulder. "He was pretty mad last night."

"I already told you-" Sam starts, ducking back behind you as Bucky storms into the room. 

Bucky's eyes narrow, watching as Sam uses you as his human shield. "You've gotta hide behind my girlfriend, Sam? Take it like a man."

"Like a man?" you scoff. "Have you met the women in this Compound?"

"Yeah," Sam agrees, poking his head from over your shoulder. "Stop being sexist, Bucky!'

"Maybe don't mess with him right now, Sam?" you quietly advise. 

"Probably a good idea."

"I'm gonna kill him," Bucky swears. "Let me get my hands on you, Sam."

"I already told you it was an accident!" Sam desperately exclaims. 

"That accident didn't just happen accidentally, Sam!" Bucky fumes. 

"But it did! It was an accident, I swear!" Sam implores, still holding you as his human shield in front of him. 

"Let's look at the evidence, shall we?" Bucky rhetorically asks, pulling out his phone from his back pocket. He unlocks his phone, dramatically tapping away at the screen. "You mean to tell me that, not only did you pick a picture that only you have, you typed 'My OTP', you added heart emojis, and a grumpy sunshine hashtag, all on accident?"

"Okay, see, that I did on purpose," Sam reluctantly admits. 

Bucky accusingly points at Sam. "So we have a confession!" 

"No!" Sam shouts. "I was goofing around after you guys left me and Steve at that stupid gala, I didn't mean to post it!"

"Well, why the hell would you do that?" Bucky counters. "That doesn't even make sense!"

"I don't know, I thought it was funny at the time!" 

Bucky grimaces, glaring at Sam. "I swear to God, Sam, if people start thinking I'm approachable-"

Sam cuts him off with a humorous snort, "No chance of that."

You sigh, looking over your shoulder to glance at Sam, "I thought you didn't want him to kill you?"

Chapter Text

"Wait," Bucky falters, standing on the edge of an enemy plane, ready to jump at a moment's notice. Everything on this mission had gone to plan so far, now all that remained was his extraction. "Did you say on three or after three?"

"On three," you definitively reply, watching Bucky's mission from the truck trailing him. 

"After three," Sam replies simultaneously.

"You guys don't know when I'm jumping?" Bucky incredulously demands. 

You scoff through the comm device, "Of course we do!" 

You both cover the small microphone's on your communication devices. With wide eyes Sam quietly hisses, "You don't know when he's jumping?" 

"It was your turn to listen to Steve!" you exclaim in a hushed tone.

"No, it was your turn! I listened to him the last time!"

"Guys!" Bucky shouts, wind swirling around him as he waits for his cue for a safe landing. "I'm on a little bit of a time crunch!"

You and Sam look at each other with winces painting your faces. 

"After three," you both decide, pulling up to the location of Bucky's landing. 

"You sure?" Bucky cautiously questions.

"Of course we're sure!" Sam assures him, though his voice is calm and full of reassurance, you both continue exchanging nervous glances.

"Okay, I see the lake," Bucky informs, silently counting down to ensure he lands in his designated landing zone.

Sam winces as the jet passes above the two of them. The two of you watch as Bucky jumps, completely missing the landing zone prepared for him and diving straight into the frosty lake. "It was before three, wasn't it?" 

"I told you!" you exclaim, dramatically throwing your hands up in the air. You continue watching as Bucky splashes down into the water, you jut your thumb in the direction of the lake, "We should go get him."

Sam nods, slightly bemused, slightly cringing, "Probably."

You briskly walk down the short trail that leads to the large body of water. By the time you both make it to the edge of the lake, you see Bucky furiously storming out of the water, his clothes and gear sloshing with every movement. 

Sam claps a hand over his mouth to suppress his laughter as Bucky passes the both of you with a silent, seething glare. 

"I hate you," Bucky grumbles, fully drenched from head to toe.

"Love you too!' you call after him.

Chapter Text

You sling your small backpack over your shoulder, lightly pecking Bucky on the lips as he knits on the couch. "Alright, be back in a few hours."

"Ahem," Bucky loudly clears his throat, dropping his knitting needles. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

You think about it for a moment, patting your hand on each of your back pockets. "Phone, keys, er... I don't think so?"

He stands up off the couch with a confused, furrowed look on his face. "Are we in a fight that I don't know about?"

"No!" you guffaw. "Of course not."

"Are you mad at me or something?"

"No!"

"Okay, then what's going on?"

"Trying to figure that out myself!" you retort. "Why do you think we're in a fight?"

"Um... maybe because you were trying to leave for a mission like that!" he exclaims like it should be obvious to you. 

You rack your brain about to figure out what you did so differently that Bucky thinks you're upset with him.

Normally, you'd pack your bag an hour before you had to leave. It always drove him crazy, because according to him, if you failed to plan you were planning to fail. He'd warn you that you were going to forget something vital one of these days.

After you were done packing, you'd sit with Bicky for a little, waiting until the absolute last minute you could spare without being late. Then, you'd grab all your things, bag, phone, keys, and place them by the door. 

With a placating smile, you would pad over to where Bucky would always remain pouting on the couch. After a sweet, parting kiss, you'd wrap your arms around him, never wanting to leave his warm embrace. 

"Like wha-" you abruptly stop. An ear to ear grin grows on your face when you finally put it all together. "Hold on, are you, James Buchanan Barnes, asking me if I'm mad at you because you didn't get a hug today?"

"Yes," he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest with a pouting huff. "Was that not clear?"

"Aww..." you coo, extending your arms out to Bucky. "C'mere, I'll give you all the hugs."

Chapter Text

"Do you guys really have to do that when I'm right here?" Sam groans, side-eyeing the both of you.

"What?" you innocently ask, not seeing anything particularly wrong with the current movie night set-up.

Sam gestures to the two of you on the other side of the couch. Your legs are thrown over Bucky's lap, your head resting on his chest as the three of you enjoy a quiet movie night.

Bucky's arms are looped around your waist as you both nuzzle as closely together as humanly possible under a blanket that was much too small for two fully grown adults, let alone both you and a super soldier.

And Sam couldn't even see Bucky's hands tracing little patterns on your upper thigh trailing all the way up to your waist.

"That!"

"We're cold!" you defend. 

"So you both have to be under the same blanket?"

"Our other blanket just disappeared so we only have two blankets. And you're using the other one," you point out, gesturing to the blanket thrown over Sam's head, completely encompassing his body except for his face. 

"Then get another blanket!"

"Oh, I have a solution: Leave!" Bucky sarcastically exclaims, hoping you won't listen to Sam's complaints and buy another blanket after the last one had disappeared under slightly ambiguous circumstances. 

Now, you were only left with two blankets in your shared apartment. The first blanket, that was actually more of a throw, that you were both currently snuggled underneath. And the other a much larger king sized fleece that Sam always laid claim to for movie nights. 

You swat Bucky's shoulder, rolling your eyes at the two of them as Sam continues complaining, "Or- Or you could buy a bigger blanket! And don't even get me started on this whole 'we' thing. It's always 'we' this, 'we' that."

"We're getting annoyed," Bucky mutters under his breath.

The secret Bucky would take to his grave was that the elusive third blanket hadn't gone missing, he knew exactly where it resided, on the back of the highest shelf in the small linen closet where you'd never be able to see it. 

What could he say? He really liked sharing a blanket with you. 

Chapter Text

Coming back from missions was always particularly difficult for Bucky.

Adrenaline was usually still thrumming in his veins. His muscles still tense, on guard and ready to attack or defend at a moment's notice. His mind raced with what-if's, raked over the mistakes he made on a loop.

He was always keyed up, rattled.

And that was if the mission was successful.

The journey home was never a good time for him. It didn't matter if the jet ride was an hour or 18 hours, it was always grueling, like being forced to run a race after running a marathon.

His shoulders would ache from tension by the time they made it back, his jaw would be sore from clenching his teeth, sometimes he'd find small fingernail marks in the palm of his hand if it was bad enough. 

Most of his team-mates slept.

He could never understand how any of them could go from being in life or death situations to peacefully dozing off into a restful slumber. He envied that about them, he had certainly never been able to do that. He desperately wished that could be him.

Sometimes they'd go on about their excitement of returning home, to their loved one's, prattling on about plans and events that welcomed them.

For a long time, Bucky didn't have that. He didn't have anything to anticipate, to welcome him back.

Even after you'd entered his life, even though he knew if you weren't with him, you'd be waiting for him at the jet hangar with a warm smile and embrace, the return home was arduous at best, downright agonizing at worst.

Most of the time, Bucky sat and stared. He'd focus on the loud roar of the engine just to give him something else to think about. He'd mentally recite the service number on his dog tags on a loop. Count the lightbulbs flickering above and then count them again. 

Tonight, after a mission gone awry, he's especially anxious. Even as you finish bandaging up Sam and Nat with a lighthearted smile, he's unnerved.

It just never gets easier.

He can tell himself over and over that everything and everyone is okay. It doesn't make a difference.

Not the fact that he can see you standing there, sharing laughs and quips.

Not the fact that no one is severely injured.

Not the fact mission was technically successful.

It seems like a purgatory specially reserved for him.

The lights dim in the back of the jet as they prepare for an almost 8 hour journey back to the Compound.

You offer a small smile, not uttering a single word as you sidle up in the seat next to him. You don't ask him if he's okay. You don't make small talk. You don't say anything as though you know any words he'll offer will be for the sole purpose of humoring you.

He almost jolts when he feels your warm hand reach for his, your fingers lacing with his. 

He looks down at your hand, your thumb rubbing small circles into the back of his hand. 

It takes him a moment, but slowly he feels himself physically relax. You rest your head on his shoulder, slotting perfectly in the crook of his shoulder and neck. And to his surprise, he finds himself resting his head on top of yours.

You continue drawing small circles on his hand, each movement slow and soft, keeping a gentle, steady rhythm.

He doesn't even really register his eyelids slowly dropping, his breathing synchronizing to the slow pace of your fingers. 

You breathing slows, each slow inhale and exhale lulling him to sleep.

His eyelids droop, watching as yours do the same.

And with one last exhausted smile, you're both fast asleep.

At ease.

At peace.

Chapter Text

It was wrong.

So, so wrong.

He shouldn't even been thinking about it.

You'd been so faithful, so honest, and so open with him throughout the entirety of your relationship. 

The two of you were just shy of a year, and it was taunting him at this point.

You were gone, off on an assignment. He was all alone. He couldn't really be blamed for what he was about to do, could he? 

The worst part is that he knew he could get away with it. You would never know. It would be so easy. 

Surely, some boundaries shouldn't be crossed. Some actions couldn't be taken back. 

It was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Temptation at its most cruel. 

But he was so desperate at this point. He couldn't take it anymore. He had to do it. It was just one moment of weakness, right? 

It would be fine. You would be none the wiser. Things could continue as normal after the betrayal he couldn't stop himself from committing on this quiet, lonely night. 

He was pacing the bedroom, right in front of the bed the two of you slept in each night. He was almost wearing a path into the floor as he tried to rationalize what he was about to do. 

"Screw it," he decides, reaching for the very source of his temptation.

Dear diary....

Hello, James. 

He freezes, almost dropping your journal where he stands in complete shock.

At this very moment, he was cursing Sam for even putting the idea in his head. He was cursing himself for listening in the first place, especially after he told Sam that reading your journal was an egregious violation of privacy. 

He just wanted to find the perfect gift for you. To find something you wanted so badly for your approaching anniversary. 

He was sick of his gifts looking lousy in comparison to whatever magically perfect gift you got. It wasn't just him either, it was everyone.

For Sam's birthday a few months ago, you called his sister to find out what his most cherished childhood possession was. It was some toy that had been discontinued decades ago, and yet, you tracked down the last one in existence from a collector and gave it to him. Sam could still be caught playing with the stupid thing. 

For Bucky's birthday, you tracked down an old book of his mother's recipes. Bucky choked up at the mere sight of his mother's handwriting. And then you surprised him with a dinner consisting of near identical recreations of his favorite dishes.  

Bucky considered himself a pretty thoughtful person, but his gifts were always so exponentially inferior to yours.

Of course, you never told him that. You would gleam and glisten at whatever he gifted, but he knew, he knew.

Lost in his desperation, he sunk so low that he listened to Sam. He actually took Sam's terrible advice: just a quick glimpse in to your journal to get an idea of something that would take your breath away.

He looks back down at the page, clearly addressed to him: 

I knew Sam would break you.

He hangs his head, a groan of defeat leaving his mouth as he braces himself to face whatever words awaited him next.

You should know that I'm not actually upset. Mostly because I know you're going to beat yourself up for listening to Sam in the first place.

Steve told me you were having a hard time finding a gift for me. (He really can't keep a secret, so I'm not sure why you told him.)

Anyway, please know that I loved all the gifts you've ever given me.

(Steve also told me that you thought I was just being nice. Seriously, stop telling him secrets.) 

It's the thought that counts. I love them because they came from you. Stop worrying, it's not a contest.

P.S. Wouldn't it be funny if you actually didn't follow Sam's advice and this letter was for nothing? 

P.P.S. If it were a contest, I would win. But it's not!

Love you! 

He loudly groans. Though your words were comforting, he was still at square one and now even more determined to out-gift you. And now, you were onto him. "Damn it." 

Chapter Text

He knew that no one would believe him if he told them it was one of his favorite things in the world.

Perhaps it was simply because he was a man from the 40's.

Maybe it just reminded him of a simpler time in his life. A time before all the hurt, before his mind was tainted with all the ugliness he'd seen in the world, before his heart was painted blue. 

But he didn't think that was it.

No, he likes the way the warmth of your palms radiate through his shirt.

He likes that he can hear the way your heart rate slightly spike in anticipation when he dropped the needle onto a chosen vinyl record, just for it to slow as you rest your head against his shoulder.

Sometimes he doesn't even follow the rhythm of the music, but the steady thump of your beating heart.

He likes holding his hand out to you. He's giddy when he sees that shy smile on your face when you look up at him, a faint flush appearing on your face every time without fail.

He likes the all encompassing warmth that envelopes him as you secure your arms around him. He likes that he can feel your breath dance just above the collar of his shirt.

And the way your thumb will stroke his cheek, trailing down to his jawline.

He likes the way his breath catches in his throat when you press your lips to his shoulder, sometimes you'll press the most gentle of kisses just beneath his jaw, on his neck.

He'll never get enough of the goosebumps that erupt all over his skin when you do that. 

He likes that he'll never have to doubt that your hand will hold his. No words need to be shared. That for just a few moments, all the worries of the world seem to disappear. That nothing else matters in that moment except you and him. 

No one would ever believe him if he told them that it was one of his favorite things in the world.

But it was.

It really was. 

Chapter Text

"This is a stupid idea," Bucky deadpans, shoving the garment bag back in Steve's hand. 

"What?" Steve playfully exclaims, having spent the last thirty minutes in the common room trying to convince Bucky of their group costume. This was the only year Steve had even come close to getting Bucky to be a part of the group costume - and Steve knew it was for one very specific reason. "Come on! This is great, it'll be amazing!"

"We have very different definitions of amazing."

"It's the Three Musketeers," Steve continues, holding up his own costume. "That's a great costume!"

"It's really not."

"Shame that you think so," Steve dramatically sighs. 

Bucky's known Steve far too long to not be able to hear the meddling, masterminding undertone in Steve's words. Bucky quietly groans, his head thrown to the side. "And why is that Steve?"

"Nothing. I just - I might've heard that a certain someone is looking forward to seeing all the different costumes tonight. Maybe a special someone's costume."

And there it was. He didn't even need to look at Steve to see the insinuating smirk on his face. "Don't start."

"I also heard that she couldn't believe it when someone told her you were not only dressing up, but in a group costume too."

Bucky can almost picture it. The way your face would light up when you'd see him in this stupid costume. You'd laugh with him. You'd probably be so excited that he was making more of an active effort to be a real part of the team. Even more excited at the prospect of seeing him in a silly costume.

"And who would've said all that, Steve?" Bucky grumbles.

"I mean - I don't - I wouldn't know," Steve stiltedly lies.

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

"I may have heard that a few times," Steve quips.

Bucky takes another look at the costume, picturing the amount of embarrassment he'd have to endure wearing that atrocity. But not just an atrocity, a group atrocity, "No, no, I'm not! I'm not doing it!"

"Fine," Steve dramatically shrugs. "Imagine her disappointment when you're the only one that didn't dress up for the costume party. That you left Sam and me hanging."

And then he pictures the stutter in your smile when you realize that he's not going to be in costume like Steve so clearly told you he would be. He knows you probably wouldn't even say anything, you certainly wouldn't make him feel bad about it.

But he really wants to see that first image he had in his head. 

"Hey guys!" you greet, suddenly walking into the room with your own garment bag in hand. You nudge your head to the two opaque bags, "Getting ready for the costume party? I'm so excited, I've never celebrated Halloween before!"

"We're so excited," Steve eagerly replies, nudging Bucky with his elbow. "Aren't we, Buck?"

Bucky does his best to give a smile, but it ends up looking more like a pained cringe. He gives you a weak thumbs up, "So excited."

"What are you guys going as?" you quickly ask. Then you shake your head, retracting your previous question, "No, no, on second thought, don't tell me. Sam told me it's pretty cool though."

"So cool," Bucky reluctantly agrees, wanting the floor to swallow him whole. 

"Wanda's helping me get ready, but I'll see you guys tonight," you promise, waving at the two of them as you leave the common room.

Steve cheekily grins, "So?"

Even if he has to look incredibly stupid right next to Sam and Steve for a few hours, Bucky decides if he even sees a fraction of that excitement on your face, there's no way he can't not do it. Especially after he told you he would. 

He snatches the costume back from Steve's hand, ignoring the cheeky smirk on Steve's face. "Fine."

Chapter Text

"This is going to be so much fun," you tell Sam, carrying a large bowl of candy to the front of the Tower. 

"Where is Bucky anyway? No way he's ditching us, if we have to suffer, we suffer together," Sam pointedly remarks. 

"Handing out candy is suffering?" you guffaw, placing the bowl of candy on the small side table you set up earlier. 

"I just don't understand how we got stuck with trick or treating duty," Sam grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You roll your eyes, repeating the reasoning for what felt like the dozenth time, "Nat, Wanda, and Vision are on assignment. Tony and Clint are with their own kids. And this is punishment for that whole armory thing a couple weeks ago, remember? And the only reason Steve isn't here is because he's going to children's hospitals tonight."

"I still maintain that we did nothing wrong. It was all Steve and Bucky."

"What's so bad about this anyway? We got to put up some cool decorations," you say, gesturing to the fake spider webs that cover the entryway, the glowing jack o' lanterns each member of the team had carved, along with the flickering lights the three of you had spent all day putting up, "And we get to hand out sweet treats to kids, sounds like a good night to me."

"I guess," Sam sighs. His begrudged expression dropping as he takes in the sight of your matching costumes, "Pretty good costumes too."

"Right!" you excitedly agree, looking down to your matching costumes.

Sam was wearing a Thing 1 costume, while you matched him wearing a Thing 2 costume. The both of you wearing fuzzy little blue caps to match the ensemble. 

It was a funny little nod to the day Tony had assigned you three with trick or treat duty when he offhandedly called you two Thing 1 and Thing 2 with the amount of trouble you and Sam always found yourselves in. 

You both exchanged knowing looks in the conference room, silently agreeing on your costumes right then and there. 

Bucky was not as agreeable about tonight.

He didn't want to dress up, much less go out and have to find a costume. You solved that by offering to get a costume for him. Something nice. Something you knew everyone would love. 

He just didn't think to look in his costume bag until you and Sam were already dressed and out the door. He pulled it on, and had refused to step outside since. 

"Seriously, where is he?" Sam demands again.

"I'm right here," Bucky grumbles from the other side of the door. 

"Well, what are you doing? Get out here!" 

"I'm not stepping outside in this."

"What's wrong with it?" you innocently ask.

"I can not be seen like this," Bucky firmly declines. "I will never live it down."

"Please," you gently plead, still speaking through the door. "I really wanted to see your costume."

"Do it for the children," Sam taunts.

"If Sam says one word," Bucky threatens. "I will not be held responsible for what the children see me do to you."

"It's not like we're not dressed up too," Sam retorts, adjusting the blue fur hat on his head. 

"Come on, I thought it was a great costume!" you cajole. "Pretty please?"

Bucky shuts his eyes, steeling himself for the teasing he knows he's going to face after this. He takes one last deep breath, opening the front door to reveal his costume.

More specifically, his full length Cat In The Hat costume. 

"Oh my God," Sam slowly exclaims, his mouth literally dropping in glee when he finally sees Bucky in full costume.

"You look so great!" you marvel. "But where's the nose?"

Bucky frowns deeply, pulling at the chin strap that holds the long, red and white striped hat up, "I can where the nose or the hat. Not both."

"You did this to him?" Sam laughs, his eyes watering and laughter racking through his entire body. "Thank you, thank you so much!"

"What?" you innocently shrug, turning away from Sam to put a gentle arm around a particularly grumpy Bucky. "He didn't want to be one of the Things, but I wanted to stick with the theme."

"This is the best Halloween ever!" Sam decides, still unable to cease his overzealous laughter. 

Chapter Text

"No," Sam hisses into the phone, turned away from the conference room table as more of your team-mates filter into the conference room. "I'm not covering for you again. Fury's gonna be here today so you both need to get your asses here."

"Please?" you plead. "We're already in the city. We won't even make it back in time. Please?"

"No!"

"Please, please, please?" you implore.

"No. No-"

"Okay, thank you so much, Sam. Love you! Bye!"

"I-" Sam starts, only to be cut off by the little beep of a dead line. He angrily exhales at the dark phone screen. "Damn it."

Clint chuckles at Sam's expression. "They're not coming, are they?"

"No," Sam huffs. "They're not."

"Have fun explaining that to Fury," Clint snickers.

"Do not make this worse for me," Sam warns, already dreading telling Nick Fury that half the team hadn't even shown up for this meeting.

But he, the responsible Avenger that showed up prepared and 15 minutes early, was now going to have to answer for his truant teammates.

"Come on," Clint guffaws. "Doesn't matter what I say. Fury's got massive blindspots when it comes to anything about his golden child. "

"Do not make this meeting any worse for me, Clint," Sam pointedly repeats.

Clint continues, brushing off Sam's comment with another teasing remark. "You're telling me that he doesn't? The man is the literal director of SHIELD. He knows what happens in this Compound before the thought even occurs to anyone, and he hasn't figured out that his golden child has now moved in with Bucky?"

"Don't start," Sam sighs, not meeting Clint's probing gaze.

Clint knowingly gasps, his new realization lighting up his entire face. "Oh my God, he doesn't even know they're together, does he?"

Sam falters for a moment, silently cursing both you and Bucky for what he was going to have to put up with today. "But that's none of our business and we most certainly aren't going to say anything about it before they can!"

"But they're not here now, are they?" Clint challenges, a mischievous grin firmly planted on his face. "This is gonna be an amazing meeting. I can feel it already."

Sam leans over the table, planting both his hand on either side of him. "Please, Clint. I beg you to keep your mouth shut."

Clint shrugs, nonchalantly settling back in his chair. "You're just lucky Steve's not here. He'd fold the second Nick asked where they are."

"Where who is?" Nick questions, striding into the room.

"Um... it looks like a few of our fellow teammates will not be here today," Sam reluctantly informs, once again, silently cursing you and Bucky for making him cover for the two of you. Again. "They send their regards."

It wasn't that Sam was scared of Nick Fury, but he definitely didn't like the grimace already forming on Fury's face before he's even spoken.

And the thing was, Sam already knew that Nick Fury had an undeniable soft spot reserved for you. That soft spot undoubtedly came with perks, but that also meant Fury was very protective over you. Nick Fury being Nick Fury would never truly admit it, but he cared immensely about you.

Sam didn't really think you were deliberately hiding your relationship from Nick, you didn't see Nick very often and when you did it was usually in passing. One thing Sam did know, is that today of all days, in a meeting about an extremely important upcoming mission, and from Clint of all people, would be a terrible way to break that news to Nick Fury.

Nick opens his mouth to speak, but Sam cuts him off, quickly adding, "But I will relay any and all information to them."

"You could probably just tell Bucky, they're very close these days," Clint teases, using his hand to cover his suggestive smirk.

Sam isn't sure whether Clint's insinuation really does just go over Nick's head or if he's just choosing to ignore Clint, but Nick turns back to Sam with a frown. "And why isn't the entire team present?"

"Steve and Natasha believe they found a new lead in their assignment, so they are currently leading a recon mission. They'll be back later today," Sam informs, avoiding the subject of you and Bucky.

"And?" Clint prompts, a wicked grin on his face that tells Sam that he's enjoying the torment he's causing far too much to stop.

Sam clears his throat, biting back the obscenities he desperately wants to hurl at Clint. Sam gestures to the two glaringly open seats where you and Bucky both usually sit, "And they have both decided to take a personal day."

"At the same time?" Clint muses. "Isn't that strange?"

Sam sucks in an angry breath, sharply kicking Clint's shin underneath the table.

Nick cuts Clint off with the wave of his hand. "What she, or any of the other team for that matter, does on their off time is none of my concern."

"More like who."

"Clint," Sam sharply admonishes.

And with Clint's little snide comment, it all suddenly clicks into place for Fury, the realization hitting him like a truck. "Motherfu-"

Chapter Text

"Hey," Bucky gently coaxes. He stands behind your seat, lowering himself to wraps both his arms around you. He kisses the top of your head, speaking lowly, "It's late. Come to bed."

You sleepily hum, wanting nothing more than a good night's sleep. Still, you were desperate to prove yourself and even more determined to have the perfect plan all drawn up for tomorrow's mission. Your first one as mission leader.

It all needed to go perfectly. So here you sat, at the kitchen table, papers covering every inch of the table, the dim room only lit by the small lamp to the side of you and the string lights above you.  

You slowly exhale, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder. "Just running through this again."

"It's late," he reminds you as you look up at him with a tired smile. "And you're exhausted."

"I just want to make sure everything goes right tomorrow."

"And it will," Bucky promises. 

"But what if it doesn't?"

"But it will."

"But-"

He closes the file in front of you. "It will."

He moves from behind you to stand in front of you, forcing you to meet his striking gaze. "Tell me why you're so nervous."

You rest your head against him, the exhaustion weighing on you even more with every passing moment. "No one ever trusts me with anything. And if I mess up, no one ever will again."

Bucky gently strokes your head, still rested up against his abdomen. "That's not true. I trust you. And I don't trust anyone."

"You don't count. You love me too much."

He softly chuckles, still stroking the back of your crestfallen head. "Can you please look at me?' You reluctantly look up off the floor with a defeated sigh. His heart almost breaks at the exhaustion etched into your face, the glassiness of your eyes from stress and lack of sleep. "They gave you this mission because you're the best person for it. Because you're smart, quick on your feet, and because they trust you implicitly. And you're going to kick ass tomorrow. I promise."

You sigh, "I know it's silly-"

"It's not silly. It's perfectly normal to be nervous, but your plan is Sam-proof. I'd tell you if it wasn't."

"Don't you mean idiot-proof?"

"Same thing," he quips, relishing in the feeling of finally getting a small chuckle out of you after so many stress-filled days of planning. "Now, can we please go to bed? I miss you."

"You are such a softie, you know that?" 

"Just don't tell anyone else, I've got a reputation to uphold," he retorts. "Now let's get some sleep."

"Okay."

You place your hand in his, allowing him to pull you up off your desk chair. You smile up at him as he drags you to where a peaceful slumber awaits, feeling particularly thankful that somehow all the stars and planets aligned, and fate had brought you to Bucky, to your person.

Chapter Text

People had a lot of misconceptions about Bucky. They had a lot of misconceptions about mental health. It really only made sense that they had a lot of misconceptions about Bucky's mental health.

People often thought of anxiety attacks as rocking back and forth, tears streaming down flushed cheeks, a heart beating so fast that it felt like it would break free from its cage, and a lot of other actions that were generally untrue for Bucky. 

He sat and stared most of the time. Completely motionless, unblinking, unmoving, like the smallest motion would break him into a million little pieces. 

His heart raced, but it didn't feel like it raced. It was like his heart had been ripped out before him. He couldn't feel its beat. Sometimes, he was truly convinced that his heart no longer beat. It was the only thing that could explain the numb, lifeless, soul-killing feeling that took root in the marrow of his bones. 

It was like his exterior had to freeze in order to keep up with his racing interior.

His eyes naturally fall on a blank spot on the wall. He sits and stares so intently that the wall loses all characteristics, all noises sound so distant they can't reach his muddled mind, he's nothing and everything in this moment. 

In the distance, he hears you chirp a greeting as you throw the front door open. 

He wants it to faze him, for the sound to snap it out of him, but it doesn't. He's trapped within himself.

Catatonic.

"Honey?" you call.

He can hear your footsteps getting closer. In this state of mind, he wonders if this will be the time you've finally had enough of him. That you can't take it when he gets like this. That you need a person who isn't so... fucked in the head. 

"Oh," you quietly breathe. 

He waits for it.

For the inevitable to happen.

Maybe you'll be kind about it, suggest he get more help.

Maybe you'll tell him that you can still be friends.

Maybe, one day, if he wasn't too late, he'd become worthy of calling himself yours.

But it's not an 'oh' of disappointment, not one of frustration, of sadness, and God forbid, not one of pity.

It's just an 'oh'.

A sound of acceptance and understanding. 

You don't touch him. You don't speak. You don't do anything. 

You take a seat next to him on the couch, just close enough that he can feel the warmth of your proximity, just enough to let him know that you're right there with him. 

And just like all those times before, he slowly finds his way back to himself, back to you. 

Chapter Text

"Well, it's official, we're lost," you declare, you and Bucky off standing to the side of his car that he pulled over just moments ago. 

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Bucky sarcastically remarks, the two of you looking in the direction you were just aimlessly heading down.

"Oh, come on, lighten up," you tease, grabbing Bucky's arm to place it around your shoulders. He rolls his eyes, but still pulls you closer into his embrace. "There's no one I'd rather be lost with."

He playfully grunts, raising his eyebrow slightly. "Thanks for that."

"I'm serious," you exclaim. "Look at this view! Got a super soldier to keep me toasty warm. This is great."

"It has been a great day," Bucky wistfully agrees. He takes a moment to enjoy how nice of a day it's actually been. Cruising all around upstate New York. No calls. No missions. No assignments looming around the corner. Watching from his peripheral as you sang and danced in the passenger seat. Holding the steering wheel with one hand, holding your hand with the other. It was a perfect day. It was more than either of you usually got in your line of work. Bucky sighs deeply, sparing one last kiss to the top of your head before removing his arm from around your shoulders. "Guess we should figure out our way back."

"Why?" you wonder.

"What?"

You languidly shrug, truly unbothered at the thought of being lost. "Why do we have to figure out our way back right now? We've both got the weekend off, no place to be, nothing that needs our immediate attention. Why do we have to go back right this second?"

Bucky ponders your words for a moment. And honestly, he can't think of a good reason. You're right, it's not a bad place to be lost. The fall leaves were still brightly colored instead of a dull browns and yellows, they dusted the road, rhythmically falling on the windshield as you coasted down the long, winding roads without a care in the world. The sun was setting along the horizon, giving everything in sight a nice golden glow. 

"So what do you suggest?"

You look up at him with a warm smile and an adoring gleam in your eye. "That we just keep driving."

Chapter Text

Sam sighs deeply at the sight of your triumphant grin. "I said you could bring one thing to the stakeout! One thing! Like a comfort item or a blanket or literally anything else!"

"I did bring a comfort item," you state, a mischievous grin on your face as you gesture to Bucky. "He's my comfort item."

"I hate you guys," Sam mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"So he can stay?"

"Just get in the car!"

Chapter Text

"Did you mess with the thermostat or something?" you question, curling further into Bucky's your sweater as you walk out of your bedroom. "It's freezing in here."

"Hmm..." Bucky audibly thinks, theatrically tapping his chin in hopes it'll sell his bold-faced lie. "Nope. Not that I can think of."

"Okay, let me just-" you start, taking a step towards the thermostat. 

"But," Bucky quickly interjects, halting your steps, "Tony did say something about maintenance today."

"Maintenance on the thermostats?" you repeat, a doubtful, furrowed expression on your face. 

"I mean, it is what it is," Bucky shrugs, lifting the big, fuzzy blanket off of his lap in a gesture for you to join him. "But I am more than willing to just sit on the couch and cuddle under a blanket. For the sake of being warm, of course."

You furrow your eyebrows again, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. "Of course."

You join Bucky on the couch, swinging your legs over his lap. He wears a proud grin, fairly confident his masterminding schemes have gone undetected as he throws the blanket over the both of you. 

He sighs in contentment as his arms snake around you. "This is nice."

You allow him one singular moment to believe that you bought his silly little lie before you turn to him, placing your arms around his shoulder to give him a knowing look. "You messed with the thermostat, didn't you?"

"What?" he guiltily guffaws. "Me? Mess with the thermostat? I would never." You turn to look at him with a disbelieving look, stopping his attempts to sell his story. "Okay, my hand might've slipped and accidentally turned off the thermostat."

"Accidentally?" you tease with an eyebrow raised.

"Accidentally. On purpose. Semantics, really."

You chuckle, rolling your eyes as you settle your head against his chest again. "You're so lucky I love you and your dorky little schemes."

He sleepily hums, his eyes shutting as you both nuzzle closer together, "Yeah, I am."

Chapter Text

"Hey, did you guys-" Sam starts, bursting through your front door to see Bucky jolt as he sits on the couch faced away from him. 

"Sam," Bucky awkwardly states, still facing away from Sam. "How'd you get in here?"

Sam falters from the entryway. "I, uh, I have a key. Is everything okay?"

Bucky uncomfortably clears his throat. "Everything's great. Just didn't know we gave you a key."

"We? No. Your girlfriend, yeah." Sam takes another step toward the couch, seated in the middle of the apartment. "Are you... wearing a headband?"

"It's a sweat band," Bucky grunts, angling himself further away from Sam's view. 

Sam takes another step forward, craning his neck to look at Bucky. "Sweat bands aren't fuzzy."

In that moment, as Sam rounds the couch, Bucky decides there are two ways he can play this: One, he can go on the defensive. Or, he could own the self care day you and him were currently enjoying. He turns around to face Sam with an unimpressed frown, though that hardened expression is mostly covered by a freshly placed face mask. "It's called self care, Sam. You should try it sometime."

"Oh, hey, Sam!" you greet, suddenly walking into the room. "Wanna do face masks with us?"  

Sam blithely shrugs. "Okay!"

Chapter Text

One of the hallmarks of your presence was flowers.

You kept them everywhere in your apartment. 

Now, Bucky wasn't a plant person. He didn't have a green thumb. He could barely keep the little cactus on the windowsill alive. 

Very little of it made sense to him. Scientific names of flowers, why different plants needed different climates to survive, how you could tell the difference.

He could, however, listen to you talk about flowers and plants and all that other nature stuff all day, but it had very little to do with any interest in starting a plant nursery and everything to do with the way you'd glisten and gleam with your entire face lit up as you told him about your newest addition to your garden. 

It was a little comical to Bucky. You didn't think you were very smart. He only wished that you could see yourself from his point of view when you rattled off dozens of scientific names of plants and flowers he had no idea existed, or when you would start explaining the long history of flowers being used as symbols in literature like it was common knowledge. 

To be fair, it was easier for you. To keep a plant alive didn't take all that much effort for you, and on the very slim chance a plant died on your watch, you could always bring it back with a wave of your hand. 

Because of that, you'd told Bucky that he didn't have to watch over your plants a million times. You told him that it wasn't a big deal and you didn't want to add another responsibility to his normal routine. 

And usually, that was fine for Bucky. You normally were only gone a few days. 

This time, he was going on day 22.

It happened every once in a while. A mission that wouldn't go right in spite of everyone's best efforts. You called him whenever you got a minute to yourself to keep him posted on how you were doing and how the assignment was progressing, but the separation was always taxing.  

He knew you would always come back. In that he had faith. There really wasn't another choice but to have faith, he wouldn't and couldn't accept any other fate.

But it was always a little sad when the plants that adorned your apartment started to wilt, slowly drooping down day by day, going limp with lifelessness. Instead of walking by a windowsill filled with little reminders of you, he was haunted by the absence of you. 

He noticed it on day 7. The slight drooping of leaves and stems as he walked around the apartment, your two pets following him around as he took in the slightly depressing sight.

His heartstrings were already strained from the absence of his person. And watching as one of the things you loved most in the world slowly wither away, he couldn't take it. But especially on day 10, when one of your more fickle plants, some kind of orchid or something, started losing its petals. 

He didn't care about plants. Not in the slightest. But when he woke that morning to see orchid petals on the floor, horror struck in his heart as he gasped with sorrow. 

All of day 10 and 11, he spent asking anyone who would listen about reviving an orchid. 

He dragged Sam into his apartment, citing an emergency. And when they got to the apartment, Bucky gestured to the flower petals on the floor. He was so desperate, he asked Sam how he should fix it, figuring Sam had learned a thing or two about plants when you two lived together. Instead of anything remotely helpful, Sam looked at him strangely. "Don't you just water it?"

"No," Bucky sighs like Sam should already know this. "You can't just water an orchid."

"Why not?"

"I don't know." 

"Look at you," Sam teases, nudging Bucky with his elbow as Bucky stares at all your slowly dying plants. "All domestic now, watering plants, massacring orchids." 

"Why do I even bother asking you for help?"

"Honestly, no idea."

On day 12, he got to researching. Bucky still wasn't very good at the whole Internet, smartphone thing, but for you he was willing to try. He spent hours trying to identify your plants, writing down how each one needed to be cared for. 

And he had to hand it to you, because you made it look so easy. 

Bright and early on day 13, he got to work. Working his way through each and every plant in the apartment, cross-referencing his scribbled notes. He spent almost an entire day hunched over, checking the humidity points in the apartment, misting plants, drenching others, shifting pots so they faced the sun correctly. 

His heart almost shattered when another petal fell that day. But he persevered, following his researched methods to a T.  

And finally, when he woke on day 14, he noticed some slight improvements. 

And by day 24, things were looking pretty good. Except maybe for an annoyed dog and cat that were looking at him like an obsessive crazy person. And Bucky could concede that maybe they had a point. 

And he was so glad he was a slightly obsessive crazy person, because on day 25 you called with the best news he'd heard in the last 25 days: you were finally coming back home. 

13 hours later, you were bounding into Bucky's tight embrace, chucking your bag on the floor to greet him, Alpine, and Max. He scooped you up into an overzealous hug that quite literally swept you off your feet. When he reluctantly put you down, you immediately caught sight of Bucky's hard work.

"Oh." You clutch your chest, your heart swelling with the sweetness and thoughtfulness of Bucky tending to all of the plants around the apartment. You knew firsthand how tricky, especially your lovely orchid. "You didn't have to do that."

"Ah," he dismissively waves his hand with a noncommittal grunt. "Was nothing."

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You hold your breath, desperate to remain hidden in the dark labyrinth.

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"Okay, I'm just going to say it. I have to say it!" Sam decides, taking advantage of your momentary absence. 

Bucky sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as the end credits to Frozen run on the screen. "Please don't."

"Frozen is so much better than Tangled," Sam confidently declares. 

You stand at the doorway, a freshly popped bowl of popcorn in your hands. You dramatically gasp at Sam's statement. "How could you even say that?"

"I-" Sam starts stammering. He shakes his head, stopping himself from retracting his statement. "You know what, I said it because it's true!"

You point to the door with your unoccupied hand, "Get out."

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"But maybe," you brightly interject, a beaming grin on your face. "Maybe the real mission was the friends we made along the way."

"What?" Tony sharply exhales, both his words and expression coated in complete and utter disbelief. "Because I was under the impression that the mission was retrieving old SHIELD files without blowing up a HYDRA base."

"In our defense-"

"Nothing good has ever come after those words, Sam," Tony angrily states, cutting Sam off.

"Tony's right," Bucky solemnly agrees. "But in our defense-"

Tony frustratedly throws his hands up. "That's it. I give up!" 

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He takes a deep breath of relief as the door quietly clicks shut, he leans down placing his duffle bag on the floor as quietly as possible. Bucky had his suspicions that you'd fallen asleep waiting up for him, in spite of his insistences that you didn't have to, given that your responses to his text updates suddenly tapered off about an hour ago.

The space is quiet. The only source of light is the warm glow of the sting lights you made him hang around the room and all across the ceiling as a beautifully intricate pattern of lights weaving all across the ceiling.

He creaks open the bedroom door to find you splayed out on your side of the bed, glasses still on, book in hand. It's clear to him that you really tried to wait up for him. 

Bucky softly chuckles at the sight of you dozed off in the middle of reading a book. He leaves the door slightly ajar as he keeps working his way through his nightly routine.

He slowly creaks open the fridge, immediately noticing the Tupperware put front and center of the middle shelf. He smiles to himself at the sight of the pink post it note that read 'welcome home' with small hearts all around the words. 

He decides that he's more interested in sleep than eating right now in the dead of night. He closes the fridge, ready for a least a few hours of sleep next to his person.

Bucky unplugs the lights, the apartment now completely dark except for the little lamp on your nightstand. 

He creeps over to your side of the bed, gently prying the book from your hands. He freezes when you incrementally stir, a sleepy hum leaving your lips. When your slow, even breaths continue, he carefully lifts your glasses off your face. He reaches out to flick your lamplight off, the only light now the soft moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains. 

He takes the comforter, now strewn to the side, and pulls it back up around your shoulders. He takes another moment, watching you as you sleep to simply appreciate what he has to come back to.

Through all the hectic schedules, the chaos, through it all, he always has something to come back to. And for it to be someone who understands him and unconditionally loves and accepts him, it's more than he ever thought he'd get in this life.

He pads over to his side of the bed. Bucky's own routine is regimented, the exact same procedure every single night. He unlaces his boots, neatly tucking each one in the shoe rack where yours are haphazardly thrown.

Bucky tucks your head beneath his chin, relishing in the feeling of the quiet reunion. 

In the feeling of home.

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"I don't understand how you don't like her. She's literally the most like-able person to ever exist. I think she's the actual embodiment of cotton candy and cupcakes."

"So tooth-rotting fluff?"

You hear this, but take a deep breath before saying anything. You know Bucky's just trying to rile you up, but you refuse to let him. "There's nothing wrong with a little fluff, James. It's good for the soul. Plus, fluff is the best part of any book!"

"I don't think that's true," he grumbles.

"Sure it is! That moment that everyone just gets to just be is awesome."

"Is everything awesome to you?" he snarks.

"Pretty much," you nod, laughing a little bit.

"You know, if you're nice she'll make cinnamon rolls for breakfast."

"It's alright, Sam," you turn around and start walking backwards. "Even if James isn't nice, I'll make the cinnamon rolls."

Sam gestures to you, silently asking Bucky how it is that he just couldn't get along with you. "I'm not five, I don't eat cinnamon rolls for breakfast."

"You're missing out," you call again before turning back around. You continue walking until you hear the rumble of a car further down the road. As the car pulls up, you see a vaguely familiar face: John- the New Captain America. You knew Bucky and Sam weren't pleased with the whole situation, but you only offered an ear to listen. You'd never admit it, but for once you didn't have anything nice to say, so you opted to say nothing.

He offers you three a ride, and you're about to respond when Bucky declines for you three. You watch them go back and forth for a few minutes, when you decide that this is going no where. "It couldn't hurt, could it?"

"It actually could," Bucky remarks, but you're already climbing into the vehicle. You remain silent in the vehicle, content to look out and watch the scenery.

Bucky remains silent, finding no amusement in you. He's not sure what it is about you, why you set him off. You just do. He knows literally everyone loves you, that no one has ever had an unkind word to say about you. You'd gotten along great with Steve. In fact, Steve used to get a real kick out of you, out of your demeanor, and your ability to toe that fine line of a strong Avenger and a human ball of sunshine flawlessly. But something about you bothered Bucky, it made him uneasy. You were too kind, too bubblegum to be an Avenger, to wield the kind of power you wielded. It didn't make sense to him.

When you three make it back to your apartment that evening, Sam reluctantly leaves you two alone. He's warned Bucky plenty of times to be nice to you. You three had been working together for weeks and every day Bucky got progressively more curt and agitated with you. Sometimes he was downright mean, but you always deflected it. You'd say something about how you admired his honesty, his brashness. Or you'd try to validate his feelings. Then the next day, you'd do something nice for Bucky to apologize for upsetting him. It only made him even angrier.

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"In my heart is a Christmas Tree Farm," you quietly hum to yourself from the passenger seat. 

"You've never even been to a Christmas Tree Farm," Sam grumbles under his breath from the back seat. 

You whirl around to face Sam with an arched eyebrow and challenging expression. "And?"

"So how can a Christmas Tree Farm be in your heart if- "

"We're here," Bucky announces to you both, purposefully cutting off your bickering before it spirals out of control. 

"Great!" you beam, quickly opening the door and stepping onto the lot filled with the most beautiful Christmas tree farm you've ever seen. Even if it was the only one you'd ever seen.

Lights are strung above the extensive lot of trees, each one lined up row by row. Snow lightly dusts the ground as the chilly winter air bites at your cheeks. 

You hear the sound of the car door slam behind you as Sam steps out of the car, not entirely enthused to being tasked with picking the tree. 

You roll your eyes at him as Bucky sidles up on the right side of you, Sam on your left. "Will you lighten up? This is gonna be fun!"

"Sure," Sam agrees, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff. "But you know they only gave us tree duty because no one else wanted to do it."

"You know, I don't really get why. You guys make it sound terrible, but this isn't so bad," you offer, nonchalantly shrugging your shoulders as you three amble through the parking lot and to the wooden fence with a faded entrance sign. 

"Why?" Sam guffaws. "Do you know how hard it is to impress a room full of superheroes? They're mean, they're picky, and last year they made fun of the tree that I picked out!"

"Because it was a terrible tree," Bucky mumbles under his breath. 

What followed were hours of Bucky and Sam picking trees that for one reason or another were terrible choices: too small, too big, too many branches, too sparse, didn't have the right Christmas feel.

Each time, you sighed and nestled closer into the crook of Bucky's arm for warmth. 

"Guys, it's been three hours. We still have to get back and actually put the tree up," you point out, practically zipped up in Bucky's coat with him at this point.

"What about this one?" Bucky asks, grabbing one of the branches of an already browning tree. 

"Because you want a tree for the ghost of Christmas past?" Sam sarcastically asks.

"So what? It gives it character!"

"Yeah, that'll be fun, watching the team Christmas tree die before we even make it to Christmas," Sam sarcastically remarks. "I'm sure that'll put everyone in the holiday spirit."

"Like you could do any better," Bucky scoffs, letting the tree branch go.

"This one," Sam decides, gesturing to a tree down the aisle. "This one's perfect."

You tilt your head at the crooked tree Sam just chose. "Um... it's a tree?"

"Are you joking?" Bucky grimaces.

"What? What's wrong with it?"

"It leans about 30 degrees too far to the right is what's wrong with it!"

"No, it doesn't!"

"Yes, it does!" 

"You're just jealous that you keep picking bad trees."

"You keep picking bad trees!"

"There's no such thing as bad trees, guys, only unique trees," you placatingly offer. "And maybe we shouldn't be insulting the trees in front of the tree farm people?"

"Okay, Linus," Sam snorts, rolling his eyes. "Tell us about the true meaning of Christmas too, why don't you?"

"I mean, I can try if you want, alright the true meaning-"

"It was a joke," Sam cuts you off. "Remind me to add Charlie Brown to your movie list."

"Hey, you were the one that asked," you remind him.

"And I regret it already," Sam quips. 

"What about this one?" you ask the two of them, pointing to the tree just to the side of you, tucked in the very corner of the aisle, a large evergreen that didn't look like it was browning, nor had large bald spots, and didn't look like it was going to tip over at any given moment. 

"You know for a man that claims not to trust us, he sure is putting a lot of faith in us with this tree," Sam bitterly remarks. 

"Didn't Tony tell you? We're only picking the tree for the common room."

Sam's lips purse as he begins his through examination of your choice. He nods slowly like it all makes sense to him now, "Ohhh... see? That makes so much more sense."

"Yeah, Pepper's already got people to decorate the big one in the Compound," you explain as he continues his inspection by slowly circling the tree.

"There's people for that?" Bucky asks you.

"There's people for everything," Sam replies, though you can't see him from the other side of the dense tree. 

"So then why did we need to pick the tree?"

"No idea." You blithely shrug, still looking up at the tree. "Before we get this one, don't you think this one'll be too big?"

Sam cranes his neck up to look at the top of the tree. His mouth twists as he mulls over your words. After a very short second, he definitively shakes his head, dismissively waving his hand at you. "Nah, it'll be fine."

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"Not to state the obvious, guys, but I think that the tree might be a little too big," you decide, wincing at the sight of the very top of the tree bending against the ceiling as Sam and Bucky try to get it to stand entirely upright. 

"You think?" Sam sarcastically asks, wedging the tree as far upright as it'll go. 

"Do you think we have time to go back before they get here?" you ask, cringing when they both take a step back to look at the tree that was clearly several feet too tall for the common.

"I don't think so, they're supposed to be back in an hour."

"Maybe we can just cut off the bottom," Bucky wryly suggests. 

"That is the worst idea I've ever heard," Sam deadpans.

"Maybe we can cut a hole in the ceiling. It'll be like a skylight!" you enthusiastically offer.

"Okay, never mind, that was the worst idea I've ever heard," Sam amends. 

"I don't hear you suggest anything," Bucky argues.

"Because I didn't even want to be on tree duty!"

"Guys," you try interjecting. "Guys!"

"And? Aren't you the one-" 

"Oh my God..." Steve over-enunciates as he walks into the room, cutting off Sam and Bucky's bickering.

"Uh, like I was trying to say, I think the team got back early," you state, jutting your thumb to your team mates slowly filtering into the common room from the doorway behind you. 

"I gave you three one job! One job while we were gone."

"So, really, if you think about it, you only have yourself to blame," you tease, clapping your hand on Tony's shoulder.  

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"Making the most of your day off, Pinkie?" Tony asks, nudging his head towards the box in your hands. 

"Well, Palentine's only happens once at year," you quip, placing the box on the common room coffee table.

Tony dramatically sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know I'm going to regret asking, but what?"

"Palentine's Day," you state matter of factly. "It's a thing."

"It's definitely not a thing," Steve agrees.

"Of course it is," you retort, dismissively waving at the both of them. "Why else would me and Sam, every year on the day after Valentine's, go look for all the leftover candy that's on sale. After that, we go have lunch and discuss the rest of you."

"You talk about the rest of us when we're not there?" Tony indignantly guffaws.

"Can I just add how nice you look today?" Steve quickly compliments.

"Duly noted, Steve. I will take that into consideration."

"Alright, this year I know I've got you beat-" Sam starts as he walks into the room with an oversized box in his arms, only to stop when he sees Steve and Tony also in the common room. "Oh, hey, Steve, Tony."

"What's in the box, Sam?" Tony deeply sighs. "A gift for a holiday that no one has ever heard of?"

"Someone's exceptionally bitter today," Sam quips. 

"Well, when two of my colleagues take the day off for a made up holiday it tends to put you in a bad mood," Tony sarcastically remarks.

"Aren't most holidays just made up?" Sam counters.

Tony opens his mouth, only to close it when he realizes he doesn't have an adequate rebuttal. 

"Oh, you should open mine first!" you eagerly insist, gesturing to the box in front of you. 

"Aw... you didn't have to get me -," Sam stops mid-sentence as he pops off the top of the gift box. He softly gasps at the sight of the glass bottle securely tucked into the box. He lifts it closely examine the contents: a miniature replica of his family's boat. "How did even you do this?" 

"I asked your sister for several very detailed pictures of the boat. And getting it in a bottle? That's for me to know."

"This is so cool," Sam marvels, still holding the bottle an inch away from his face. "Looks just like my family's boat in Louisiana."

"Your family has a boat?" Tony questions.

"You're from Louisiana?" Steve simultaneously asks.

Sam shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he puts the bottle back in the box. "Okay, okay, your turn."

"Alright," you excitedly agree. You tear through the tissue paper of Sam's gift bag to reveal a giant, green, plush animal inside. It's only when you pull the plush out of the bag that you see that the gift is an oversized plush chameleon, just like the sidekick in your favorite movie. "Oh my God, this is amazing! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"It's a chameleon..." Steve awkwardly lilts. "Because you're adaptable?"

"Or like the sidekick from her favorite movie," Sam corrects with a sigh. Sam's head turns slightly, his voice dropping slightly, "You didn't invite them, did you?"

"You know, we're right here. We can hear you," Tony points out. 

Sam drops his voice even lower, leaning in closer to you, "You didn't-"

"This is not normal," Tony interjects. "This is a very weird thing to do with your friends."

"You mean your friends don't get you giant, plush versions of your favorite cartoon characters?" you pose.

Tony fervently shakes his head. "No!" 

"Then you guys need better friends," Sam mutters under his breath. 

"Tell me about it," you mumble. 

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"Hey, can I ask you a question?" you ask Bucky, the two of you sitting across from each other. Bucky puts down his book with a curious expression. "It's something I've wanted to ask since I've known you actually."

Bucky freezes, his curious expression morphing into an anxious one. "Uh, sure..."

The seconds slow as his mind races with all the things you could want to ask him. His time in HYDRA. His time as a fugitive. Anything having to do with the Winter Soldier was usually enough to send people running. Maybe even worse, his body count - and that was either iteration of that question.

"Is your jacket sleeve detachable or do you resew it after every mission? Because I gotta be honest, that seems like a lot of work."

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"And we landed back at the Compound at 11:57. Perfectly on time," you finish, smilingly proudly at the work you'd done for your first assignment as mission leader.

"Excellent work," Nick Fury comments.

"He doesn’t even tell me good job," Clint bitterly mutters under his breath.

"Thanks, Dad," you quickly thank, placing your debrief back into its manila envelope. The room silence as all eyes snap back to you. It takes you a moment to feel the pointed stares of your team mates. You look up, "Why is everyone staring at me?"

"You just called Fury 'dad'," Sam tells you.

"What?" you huff in disbelief. "No, I didn't."

"You definitely did."

"And it all makes sense now," Clint boisterously comments.

"Shut up, Clint," you quip.

"Shut it, Barton," Nick reprimands simultaneously.

"Wow..." Sam teases. "Like father, like daughter."

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"And you will never - " 

"Oh," you interrupt with a raised hand. 

"Yes?"

"Are you about to do the monologue thing? Is there any way would could like fast forward through this part?" 

"What?" the villain tersely exhales. 

"You know, like the monologue thing. Do you mind if we just skip it today?" 

"Skip it?" the villain repeats, crossing his arms in a huff.

"Yeah, I'm just - I'm already going to have to write all of this in the debrief and from what it looks like it's going to be a pretty long one. Plus, I have dinner plans tonight," you meekly explain. 

"I'm sorry, am I intruding on your personal life? Plotting to end the world isn't important enough to cancel dinner plans?" 

"No, of course it is! But we've sort of had these plans for like 3 months, which is technically longer than we've known about you."

"I just think it's bad manners, rude even," the villain chides. "I work really hard on those monologues."

"It's not personal or anything," you quickly assure him. "I'm sure they're great monologues. I'm so convinced of your villainy."

"Really?" the villain hopefully asks. "You're not just saying that?"

"Of course not! In fact, I'd love to hear your evil monologue," you insist. 

"Well, if you insist. And you and your Avengers will never - No, you see, now it's too late. The moment's gone," the villain throws his hands up in defeat. 

"If it makes you feel any better, I really liked the first part," you offer. "I almost called for backup and everything."

"Really? Because I was worried it was too much-"

"No! Not at all, I think it adds character, you know?"

Just then, your comms device crackles to life in your ear, "Everything okay? Bad guy apprehended yet?"

"Oh, I almost forgot about that part," you mutter to yourself.

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"And that was an order," Steve commands in his best Captain voice.

Not even a split second later, a laugh slips from Bucky's lips. He covers his mouth with his curled up fist. "Sorry, that was an order. Got it."

Bucky can barely finish the sentence with an even tone. You stare down at the floor, doing your best to hold in your laugh, though you're only spurred on by Bucky's infectious laughter. Giggles flood your mouth, spilling out of your squeezed shut mouth, "Sorry-"

Your sentence is cut off by Sam's laughter from beside you, "That was an order."

"Guys," Steve grumbles like a petulant child. "I'm in charge."

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"Can I ask you for your advice?"

Peter's voice comes from the other side of the common room where he'd been working on homework. It was a common enough occurrence. Today, it was just you and Peter, but there were plenty of times that MJ and Ned also joined him.

You look around the room to find no one else besides you and Peter. You turn back to him pointing at yourself, "You're asking me?"

"Yeah."

"Er... I don't think I'm supposed to be giving advice. That's Steve and Sam territory."

"Nah," Peter disagrees. "I want to hear what you think. Besides if I ask them, Steve'll start calling me 'son' again, and Sam's still pretending I'm invisible."

"Again?" you sigh, shaking your head. Peter wordlessly nods. You dismissively wave your hand, "Don't worry about it, I'll talk to Sam."

"Wait, that wasn't what I needed your advice on! Please?"

"Oh.. sure!" you shrug.

"Well, I guess, I'm sorta having a hard time with the superhero thing. Sam told me that you've never, you know," Peter hesitates, tugging at his collar as an insinuation. "Killed anyone."

You frown, "Oh."

"I mean, I just - I wanted to know how you do it."

"How I don't kill people?"

"No - I mean - Sorta. Sam told me that you hold back a lot," Peter sheepishly explains. "And I guess, I sorta knew that already. I mean you could kill us all if you wanted to. Not that I thought you would do that or anything, but like even with bad guys. And you're just like so happy all the time!"

You take a moment to process Peter's rambling. Your mouth twists apologetically, "Pete, I won't lie to you, I don't think there was a question there."

"You seem decently happy with Mr. Bucky, not that I can really tell because he's always frowning at me. But you are. You're happy. You have a life. I just wanna know how you do it."

"You want to know how I have a life?"

"Is that a stupid question? It's a stupid question, isn't it?"

"No!" you assure Peter. "Of course not! I'm glad you came to talk to me, I'm very wisdomous."

"So?"

"Oh, right..." Your mouth twists as you think about Peter's question for a long moment. "I dunno, that was a choice that I made when I was thrown into this. I didn't want to be someone other people were scared of. I want to be good. I want to believe that people are good."

"Even when they're not?"

You chuckle, "I didn't say it was easy. I forget that sometimes too. That's why you surround yourself with good people. They'll remind you when you forget."

"That's really it?"

"And I listen to a lot of Taylor Swift."

Peter nods in agreement, "Already do that."

Chapter Text

"Come on... Please?" Bucky pleads, the sweet smell of some sort of pastry cooking in the oven wafting through the air and taunting him.

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You prop Bucky up against the wall of the burning building. You admonish him as he tries to push your hands away from his wound, "You are so stubborn!"

Bucky angrily sucks in a breath, the smoke filled air getting caught in his throat. It doesn't stop him from continuing this argument with you, "Me?"

"This is going to hurt, just hold still," you warn before taking a piece of Bucky's shirt and pressing into the stab wound.

You knew the serum would help heal him, you just needed to make sure he didn't bleed out before it did.

Bucky gasps, groaning in pain, "Damn it!"

"I told you it was going to hurt!" you shout back.

"No, damn it that you're stuck here with me!"

"Okay, I know we're fighting, but you'd really rather be stuck here alone than with me?" you ask, a little offended by Bucky's frustration with you.

Only a few minutes ago, you were faced with a decision that sealed your fate. You both knew you could've gotten out, but you would've had to leave Bucky behind.

He begged you. He ordered you. He shouted, bargained, did everything to convince you to leave him. You wouldn't hear it.

And now, you were stuck here with him. Sealed off in one of the few rooms that were still standing.

He hated himself for it.

"I'm mad because all I wanted was for you to be safe!" Bucky fumes. "I'm mad because now the love of my life is trapped inside this burning building with me!"

Your hands still firmly planted on his side, your head whips up to look at him. You softly exhale, "What?"

His unbloodied hand, rests underneath your chin. There's a tenderness that shouldn't be in the eyes of someone very literally standing in a burning building, "Why do you think I took that knife for you?"

"Why do you think I'm standing here in a burning building with you?" Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into the feeling of Bucky's calloused fingertips trailing your cheekbones. You open your eyes and look at him with all the sincerity and adoration that you feel for him, "Because the thought of leaving you here, the thought of leaving you hurt, of you alone for just one second, is worse than the thought of being stuck in a burning building."

You lean forward, resting your forehead against Bucky's. "Damn, you're good."

"I know," you chuckle. "Now, that's enough of that. We should probably figure out how to get out of here."

"I thought we agreed that it was useless."

"Well, that was before you said you had feelings for me! We can't just die now, it just got good!"

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