Archive of Our Own

If someone were to ask James Buchanan Barnes if he’s a morning person, he might say yes, he is. He might say that he likes the colors of the sky just after the sun rises, likes to hear the birds sing him awake and feel the early hour chill on his skin as he slinks out of bed to stand beside the window, glimpsing the city jumping back to life after a short nap. James Buchanan Barnes could say all these things to your face, wrapped up with a nice little smile, because he’s proficient in the art of bullshitting.

James is a morning person in the sense that he wakes up at 6am every day, but it’s definitely not so he can throw open his arms and greet the world with bright eyes and happy sighs. He wakes up, trudges to his espresso maker, and stands stock still until he can gulp down the scorching liquid that readies him for the treadmill in his living room. He runs for 45 minutes with the television on as background noise he ends up drowning out in favor of skimming the latest stack of manuscripts he’s been saddled with. Then he showers, shaves, gets dressed, and devours at least two bowls of cereal that tastes like cardboard while reading more drivel to decline.

This, without fail, has been his routine for the past five years

+ +

Steve Rogers is an actual morning person, but only on weekends.

He beams at the sun like he’s never seen anything so grand and often sketches his neighbors in the Bay Ridge area or the water when he can bother to concentrate enough for balancing his sketchbook on the railing.

While Steve’s usual routine consists of a hardy breakfast, a long run, and a hot shower before a teeth gritting day at work, sometimes the previous night sees him conking out so deeply that his measly alarm can’t rouse him on time. And even though Steve is very much a morning person, his subconscious seems to think otherwise because, when left to its own devices, his internal alarm never seems to wake him before 8:40.

He has to be at work by 9. More importantly, he has to be at work before his boss, and Steve needs to have coffee and even more patience than a saint before walking through the doors of Hill & Barton Publishing.

So Steve usually wakes up at 6am on weekdays, and enjoys it more on weekends, but today is not allowing him any of the Rogers Family luck.

It starts nice and slow, the way his eyelids flutter and his legs stretch languidly across the expanse of the bed, sending good feelings up his spine and to his brain. But those feelings are quickly stomped out as soon as he sees the red numbers on the bedside clock. The ride to work takes 16 minutes on his bike in normal traffic, which leaves him with less than five minutes to shower because of the coffee order he needs to pick up. If he times everything just right, he can make it to James Barnes’s office only a few minutes after 8.

Steve prays in the shower and prays while he pulls on his slacks and prays while he ambles down the busy streets, all of it in hopes that God will take pity on him and force James Barnes to be at least 3 minutes later than usual. Because James Barnes is that horrible.

He parks his bike in front of the coffee shop despite the easy opening for a ticket and rushes inside, nearly having a heart attack when he stops at the line that’s almost to the door. Darcy spots him – it’s hard not to notice a guy that’s taller and broader than most even if you aren’t looking, and Darcy is always looking – and shouts him over. He notices the two cups in her hands before he registers her lazy, purple smile.

“Thank you so much,” he breathes as he reaches out, eager to get his own fingers around the coveted orders without bumping elbows with annoyed customers. “You’re a life saver.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

The way she proudly speaks has Steve smiling in amusement but also apology because he has to run back out to his bike before she can say another word.

Things blur together when he parks in his usual spot and slides through the doors the person in front had opened wide. He practically dives into the elevator, clipping his shoulder on the doors and kneeing someone in the thigh, and then he’s in the home stretch, gliding across the room with his eyes on the glass doors of his boss’s office.

“Cutting it close,” one of the receptionists bothers to say.

Steve sighs and offers “It’s one of those days” as an explanation right as he turns and smacks into the mail cart. “Oh, f –” He bites down hard on his lip to keep the screaming secluded inside the confines of his mind.

“Sorry,” the cart roller groans, and the only thing keeping Steve from breaking down into tears is his attempt to figure out how he’s going to get the coffee seeping into his crisp shirt to disappear in less than two minutes.

Currently, there is only one plausible idea, and plausible is a strong descriptive of it.

Steve tosses the near empty cup in the trash and sets the other one on the table of the nearest desk and makes his way over to Sam. The sight of him gets a slow head-shake and a sad tut.

“Sam,” Steve pleads. “Sam, please. I need your shirt.”

Sam, ever the good friend, leans back in his rolling chair and laughs.

“Shit, I’d like to know how you’re gonna make it fit, Rogers. You can do the whole three-sizes-too-small with your stretchy shirts, but that ain’t gonna cut it here.”

“I can make it work. I promise.”

Sam spares him the stink eye by standing and leading the way towards the bathroom.

“Fine,” he says, “but you rip it and you’ll be buying me a new one. And I deserve lunch, I think.”

“Absolutely,” Steve replies, shuffling himself into the bathroom, because at this point he’ll agree to anything.

The familiar bloop of an instant message greets his ears not even a second after he exits the bathroom to grab the cup of coffee still on a neighboring desk. He reads over his coworker’s shoulder the message of IT’S HERE and makes a beeline for the office, straightening his skinny silk tie and holding the coffee out to be grasped in passing.

He doesn’t hold his breath as James Barnes strolls in, gray suit formfitting and pressed, shoes shiny and satchel neatly balanced on his shoulder. Of course he doesn’t; he hasn’t been that scared since the first year he started working for this monster of a man. These days, Steve simply tries not to breathe too loudly or in any direction that could even risk being carried over to his boss.

“Morning,” Steve greets placidly, turning to face the seat James settles himself into, the coffee in his shining left hand while the strap of his bag gets pulled over his head with his right. “Conference call in thirty minutes.”

“I know,” James drawls, gaze already holding steady on the newest rubber-banded group of papers resting at the corner of his mildly cluttered wooden desk.

“Staff meeting at nine,” Steve continues.

James seems to completely ignore him. “Did you call… ugh, what’s his name?” He gestures vaguely through the air. “The guy with the bad toupee.”

It takes Steve all of ten seconds to understand who James means. “Pierce?” he inquires.

“Yes,” James sighs, already bothered with the morning rundown. “Did you call him?”

“I did. I told him if he can’t meet the deadline then you won’t get him a release date. Oh, and your immigration lawyer called, said it was imperative –”

James holds up his hand haltingly, cutting Steve off. “Cancel the call, push the meeting to tomorrow, and keep the lawyer on the sheets.” He doesn’t even look up as Steve slides the stack of manuscripts towards the middle of his desk. “And call the PR team. They need to start drafting a press release.”

“What for?” Steve asks. He grips two large envelopes that need to be mailed and a stack of rejects that need to be trashed.

“Phil’s doing Oprah.”

Steve glances up, a small smile playing at his mouth. “Wow,” he voices, happy that a guy as nice and talented as Phil finally agreed to some exposure. “Nicely done.”

James’s mood puts a damper on Steve’s. He snorts and spins around in his chair, graceful fingers of his right hand posing over the keyboard of the computer while the left continues to hold the untouched coffee. “If I want your praise, I’ll ask for it,” he states coolly. Steve clenches his jaw and stares up at the ceiling the whole way to the door. However, the sudden and nerve-wracking grunt of, “Uh,” stops him once again. “Who – who is Darcy and why does she want me to call her?”

James turns to face Steve at the exact time he twists the cup around to showcase the scribbled message and phone number. Even though Steve’s hands are full, he manages to rub the side of his index finger against the space between his lip and nose, a nervous habit he can’t seem to shake.

“Well… that was originally my cup.”

James raises a wide brow in an admonishing manner. “And why am I drinking your coffee?”

Steve resists the urge to gulp, he really does. He takes a deep breath through his nostrils and replies honestly, “Because yours spilled.”

This answer gets him a suspicious look from his boss that carries over into an even more suspicious sip of the drink. When James swallows and swipes his tongue across his lips slowly, he tilts his head to give Steve a thoughtful glance.

“So you just happen to drink double chocolaty chip crème Frappuccino’s?”

“I do,” Steve agrees, training his eyes on a spot of the window behind James that is leveled with his narrowed eyes. “What can I say? We share a love of chocolate coffee.”

James hums, completely unconvinced. “What a coincidence.”

Steve’s laugh is a little uneasy. “Right? I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t drink the same coffee you drink just in case yours spilled. I mean, that would be,” he clears his throat and reaches for the phone as it starts to ring. “Pathetic. Ah, office of Mr. Barnes?”

“Rogers? It’s Sitwell.”

“Oh, hi, Mr. Sitwell. What can I –”

Steve sees James make a pointing gesture just as Sitwell’s voice in his ear declares, “I need to speak with James.”

“Right. We’re on our way to your office, actually.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. See you soon.” Steve hangs up the phone before Sitwell can say anything more. “Why are we going to Sitwell’s office?” he ask James, who spins around once again to give a pinched look. He makes a throaty sound that conveys disappointment somehow and Steve knows that this visit does not bode well for poor Jasper.

So as James takes his time standing, Steve hurries out of the office and hunches over his computer to type out a message for all the cubicles to see.

WINTER SOLDIER ON THE MOVE

A surge of panic quickly settles into a show of productivity when James emerges from his office, sipping his coffee with his head held high and his gait leisurely. He doesn’t look at anyone, though everyone is looking at him. Steve keeps up by his side, close enough to be handed something but not close enough to bump elbows.

He supposes now will be the only chance to ask a question he’s been waiting a week to get an answer to, so he does.

“Did you get a chance to look at that manuscript I gave you?”

“I did,” James confirms with a nod. Any hope that begins to bubble inside Steve ceases the minute he hears, “I wasn’t impressed.”

He exhales steadily, trying to keep the anger out of his voice when he questions, “Can I say something?” And even though he’s shut down with a stern, “No,” Steve persists. “I’ve read thousands of manuscripts and this is the only one I’ve ever given you. That’s important to me. It means something, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” James decides. He glances to the side, past Steve, and when Steve turns to look as well, always morbidly curious about what his boss deigns worthy enough to stare at, he nearly flushes at the sight of Sam in the too-big stained button down. “And I think you do order the same coffee as me just in case you spill it, which is, in fact, pathetic.”

“Or impressive,” Steve blurts, because he can’t always hold his sarcasm, not even in the presence of his frightening, cold-shouldered boss.

James scoffs. “I’d be more impressed if you didn’t spill it in the first place.”

And, alright – “Point taken.”

That, at least, seems to please Mr. Barnes. His tone is less biting when he reminds Steve as they arrive at Sitwell’s smaller office, “Remember, you’re just a prop in here.”

Opening the door means he can’t throw his hands up in exasperated agreement-slash-surrender.

Steve follows James into Sitwell’s office, offering a polite smile when they’re greeted as Captain and Drill Sergeant, purposefully, as if it’s hard to guess who is who. James smiles forcefully and spins in a slow circle, sweeping his eyes all across the room.

“Nice painting,” he comments, and Steve is sure to get a good look at the one his boss is referring to; Hercules and the Lernaean Hydra by Gustave Moreau. “Is it new?”

“Well,” Sitwell huffs with a small, deprecating laugh. “It was painted in 18 –”

“Seventy-six.”

Sitwell’s smugness gets knocked down a notch at that. Still, he’s all fake smiles when he adds, “Right…But yes, it’s new to my office.”

That throaty sound is back, but quieter this time, unobtrusive, and James follows it up with, “Jasper, I’m gonna have to let you go.”

Steve freezes, eyes scanning over a shocked Sitwell before locking on his nonchalant boss.

“Excuse me?”

“I asked you over a dozen times to get Phil to do Oprah and you didn’t do it. You’re fired.”

Steve’s not sure if he’s imagining the pity in James’s voice and if he’s not, he wonders if it’s actually sincere. It’s difficult to gauge an expression that’s that stoic. Whatever the case, Steve notices that Sitwell isn’t exactly looking as if he’ll accept this news graciously, so Steve reaches to shut the door quietly just to be safe.

Sitwell yanks his glasses off and stares at James incredulously. “I’ve told you, that’s impossible. Phil hasn’t done an interview in twenty years!”

Steve places his index finger back onto the space between his nose and lip, using the rest of his hand to cover his mouth effectively while he stares at the wall with a ducked head. He’s just a bystander in this, a prop, but he feels so involved and useless all at once.

“That’s…” James shakes his head, stretches his mouth into a tight, unamused smile. “That’s funny, see, because I just got off the phone with him and he’s in.”

Sitwell looks caught all of a sudden. “What?”

“You didn’t even call him, did you?”

Sitwell shakes his head minutely; disbelieving rather than disagreeing with that statement, but Steve thinks James is probably right on this.

“But –” Jasper tries.

James pushes off the wall and begins a slow stride towards Sitwell’s desk. “I know,” he says, and it’s his turn to be deprecating now. “Phil can be a little scary to deal with. For you,” he says pointedly.

Sitwell swallows and clenches his jaw angrily.

“I’ll give you two months to find another job,” James resolves. “And then you can tell everyone you resigned. Sound good?”

Steve doesn’t like admitting it, not even to himself, but that deal is unusually fair around this part of Hill & Barton.  He bets Jasper doesn’t share that sentiment.

Steve opens the door for James again when he’s ready to leave and hastily follows him out, keeping his eyes open when he’s asked, “What’s his twenty?”

“Uh, he’s on the move,” Steve whispers. Jasper’s face makes him tense a little. “Looks a little crazed.”

“Don’t do it,” he hears James mutter under his breath while they walk a fast pace back to their personal areas. “Don’t do it.”

Both of them stop as soon as Sitwell starts shouting, “You poisonous cocksucking asshole!”

Everyone around them gasps.

James turns to face the confrontation while Steve opts to sit on an empty desk nearby.

“You can’t fire me! You don’t think I know what you’re doing, huh? Sandbagging me so that you can look good to the board? You’re threatened by me! And you’re a monster.”

Steve cringes, unable to hide it. Words are worse than physical blows sometimes. He doesn’t know how none of this ever affects James.

“Let’s hear the rest of it,” James encourages. Steve’s eyes widen in surprise.

“You treat all of us like slaves because you have no life outside of this office. And you know what? I feel sorry for you! When you’re on your death bed, it’ll finally hit you that you have nothing and no one.”

“Listen carefully. I didn’t fire you because I feel threatened. I fired you because you’re lazy, incompetent, and spend more time gossiping in the bathroom than you do working in your office. I fired you because I gave you one simple task and you couldn’t even bother trying to complete it. Now, if you say another word, Steve here is gonna have you thrown out on your ass, okay? Another word and you’re going out with an armed escort. Steve will film it with his little camera phone and put it up on that video site. What’s it called?”

“Youtube.”

“Exactly.” James takes a menacing step forward, looming over Sitwell in a way that makes the smaller man shrink down even further. “Is that what you want?” When he gets no answer, he steps back with satisfaction and says, “I didn’t think so. I have work to do.”

When James starts walking towards his office again, at an even faster pace this time, Steve dutifully follows.

“I need you to help review his files and manuscripts this weekend,” James requests. Steve nearly runs into the wall.

“This weekend?”

James turns to give him a questioning look. “Is that a problem?” His tone leaves no room for a yes.

“No.” Steve shakes his head to compliment his words. “No, it’s just… my Nana’s 90^th birthday. I was gonna head home, but I’ll cancel. It’s fine. It’s –”

James is already gone, settled into his seat with a creased forehead and a frown.

“Good talk.”

+ +

His head is starting to swim with all the crap he’s been torturing his eyes with. Hardly any of the manuscripts in his numerous piles are passing through. He’s gracious enough to attach rejection letters to the pieces that aren’t completely terrible and too impatient to do anything more than toss the worst of them into the trash, which will need to be taken out by Steve later.

Speaking of…

Bucky – a childhood nickname he still refers to himself as, though no one else is allowed to utter it – pushes away from his desk with the very small stack of acceptances under his arm and bustles out to the desk that’s only a few feet away from his door.

“He says I have to work, so… I can’t throw this away, Ma,” Bucky hears Steve murmuring into his phone. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s pissed, that’s not exactly news.”

Steve sees him before he drops the stack onto the corner of the neat desk. Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes when he tries to save himself by telling the person he called Ma “we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.”

“Was that your family?”

Steve takes a deep breath and looks up at Bucky with a tired expression. “Yeah,” he confirms, lips quirking politely for only a couple of seconds.

“They tell you to quit?”

“Only every day.”

Bucky hums. Before he can say anything more, Steve’s phone begins to ring and he picks it up immediately. “Office of Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky stands still and tall and folds his arms across his chest, metal fingers glinting dully under the fluorescent lights. Whatever the person on the other line says, they get Steve to nod and agree quickly before hanging up. He meets Steve’s gaze head on as soon as the larger man acknowledges him again.

“Romanoff wants you upstairs.”

That news definitely gets Bucky to groan. He’s friendly with Natasha, as friendly as one can be when you’re the way the two of them are, cold and unflappable, but he never likes going up to see her during business hours. It usually means nothing good.

“Fine,” he grits out, pressing his metal fingertips lightly against the clear partition. “Come get me in ten minutes. We’ve got a lot to do.”

“You got it.”

Bucky ignores the staring that he’s still not used to and places himself into the elevator, eyes on the panel of floors instead of on those whispering near the closing doors. The several-second long silence inside the lift is almost peaceful, but Bucky can’t exactly enjoy it.

Natasha Romanoff’s office is beautiful and impeccable, just like her. The personal touches are few and far in between, though Bucky thinks that’s because she chooses not to display her life among her work station and not because she doesn’t have one. Like Bucky.

He raps his knuckles against the door twice and waits for her instruction before entering, the small smile on his face more genuine than anything else thus far. Her crooked quirk of lips is warm for the 3 seconds it lasts.

“Congratulations on getting Phil to do Oprah,” she says by way of greeting.

“Thank you,” he replies with an appreciative nod. And then, “So what’s the cause of this little visit?”

“James,” she starts slowly. “Do you remember when we agreed that you wouldn’t go to the Frankfurt Book Fair? Because your visa application was being processed and you weren’t allowed out of the country?”

“I remember.”

“And you went to Frankfurt, didn’t you?”

Bucky slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks and nods. “We were gonna lose Erskine to Schmidt, so… I went to Frankfurt, yes.”

“I just spoke to your immigration attorney,” Natasha informs him. Her pink smirk is dry and a little sad. “Your visa application was denied.”

“What?”

“And you’re being deported.”

Bucky’s mouth opens in shock. “What?” He pulls his hands out of his pockets and holds them open wide. “Come on!”

Natasha shakes her head. And instead of the long, red curls he’s used to seeing bounce with every movement, her new shorter hair simply sways. “There was also some paperwork you forgot to fill out.”

His sigh is long and suffering and mixed with a groan. “Come on,” he repeats. “This is my life, Natasha. I live here. I’ve worked hard for this. I’m not going back to fucking Russia, okay? I mean– what about you?”

A perfectly sculpted brow shoots up as she asks, “What about me?”

“You’re in the same situation as me. How the hell are you not hounded every second by these shitty attorneys?”

She laughs at that, the sound husky and only partially amused. “Because I don’t ignore their calls, probably.”

He chooses to ignore that statement. “Look, there’s gotta be something I can do.”

“We can reapply, but you’ll still have to leave the country for at least a year.”

The gravity of the situation is starting to set in and Bucky feels that familiar panic on the rise.

“No. No, no, no, no,” he chants under his breath, digging his fingers into his styled hair. “There has to be something…”

“There’s not,” Natasha tells him, and her usually neutral expression actually looks pained. “Until everything gets resolved, I’m turning operations over to Jasper Sitwell.”

“Fuck,” Bucky hisses through clenched teeth. “I just fired him!”

“He’s the only one with enough experience. Listen –” Natasha leans forward in her chair, stretching herself over the top of her desk a few inches in a gesture that shows she’s trying to reach out to Bucky even if her hand isn’t looking to hold his. “If there was any other way, I’d do it. I don’t want to see you leave, trust me. But this is what we’re working with and –”

There’s a knock on Natasha’s door that gives both of them pause. Bucky turns and his desperate, pleading eyes turn cold and glaring when he sees Steve poke his head in, an apology etched into his expression.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, like that will make him less intruding. “Arnim Zola’s on the line.”

“Fuck Zola!” Bucky shouts, the stress too much to be contained. Steve’s surprise reels him in just a bit.

“I told him you weren’t available, but he insisted that it was urgent. So. Sorry.”

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but freezes. His eyes roam over Steve’s earnest expression, the way he’s halfway inside the room, keeping his hand on the door and waiting for instructions on what to do next. Bucky inhales deeply as an idea starts forming in his head.

He shoots Steve a significant look, which gets the tall blond’s head to tilt towards his shoulder in confusion.

Bucky smiles, turning around to face Natasha at the same time that he starts shuffling towards Steve and motioning behind his back for his assistant to come closer.

“Well,” he breathes, quickly formulating the words he needs to say. “We didn’t wanna do this yet, but it looks like there’s really no other choice.” Bucky clears his throat and grips Steve’s bicep with tight metal fingers, blurting out, “We’re getting married.”

Natasha stares blankly at the two of them, slowly fitting herself back into a proper sitting position.

Bucky swallows and puts on his best grin. “We are… getting married.”

“Who?” Steve asks, twisting his head quickly to glance around the room. “Who’s getting married?”

“You and me. Me and you.” He shakes Steve’s arm a little, grin still in place while the other man’s face continues to look utterly lost. “Yep. Steve and I are gettin’ married, Natasha.”

“Oh… Oh!” Steve stutters out. “Right.” He finally gets with the program and smiles too, crooked and dorky and nervous. “We’re getting married,” he chokes out.

Natasha, who is still staring, perhaps unblinkingly, narrows her eyes. “You’re marrying your secretary?”

“Assistant,” Steve corrects.

“Executive assistant,” Bucky adds. His throat gets cleared again. “Secretary. Titles. But the truth is that Steve and I, we’re just two people who weren’t meant to fall in love, but did.”

“No,” Steve whispers. Bucky digs his fingers harder into Steve’s arm.

“All those late nights at the office and weekend book fairs… You know how it is, Natasha. How are you and Mr. Barton these days, by the way?”

“Fine,” Natasha offers dryly.

Bucky smiles a little wider. He knows he’s not fooling her, but at least she’s playing along. That’s all he could ask for.

“Something just happened between us.”

“Yeah, something,” Steve grumbles, but he’s smiling to, a little more convincing than Bucky would have imagined, so Bucky continues to roll with it.

“Can’t fight– can’t fight a, a love like ours, so. Are you happy? Because we –” He presses himself a little closer to Steve. “We are. Happy.”

Steve nods aggressively. “So happy.”

Finally, Natasha blinks. “James?” she inquires. When he nods, she continues with, “That’s very nice. Congratulations.” It sounds as if she’s holding back laughter. “Just make it legal.”

“You got it! We’ll head down to the immigration office as soon as we get a chance, alright?” He lets go of Steve’s arm, who seems to sag with relief, and starts inching himself towards the door. “Come on… angel,” he calls, spurring Steve into motion.

As soon as the door is shut securely behind them, Bucky can hear Natasha howling with laughter. And that’s not all he hears. In fact, everyone around them, the eavesdroppers, is whispering things like ‘what the hell?!’ and ‘him, really? I didn’t even know they were dating!’ and ‘pass it on!’ as if they were children. He even hears Sam, an employee he quite likes, one that is also a notable friend of Steve’s, mutter, “For real? Man, you never told me!” Bucky ignores it and heads down to his office with Steve in tow.

This is good, this is very good; a perfect solution to a problem that very nearly seemed unsolvable. Bucky’s body feels a little lighter now that the imminent dread has disappeared, but his attempt to go back to work is thwarted by a lingering Steve.

“What?”

Steve takes a deep breath. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Bucky grunts and drops the stack of pages he just picked up. He settles his gaze on Steve and explains, “They were gonna make Sitwell chief,” but Steve still doesn’t seem informed.

“And naturally I would have to marry you?”

“What’s the problem? Like you were saving yourself for someone special?” He snorts derisively. Steve glares petulantly.

“I like to think so,” he confirms. “And anyway, it’s illegal.”

“Please.”

“James,” Steve persists. “I’m not gonna marry you.”

“Yes, you are. Because if you don’t, your dreams of changing the lives of children with happy words and cute little pictures will be dead and buried.”

Steve stares at Bucky as if he’s the enemy. He forces himself to further explain.

“Sitwell’s gonna fire you the second I’m gone, guaranteed. That means you’ll be out on the street looking for a job and all the time that we spent together – the chocolate coffees and the cancelled dates and the midnight aspirin runs, were all for nothing and your dreams of being an editor are gone. Don’t worry, after the required allotment of time, we’ll get a divorce and you’ll be done with me. But until then, you’re just gonna have to accept that your wagon is hitched to mine. Okay?” He waits for an answer even though the way Steve’s staring at him suggests he won’t get one.

They’re saved by the ringing of a phone.

+ +

This is not what Steve signed up for when he took this job. Yet, here he is, at the USCIS, about to commit a fraudulent act by claiming to marry his boss so he can keep his job. And Steve is no saint, he’s gotten in trouble with fights and protests in his youth, but something like this is huge and he’s really not eager to put himself on the line for James Barnes.

This damn job is far too important, though.

So he follows. He follows James Barnes into the building and to the front of the line, quietly apologizing to those who stare and grumble because of someone’s sense of entitlement, and waits patiently while his boss tells the man at the counter to file the fiancé visa for him.

The man takes one look at the paperwork and gives a grin that makes Steve very uncomfortable.

“Come with me,” he says, and the smug look on James’s face makes Steve want to punch something.

They’re sitting there – well, Steve’s sitting and James is standing by the door, typing furiously on his phone – for nearly ten minutes before Steve starts to break out into a sweat. He watches a lot of cop shows and this is suddenly feeling like an interrogation tactic. Steve doesn’t know what prison he’ll be going to, but he’s pretty positive he can devise a plan to escape. Going on the run might be a little harder.

Finally, there’s a knock on the door that prompts James to move to the side and a tall, serious looking man with an eye patch steps in.

“I’m Mr. Fury,” he announces, jerking his head over towards the name plate on the desk. His one, judging eye flits between the two while he guesses who’s name belongs to who. He’s correct. “Excuse the wait. It’s been a crazy day.”

“We understand,” James replies immediately, cool and not the least bit frightened. Steve supposes that scary people don’t affect each other. “And we thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

“Mhm,” he hums. Even that sounds full of judgment. Steve doesn’t have a good feeling about this. “I’ve got one question for you.” He looks solely at Steve. “Are you both committing fraud to avoid his deportation so he can keep his position as editor in chief at Hill & Barton Books?”

Oh god, oh no, oh crap –

“That’s ridiculous!” Steve finds himself saying.

Not even a second later, James adds, “Where did you hear that?”

“We had a phone tip this afternoon,” Fury says calmly, shifting through his paperwork. “From a man named…”

“Would it be Jasper Sitwell?” James asks quickly, getting Fury’s unnerving stare focused back on him.

“Jasper Sitwell,” he parrots in affirmation.

James shakes his head pityingly. “Poor Jasper. I’m sorry. Mr. Sitwell is nothing but a disgruntled former employee. He was very angry today, wasn’t he, doll?”

Steve jolts. “Uh, yes. Yes, he was very angry…”

James clucks his tongue. “I apologize for whatever lies he might’ve told you. And we know you’re busy, so if you’d give us our next step, we’ll be out of your way.”

“Mr. Barnes,” Fury states loudly. “Please, have a seat.” Steve witnesses the tight smile that could be a prelude to murder as James takes the seat beside him. “Let me explain the process that’s about to unfold,” Fury continues with ease. “Step one will be a scheduled interview where I put each of you in a room and ask you every damn question that a real couple would know about each other. Step two: I dig deeper. I look at your phone records, talk to your neighbors, interview your coworkers. I’ll look through the trash on your curb if I have to. And if your answers don’t match up at every point,” he looks to James, “you will be deported indefinitely. And you,” back to Steve, “will have committed a felony punishable by a fine of 250 thousand dollars and a stay of five years in federal prison.”

If Steve still possessed the weaker lungs of his youth, he’s sure he’d be having an asthma attack. As it is, he feels like throwing up the stale office coffee he was forced to drink to keep himself going.

“So, Steve,” Fury says pointedly, his one eye squinted. “Is there something you wanna tell me?”

This is his chance to come clean. He can end it all right now, forget this ever happened, throw away the risk of going to jail. He can always find another job, he’s not short of skills, but he likes his job, no matter how unglamorous or torturous it is. And he’ll be damned if it gets thrown away because his boss couldn’t get his shit together.

Steve licks his lips and ignores the aggressive side-eying coming from James.

“Mr. Fury, the truth is… James and I are just two people who weren’t meant to fall in love but did.”

He turns his head to see James staring at him, full lips slowly spreading into a Cheshire grin that he then directs to Fury. He crinkles his chin like people do when they cry and nods, exuding the sense that he’s been touched by Steve’s words, as if he hadn’t been the one to originally say them previously.

Fury looks completely fed up. This is Steve’s chance to strike.

“We couldn’t tell anyone at work because of the big promotion I have coming up.”

Steve relishes the surprised way James mumbles, “Your…?”

He holds back a smirk. “We felt it would be deeply inappropriate if I was promoted to editor –”

“Editor?”

“While we were…” he gestures between them, trying not to seem too uncomfortable. The way James narrows his eyes suggests that he’s truly impressed by Steve’s devious act. He enjoys that more than he should.

“Right,” Fury drones. “And have the two of you told your parents about this secret love you have goin’ on?”

“I… impossible. My parents are dead. And I haven’t spoken to my sister in fifteen years, so.” James laughs softly and Fury smiles, his bullshit detector probably blaring right now.

“Mhm. And what about you?” he asks Steve. “Are your parents dead, too?”

James is the first to answer. “No. No, his are very much alive.”

Steve nods. “Very much.”

“We were gonna tell them this weekend.” Steve snaps his head to the side at that, eyes widening. “It’s Nana’s 90^th birthday. The whole family’s gonna be there. Thought it’d be a nice surprise.”

Fury nods and twirls a pen between his fingers. “And where is this surprise gonna take place?”

“At Steve’s parent’s house,” James answers again. Steve’s starting to think he isn’t trusted after the whole promotion bombshell.

“Which is where?”

“Well– Steve, you love talking about your family. Why don’t you jump in here?”

“Ashfield,” Steve says quietly.

“Ashfield,” James repeats.

“Massachusetts.”

“Massachusetts?”

“You’re going to Massachusetts this weekend?” Fury demands.

“Yeah.

James nods along. “That’s where my… my precious Stevie grew up.”

Steve very nearly laughs. He grounds himself by gripping the back of James’s chair.

Fury shakes his head in disapproval, but let’s himself grit out, “Fine,” as he scribbles onto a post-it note. “I get how you’re playin’ this. I’ll see you both for your interviews at 11:00 am on Monday.” He hands the post-it, a reminder of the day and time, to Steve and finishes with the warning of, “Your answers better match up. And I will be checkin’ up on you.”

“Thanks,” James drawls before his attention zeroes in on his ringing phone and he starts grumbling into it, leading the way outside.

Steve begins a slow walk down the sidewalk, lost in his thoughts until James finally hangs up and knocks elbows in an uncharacteristic way of getting Steve’s attention.

“This is how it’s gonna happen.” Business as usual. “We’ll go to Ashfield, pretend to be boyfriends, tell your parents we’re engaged. I’ll spring for first class, but make sure you use the miles for the tickets. We can’t do this if we don’t get the miles.”

Steve shakes his head and picks up the pace.

“Hey,” James calls out, voice sharp enough to make Steve stop. “What’re you doing?”

“Were you not in that room?”

“Of course I was in the room,” James scoffs, shoving his phone into a side pocket of his satchel. “I did most of the talking. Oh, but that thing you said about the promotion? Great thinking, buddy. Genius. Fury definitely fell for it.”

“I was serious!” Steve exclaims. He can’t wrap his head around how James can be so nonchalant about this whole screwed up situation. “I’m looking at a fine of over 200 grand and five years in prison if this goes south. That changes things.”

“I’m not promoting you to editor,” James declares, and it’s said with such disbelief that Steve can’t help feeling offended.

“Fine,” he snaps. “Then I quit and you’re screwed. Goodbye, James.”

“Wait – what, no. Steve!”

“Thank you for the best three years of my life,” Steve says sarcastically, spinning around to disappear into the crowd moving forward.

“Steve!” James shouts exasperatedly. “Fine! Fine.”

Steve backtracks slowly, keeping his expression neutral while James fidgets.

“If you do the Ashfield weekend and the immigration interview, I’ll make you editor. Okay? Happy?”

“And I don’t mean in two years, James. I mean right away.”

Steve’s positive he sees an eyelid twitch.

“Fine.”

He goes for more, just because he wants to get as much out of this as he can in case he ends up in jail. “And you’ll publish mine and Sam’s manuscript.”

“Ten thousand –”

“Twenty thousand copies first run. And we’ll tell my family about our engagement when I want and how I want. Deal?”

James looks as if he wants to think about it, but he can’t afford to do so and forces himself to grunt out a defeated utterance of, “Deal.”

Steve smiles a little, straightening out his posture, hands on his belt. “Now, ask me nicely.”

James cranes his neck forward, a mask of confusion overtaking the underlying dread. “Ask you nicely what?”

He’s really starting to enjoy this now and doesn’t bother trying to hide it. They’ve already made the deal; he’s just sweetening it a little. Sam always said he was a little shit and well, Steve can’t argue there.

“Ask me nicely to marry you.”

James reels back as if he’s been slapped and his gray-blue eyes look a little wild. “What does that mean?”

“You heard me. On your knee.”

He makes a low noise that comes from deep in his throat, one that sounds something like a dying cat, but drops to his knee like he’s been told. It’s a bit of a power trip for Steve, getting his boss to do whatever he says.

“Does this work for you?” James sasses.

“Oh, I like this, yeah.”

And when James’s cheeks turn a soft shade of pink, Steve’s grin widens.

“Will you marry me?” he asks in a rush.

“No. Say it like you mean it.”

When James composes and steels himself, he looks up at Steve will well-feigned innocence and a soft, but somehow still shark-like closed smile, and asks carefully, “Steve. My sweet, sweet Steve. Will you please make me the happiest man in the universe by marrying me?”

“Your delivery could use some work, but sure, I’ll marry you.”

“Great,” James says, tone void of even a sliver of enthusiasm.

“See you at the airport tomorrow.”

Steve turns and strides on, leaving James kneeling on the sidewalk far behind him.

+ +

They’re flying to the Bradley International Airport and then renting a car to drive the rest of the way to Ashfield. Bucky had originally thought they could just drive all the way, not caring that it’d mean a longer travel time, but Bucky’s car is inconveniently being worked on and Steve’s only source of transportation is a motorcycle. So flying it is.

Bucky likes first class because it’s quieter and not as crowded. He doesn’t really like flying, admittedly; doesn’t like being in the air for extended periods of time, not after his accident, but he can suck it up enough for the job. If he sleeps or reads – or is annoyed by a coworker – he can last without having any panic attacks.

He’s flipping disinterestedly through a magazine, unbuckled now that the plane is safely in the air. Beside him, Steve is tapping a book against his thigh, already having skimmed the pages.

Steve’s been quiet for the past half hour, but now he apparently deems it necessary to speak.

“These are the questions INS is gonna ask us.” He shifts, knees bumping Bucky’s. “The good news is I know everything about you. The bad news is that you have four days to learn all this about me. So you should probably –”

Bucky drops the magazine into his lap and snatches the book from Steve’s hand, leafing through the pages with furrowed brows.

“You know all the answers to these questions about me?” He can’t quite believe that.

Steve hums. “Scary, isn’t it?”

“A little, yeah.” He stops on a random question and asks it, just to see if Steve truly knows these things. “What am I allergic to?”

“Pine nuts,” he answers immediately. “And the full spectrum of human emotion.”

Bucky’s lip curls. “Funny,” he mutters under his breath. “Okay, here’s another. Do I have any scars?”

James catches sight of the way Steve’s gaze flickers to his left arm. He tenses but manages to stay still and not try to reposition himself.

“You’re bound to have scars from that,” he decides, voice a tad softer than before. “And I’m pretty sure you have a tattoo.”

“You’re pretty sure?”

Steve folds his arms loosely across his broad chest. “Two years ago your dermatologist called, asked about a Q-switched laser.  So I googled Q-switched lasers and found out that they remove tattoos.”

James resolutely does not look up. “Smart one.”

“But you cancelled your appointment. So, what is it? Tribal ink? Calligraphy? Barbed wire?”

Honestly, James can’t believe this. In the three years he’s known Steve, and known is a term used loosely, he’s never seen his assistant act this way.

“You know, it’s exciting for me to experience this side of you,” he says sweetly, not amused by or comfortable with the sudden barrage of questions.

“I bet,” Steve fires back, clearly smug about the whole thing. “You’re gonna have to tell me where it is.”

“No.”

“They’ll ask.”

“No,” Bucky barks, inhaling deeply through his nose to settle himself. “Next question. Let’s see… whose place do we stay at, yours or mine?” Before Steve can even part his lips, Bucky answers, “That’s easy. Mine.”

“Why wouldn’t we stay at mine?”

Bucky puts on the façade he’s known for and bites out icily, “Because I live in Brooklyn Heights and you probably live in some squalid little apartment in Brownsville.”

He doesn’t need to see Steve’s face to know he’s being given a dirty, perhaps even disappointed, look. And really, Bucky doesn’t like saying such things, but his experience has shown that acting like a wealthy ass is a quick way to stop a conversation.

The rest of the plane ride is spent relatively silent between him and Steve. The atmosphere doesn’t change much when they’re piling themselves and all of their luggage into a rental SUV. It’s only as they’re driving into the town of Ashfield that Bucky deigns it necessary to speak the thought that’s been running through his head for the past hour.

“When we get there, I want you to call me Bucky.”

God, he’s never said those words to anyone before.

Steve’s takes his eyes off the road for a handful of seconds in an attempt to decode him. “Bucky? Why?”

“It’ll give the illusion of ease and familiarity.” And I’ll probably be less likely to kill you, he doesn’t say. He’s always had a soft spot for that nickname. It’s why he lets absolutely no one call him it these days.

“Okay,” Steve agrees slowly. “It’s short for Buchanan, right? Your middle name?”

Bucky nods and bites down on his bottom lip to keep quiet for the rest of the way.

Steve’s phone rings when they pull up to an Inn. “Hey, Ma,” he greets. “Yeah, we just pulled up at the Inn. We’ll drop by –”

Bucky unbuckles himself and starts to open the door, but Steve grabs his arm to keep him in place. Bucky looks impatiently, figuring Steve’s trying to communicate with him, and he’s right. Steve’s pointing through the windshield, phone still held between his ear and shoulder, and they both take in the sight of two women waving their arms wildly. One of them is also holding a phone between her ear and shoulder. Bucky supposes it’s fair to assume that these people are Steve’s Ma and Nana.

Steve’s Ma, Bucky can see as he slides out of the car carefully and hangs back while Steve runs forward, is short and blond and pretty. Nana is even shorter, though her hair is pinned and gray, and there’s something classy about her.

“Steve, look at you!” Steve’s Ma gushes, pulling her son in with small arms so she can crush him against her chest even though he towers over her. “My baby!”

“Don’t embarrass him, Sarah,” Nana chides, but she hugs her grandson just as tight. “A stór!”

“Hi, Nana.” Steve kisses her on the cheek and turns back to his mother as Bucky creeps closer, unsure of what to do. “Where’s Dad?”

“Oh, you know,” Sarah huffs, smoothing her hands over Steve’s shoulders. “Always working.”

“Where’s your boy?” Nana asks.

Bucky takes a spot next to Steve then, offering a small smile to the women that are eying him ferociously. “Hi,” he greets, laughing a little nervously. Sarah goes in for a hug right as Bucky offers a hand, creating an awkward moment that they manage to work through with a gentle handshake.

“This is my mom, Sarah, and my nana, Mona.”

“Pleasure,” he says, shaking her hand, too.

“Now, do you prefer being called James or Satan’s Paramour? We’ve heard it both ways. Actually, we’ve heard it lots of ways…”

Bucky, wearing a look of shock and feeling it just as much, glances at each of the three quickly, quite speechless for the first time in a long while. Steve had called him Satan’s Paramour? What else has he told his family? How are they supposed to act like a couple if he’s gone blabbing about how much they loathe each other?

“She’s kidding,” Sarah assures with an airy laugh, seemingly unbothered by it all.

“Oh. Okay.” He mirrors her laugh and clears his throat. “But really, I prefer Bucky.”

“Bucky, huh? We haven’t heard that one before.”

“Nana…”

Bucky forces a smile. “Thank you so much for letting me be a part of this weekend.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” Sarah assures and her smile is much more sincere now, Bucky can tell.

And Nana adds a joyful, “We’re thrilled to have you!”

Steve squeezes them both.

“Which is why we wanted to meet you here. Family doesn’t stay in a hotel, they stay at home. So, let’s go!”

Bucky nods cheerfully until the women turn around and then he directs a meaningful glare at Steve, who simply quirks his lips and brows and jogs back to the SUV to start gathering up the luggage to transfer to the truck parked nearby. Bucky doesn’t know why they can’t just drive their car there, but he supposes it’s because Steve wants to travel with his family. So that’s what they’ll be doing.

The twelve minute drive from the inn to Steve’s childhood home showcases bits of the small town, including the fact that several of the buildings (photography, general store, souvenir shop) all share the name that’s printed on the tag of Steve’s bag: Rogers.

The gears in Bucky’s head start turning.

“Steve,” he whispers, getting no response. “Steve.”

He lands a forceful punch to a muscular bicep, eliciting a hiss and a glare.

“You didn’t tell me about all the family businesses, honey.”

Steve shoots him a look that clearly conveys ‘don’t start.’

“He was probably just being modest, dear,” Nana offers. All Bucky can do is smile. His cheeks are starting to hurt.

It isn’t long before they pull up in front of a large, wide neutral-toned house with a lot of shrubbery and stone steps.

Bucky’s yanking his luggage along towards the door, Sarah and Nana in front, and lags a little to growl at Steve behind him.

“You never told me you were rich.”

“I’m not rich. My parents are.”

Bucky makes a noise of disgust. “That’s something rich people say.”

“Steve, welcome home!” someone shouts in the distance.

Steve’s expression turns startled. “Hey!” he shouts back. Then, a little quieter, “Ma, what’s this?”

“Nothing,” Sarah replies innocently. “Just a little welcome home party.”

Nana jumps in. “Our closest friends and neighbors.” Her wise eyes hold Bucky’s.  “And all of them are excited to meet you.”

“Oh, great.” He whips his head around towards Steve. “A party?”

He shrugs. “I guess so. Hurry up, my grandma’s walking faster than you.”

Bucky doesn’t dare utter the curse words that are eager to slip from the tip of his tongue.

Stepping through the front door is surreal, in a way. He notices the music first – Michael Buble, he thinks – and then the decorative banner that reads WELCOME HOME, STEVE! in big, colorful letters. The air is scented with various foods and the rooms are crowded with people, all of whom Steve apparently knows. This is not what Bucky believed he was getting himself into.

Two people, servants, for fuck’s sake, take their bags and coats to place upstairs while Steve and Bucky, the latter of which feels completely out of his depth suddenly, are left to mingle.

He hears, “Bucky, nice to meet you,” and “Steve, it’s so good to see you,” too many times to count.

When they get a moment of respite around ten minutes in, as they’re passing from the kitchen into the living room again, Bucky demands to know why Steve hadn’t told him about being some sort of small town celebrity.

“How could I? We were busy talking about you for the last three years.”

Bucky grimaces and yanks Steve to the side. “Okay, you know what? This bickering thing is getting real old. People need to think that we’re in love, so let’s just…”

“That’s no problem. I can do that. But for you?” Steve shakes his head. “That’s gonna require getting rid of that doom cloud you keep on a leash.”

“You’re so funny, Steve. I’m in stitches here. Now when’re you gonna tell them we’re engaged?”

Steve leans down a couple inches, making himself even clearer when he draws out, “I’ll pick the right moment.”

“Steve, hi!”

And it starts again. Bucky swallows his groan.

“Hi, Mrs. Brooks. How are you?”

“I’m fine. And you must be Bucky?”

He nods and shakes her hand, giving his standard, “Pleasure,” so she can refocus her attention on Steve.

“So, I always wanted to know, what does a book editor do?”

“That’s a great question, Mary,” a gravelly voice intercepts. The man it belongs to is tall, around Steve’s height, and very stern looking even, or especially, with his strained smile.

Steve’s almost solemn when he says, “Hi, Dad.”

“Son. And this is Bucky, right? I’m Joe.” His words of, “Pleasure to meet you,” don’t exactly seem true, but Bucky shakes his hand and insists that the pleasure’s all his anyway. Joe addresses only Bucky as he prompts, “Now why don’t you tell us all about what a book editor does, besides taking writers out to lunch and getting bombed.”

Mrs. Brooks laughs with true amusement while Bucky feigns his. Steve doesn’t bother at all.

“That sounds like fun,” the woman says jovially. She pats Steve’s shoulder. “No wonder you like being an editor.”

“No, Mary. Steve’s not an editor, he’s an editor’s assistant.” Bucky doesn’t know if he should look at Joe or Steve. Both of their expressions are making him uncomfortable, but it’s Joe’s tone and words that make him really bristle. “Bucky here is the editor.”

“So, you’re…” Mrs. Brooks trails.

Joe picks it up. “Steve’s boss, yep.” And the way he looks at his son is almost disdainful. “I think I’ll get a refill.”

Bucky drops his smile and watches Steve walk away to follow his dad, leaving him to roam around the doorway and attempt to eavesdrop, though that plan quickly fails when he’s approached by an older couple wanting to know how he’s doing.

And as if that weren’t enough, he’s then approached by one of the servants, a lanky man with greasy pushed back hair and a pompous aura surrounding him. However, his accent is very nice.

“A hors d’oeuvres?”

“Uh, no thank you.”

“I believe if you try it, you’ll like it,” he says quite persuasively, but Bucky stands his ground.

“I’m not really a fish person, thanks anyway.”

The man, who is lecherously eyeing Bucky, makes to further convince him, but another voice, Steve’s voice, catches the attention of all.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have a very important announcement to make. Bucky and I are getting married.”

His heart jolts at that, hearing those words being announced to a crowd of strangers. Oh god, oh hell no; he has to try with all his might not to suddenly panic.

“Yep,” Steve goes on. “Buck? Where are you?”

Bucky leaves the leering servant to peek around the corner, eyeing all of the shocked and smiling faces. Steve spots him immediately and widens his eyes, smiling encouragingly.

“C’mere, pumpkin.”

Fucking hell.

Bucky, not unlike a spooked animal, inches his way forward, doing his best to dazzle all the staring folks with a bright smile. Steve isn’t helping him one bit.

“There he is. Look at him.”

“Congratulations!” someone coos.

Steve, though not basking in the attention, seems to handle it very well.

“Time to celebrate! Break out the champagne!” someone else says.

Bucky takes this moment to whisper into Steve’s ear. “This is your idea of the right time? Good going, Steve. S’real perfect.”

“I –”

They are, unsurprisingly, interrupted once again, this time by a posh accented female voice.

“Steve,” a brunette woman says warmly. His blond assistant all but melts.

“Peggy. Peggy, how are you? I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Your mother wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well, I’m– I’m definitely surprised. Wow.”

Steve, with his wide blue eyes and dopey smile that’s directed at Peggy, makes Bucky feel twitchy. It’s like Peggy can pick up on it, too, because she chooses that moment to acknowledge him, her bright red lips twisting into a pleasant smile. She offers her hand and gives his a very firm shake.

“This is Peggy. My ex…”

Bucky side-eyes a fumbling Steve.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bucky,” she tells him. “And congratulations on the engagement. Which reminds me, did I miss the story?”

“Story?”

“What story?”

She chuckles at their synchronized questioning. “Of how Steve proposed, of course.”

They hadn’t discussed this. Why hadn’t they discussed this?

Bucky looks to Steve, trying not to seem too lost or afraid, and isn’t even comforted by the matching expression he sees on his face.

“Oh, how a man proposes says a lot about his character.”

They both look to Nana, who’s seated comfortably on the couch beside Sarah, a twinkle in her eye.

“I’d love to hear the story, Steve,” Sarah says, her expression full of hope. “Would you tell us?”

“Oh…” Bucky trails. He hopes Steve has the guts to decline because he certainly doesn’t.

But Steve, the little shit, just grips Bucky’s shoulders and gives them a hard squeeze, saying, “Yeah, of course. But you know what? Bucky loves telling this story, so I’m gonna let him do that and we should all just listen in rapture.”

Fuck you, Steve,he screams in his head; while on the outside he composes himself with a perfect calm demeanor.

“Well…where do I begin? Uh –” Thoughts zoom around his head, lies slotting themselves into place so he can spew them with as much ease as possible. He doesn’t really have a lot to go on, so he’ll wing it and hope that Steve doesn’t let him flounder too much. But who is he kidding? Steve is Satan’s Paramour more than he is, that’s for damn sure. “Okay, well, see, Steve and I were about to celebrate our first anniversary together.” The chorus of awe’s sends him a surge of confidence. These people will eat up any old romantic nonsense. “And I knew he wanted to ask me to marry him, but he was just scared, like a little baby bird.” He chances a glance at Steve, who clearly does not like where this is headed. “So, I started leaving hints, you know, hoping, because I knew he wouldn’t have the guts to ask, but…”

“That’s not exactly how it went,” Steve interrupts.

Bucky raises a brow. “No?”

“No. I mean,” he shifts on the arm of the couch to peer down at his Ma and Nana, “I picked up on all his hints. Bucky’s as subtle as a gun.” Everyone laughs and Bucky bites his tongue. “What I was worried about was that he’d find this little box –”

“And I did,” Bucky counters, and then he adds, in a stage whisper that gets everyone chuckling, “Steve is terrible at hiding things, especially from me. “So, I was curious –”

“And kind of presumptuous.”

He ignores Steve. “And I opened the box and out popped all of this confetti. I really don’t know how he got that to work, but Steve’s nothing if not creative. And when I pulled out all those pieces of paper, I found the most beautiful, big –”

“Fat nothing,” Steve says quickly. “No ring.”

Bucky glares, but follows his lead with a tight nod and a hum of, “No ring.”

“Instead, underneath all that crap was a piece of paper with the address of a hotel and a date and time.”

“Real Humphrey Bogart,” Bucky teases.

“And y’know, when Bucky saw that, he thought –”

“That Steve was seeing someone else.”

“What?” Steve yelps.

Bucky nods gravely. “It was a real rough time for me. I mean, I love Steve so much, and to think…” He shakes his head and exhales deeply, playing it up now that he knows they’re both trying to trip each other. “So I went to that hotel and I banged on that door, but it was already unlocked, and as I opened the door, I saw him.”

“Standing.”

“Kneeling,” Bucky corrects smugly. “On a bed of rose petals.” Steve’s blush is so sweet, Bucky can’t stop himself. “Your son,” he coos to Sarah, eyes alight with the way she touches her chest absently, “is the sweetest man I’ve ever met. There were tears in his baby blues when he said to me –”

“’Bucky, will you marry me?’ And he said, ‘Yep,’ and that was that. I’m hungry. Is anyone else hungry?”

Bucky sniggers under his breath, but Steve, of course, catches it and stands to take his position at Bucky side, his hands shoved nervously into his pockets.

“Oh, honey,” Sarah chokes, embarrassing Steve further and amusing Bucky even more.

“You’re so sensitive.”

A guy near the fireplace starts clinking his champagne glass and demands, “Hey, let’s see you two lovebirds kiss!”

“Oh, okay, uh –” Steve grabs Bucky’s right hand and places a chaste kiss atop it, holding it in the air while Bucky smiles almost fondly. And what a revelation that is.

But his little display isn’t good enough for the rowdy crowd because then they start chanting, “On the lips, man! Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him!” Even Sarah and Nana are clapping along, both too happy to pick up on the panic he and Steve are emanating.

“Okay!” Steve hastily agrees, clearing his throat and tugging at his collar nervously. He turns to Bucky, who is already turned to him, and the two of them try to communicate through their eyes just how this is supposed to happen.

Steve leans in first, flinching back a little when Bucky leans in too, and then, with both of their eyes open, they press their lips together and hold them there for mere second before pulling back with exaggerated smacking sounds.

“Yay!” Bucky cheers dryly, holding his fists in the air in a celebratory fashion. Steve’s tugging at the hem of his shirt now.

“Steve,” Nana chastises, clearly not pleased with what she just saw. “Give him a real kiss!”

Bucky’s smile drops and his insides start to churn as he realizes that they’ll actually have to sincerely do this, otherwise Steve’s friends and family won’t be satisfied. They might actually get suspicious if Bucky and Steve can’t get their act together.

His heart feels a little off kilter when his eyes meet Steve’s again, both of their expressions softer and more serious. His palm is sweating and the back of his neck feels warm. Steve’s doing a good job of keeping whatever he’s feeling – dread, most likely – in check.

They slot their mouths together, Bucky arching back slightly with a surprised sound by how aggressive Steve swoops in, pushing their chests together, but they don’t part. They kiss and watch each other with lidded eyes, noses scrunching uncomfortably, trying to mumble things while the others clap. Bucky doesn’t know what Steve is saying; he doesn’t even know what he’s saying because everything seems to shift when their eyes meet again and Bucky’s body gets warmer and goes a little slacker, sparks and  knots twisting in his belly. His eyelids flutter shut. His lips part farther, encouraging deeper sensations on their own accord, and Steve delivers so, so nicely.

Bucky’s fingers curl around Steve’s wrist before they break the kiss, seeking something he’s not really sure about. They look at each other in shock. Maybe Bucky’s imagining it, but he thinks Steve looks a little awed as well.

Whatever the case, the crowd is appeased and the deed is done. He tries to breathe a little easier.

He can’t.

The party doesn’t last much longer after that, luckily. When everyone starts to leave, Sarah and Nana lead Bucky and Steve upstairs to a bedroom.

“It’s beautiful,” Bucky comments as soon as his eyes sweep over the spacious area. And it really is.

Walking in gives you an immediate view of the king sized bed and the indent in the walls that hides the bathroom door. Off to the right of the bed is loveseat situated in front of a plush rug with windows and paintings and decorating the wall. Across from the loveseat is a dresser, which is next to a small entertainment center and the section on the other side of the door holds a little rectangular fireplace. The white, taupe, and blue color scheme is nice and relaxing and matches well with all the wooden accents.

Bucky peers out the window while Steve steps around him, checking the space out like it’s new to him, too. It might as well be, for all he knows.

“Nice view, too.” He can see a pool directly below as well as a barn in the distance and a lot of green, trees and bushes and plants, taking over every space in between.

“And here’s the bed!” Nana directs none too subtlety. Bucky could laugh, though he doesn’t.

“It looks very comfortable,” he indulges. But then, very carefully, he questions, “Is this Steve’s room or…?”

Sarah laughs. “Oh, Bucky. We’re not naïve enough to think you two aren’t sleeping together. Don’t worry, you have our support.”

What the hell? Who are these people? He doesn’t know how much longer he can play along.

“Well, that’s great! ‘Cause me and Steve just love to snuggle.”

Steve plops a hand down onto his shoulder, making him jolt a little.

“Huge snugglers.”

Bucky thinks Steve is far more at ease than he should be and he’s proven correct when this high pitched sound starts up out of nowhere and his legs are suddenly getting clawed by sharp needles.

“Oh god, what is that!? What is –?”

He’s embarrassed by the fact that he jumps behind Steve, but at least he’s able to peer over the guy’s shoulder to see the ball of fluff he scoops up into his big arms.

“Oh, sorry, Bucky,” Sarah apologizes, immediately reaching out to pet the thing that Steve’s holding. “This is Sammy. We just rescued him from the pound.”

Steve is glowing. “He’s cute, Ma.”

He doesn’t know how that little fur ball constitutes as a pet, but he’s not about to question it. The thing keeps looking at him and yapping and Bucky loves animals, mostly, it’s just that this dog doesn’t seem to care for him.

“Just be sure you don’t let him outside,” Nana warns. “The eagles might snatch him.”

“Awe, don’t listen to her, Sammy.” Steve rocks the dog like you would a baby. The little thing starts licking Steve’s face and mouth and all Bucky can think is that it’s a good thing they won’t be kissing again.

Then Sarah shuffles over to an armoire placed out of the way, near the bathroom. She opens the doors and gestures to the items on the shelves. “Here are the towels and extra linens, in case you need them.”

“And here,” Nana starts as she reaches inside to pull out a faded looking quilt. She hands it over to Bucky. “This has special powers.”

“What kind of special powers?” he wonders curiously, brushing his fingertips over the soft, worn fabric.

“We call it The Baby Maker.” He almost throws it to the floor. “But I suppose you won’t have to worry about that. Still… it’s known to send out good vibes.”

Bucky will not be thinking about the good vibes others supposedly felt while rolling around on this thing. He forces it out of his hands and into Steve’s when he finally gets rid of the dog.

“Thanks, Nana.” Steve is sincere, but unenthusiastic.

“Goodnight, you two. See you in the morning.”

Sarah leaves and Nana follows, but not before saying goodbye at least a dozen times. The wiggling of her brows suggests she knows a secret, or that she figures Bucky and Steve will start fucking as soon as she leaves the room. He very indiscreetly takes a step away from the quilt and Steve’s bulky form.

They decide without discussion that Steve will be sleeping on the floor. Bucky doesn’t argue even though he feels a little bad for it because the prospect of not having to suffer through an aching shoulder or triggering phantom pains that never really go away is too much to pass up. He changes into his pajamas, which consist of black sweats and a thin t-shirt, and slips in to bury himself under the covers. This is the earliest he’s gone to bed in a while.

Bucky breathes heavy and deep to fill the silence and allows himself to think back on the day’s events. Steve seems very close with his Ma and Nana, but not on good terms with his father. It also seems he hasn’t visited in a while, a thought he voices out loud before he can think better of it.

He hears Steve shifting on the floor.

“Yeah, well I haven’t had a lot of vacation time in the last three years.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Stop complaining.”

Steve does and they go to sleep.

Peaceful dreams of his parents twist into nightmares about their accident, leading into nightmares about his.

He wakes up in daylight to the sound of a phone beeping, a phone he can’t find.

“Steve,” he whispers harshly. “Steve! Where’s my phone?”

Steve groans. “Side pocket. Satchel.”

Bucky scrambles off the bed to grab the bag on the floor and yanks out his phone. “Fuck,” he growls when he catches sight of the name PHIL on the screen.

Steve groans even louder. “Take it outside, Bucky.”

“Phil? Hey, pal. Hold on just one sec, okay? Just… one sec…”

Bucky slips on a sweatshirt and jogs as quietly as he can down the stairs, out the door, and past the pool to hide among the shrubbery. Phil’s already talking, very calmly in his quick, monotone way, about having second thoughts on the Oprah deal.

“Oh, no, Phil. C’mon! This is the deal you’ve been waiting for! Just one little appearance and everything you’ve been hoping for will be right there, waiting for you. The last thing I wanna do is pressure you, buddy, but this is an opportunity that I’d hate to see you pass up. It’d just break my heart if you…”

His moving speech, which is only partial bullshit since he actually likes Phil, goes unfinished because of the sight beholden to him. Sammy, the irritating dog, is outside thanks to Bucky leaving the door open, and is being lifted into the air by a hungry looking eagle.

“Fuck, no!” he screeches.

“Excuse me?”

“No, not you Phil, just – hold on, please.” He pulls the phone away from his ear so he can hold his arms wide and chase the eagle. “Gimme that dog! Come back! Come back right now you fucking ass!” Shit, shit, shit. Steve’s family is going to absolutely hate him. They’ll think he’s a terrible, nasty, psychopath who aids eagles in swooping in and stealing family pets and then this whole thing will just be blown to hell and he’ll lose everything. “Hey, please? You’re an American icon! You can’t go around stealing dogs!”

As if the bird can hear and understand him, he unclenches his claws and allows the dog to fall through the air. Bucky’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open and his heart pounds as he dives to catch the animal.

He lets go of the phone in the process, of course, and witnesses the eagle stealing that instead. He kind of wishes the damn thing kept the dog.

“No! No, dammit! If you fucking made me lose that deal with Phil, I swear to god…”

And that’s how he finds himself running around the backyard with a dog in his arms, watching the shadow of the eagle and very nearly screaming out his frustrations.

“What’re you doing?”

Steve’s voice is far too amused for Bucky’s liking.

“Your grandma was right, okay? That fucking eagle took the dog, but then I saved him, so he took my phone and I was talking to Phil, fucking Phil – he wants to cancel the deal and how am –”

“Stop. Stop, Bucky,” Steve commands, shaking him by the shoulders. “We’ll get you a new phone, same number and everything. I’ll call it in and we can pick it up later. Okay? Are you good?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’m good.”

“Okay, then. Go get ready.”

“For what?”

Steve rubs his hands over Bucky’s arm, warming the cotton of the sweatshirt against his skin. Bucky narrows his eyes in suspicion.

“You’re going out with the girls.”

Once the words sink in, Bucky shakes his head vehemently. “The girls? What girls? Why am I going out with the girls? Why aren’t you going?”

“My mom just wants to spend some quality time with you.”

“Really, I don’t –”

“Just go, Bucky,” Steve commands. “Now give me a hug. I don’t want them to think we’re fighting.” When Bucky makes no move to lean forward, Steve sighs. “C’mon.”

He lets himself be pulled in by Steve until his chin is against a shoulder and his back is being caressed by deft fingers. Being embraced by Steve is… not so bad. Which is exactly why he has to pull away and ruin what he fears has become some sort of moment.

“Yeah. Thanks for that.”

He gives Steve a firm pat on the ass in passing and laughs at the surprised yelp it triggers.

+ +

Steve is just starting to calm down from all the events that have transpired during these last several hours, so hearing that his father wants to speak with him is a little daunting.

They haven’t been on good terms for quite a while, not since Steve left Ashfield for Brooklyn when he was 24. He’s 31 now and Joe still hasn’t truly accepted or forgiven him, though Steve doesn’t know why he needs forgiveness when he’s only trying to live his own life.

He supposes the fact that he doesn’t visit all that often, maybe once every few years, only serves to make matters worse.

Steve sucks in a breath through his nose and exhales it from his mouth, digging his fingers into the pockets of his sweater. He can see his father throwing darts out near the barn, so he heads over.

“You wanted to see me?” he asks once he gets close enough.

Joe spares him a quick glance. “Yeah. Your mother’s a little peeved. Apparently, I wasn’t the most gracious of hosts last night.”

Steve thinks that there’s no apparently about it, but whatever. He keeps himself silent and listens, knowing how difficult it is for his father to express himself through words, a plight Steve never really suffered from.

Joe throws his last dart and starts slowly stepping forward to retrieve them off the board.

“It was a little bit of a shock to find out you were getting married. None of us even knew you were dating.” When he retakes his place beside Steve, he hands him a dart and then sighs. “The point is… I owe you an apology.”

It’s a nice thing to hear and makes Steve feel as if they’re heading in the right direction. They’ll never be as close as they were when Steve was a kid, but they don’t have to be. All he wants is to have some semblance of a positive relationship with his dad and maybe now is the time for it.

“Accepted,” he declares with a soft smile, and he shakes his father’s hand.

“Good. There’s something else.” Joe starts throwing his darts again, hitting around the bullseye. “I’ve been going over my retirement plans recently and it got me thinking. I’ve done a lot of things in my life, practically built an empire with your mother from the ground up. But it doesn’t mean anything unless –”

“You have someone to leave it to,” Steve finishes. He doesn’t know how many times they’ve had this conversation, how many more times they’ll have it again, but he’s tired of it. He’s tired of his father not accepting that he’s made his own choices. “I know. We’ve already discussed this.”

“Well, I’d like to discuss it again,” Joe says agitatedly. Steve squares his shoulders and listens. “You have responsibilities here. I think I’ve been more than understanding about your goofing off in New York, but I need you to quit playing around now.”

“Here we go again,” Steve mutters. “When are you gonna start taking what I do seriously?”

“When you start acting seriously!”

“I feel sorry for you, Dad,” Steve replies, honest and sad and angry. “I wish you had another son. One who wanted to stay here. One who would take over the business. One who wanted to marry someone that you approve of, but it’s not me.” Despite the emotions swirling around inside him, Steve straightens himself and holds his chin up. “Now, it must seem strange to you, my life in New York… sitting in an office, reading books, but it makes me happy. Neither of us could’ve predicted that, but you’re the only one still hung up on it. And I’m sick of you trying to pressure me into a living a life that you deem worthy. You understand?”

“Well. I’ve got nothin’ to say then.”

Steve laughs humorlessly, can’t stop himself. “That’s a first. And you’re not sorry, so apology not accepted.”

Steve tosses the dart hard and hits the empty bullseye that his father had been aiming for. He basks in the sweet revenge as he walks away.

+ +

Bucky supposes that the bar is charming, in a sense, but there are so many people and all of them seem to be shouting and laughing and just generally having a good time.

It’s like hell for Bucky.

The beer is good and he likes the peanuts.  He just can’t let himself enjoy anything while he’s eyeing everyone and everything with suspicion.

There’s a stage near their table, with a karaoke machine, but there’s also one lone chair in the middle and Bucky figures the surprise isn’t that they’ll be singing a tune. He’s not stupid, he knows what goes on at Bachelor parties and he’s never been one for strippers anyway. What’s really surprising is the fact that it’s Steve’s mom and grandma that are offering such a thing to him.

“Are you ready for the surprise?” Sarah asks when the lights dim. She then starts to giggle when she says, with a small hand squeezing his bicep, “You’re gonna love it!”

Music starts up immediately, so abrupt it startles Bucky. A spotlights turns on, the focus not yet on the chair, but rather on a spot nearby, on the railing of a staircase that leads to a storeroom.

And sitting on that staircase is a hulking man with muscles so large that Bucky can’t believe the whole railing hasn’t collapsed underneath him. The man has a mane of long, flowing blond hair and perfectly sculpted abs, not to mention the bulging biceps he possesses. Tan skin stands out against a velvety red cape that billows the moment the guy starts sliding down the rail to land on the stage.

Bucky is frozen in mortification and oddly enough, fascination while the guy dances to a song that sound slightly familiar. Once he hears the lyrics, he knows why.

I see your dirty face, hide behind your collar. What is done in vain, truth is hard to swallow. So you pray to God, justify the way you live a lie, live a lie, live a lie.

The song is his current ringtone, changed just last month when he impulsively wanted something different in his dull, lonely existence. Steve must’ve heard it and blabbed. Bucky is going to strangle him.

“Just your type, isn’t he?” Nana cackles into his ear, pulling him out of his frozen trance. “Tall, blond, handsome, and built like a house!”

Now that she mentions it, the similarities to Steve are strange and obviously intentional. This family either A: secretly hates him and is doing everything in their power to destroy him or B: are just trying to have some fun and bring stuffy ol’ Bucky out of his shell.

“Woo, boy! Shake it, Thor!”

Bucky stares at Sarah with wide eyes, resulting in her smacking him in the chest and pointing excitedly towards the stage with a grin so bright it reminds him of Steve’s. Granted, he rarely sees Steve smile, but he’s seen this look when his assistant is in the presence of Sam.

He looks over to the dancer once more, to Thor, and witnesses undulating hips and body rolls and flexing muscles as he rips off the cape and swings it over his head.

“Thor! Over here!” Nana’s shouts are drowned out by the music, so she stands and gestures wildly, trying to wave Thor over. Sarah joins her immediately.

The hoots and hollers get so loud that they almost overtake the music. Thor doesn’t seem to mind, not like Bucky, who finds himself shrinking farther and farther down his wooden chair.

“Where is the guest of honor?” Thor calls out, voice somehow louder than all the chaotic noise in the bar.

Sarah and Nana grab both of his arms and yank them into the air, completely unaware by the discomfort he feels from having his prosthetic manhandled like that. He grits his teeth and lets it happen knowing that much worse is about to come.

“Ah!” Thor booms when his eyes land on Bucky. He starts over immediately with arms open wide, his swagger showcasing his nearly naked body in a way that makes Bucky flush. “Come! Join me for this dance, my friend!”

He tries to say no, that he’s fine where he’s at, that he’ll prefer watching, but his arguments are either not heard or ignored – or both – and he’s dragged onto the stage by Thor, a man that’s body is larger than Steve’s, a feat that’s hard to achieve. And though Thor looks like a god, a thought flashes through Bucky’s head that tells him Steve’s more his type; Steve, with his too-pink lips and sweeping lashes framing wide eyes and those cheekbones and shoulders and that laugh. Well, Bucky never said he didn’t think Steve wasn’t good looking. Their personalities just don’t seem to mesh all that well.

“I can sense your discomfort,” Thor whispers in his ear after shoving him down into the chair so hard that it rocks back and he has to flail to keep upright. “I will not touch you, nor will I make you touch me. But I do encourage you find hilarity in my inexperienced dancing as I know Sarah is hoping you enjoy your time here today.”

He’s grateful for that, at least. So with a heavy sigh, he sits back and tries to relax, letting his thoughts fade into the beat of the music and the swaying of Thor’s movements. A smile that starts off forced slowly widens with genuine amusement and he finds himself laughing and not freaking out when Thor throws him over his shoulder and parades around the stage like that.

Because when I arrive, I, I’ll bring the fire. Make you come alive, I can take you higher. What this is, forgot? I must now remind you. Let it rock, let it rock, let it rock.

Nana demands that Bucky smack Thor’s ass and Bucky actually does it, causing everyone to dissolve into laughter, especially Thor.

He’s carried like a king back to his seat when the song is over and being placed in between Sarah and Nana has him feeling far more relaxed this time around.

He finishes off his beer and decides to take a breather outside when the crowd talks Thor into doing an encore. Bucky stands on the front stoop of the building, leaning against the wall near the door to watch the dusky sky beyond the trees. The air is cool against his clammy skin, makes him shiver. It’s nice, easier to breathe after such a long day of new and tense activities with strangers.

The door opens behind him, sound filtering out, and Bucky looks back to see Peggy stepping forward.

“How are you holding up?”

He smiles politely and shrugs. “Fine, I guess.”

“I suppose they can be pretty overwhelming. Steve gets his tenacity from Sarah and his courage from Nana, if you hadn’t noticed by now.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”

Peggy stares at him unabashedly, fierce and unyielding. He feels inadequate under her gaze.

“So,” he starts awkwardly, absently tugging at his hair. “You and Steve… were you serious?”

It’s none of his business and he knows it, he just can’t help but ask. Peggy is beautiful, but she gives off the impression of being brilliant and fearless too. She and Steve would be lucky to have each other and Bucky can’t figure out why they’re exes. What went wrong? He doesn’t make it a habit, diving into the personal lives of his coworkers, but he’s spending the weekend with Steve’s family during these unconventional circumstances and he might as well obtain as much information as he can. Strictly for the interview, of course.

“Well, I moved here to live with my aunt when I was about 15 years old. I met Steve and we dated throughout high school and college. You see, after we graduated, he proposed.” Bucky’s brows rise and he twists his mouth.

“You said no,” Bucky states. There’s a hint of disbelief behind his words.

Peggy’s mouth quirks just barely at the corner. “I did. He had dreams of moving back to New York and I wanted to return to England. Steve is a stubborn man, to the point of foolishness sometimes, and he can get so single-minded that he’ll do anything in the moment. It doesn’t happen often… But I knew that he’d follow me back to England and end up miserable. He’s meant for New York, meant for great things. Always has been. It wouldn’t have worked between us, so I’m glad the two of you found each other and I hope he can be happy.”

The news stuns Bucky. The only words he finds himself being able to string together are, “Me, too.”

Bucky trails behind Nana and Sarah on the way inside the house, smiling to himself at the way they’re voicing their thoughts on how Steve would’ve reacted had he been in Bucky’s shoes on that stage.

(“He’d be shy at first, but Thor would rope him into dancing, too. You know how he gets when people egg him on.”)

“Steve, we brought Bucky back nice and safe for you!” she calls out once they’re out of the darkness and into the dim illumination from the nearby lamps, the door closing behind them. When there’s no answer or sound of footsteps, Sarah calls out again. “Steve?” Still nothing.

Nana ventures into the kitchen but Bucky opts to follow Sarah into the living room, lingering by the staircase when he sees that Steve’s father is sitting on the couch.

“Joe, where’s Steve?”

“I don’t know. Probably out breaking another punching bag in the barn.”

Sarah’s warm features turn hard at that idea. She reaches for the remote on the table and shuts the television off, much to the annoyance of her husband.

“What did you do?” she demands.

Bucky needs to get out of sight. “I think I’ll go take a shower,” he announces, gaining her attention. “I had a great time. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Her smile is a little strained. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

He heads up the stairs quickly, stopping at the top in an attempt to eavesdrop.

“What did you do, Joe?”

“I didn’t do anything. I mean, I just had a frank conversation with him about his future.”

“Oh, good idea, Joe! He’s never gonna come back home if you keep acting like this! Steve is my son and I only get to see him once every three years because of you. I’ve had enough. Honestly. I know you don’t understand how he likes girls and guys, but Bucky is a great person and you need to be supportive of Steve marrying him.”

“Christ, no, Sarah. It’s not about– I don’t care about that, okay? I just think it’s strange how he never even mentioned the fact that they were dating. You’d think out of all the times he talked about his boss, all the times he complained, he might’ve added in the fact that they were seeing each other. And what kind of relationship is that anyway?”

“Stop it. You know, if we’re not careful, we’re gonna end up alone in this house. Just you and me and everything we’re angry about. And God forbid that they should adopt a child someday that we’ll never get to see! They won’t come over for Christmas or Thanksgiving or just to visit for the weekend because you have to make your own son feel like he can’t do anything to make himself good enough. You better fix this, Joe. I mean it. Fix this now.”

Bucky, feeling as if he’s heard far too much, creeps into his and Steve’s room and shuts the door silently behind him. He sheds his clothes and hops into the shower with hopes that the steam with drive away all of the words he just heard and the feelings that followed.

He doesn’t stay under the warm water for long, even though it feels good. And then he realizes that in his haste to remove himself from the guilt of eavesdropping, he forgot to grab a towel.

He tries to shake as much water off his legs as he can before he steps out onto the bathmat, freezing with one foot still in the tub when he hears the sound of a door opening.

“Hello?”

No one says anything, but he picks up on the muffled footsteps just outside the bathroom door, which is the only thing protecting his modesty.

“Hey!” he shouts louder. There’s still no answer and the sounds outside have stopped. Honestly, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if he was hearing things now as a punishment for his nosiness.

He sighs and opens the door, just enough to stick his head out at first, and then wide enough to walk through, only Sammy appears out of nowhere and starts barking his head off, making Bucky startle and stumble back into the shower doors with a curse, his hands covering his privates.

“Sammy, shhh. Can I just –”

This tiny, fluffy little dog is growling and blocking Bucky’s way so that the only way to the armoire of towels is by kicking him to the side, which Bucky will absolutely not do.

“For fuck’s sake, move! What the hell is your problem?”

When he takes a step forward, the dog snaps at his toes. When he shifts to the side, the dog lunges and then springs back to close the potential opening he might have left. It’s not until Bucky gets the idea of calling the thing forward and onto the bathmat to then slide away that he’s able to get out and trap Sammy inside the bathroom.

The rush of the movement knocks him off balance when he spins around and then, suddenly, he’s smacking into what feels like a wall; a wall that’s a little squishy, a wall that grunts, a wall with hands that hover over his back and head but are too afraid and startled to touch. A wall that topples under the added weight, getting trapped underneath Bucky’s naked body.

The wall is Steve and Steve is naked too and –

Bucky yelps.

“Oh my god!”

“Why are you naked?!”

“Why are you wet?!” Steve splutters. “Why are you wet?!”

“Oh, fuck – don’t look at me. Don’t look at me!”

Steve pulls himself up and Bucky crawls away while his back is turned.

“I don’t understand!” Steve sounds unbelievably distressed.

“Don’t look at me!” Bucky shouts hoarsely, trying to cover himself while diving behind the bed.

It’s not so much that he doesn’t want Steve seeing his dick (he doesn’t), it’s more so that… he’s not exactly comfortable with all the scarring around the seam of his prosthetic. Outside of the doctors and physical therapists, no one’s seen it before.

His brain shorts out when he catches a glimpse of Steve’s package hanging low.

“Oh, god – you’re showing everything!” And it’s not that he’s a prude, either. He just really doesn’t need the mental image of Steve’s junk haunting his dreams tonight. He has to work with the guy, after all. “Dammit, cover up!”

Steve snatches up the towel he dropped and wraps it around his waist, holding it tight until his knuckles turn white. The whole of his face and neck and chest or flushed pink from embarrassment.

Bucky gulps, voice cracking when he demands that Steve explain himself.

“Explain myself? I was getting ready to take a shower!”

“And you didn’t hear me?”

“I was –” He motions to the music player that lays abandoned on the floor. “And then you just jumped me out of nowhere!”

It’s Bucky’s turn to splutter. “I didn’t mean to jump you! That dog was harassing me and I couldn’t get a towel –”

“Are you telling me that you, who wouldn’t blink for a bullet, are afraid of a puppy?”

Bucky glares icy daggers at Steve. “Just go. Go take a fucking shower, you stink!”

Steve rolls his eyes and turns towards the door. “Nice tattoo, by the way,” he says just before he yanks the bathroom door open. Bucky opens his mouth but gets sidetracked by the dog that darts out and disappears into the hall. Steve shoots him an unimpressed look from over his shoulder. Bucky flips him the bird with a metal finger.

Trying to settle down for the night is awkward. Bucky’s sure that Steve is probably a little embarrassed about the whole naked-tumbling thing, and he is too, of course, but his mind keeps racing back over to the argument between Joe and Sarah. He could tell Steve about it, ask him why their relationship is strained, but he has a feeling that Steve wouldn’t be too keen to answer. So maybe if he eases him into it, makes him feel as if he owes Bucky an answer…

 “So what’s the deal with the, uh, exotic dance today?”

It’s silent for several seconds and then Steve dumbly asks, “What?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I know you were in on it. The song? You’re the only one who knows it’s my ringtone.”

“Hey, I had nothing to do with it. Ma asked me to name one of your favorite songs and that was the only thing I could come up with.”

“And you didn’t say anything because you wanted to embarrass me,” he concludes. Before Steve can reply, defend himself, he adds, “Well, jokes on you, pal, ‘cause I had a great time.”

“You did?” Steve’s tone is full of uncertainty and hope.

Bucky smiles a little to himself, the image of Thor shimmying forever seared into his brain.

“Yeah. Your friends and family are pretty great.” He shifts on the bed, rolling over onto his back, imagining Steve’s expression. “Speaking of family… what’s the deal with you and your dad?”

“That question’s not in the binder.”

“Really? I thought you were the one who said we needed to learn –”

“Not about this.”

“But if the guy asks…” Bucky presses.

“Not about this, Bucky,” Steve insists sternly, leaving no room for argument. “Goodnight.”

He’s not sure what it is – the strange day, the tired feeling in his bones, or the fact that for once he just wants to make someone feel better. Whatever the reason, he ignores the dismissal and clears his throat. His fingers toy with the he sheet that covers his body.

“I like the SyFy channel,” he says quietly.

There’s a short pause and then Steve’s asking “What?” in confusion.

“It’s my favorite thing to watch. Uh… I know how to swing dance. I’ve never been to a concert. My favorite song is Back in Black and I’m sure you’ll find something funny about that. I, uh…” He huffs a laugh. “I used to have a thing for young Marlon Brando. And Doris Day. Really liked her.

“Every Christmas I read The Brothers Karamazov. That’s my favorite book.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Haven’t slept with anyone in over two years. And… after Sitwell called me a poisonous cocksucking asshole, I cried a little in the bathroom. And the– the tattoo? Gerbera daisies. I got it when I was sixteen, after my mom died.” He swallows and rubs at his mouth nervously. “I’m sure there’s lots more, but that’s all I can come up with right now.”

Bucky waits for a response with baited breath, feeling as if he’s just bared his soul. No one will ever realize how hard that just was for him; how hard it is to let others see his true self, the self he’s had to bury deeper and deeper over the years, the self that’s been slowly chipping cracks into his armor to shine through.

And when Steve doesn’t say anything, he feels more than disappointed.

“You there?”

“I’m here,” Steve assures. It sooths some of his worries. “Just processing. You really haven’t slept with anyone in that long?”

Bucky groans and covers his face with his hands. “Out of everything I just said, that’s all you got?”

“No! No, I just –” Steve laughs and it’s enough to make Bucky uncover his face even though no one can see him anyway. “It’s hard to believe, I guess.”

It’s a little flattering to know that Steve thinks he gets laid more often than he does.

“Well, you know… Satan’s Paramour and all.”

Bucky believes he can hear Steve wince. “Sorry about that. You’re just pretty abrasive sometimes. Standoffish.”

He doesn’t disagree because he knows it’s true. He decides to let Steve in on a little secret.

“I’ve found that it’s easier to make people walk around you than it is to trust them not to walk over you.”

He shuts his eyes and listens to Steve’s soft breaths, matching the beat of his heart to them.

“Bucky? Don’t take this the wrong way, alright?”

He steels himself. “Okay.”

“You’re a real good lookin’ guy. Beautiful, even.”

Bucky’s eyelids reopen slowly, letting his eyes stare at the ceiling without really seeing. The words touch him deep, make him feel warm all over, and his demeanor softens incrementally. He hasn’t experienced such kindness in a long time and he wants to say something, he really does, he just –

“Back in black, I hit the sack. I been too long, I’m glad to be back. Yes I am let loose from the noose that kept me hangin’ around…”

Steve trying to mimic the singer’s high, rough voice makes Bucky choke back laughter.

“I keep lookin’ at the sky ‘cause it’s getting’ me high, forget the hearse ‘cause I’ll never die. I got nine lives, cat’s eyes, usin’ every one of ‘em and runnin’ wild.”

“’Cause I’m back,” Bucky murmurs. “Yes, I’m back. Well, I’m back. Yes, I’m back.”

Together, they sing the next line, a little louder, hitting the waving notes and laughing about it.

“I can keep going,” Steve offers, but the clearing of his throat says otherwise.

“No, that’s okay. That was…” He bites his lip and then laughs a little more. “It was good. Thank you.”

He means it.

+ +

A pillow thrown onto his body is what wakes Steve from his peaceful slumber.

“Steve!” Bucky growls. “Your mother’s at the door! Get up here!”

“Oh, god,” Steve groans as Bucky calls out ‘just a second!’

“Steve.”

He hops up to his feet and crawls onto the bed, hauling with him the pillows and blankets he’d slept on. Bucky recoils when the quilt known as The Baby Maker gets within touching distance, so Steve rolls his eyes and tosses it back onto the floor.

“Are you okay?” he hears his mother call from the other side of the door. He’s honestly surprised she hasn’t barged in already. Probably thinks they’re naked or something.

And now he’s thinking of when they were naked…

“ Here, just– uh... spoon me, okay? You’re too big for me to spoon you and we have to face the door anyway.”

Steve coughs, blocking out the thoughts in his head, and quickly agrees. His arms wrap around Bucky’s warm, solid body. Bucky’s dark hair is sleep-mussed and still smells faintly of herbs and mint from his shampoo. The soft, wrinkled cotton shirt he’s wearing has a different scent, one that Steve’s starting to realize is distinctly Bucky with maybe a hint of laundry soap.

Both of them try to squirm into a believable, comfortable position on the bed. It’s only when Bucky stiffens that Steve realizes he’s got a hint of an erection.

“What is that?” Bucky asks with a voice that’s devoid of anything, except panic, maybe. “Is that –?”

“It happens sometimes, okay?” he snaps, attempting to angle his hips away from the ass that’s pressed snugly against his front. “Or is your blood too cold for that?”

It’s a risky joke, but Bucky snorts and it sounds vaguely amused. And then he’s pressing himself back against Steve and he’s the one stiffening this time, in more ways than one.

“Come on in!”

His mom enters slowly, a tray of food in her hands, a grin lighting up her face.

“Oh, wow… cinnamon rolls?” Gosh, she knows how much he loves those.

“Smells good,” Bucky comments, craning his neck to get a better look at the tray of goodies she sets on a nearby footrest. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble for us, though.”

“Oh, come on. It’s nothing. And you’re family now.”

Steve glimpses down at Bucky’s face, his mouth quirking into a tiny smile when he sees the gentle, relaxed expression he’s wearing.

“Hey, is there room for one more?”

Steve’s tears his eyes away from his boss to catch sight of his father slipping into the room, approaching the bed with something like an apology written in the way he holds out his hands. Steve’s still peeved.

“Could we not do this right now? We just woke up.”

Joe clasps his hands behind his back, looking very much the soldier Steve remembers from his youth. He’d wanted to follow in his footsteps once.

“Your mother and I have come up with a proposition and I happen to think it’s a terrific idea…”

“We want you to get married here tomorrow!” Mom interrupts excitedly, holding her balled fists up by her rosy cheeks.

Steve’s hand, which had been absently stroking the hair away from Bucky’s forehead, stills.

“Wha– what?” Bucky laughs nervously and scrunches up his face, smiling through his obvious confusion. “What?”

Steve shakes his head no.

“Well…” Ma starts and she’s using her persuasive tone which is never good for Steve’s sensibilities. “You’re gonna get married anyway, so why don’t you get married here where we can all be together, and that way Grandma Mona can be a part of it.”

“Oh…”

Bucky’s sounding a little wounded, so Steve quickly steps in, offering another no that spurs Bucky into agreeing with him.

“Yeah, no. It’s Nana’s big birthday tomorrow.” He looks to Steve for guidance, so Steve nods immediately. Bucky nods, too. “We don’t wanna ruin it, y’know? Wouldn’t be right.”

“Yeah, that’s not…”

Nana skips in suddenly. Steve suspects she’s been listening by the door this whole time.

“I’ve had 89 birthday parties! I don’t need another one!”

It’s Bucky that coos, “Oh, Nana.”

Steve shuts his eyes. Out of all the times for this guy to go soft, it has to be now?

“It would be a dream come true for me to see my one grandchild’s wedding. A dream come true. So, you’ll do it?”

Steve hums miserably. Bucky doesn’t say a word, only wraps the fingers that are resting against Steve’s raised arm around his wrist.

“Before I’m dead,” Nana prompts, and that definitely gets Steve’s eyes flying open.

“Okay,” Bucky folds. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Steve repeats.

Ma squeals. She and Nana grab each other while Joe smiles awkwardly in the background. Steve has no idea what’s going through Bucky’s head right now. Hell, he doesn’t even know what’s going on inside his own head at the moment.

“We’ll do everything!” Ma promises. “You won’t have to worry about a thing. And you can get married like we did, in the barn.”

“It’s a Rogers Family tradition!” Nana pipes up.

Once again Steve glances down at Bucky’s face and the deer-in-headlights expression has him biting back laughter.

“Oh, wow!” Bucky exaggerates. “I– I’ve always wanted to get married in a… in a barn.”

“I have,” Steve agrees, unable to stop his silent shakes of laughter.

“I mean,” Bucky continues, “It’s my last name and all. Barnes.”

Steve’s seriously about to lose it here. His Ma’s look of utter delight is the only thing keeping him in line.

Nana gasps, “It’s a sign! A sign from the universe that you’re meant to be together! Oh, Joe, come on. We must give thanks!”

Joe grasps her arm and allows himself to be led out of the room, leaving Sarah watching her son and future son-in-law with complete adoration. “Okay, I know I should leave you alone now…” Which means she isn’t about to, not until Joe reappears to usher her towards the exit. Her parting words are a shout of, “I’m just so excited!”

The door clicking shut sounds so final and it’s only then that the weight of what’s happening settles. Steve is getting married tomorrow. Here.

Tomorrow, he is marrying Bucky.

“Oh, god.”

Bucky’s head rolls against Steve’s shoulder. He can feel those piercing eyes on him.

“When my mom finds out that this whole thing’s a sham, she’s gonna be crushed and my grandmother’s gonna die!”

“Your mom’s not gonna find out.”

“And my dad!” Steve balks. “What was that? He thinks this is a good idea? Where’d that come from?”

Bucky shifts out of Steve’s embrace. “She probably got him worked up into it. Look, it’s gonna be fine, okay? She’s not gonna find out. They’re not gonna find out.”

He leans forward, hunching in on himself, and buries his face in his hands. “Oh, god, Bucky!”

“Steve,” Bucky sighs. “They’re not gonna find out, alright? Just relax.”

He feels hands on him, small circles being rubbed into his back and shoulders, massaging all his worries and doubts and stresses away.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Bucky murmurs, hands never stilling. “It’s not like we’re gonna be married forever. We’ll be happily divorced before you know it, huh? We’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.”

It’s really not the words that calm him down, just the rumble of Bucky’s voice and the touches that are making him melt. Keeping himself from leaning into Bucky’s chest and shoving his nose into the crook of his neck is unbelievably hard.

And then Bucky’s hands slow and grip his bicep, his chin finding a spot on Steve’s shoulder. “You good, pal?” he wonders.

Steve’s answer doesn’t come right away, his attention focused on the mesmerizing back and forth of Bucky’s thumb against his skin.

“Yeah,” he breathes after a moment. Bucky’s staring at the side of his face and Steve’s too scared to meet his eyes because the air is charged with something and his heart’s pounding and everything inside him feels completely jumbled.

“Coffee?” The air barely clears when Bucky leaves the bed. “Hey, you want a double chocolaty chip crème Frappuccino?”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head fondly, but he still can’t bring himself to look at Bucky. In this instance, his palms are far more enticing, it seems.

“You’re right, you know,” he manages after a few seconds of hearing nothing but the coffee being poured. “We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, see?” The bed dips with Bucky’s weight and Steve is forced to look up when a plate of cinnamon rolls and a cup of coffee are being held in his direction. “It’ll all work out. Hey, you like these, right?”

Steve reaches out to take one of the rolls. “They’re my favorite,” he confirms. “Well, second to apple pie.”

“I should probably learn how to bake then, huh?” Bucky says it like it’s meant to be a joke, but Steve thinks it falls a little flat with such a sincere undertone. “Gotta keep you happy. Don’t want you leavin’ me for someone else.”

Steve barks out a laugh and tries not to think about how hysterical it sounds. “Haven’t left you yet, have I, Buck?”

And then he realizes he’s just created one of those moments where he has to look at Bucky, so he does, really does, and what he sees makes his heart stutter. He’s still holding the plate and the coffee, but he’s staring into Steve’s eyes like he’s never seen him before.

He doesn’t want Bucky’s hands to be full with trivial items. He wants those hands on him, anywhere and everywhere, right now. He wants…

He pulls the plate and cup from Bucky’s hands and twists to put them on the nightstand. When he’s facing around again, Bucky’s leaning a little closer.

Steve is going to kiss him. Steve wants to kiss him. He never knew he could have such a thought, but Bucky is, well, Bucky, and he’s leaning even closer now, eyes downcast and red lips parted. Their noses brush and –

“I’m gonna go downstairs,” Bucky says in a rushed, rough voice, clambering off the bed with wide eyes and a clenched jaw.

Steve’s too stunned to disagree or even ask why. He’s left to drown in his thoughts.

A solid fifteen minutes passes before he decides to go downstairs and even then it’s only because he got a call telling him Bucky’s phone was ready to pick up. He takes a quick shower and dresses, taking each step down as slowly as he can, hoping to prolong the inevitable awkwardness. The faint sound of Buddy Holly mixed with two sets of laughter piques his interest enough to enter the kitchen, though he quickly ducks back out to peer around the corner when he’s met with the sight of Bucky dancing with Nana. They’re hopping around, Bucky moving at a slower pace without making it too obvious. He spins her around and even lifts her at one point, not shying away when she grips his bionic hand and tries to spin him too even though he’s much taller and has to bend way down into a crouch to see it through.

And witnessing something like this, something like Bucky so carefree and innocent and sweet, makes Steve’s topsy-turvy still-developing feelings less of a revelation and more of a confirmation.

He claps when the song is over and they stop. Nana smiles knowingly when she spots him and Bucky looks as if he was caught doing something heinous. It’s all far too charming for Steve to handle.

“You should teach Steve how to dance properly,” she suggests. “He could use the extra help.”

Steve shakes his head at her. “I’m gonna go pick up your phone,” he tells Bucky. “Wanna come?”

“Yes!”

“Go see a movie,” Nana suggests. “Eat some lunch.”

Steve smirks. “Don’t wanna keep your dance partner for too long,” he says, and the hand that lands on the small of Bucky’s back as he passes, guiding him towards the stairs, is reflexive.

“Shut up,” Bucky mumbles. There’s no venom in his words. He rushes up the stairs, two at a time, informing Steve that he’ll meet him out front in a few minutes.

“Oh, hello.”

“Hey, Loki,” Steve says politely. He’s not exactly, and never has been, friends with Loki. He’s a bully in Steve’s book, but the guy’s Thor’s brother and he’s been decent while working for Ma, so Steve’s got nothing real against him. “Not sure if you met Bucky yet.”

Loki’s eyes glint with mischief and he smiles almost deviously. “Yes, I’ve met him,” he says. Then, “Here.” He’s handing the new phone and its box over to Bucky, who thanks him and follows Steve over to the rack of junk food at the other end of the small general store. Loki’s eyes follow them.

“He offered me fish at your party,” Bucky explains. Steve wonders what his expression showed to make him think he has to. “I don’t like fish, just a heads up.”

Steve hums and grabs a bag of Doritos. “Well, if we’re talking random facts then you should know I have an apparently unhealthy obsession with Doritos.”

“Probably ‘cause you look like one.”

Steve laughs. “What?”

“Shoulder to hip ratio,” is all he says.

Steve shrugs and grabs two cokes from the mini fridge. “Coke over Pepsi,” he comments. “I’m a sucker for snack mixes, but I’ll leave any and all raisins. And speaking of things I won’t eat: soup.”

“Why?” Bucky asks curiously.

“I got sick a lot when I was a kid. It felt like all I ate for three years straight was soup. Can’t stand it now. Dad’s the same way with bologna.”

Bucky’s response is not to his words, but to the screen of his phone. “You gotta be kidding me. Thirty seven messages? Fuck. I’m not getting any service. Is there any Wi-Fi around here?”

“Yeah, uh– hey, Loki? What’s the password for the internet?”

“Bilgesnipe,” he clipped British accent provides.

“Bilgesnipe? Is that b-I-l-g…”

Steve zones out when he spots a familiar figure through the window. It’s Peggy. Steve finds himself rushing towards the door, throwing out a hasty “Be back in a minute” to a preoccupied Bucky.

 The bell on the door tinkles behind him and then he’s jogging across the street, smiling and calling out Peggy’s name.

“Steve!” she says with a grin. “It’s good to see you again. Where’s Bucky?”

Stopping a few feet in front of her, he points over his shoulder to indicate the general store he just left. “He lost his phone so we were picking up a new one. How… how are you? It’s been a while.”

“It has, hasn’t it?”

Steve nods. “Seven years.”

Peggy smiles sadly. “Yes. But I’ve been fine and from the looks of it, you have, too.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m… yeah.” He clears his throat awkwardly, making her chuckle. Gosh, she’s as beautiful as ever.

“New York’s been treating you well, I suspect?”

He resists the urge to say yeah again. “It’s great. I love Brooklyn and my job. And Bucky,” he makes sure to add, though there’s an old, dull pang inside his chest while he stares at Peggy and says those words.

“Sounds like a dream.” Peggy reaches out almost hesitantly but allows her hands to rest on his chest. “Steve, you have to know that I am so happy for you.”

He sighs. “I know, Peggy. Thank you.” His hands squeeze hers before she drops them to her sides again.

“He was a real trooper at the bar.”

Steve laughs, can only imagine Bucky’s initial reaction to finding out they’d set someone up to dance for him. “Yeah, he accused me of trying to embarrass him, but he had a good time.”

“I should think so,” Peggy agrees, laughing along with him.

They lapse into silence for a moment, staring at each other with soft smiles and curious eyes. It really has been so long that Steve feels as if they’re strangers again, like he’s meeting Peggy for the first time in another life, only now he’s engaged to be married to his boss and what they shared is only a distant, fond memory. He supposes that’s how life works, though.

“What are you doing back here?” he decides to ask. “Did you move or are you just visiting?”

“Oh, just visiting. I’m headed back to England in a couple of days, but not before I see my cousin. I was on my way to meet her, actually.”

“Oh! Well, don’t let me keep you.”

Peggy touches his arm and offers one last smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Steve.”

“You’re coming?” He’s surprised, honestly; doesn’t really know why.

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss your wedding.”

He gives a tight nod, suddenly and inexplicably emotional, and waves when she does, calling out belatedly, “Say hi to Sharon for me!”

“Will do!”

And then she’s gone, disappeared around the corner, and all Steve can do is head back to the general store to fetch Bucky. Well, that’s not such a bad thing, is it?

+ +

“It must be nice seeing Peggy again.”

Bucky’s been waiting five minutes to say that. Five minutes of walking the streets, sharing Steve’s Doritos, and trying to think of a way to bring up the fact that he saw the two of them conversing. It’s completely obvious that there’s something there still, be it residual feelings or yearning for the past or just trouble letting go. Or, hell, maybe there’s nothing and Bucky’s just making shit up because he doesn’t understand basic human interaction anymore. He’s confused enough as it is.

Steve looks surprised by Bucky’s choice of conversation. “Haven’t seen her in a while, so yeah, it’s definitely nice.”

“She’s pretty. Real great gal.”

Bucky’s not sure what he’s trying to accomplish here. Steve looking at him strangely says he’s not sure either.

He could tell Steve that he knows about the proposal, but it really wouldn’t make a difference. It’s none of his business, not like it would be if their engagement was based on love instead of the necessity of keeping their jobs.  And out of everything, that makes Bucky feel the guiltiest. Steve had been ready to get married at one point, to a woman he loved, a high school sweetheart, and here Bucky is, stealing that away by roping him into this sham of a marriage.

“Steve –”

“There you are!” It’s Sarah, Nana standing faithfully by her side. “We didn’t want to bother you, but we need to pick out your tuxes. It won’t take very long, I promise!” She steps forward and grabs Bucky’s arm, shooting Steve a wry grin from over his shoulder. “We’re stealing him away now, but you better not wander too far off,” she tells her son. “You’re next.”

“Sounds ominous,” Steve jokes. “Better be careful, Buck.”

“I’ll try,” Bucky replies dryly. Then he’s whisked away by the Rogers’ women for a fitting.

It’s an old suit, Nana had informed him. Her husband’s from the 50’s. She said that Steve was too big for it, but Bucky was nearly the perfect size. All she’d have to do is have the jacket taken in to fit his slimmer waist and hem the pants an inch and it’d be perfect.

Bucky likes the vintage look and is touched that Nana wants him to wear the outfit her husband wore on the day of their wedding. Of course, Sarah insists they spruce it up; shiny shoes, skinny tie instead of the bow that Bucky decides he’ll make Steve wear, and a vest to go under the jacket.  

“You look so handsome,” Sarah says proudly while Nana gets his measurements. Bucky can only smile and whisper a quiet thank you. “You know... I was thinking, if you’d like, that maybe we could head your way for the holidays.”

The images flash before his eyes. A big table covered in food at Thanksgiving, all the chairs around it filled with chattering, happy people. Or a living room decorated in reds and greens and golds, a tree set up with colored lights illuminating the presents underneath, and everyone watching some stupid cheerful movie and enjoying each other’s company. He’d be sitting against Steve, comfortable in his arms…

Each vision features Sarah and Nana and Joe. Steve. Family.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” he finds himself saying. They could come to New York, but who’s place would they go to? Steve’s, undoubtedly. Did he have enough room? Sarah’s probably more comfortable hosting from her house. “Or maybe we could come to you, too.”

Sarah’s quiet for a moment, standing still halfway behind Bucky. “That would be lovely,” she says, and the way her voice cracks makes Bucky turns his head to see her expression. “I’d like that very much,” she chokes out heavily, tears pooling in her eyes. Bucky’s not sure what to say.

“Oh, Sarah, for God’s sake,” Nana chides, but her voice isn’t exactly steady either. “We’ve got work to do!”

“I know, I’m just… I’m sorry!” She laughs through her tears. Bucky finds himself smiling tenderly at her.

“Go make yourself some tea. I’ll finish up here.”

After a while, Nana moves them over to a mirror, forcing Bucky to look at himself while she studies her work. Her satisfied hum comes just before she hurries away.

“I know you probably don’t want to wear women’s jewelry,” she says from the side, coming back just as quickly as she left. She holds up her steady hand to show him the dainty, dull gold ring pinched between her fingers. “It’s a Claddagh ring. It’s been in the family for over 150 years. I thought you could wear it around your neck.” She reaches out carefully to pull the dog tag chain out from underneath his collar.  

“Mona, it’s beautiful, but I don’t think I should…”

She shushes him and holds the ring closer to his face, demanding his attention stay focused on the details of the heart, the crown, and the hands.

“My great-grandfather gave it to my great-grandmother when they got married. They were quite the scandal, you know. He was Russian and she was Irish… not quite unlike you and Steve. But her family didn’t approve and don’t worry, Bucky, we adore you.”

“Oh, thank you,” he whispers, so low that he’s pretty positive she doesn’t even hear him.

“Her mother hadn’t passed down the ring yet, because of the disapproval, so he bought her a new one, this one. It symbolizes love, friendship, and loyalty, and this ring’s been passed down ever since. If Steve was marrying a woman, this would be hers, so it’s only fair I give it to you.”

Her words ignite a flame inside Bucky and suddenly he sees how wrong this is.

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t take this.”

“Now, I don’t want to hear that!” Nana fusses. “Grandmother’s love to give their stuff to their grandchildren.” Oh, god. She considers him a grandchild. He can’t do this. “It makes us feel like we’ll still be a part of their lives even after we’re gone. Take it.”

She looks to him, one hand holding the ring while the other clasps his tags. Through the mirror, he watches her undo the chain and slide the ring on. Then, very carefully, slips it back over his head. She pats all three items firmly against his chest.

The sight makes his throat go tight and his eyes fill with tears.

“Are you alright, dear?”

“I…”

No, he’s not alright, not at all. What’s he doing here? What is he doing? He’s screwing with Steve’s family so he can stay in the country and keep his job. What kind of fucked up person does that? And these people have been nothing but nice, sweet, generous, and they care about him. They want him to be happy with Steve and this whole thing is fucking not real and…

The ring around his neck is real. The suit he’s wearing is real. The way he felt in bed with Steve this morning was definitely real.

Bucky makes a sound that he quickly aborts and pats the ring and tags resting near his heart.

He has to tell them. He can’t go on with this.

“I…” he tries again, but Nana’s concerned expression makes him trip up. “I just –” The words won’t come. He’s a coward, always has been. He forces his mouth to quirk into a semblance of a smile. “I just wanna make sure you have enough time to get Steve taken care of, too.”

Nana visibly relaxes and her grin makes his chest feel heavy. “Don’t you worry about that,” she tells him, words accompanied by a tender caress to his arm. “Sarah’s probably already got him waiting outside.”

Bucky sits silently at the tiny café while Steve takes his turn getting fitted. The ring is out of sight, but definitely not out of mind. He can feel it underneath his shirt, rubbing against his skin, a constant reminder of all that is right and wrong in the world at this very moment. So he sits and drinks his tea – tea because he’s trying to calm his nerves, not jitter them further – and thinks about what he’s done.

He’s only reprieve comes in the form of Thor, who apparently works at the café. He’s friendly and a good distraction until Sarah, Nana, and Steve come to fetch him. Hoping they can finally get back to the house and Bucky can think about what he’s going to do turns out to be futile, however, because the Rogers’ now have plans that include heading the Marina to take their boats out for a little celebratory cruise. How wonderful.

It takes a half hour to get to the Marina where they meet some guy Steve hugs and calls Tim. Bucky recognizes him as the one at the party that demanded they kiss. He hopes nothing like that goes down again tonight because kissing Steve is bound to set Bucky off at this point.

Because Steve is rich and not just his family, Bucky refuses to believe, the Rogers’ own two speed boats. The 5 people split up, three in one boat and two in the other; the two without the third wheel being Steve and Bucky, of course. Nana makes sure of that.  

They drift along The Oxbow at a leisurely pace. Sarah, Nana, and Tim are all laughing at something as they lag behind. Bucky doesn’t wonder too much about what they find funny because his attention is otherwise occupied.

It’s as if he can’t see anything but Steve.

Steve against the backdrop of the setting sun is beautiful. His wind-tousled hair catches the dim light just so and his misted skin shimmers. He’s perfect and Bucky can’t stand it anymore.

He nudges Steve out of the way without warning, taking over the controls, upping the speed immediately so they kick up water as they rocket away.

“Bucky, what the hell?!” Steve shouts, clutching the side of the boat for dear life. “Mind telling me what’s goin’ on?”

His voice cracks when he shouts, “I need to get away from everyone!”

“Why? What happened?”

Steve concern brings back the tearfulness from earlier. “Nothing! Just stop talking, please!”

“Bucky!”

He steering them around a bend when he snaps. “I just forgot, okay?”

“Forgot what? Bucky!”

He’s trying so hard to keep himself together. “I forgot what it’s like to have a family! I’ve been on my own since I was 16 and I forgot what it felt like to have people love you and make you breakfast and say, ‘Hey, we’d love to come over for the holidays!’ and I say, ‘Well, why don’t we come see you instead?’ and give you a fucking 150 year old ring!” He’s sniffling now, angry and upset and guilty and hurt by his own stupidity. “And you have all that here and you have Peggy and I’m screwing it up!”

“You’re not screwing it up!” Steve argues. “I agreed to this, remember?”

Bucky shakes his head frantically and chances a look at Steve’s harried expression.

“Your family loves you. Do you know that?”

“Yes, I know that!”

That distresses him even more. The boat goes faster.

“You know and you’re still willing to put ‘em through this?” he demands.

“They’re not gonna find out!”

“How do you know?!”

“Because you said so yourself, Bucky!” Steve reminds him.

He feels like he might start hyperventilating now that all his doubts are coming out. “Oh, god, what if your mother found out? Shit, what if Nana finds out? She’s gonna have a fucking heart attack!”

“Bucky, she’s not– she won’t! Stop the boat!”

Bucky swerves around another bend.

“Bucky –”

There’s no sound from Steve after that, which doesn’t register as odd until a whole minute passes and Bucky’s able to pull himself out of his head. He twists around and finds that he’s alone on the boat and far off in the distance is a man splashing desperately.

“Steve!” he screams, fearful and distressed. He jerks the boat into a turn, speeding back until he’s close enough to cut the engine. “Steve! Steve, grab my hand!”

He reaches over the side of the boat as far as he can without falling out, straining against the stretch. His fingers wiggle, trying to coax Steve forward before his panic skyrockets into unmanageable levels and he’s unable to keep himself afloat.

“Steve, please!”

Steve slaps his hand into Bucky’s and gets hauled up onto the boat with some difficulty. He’s gasping and shaking and pale, and he clings to Bucky the second he wraps his arms around Steve and pulls him close.

“I got you,” Bucky murmurs, lips pressed into Steve’s wet hair. “I got you.” He grabs a quilt from the bench and attempts to drape it over Steve, which is difficult since he won’t let go, but not impossible.

Steve sniffles. “You t-turned the boat and m-made me fall in, jerk.”

“I didn’t know you couldn’t swim, punk.” The waning adrenaline is already making him exhausted. He can’t even imagine how Steve’s feeling.

He rubs his hands over the quilt covering Steve’s arms in hopes of warming him faster. It seems to help a little.

“I can swim. I just… there was an incident, when I was a kid. I almost drowned and sometimes I panic around water when I’m not prepared.”

“I’m so sorry, Steve.” He crying into Steve’s hair a little, shaken up by the prospect of losing Steve and everything this weekend has shown him. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m okay.” Steve grabs Bucky’s metal hand and squeezes. Bucky doesn’t even flinch when a cold nose meet the hollow of his throat. “You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Yeah. Right.

+ +

The trip back to the Marina is spent huddled together in silence. Steve doesn’t say a word to his Ma or anyone else around. He and Bucky simply walk to the car side-by-side, the blanket still tight around his torso, and start the ride back home.

As if they both haven’t had enough for the day, what with Bucky’s freak out and Steve’s own befuddlement, his dad is waiting on the front steps as they walk up.

He looks at them with serious eyes and says, “I need to speak with both of you.”

Steve looks to Bucky and Bucky looks to Steve and neither of them knows what’s going on but the dread is clear as day on both of them.

They follow Dad through the house and out the back, pacing steadily to the barn. It’s when they reach the green door that Dad speaks once more, uttering cryptically, “Your mother is never to hear about any of this.”

Steve’s brain sorts it out then. If possible, he grows even colder than before. Because standing in the middle of the barn, in all his one-eyed glory, is none other than Mr. Fury.

Bucky’s body sags in defeat.

“Told you I’d check up on you,” Fury says, loud and smug.

Steve can’t believe this, is incredulous when he turns a suspicious eye on his father. “What did you do?”

“I got a call from Mr. Fury here, who told me that if you were lying, and he strongly believes that you are, he would send you to prison. So I flew him here.”

“Dad.”

“Luckily for you,” Fury interrupts, “your father negotiated a deal on your behalf. You better listen close, Rogers, ‘cause this offer is only gonna last a whopping 20 seconds. You’re gonna make a statement admitting that this marriage is a sham or you’re going to prison. You tell the truth, you’re off the hook, and Mr. Barnes goes back to Russia. So, what’s it gonna be?”

“Well? Take the deal,” his dad cajoles. 

Steve gives them both a long, steely look before telling them, “I don’t think so.”

Bucky’s eyes are on him in an instant.

“Don’t be stupid, Steven.”

“You want a statement? Here’s your statement: I worked for James Barnes for three years. Six months ago, we started dating. We fell in love. I asked him to marry me and he said yes.” It’s a lie he almost tricks himself into believing. Steve grabs Bucky by the hand and drags him to the door. “I’ll see you at the wedding.”

Bucky walks slowly into the bedroom when Steve holds the door open for him. He looks despondent. Steve might look the same, but he couldn’t say for sure if that’s how he feels. He just doesn’t know.

“So…” It’s nothing but a breath that flows out when Bucky bends to sit. “You sure about this?”

The fact that Bucky’s asking is a far cry from how they started this thing.

“Not really,” Steve admits. They can be honest with each other now. They have to be.

“I’m very appreciative, for what you’ve done, but I think…”

“You’d do the same for me, right?”

Bucky stares at him, eyes gray and wide. There’s no yes, no nod. He looks so much like a kicked puppy that it startles Steve’s heart into an uneasy rhythm. This time, he knows exactly why.

The knock on the door shatters his thoughts.

“You,” Nana says, striding into the room and pointing at Steve, “need to come with me. Tomorrow’s your wedding day.” She grabs the folded quilt from off the bed and smiles. “You have to give The Baby Maker a rest, it’s tradition.”

“We’re not gonna use The Baby Maker,” Steve sighs. His voice sounds weak to his own ears.

“You’ve got your whole lives to be together! Now kiss each other goodnight and let’s go!”

Nana leaves the room, expecting Steve to follow. Bucky’s watching him and his eyes say don’t. Don’t do this. Don’t put yourself on the line.

Don’t leave.

“You know, if I don’t go, she’s just gonna –”

“Come right back. Yeah.”

Steve takes a long look at him, cataloguing the furrowed brows, the plump frown, the dust of stubble on his hard jaw. He takes a step towards the door, the exact opposte of the direction he wants to go, and reaches for the knob, though he can’t turn it until he gets the final confirmation.

“See you in the morning?” He hates that it has to be a question.

Bucky nods this time, even smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes that as his cue to leave and settle himself on the idea that he’ll be sleeping on the couch with Sammy and the TV keeping him company instead of Bucky, even if his presence is always a few feet away.

+ +

It’s 11am and Bucky hasn’t even caught a glimpse of Steve yet, which is the whole point but still an idea he isn’t fond of. He’s by the back door, watching all the guests crowd into the barn. Aside from Steve’s family and two close friends, Bucky knows no one.

He’s about to get married. He’s about to…

Taking several deep breaths, Bucky steps out into the cool morning air and makes his way towards the barn.

It’s a gorgeous sight. There are arched branches strung with soft glowing lights and flowers climbing up all the walls. Hanging lanterns are placed strategically around the altar that Steve stands at, illuminating him and his beauty. Steve, who’s standing tall and facing forward, eyes on Bucky as he starts the slow walk to the music, looks pretty damn dapper in a suit.

His eyes flicker away from Steve long enough to land on Thor, who will apparently be marrying them, and then to observe the rows of guests as they stand to watch him come forward. Fuck, he’s gonna vomit.

And then Nana is there, smiling and offering her arm, eager and happy to walk Bucky down the aisle. The closer they get, the more his body vibrates. Loki is in the back, hiding in the shadows. Next, he spots Sarah, standing up front by Joe, her expression tender and happy. There’s Peggy, as pretty and prim as ever, next to a burly, pleasant Tim. And then he sees Fury, that one eye following his every move, bringing out the habit of chewing on his bottom lip.

Nana lets Bucky go when they reach Steve so she can take her seat and they can stand in front of Thor.

The music dies down. The crowd reseats themselves. Thor opens his arms to beckon them one more step closer before he uses his booming, soothing voice to start the ceremony.

“We are gathered here today to give thanks and to celebrate one of life’s greatest moments. To give recognition to the beauty, honesty, and unselfish ways of James and Steve’s true love, in front of family and friends.”

Bucky wrings his clasped hands.

“For it is their family and friends who taught James and Steve to love. It is only right that family and friends are all…” Thor trails off when he spots Bucky’s chest-level raised hand. Quietly, he asks, “Do you have a question, my friend?”

“No. Not a question, but I’ve got somethin’ to say.”

“Bucky,” Steve hisses.

“Can it wait until after?” Thor inquires.

Bucky shakes his head. “No, it can’t wait.”

He turns on his heels slowly, trying to put on a brave face though he knows it’ll crumble quickly. Everyone is watching him curiously, some – namely Sarah and Nana – worriedly. He has to ignore Steve because if he doesn’t then he’ll lose this moment, lose this one stroke of courage telling him to do the right thing for once.

“Hi,” he begins, still formulating the words. “Thanks for coming, first of all. I, uh, have something to say. An announcement. Or a confession, more like.”

“Bucky,” Steve whispers.

“I’m Russian,” he tells the crowd. “With an expired visa and a deportation just around the corner.” The rumblings have already started. “And because I didn’t want to leave this country, my home, I forced Steve here to marry me.”

“James, stop.”

Bucky doesn’t.

“See, Steve’s always had this incredible work ethic.” He looks to Joe, is tearful when he states, “Something, I think, he learned from you.” A thick swallow stops him from continuing for only a second. “And for three years I watched him work harder than anyone else at our company. And I knew that if I threatened to destroy his career, he would… he would do just about anything.” With a wavering voice, he lets it all out once and for all, finally. “So I blackmailed him to come here and lie to you. All of you.

“And I thought it would be easy to watch him do it. But it wasn’t.” He can see the disgruntled and disgusted faces of the crowd, but he only has eyes for a heart-broken Sarah in this moment. “Turns out it’s not easy to ruin someone’s life once you find out how wonderful they are. You have a beautiful family. Don’t let this come between you, okay? Please. This is my fault.”

“Bucky…”

Steve’s voice betrays how broken he feels and that’s it for Bucky. That’s all.

He takes one last deep breath and faces him. “Steve, this was a business deal and you held up your end, but now the deal is off. I’m sorry.”

He steps away from the altar and starts the trek back down the aisle, glaring at Fury as he passes. “You’re giving me a ride to the airport,” he orders. It’ just like none of this had ever happened, like he’s still at his office where people hate and fear him and he can hide and push everyone away before they can even get a foot too close.

But Steve got too close and now nothing’s the same. 

+ +

“What were you thinking?”

He was thinking that he’d keep his job, that he’d finally become editor and everything would be okay. He was thinking that marrying Bucky wouldn’t mean anything right up until he started to realize that it did, it meant everything.

“You lied to us!”

Yeah, Steve definitely did that, too. But he’d also been honest when he told Bucky everything would be okay, that they’d be okay.

“I need to clear my head. I’m sorry.” Steve’s pulling away from his family and rushing towards the exit. “I’ll explain later!”

He storms into the house and runs up the stairs, taking two at a time while his hands yank and undo his bowtie. The door to the bedroom he’d shared with Bucky these past few days is already open which immediately tells him the place is empty, but he still looks around with hope when he enters. On the bed, he finds the suit, a Claddagh ring, and a note clipped to a stack of banded papers that he recognizes as his and Sam’s manuscript.

He pulls the note off immediately and begins to read.

I was impressed. Sam’s writing is charming and your art is really something special, Steve. I lied because I knew publishing meant losing you as an assistant and I was too selfish for that. But before I leave, I’ll make sure we buy this.

Have an amazing life. You deserve it.

Bucky

“Well,” a familiar voice sounds from the door, “that was unexpected.”

Steve glances over his shoulder to see Peggy making her way into the room, ruby dress flowing with her movements. She keeps her arms still at her sides, but tilts her head and purses her red lips.

“The people of Ashfield will be talking about this for years.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees glumly. Peggy, who had once captured every ounce of Steve’s attention, can’t even hold it for a second now. He can’t keep from staring at the damn note, the last piece of Bucky he’ll ever have.

“Are you alright?”

Steve suspects Peggy’s only asking to get him talking. Even with how well he’s able to take rejection, this is a sting he hadn’t anticipated and it hurts, so much so that it makes him angry.

“No. And you know what the problem is? The problem is that this man is a gigantic pain in the ass. I understand the leaving thing– it’s a sham wedding, it’s stressful. Okay. But then he leaves this note because he doesn’t have the decency or courage to say it to my face. Three years!” His voice rises along with his passion. “Three years I work with this jerk and never once has he had a nice thing to say. Then he goes and writes this crap?”

“Steve.”

He crumples up the paper and throws it at the wall. “It doesn’t matter,” he seethes. “We had a deal –”

“Steve!”

He huffs. “Sorry. Sorry, he just drives me crazy.”

“I can see that.” She smiles tenderly at him, her velvety eyes piercing him like she knows his very soul. He wouldn’t put it past her. “So. Are you just going to let him go?”

No. No, he’s not. Steve’s never given up on anything that meant something to him before and he isn’t about to start now.

He races back down stairs and is nearly to the door when he’s approached by his anxious Ma.

“Steve,” she pleads. “Steve, what’s happening?”

“I gotta talk to him.” His fingers curl around the doorknob and a hand closes around his forearm.

“Why would you do that?”

“Boys,” Nana tries to intercept.

Steve flings his father’s hand away. “This has nothin’ to do with you,” he says curtly. One step outside has his father on his heels.

“Stop it!” Nana crows desperately.

“I’m not gonna let you do this, Steve.”

“I’m not asking for permission!”

They’re in each other’s faces, arguing at top volume. He can barely hear Nana’s constant stream of “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”

And then it’s his mother’s voice. “Joe!”

And then it’s Nana’s. “I think I’m having a heart attack…”

And Steve’s blood runs cold.

“Joe!”

They rush over to her, helping to set her on the wooden floor as gently as they can.

“Call a doctor!” Steve orders and he’s certain someone does.

He feels so helplessly lost as they all wait for the ambulance to arrive and that feeling doesn’t lessen once they start wheeling her away on a gurney.

“Joe, Steve,” she says weakly. “Please…”

Both of them clamber into the tight space of the ambulance despite the protests of the EMT’s.

Nana slowly pulls away her oxygen mask when the ambulance starts to move. Steve and his dad both grab onto her outstretched hand.

“You two need to stop fighting. You’ll never see eye to eye, but you’re family. Promise me… you’ll stand by Steve, even if you don’t agree with him.”

“I promise.”

“Steve, promise me you’ll work harder to be a part of this family.”

“I will. I promise. I promise, Nana.”

“Well,” she sighs. “Let them take me.”

She closes her eyes and Steve’s heart nearly stops. Seconds pass and he’s just about to the EMT’s to fucking do something when her eyes shoot back open and she looks around with extreme clarity.

“Well, I guess they aren’t ready for me! Hey, sonny, take us to the airport, won’t you?”

“Mom– what’re you, faking the heartack?” Joe shouts in disbelief. Steve joins him in a chorus of “Come on!”

It takes less than an hour to get to the airport in a speeding, siren-blaring ambulance, but even that is too long. He hops out of the vehicle before it even properly stops and rushes forward, the tower in his sights. He dials the number of an old friend immediately, hoping he’s working up there right now.

“Tower. Talk to me.”

“Jim! Jim, this is Steve Rogers. I have a big favor to ask. That plane– Bucky’s on that plane. I gotta talk to him. Can you stop it?”

“Oh, right. I heard about him bailing. Sorry.”

“Jim, can you stop it or not?”

“Nah, I really can’t do that.”

If Jim says anything else, Steve can’t hear it over the noisy plane getting closer and closer.

“No. No, no, no, no! Come on!” He slams a fist against his thigh in frustration.

“What’s wrong?” Dad asks.

“Bucky’s on that plane,” Ma answers. He seen her car following but hadn’t realized she’d gotten to them so quickly.

Nana moans miserably. “And he didn’t get to tell him!”

Steve catches sight of his father’s befuddled face just before he shuts his eyes.

“Tell him what?”

“That Steve loves him!”

“So Bucky could tell Steve that he loves him, too.”

“Yeah, but how…” Joe can’t even finish his thought before Sarah is explaining in exasperation.

“If Bucky didn’t love him then he wouldn’t’ve left.”

Hearing it creates a terrible mixture of pain and giddiness coursing through his body. He loves Bucky. God, he does. And Bucky loves him, too. And everything is screwed.

“I’m sorry, son,” Dad says softly from behind. “I didn’t know how you felt about him.”

Ma steps forward and wraps him in a big hug. “It’s gonna be okay,” she tells him. He doesn’t know if he believes that anymore.

+ +

Bucky’s bustling around his office with none of his usual energy, packing away all of his things into boxes and resolutely ignoring the stares that he feels every time someone passes by his door.

Being back here feels wrong somehow. The weekend in Ashfield changed him more than he could ever imagine and now it’s like the one place he thrived is no longer important.

Bucky gathers up a box and a slip of paper. Getting through the door is slightly difficult, but he makes it eventually. And then he’s standing by Steve’s desk and his body just wants to shut down because of how bad his chest aches.

“Sam?” he calls. His usual brusque tone is a shadow of its former self. “Sam,” he says again, but he’s already spotted him sitting at a desk a few rows away and is stomping his way over. “Sam, I need you to send the boxes in my office to this address. Please. This address right here.”

Sam takes the slip from him. He scans it and then looks up again. Bucky notices that his attention is piqued by something from behind, but he honestly doesn’t care.

“Can you do that?”

“Yeah, sure…”

“Good. Thanks.”

“Uh, Mr. Barnes?”

“What?”

Sam nods to whatever it is he finds so interesting, so Bucky turns, asking, “What?” again, and freezes.

There, moving slowly closer, wearing a shirt that’s far too tight, is Steve, and he’s oddly out of breath.

“Hi,” he gasps.

“Steve…”

No one bothers hiding the fact that they’re clearly listening and watching in fascination.

Bucky’s brows furrow. “Why’re you panting?”

“I was running.”

His brows shoot up instead. “Really? You ran all the way here?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I need to talk to you.”

It’s harder than it should be to put up his usual front, but he has to now. “Yeah, well I don’t have time. I’ve gotta catch a flight to Moscow.” He forces himself to look away from Steve and back to Sam so he can deposit the box into the latter’s arms. “I need those boxes to go out today, alright? I wanna make sure everything –”

“Bucky, stop talking!” Steve barks. Bucky flinches in surprise. Sam makes himself disappear, the only one with enough tact to do so. A few others do look away, though.

Steve calms down with a deep breath and is much quieter when he asks, “Can I say something?”

If Bucky says no, Steve will do it anyway.

“Fine. What?”

“This’ll just take a sec,” he promises.

Bucky crosses his arms. “Okay.”

“Three days ago, I hated you. I dreamt about you getting hit by a train. Or poisoned.” Steve sounds sheepish, at least.

“Wow. That’s nice.”

“I told you to stop talking.” Bucky shuts his mouth. “Then we had our adventure in Ashfield and things started to change.” He steps closer to Bucky, completely unguarded. “Things changed when we kissed.” Bucky’s lips part in surprise.  “And when you told me about your tattoo. Even when you checked me out when we were naked.”

Everyone around them giggles and ooh’s. Bucky can feel his face getting a little warmer.

“Well, I didn’t see anything.”

“Yeah, you did,” Steve chuckles. And okay, he did. “But I didn’t realize any of this until I was standing in a barn, alone at the altar. I bet you can imagine my disappointment when it suddenly dawned on me that the guy I love is about to be kicked out of the country.”

Bucky snaps to attention. His stomach twists into knots of fear and excitement. Something too intense to name nestles itself deep inside his chest.

Steve… Steve loves him?

“So, Bucky.” Steve inches forward. “Marry me.” There are gasps all around. One of them might even be Bucky’s. “Marry me, because I’d like to date you.”

There are so many things he wants to say, but he can’t. He couldn’t even if his throat cleared enough to ease the heaviness in his voice.

“Trust me.” He smiles tight and sad. “You don’t wanna be with me.”

“I do, Buck.”

“Steve,” And fuck, he better not start crying again. New York is a no crying zone. “Steve, there’s a reason I’ve been alone all this time. I’m comfortable that way. I’m used to it. So I think it’d be a lot easier if we forgot everything that happened and I just left.”

“You’re right. That would be easier.”

Bucky nods, holding back tears. For one second he thinks that it’s all over. But then one second turns into two and then three and Steve is still staring at him, earnest and tender and he’s not giving up.

Bucky starts shaking his head instead, a reflexive reaction to what Steve’s offering so openly. Loyalty. Friendship. Love.

His face contorts, but no tears fall, and he manages a tiny shrug. His voice breaks when he whispers, “I’m scared.”

“Me too.”

Steve is right there with him.

He takes one final step forward. His big, warm hands cup Bucky’s jaw, reeling him in for a kiss. Lips part immediately and eyelids flutter closed. The feeling of safety, of comfort and need and want, flood his body and his senses are overloaded with Steve.

The hands on his face slide down his neck, eliciting a shiver and the deepening of the kiss. Fingertips trail from his shoulders down his arms to grip his biceps and Bucky knows that this is what he’s meant for.

The tips of their noses press together as their mouths ease away. Two pairs of eyes are lidded and trained solely on each other.

Bucky’s breath rushes through his parted lips. “Aren’t you s’posed to get down on your knee?” he teases. He moans softly when Steve jerks him closer, their bodies flush against each other.

Steve grins, murmurs, “I’ll take that as a yes,” and dives back in for another series of short, passionate kisses that lead seamlessly into one another. He grips at the back of Steve’s head, fingers tugging at soft hair just because he can. He can.

They gravitate into a deeper, longer kiss, and the crowd of co-workers erupts into applause around them. He’ll appreciate that later, but for now the only thing that matters is Steve.

Bucky smiles against pink, plush lips and wraps his arms around his fiancé’s neck. For the first time in a long time, he feels complete.

+ +

+ +

“So.” Fury clasps his hands and sets them atop his desk, his one eye flittering between the two of them. “You two are engaged again?”

Bucky doesn’t try to hide his dopey grin. Neither does Steve.

“Yes,” they say quietly, blissfully, one after the other.

Fury’s suspicion can’t even put a damper on them. “For real this time?”

“Yes.”

“Definitely.”

“And you’re sure you wanna go through with this? Because one wrong answer and I’m taking you down.”

Bucky’s face scrunches and glances at Steve. The little punk doesn’t even look bothered.

“Understood,” is what he says, so Bucky mirrors him and finds himself relaxing once more.

“Alright.” Fury slams his fists onto his desk and stands. Shockingly, he smiles. “Let’s do this!”

| | |

| | |

Because when I arrive, I, I’ll bring the fire. Make you come alive –

The ringing phone makes him groan and roll over, snatching it off the nightstand lazily. Steve’s arm tightens around his waist, drawing him back to rest against his chest. Bucky snuggles himself closer and puts the phone to his hear.

“Hello?”

“Congratulations on the sex.”

“Fuck off, Natasha,” he growls. “And this isn’t the first time I’ve touched Steve’s dick anyway.”

Steve whines into his neck. Bucky smirks.

Natasha chuckles. “Oh, I know. But it’s married sex now, so congrats.”

“Thanks. But you didn’t actually call to congratulate me on fucking Steve, did you?”

“No. I called because I have a problem.”

“Yeah?”

“Clint was inspired by your touching ceremony.”

“I noticed,” Bucky drawls. Because really, no one could miss the way Clint Barton started bawling after Steve and Bucky shared their first official kiss as husbands.

“Well… he’s asked me to marry him.”

Bucky slips out of Steve’s embrace to sit himself up. “Wow. What’d you say?”

“I didn’t give him an answer,” she admits. “I pushed him outside and locked the door.”

“Christ, Natasha. Why?”

Steve sits up, too, obviously thinking it’s something serious. His chin gets rested on Bucky’s shoulder after he lets out a loud yawn.

“If you don’t wanna marry him then just say no.”

She snorts. “It’s not a definite no, I just couldn’t think with him staring at me.”

“And he’s still there?”

“Yep. He’s playing All By Myself from his phone.” Suddenly, Bucky can hear the tinny, crackling lyrics from the other end.

When I was young, I never needed anyone. Making love was just for fun. Those days are gone. All by myself, don’t want to be, all by myself anymore…

Bucky is just beside himself right now. He’s not sure if he finds this pathetic or oddly sweet – and that last part is only because Steve’s made him into a sap.

“Don’t be cruel,” Steve says because he’s close enough to hear what’s on the other end of the phone.

“Did you hear that? Elvis says don’t be cruel.”

Steve’s arm wraps around his neck loosely, giving a playful squeeze. Bucky lets himself be pulled back into lying down and held against Steve’s side.

Bucky will never get used to this closeness, of kissing and snuggling (and that lie turned out to be true, they love snuggling), and shit, the sex is something else. He’s never felt so comfortable around another human being. The first two times, Bucky wouldn’t take off his shirt, which Steve was perfectly fine with except that he knew Bucky wasn’t, so he pushed. He was convincing enough to get Bucky fully naked and splayed out, and when that happened, Steve kissed and caressed every scar on his chest and shoulder until Bucky was sighing and hauling him up into a needy, open-mouthed kiss.

Steve cares for him and loves him and Bucky knows he’s the luckiest jackass in the world.

Natasha’s voice reigns him back in from the depths of Steve’s affectionate gaze.

“Should I say yes or not? I need your opinion. Steve’s, too.”

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, ask the guys that were gonna get married for occupational gain.”

“I’m asking the guys that got their shit together and married after the realized they were in love.” She scoffs. “This is disgusting.”

“Do you love Clint?” Steve asks, his lips next to Bucky’s ear more than the phone, but Natasha still hears him.

“Yes.” Admitting it seems to pain her.

“And do you want to get married?” Bucky adds. “Do you wanna spend the rest of your life with him?”

Wake up and see his angelic, sleeping face and smile because you know he’s yours. Kiss him until he grins and kisses back, slow and lazy and still half asleep. Make each other breakfast. Shower together because you trust each other enough to. Work and miss each other and then go back to the home you share and never let go until morning.

Fight and shout and call each other names, shove his body against the wall until you stop cursing in anger and start cursing with pleasure. Show each other why you go to together, why your relationship will work. Show each other how you love and say the words because they never get old. Kiss and giggle and remember that you started off on the wrong foot and even though you still misstep, you never hit the floor. Know that falling together is the safest thing in the world. That falling for him will be the best thing you let yourself do. That him falling for you will be your undoing and remaking every day of the rest of your lives.

“Yes,” Natasha breathes, like she heard every one of his thoughts. The way Steve’s looking at him, dark-eyed and heated, makes Bucky think that he might’ve said some of that out loud.

“So tell him,” Bucky says. It can be that simple.

“Steve?” Natasha inquires. It’s a rare moment of nervousness for her.

“Don’t overthink it,” Steve instructs. “If you know you love him and wanna be with him, just think of one thing: does it feel right in your gut?”

“Yes,” she says. They hear her opening her apartment door, the music already having stopped minutes ago, and then she’s saying that one word again, strained and stressed. “Yes, Clint.”

There’s an excited yell before everything goes silent. Bucky pulls the phone away from his ear, grinning when he sees that the call has ended. He can feel Steve’s own smile press against his shoulder.

“We should get paid for this.”

“What?” Bucky laughs. “Counseling confused friends? I don’t think we’re exactly qualified, Steve.”

“We’re more than qualified. Experience is highly coveted.”

“Shut up.”

Steve doesn’t. He moans into Bucky’s mouth, rolling them over until he’s one long line of naked skin against Bucky’s body, pressed tight together, front to front. Steve’s hands toy with the dog tags around his neck, paying special attention the ring on his chain.

“Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah, doll?”

“You know what people do on honeymoons?”

Bucky quirks a brow. Steve’s expression is quickly turning mischievous. It’s a good look for him.

“You mean that thing we already did three times earlier?”

“Mhm,” he hums. His lips are already trailing wet, hot kisses up Bucky’s neck and jaw. “But it’s 3 in the morning, which means all that happened yesterday. And today’s a new day, made for new things…”

“And you’re ready for another round?” he guesses, gasping out the words while Steve sucks on his pulse point and rocks their hips together simultaneously.

“Yes.”

“I can be persuaded.”

Steve laughs against Bucky’s skin. Then, leaning back, he takes Bucky’s face in his hands and rests their foreheads together. “I can persuade you all day, Buck.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Steve does try and he’s got Bucky moaning and whining in no time, writhing on the sheets while he thrusts their erections together, sending spikes of pleasure up each other’s spines and tingles all the way down to their fingers and toes.

Yeah, Bucky could do this all day, too. Forever, even. So they will. Absolutely, they will.