A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Finals kicked my butt and to add to all the stress that comes with the oncoming of Christmas, my father had another slip and fall and has possibly fractured his hip. We don't know yet (he's in a post-care facility atm, so we try to visit as often as we can. He's 71, has had two hip replacements, and this is his fourth accident this year).

So I apologize because this is kind of a short chapter, but there's a nice moment anyway. I'll do my best to update, but my mother is very stressed out and suffering from a torn tendon in her hand, so she can't do very much. Senior citizen parents are tough, kids!

Anyhoo, enjoy!

xoxo, La

Before making his way to Steve and Peggy's, Bucky stopped to pick up a small gift for Peggy—a thin bracelet decorated with her birthstone—and a bottle of white wine. He did his best to fix his helmet-mussed hair as he headed up the walkway and rang the bell.

"Bucky! You made it," Peggy greeted with a bright smile, opening her arms for a hug.

Still not used to greeting this way, Bucky set his foot on the threshold and awkwardly stepped into the hug. "Said I would," he mumbled before bashfully pecking a quick kiss to her cheek. At her urging, he stepped inside, and once she had closed the door, he held out the smaller wrapped gift for her. "Um, happy birthday."

Peggy took the small gift, her red-painted lips widening again in a big smile. "Oh, aren't you so sweet? You don't expect many gifts once you've passed a certain age, you know. Thank you."

Bucky grinned, shrugging both shoulders. "I'm sure Steve gave you a great gift. And he always will."

The brunette held up her left hand, wiggling her fingers, the modest princess cut diamond on her ring finger glittering. "He already gave me a lovely one."

The mechanic chuckled, but his grin was weak; he didn't notice the slight frown in Peggy's eyes as she caught it. She started to reach for his arm, but thought better of it, and instead motioned to the wine.

"What's this then?"

"Oh. I didn't want to come empty handed," he answered, holding up the bottle of Chardonnay. "Habit, I guess."

Her laugh echoed in the small hallway. "I suppose it is. Come on inside." She ushered him in further, ignoring hers and Bucky's hesitation to be more affectionate, and looped her arm through his. "Most everyone is here. I think you and Nicholas are the only two we were waiting for and he's running a little late. Steve is entertaining in the back. We've done some minor decorating to the garden. We'd love your opinion. Would you care for a drink?"

"Not right now, thanks," he answered distractedly and gave her hand a light pat.

Pausing just inside the kitchen, Peggy gave Bucky's arm a squeeze. "Are you feeling all right? You seem…if it's possible to believe, quieter than normal."

"Oh." Bucky felt his cheeks warm, slightly embarrassed she had noticed anything was off, and disappointed in himself for not hiding it better. "I'm…I'm fine. Uh…partied a little too much last night, I guess."

"Oh, did you? You can set the wine there." She grinned and motioned for him to set the wine on the counter, among some other bottles, and released his arm. "What did you get up to?"

Bucky stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets after freeing them of the wine, brows twitching together as he looked at Peggy. "Steve didn't tell you?"

She flicked a dark curl from her eyes as she looked up, leaning back against the opposite counter at the sink. "Tell me what?"

Of course he didn't. "Nothing. It smells great in here. Should you be cooking? Shouldn't Steve be pampering you?"

"Oh, he is," she laughed softly, her cheeks tingeing pink. "And I'm not cooking. Steve has taken the reins for the night." The doorbell sounded and she glanced over toward the entryway before smiling back at Bucky. "That must be Nicholas. Perhaps you could let Steve know to come check on whatever it is he's making?" She started walking back, toward the door, shrugging her shoulders. "He won't tell me what it is."

"Yeah, sure." Bucky headed out to the 'garden,' a small bit of yard the engaged couple had managed to clean up nicely. The small barbecue Bucky and Steve had spent many a summer night overcooking steaks on was tucked away in a corner; the deck was littered with a few chairs for people to sit, and pots of flowers and hanging plants added an even homier look to it. Forcing a bright grin, hoping to avoid any questions, Bucky moved to join Steve, who was talking with Phil and Sam.

Midday started to fade into late afternoon, and in the shade of taller buildings, the patio was brightened up by strings of white lights, as many of Steve and Peggy's mutual friends mingled inside and outside. Steve had cooked up one of Peggy's favorite meals—for which he had called her mother in England for some advice—and it had gone over exceptionally well, with both the birthday girl and the guests.

Bucky spent his time mostly drifting from conversation to conversation, meeting some acquaintances of Peggy's he hadn't yet met. A group of girls she worked with surrounded him for a good fifteen minutes, hounding him with questions about himself and his life, all batting lashes, flips of hair, and touches to his arm and back, until finally, Peggy rescued him.

Back inside, Peggy led Bucky to the spare room that Steve had set aside for a home gym and was now a guest bedroom. Steve was waiting inside for them, speaking quietly with Abraham Erskine. A few minutes were spared for Bucky and Steve's former foster parent to catch up before Steve finally shared his news. As the mechanic had expected, Abraham was delighted. Hugs were shared, Peggy's ring was fawned over, and Steve was smiling wider than Bucky could ever remember.

And while he was happy for his best friend, Bucky just couldn't seem to bring himself to really share in the festive atmosphere.

Eventually, Steve had taken notice. After the gathered group of guests sang a wildly out of tune Happy Birthday to a blushing Peggy, Steve wormed his way to his best friend and maneuvered them both out to the front of the house. Bucky took the chance to pull out a cigarette.

"So what's going on with you?" Steve did not waste any time getting to the point.

Bucky blew out a plume of smoke and shrugged. His movements were short and jerky, laced with the agitation he felt with himself for being called out on his behavior yet again, and not focusing more on his best friend's happiness. "Nothing. Nothing's going on."

Steve grinned, nodded. "I don't believe you." Bucky's only response was to look away and bring the cigarette to his lips again. "You know, you look like shit." Bucky snorted; it was so rare that Steve swore. "Talk to me, Bucky. Tell me what's going on."

The mechanic flicked ash from the cigarette to the ground and shook his head. "That's just it, Stevie," he muttered, eyes lifting to Steve's. "We don't talk about this stuff."

Steve crossed his muscular arms over his chest, frowning now. "What stuff? We're best friends; we talk about everything."

"Do we?" Bucky recognized his tone was challenging and did his best to rein in what felt like anger bubbling in his chest. It's not Steve's fault.

"Bucky. What is that supposed to mean?"

"We don't talk about this stuff, Steve. We never have." He took one last puff on the cigarette before tossing it down and stomping it out.

"Yeah. I know."

The gruffness of Steve's tone had Bucky turning his head up, a confused scowl pinching his handsome features. Steve scoffed, looking away and unfolding his arms as he did. It wasn't often Bucky was on the receiving end of Steve's anger, and for a moment he just stared at his oldest friend, seeing a glimpse of the man so many of their comrades-in-arms admired and revered. The flexing of his jaw muscles told Bucky just how much he had upset the usually genial man.

"Look, Steve…"

"I never said you couldn't."

Bucky lowered his head, hands at his waist, fingers toying with his lighter, his mouth twisting from side to side. "You never asked either."

"You didn't want me to, Bucky." The mechanic's blue eyes flicked up briefly. "I knew that much. You think I didn't want to ask?" he chuckled, breathlessly, incredulously. "I share everything with you. And I thought you did, too, but…you've always kept that part of your life blocked off. Even from me."

"I know," Bucky snapped, tone laced with frustration.

"So what's different with this guy?"

Bucky had been angrily flipping the lid on his lighter throughout the conversation, but stopped suddenly, eyes shooting up again to meet Steve's. "…What?"

A smile spread across Steve's lips and a quiet laugh left him as he shook his head at his best friend. "I'm not dumb, Bucky. I'm not blind. And I'm not naive enough to think you haven't sought out company of some sort over the years."

Ridiculously embarrassed, Bucky ducked his head again, pushing a hand through his hair, idly scratching at his scalp. "Aw, shit," he muttered under his breath.

"But last night? That was the first time you actually admitted it. And the first time you've given me a name. So, I repeat." Steve stepped forward and clamped a hand on Bucky's shoulder, giving him a shake so he would look at him. "What's different with this guy?"

"I don't…there's not…nothing. It's stupid. Let's go get some cake."

"No, no, no." Bucky had tried to walk past Steve and head back into the house, but the blond was clearly still keeping up with his Army fitness regimen and easily pushed Bucky back. "You're not squirming out of this now, kid. Lid's off the can of worms. Speak up, Barnes."

Bucky groaned softly, rubbing at his face. He wanted to tell Steve everything. He knew he would come off like a gushing schoolgirl, but what was the point now? "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to you, so it matters to me. And I just want to know!" He laughed, arms spreading wide before he crossed them over his chest again. "I want to know what kind of guy catches your eye, what you look for in…someone. I want to know who has you grinning like an idiot."

Bucky laughed, nearly scoffing with it, not even realizing he had been grinning at all. "Who says I'm grinning because of him?"

"Because in all the time I've known you, I've never seen you look like this, Bucky. It's not even that you're happy. I've seen you happy. You're, I don't know, it sounds weird to say, but…you're looser. Free from…something. I don't know. I'm not a shrink. Maybe Peggy could put it into words better…"

Sobering at Steve's assessment, Bucky took a deep breath, letting it out through a small smile. "I admit, it might be because of him. But it doesn't matter. I met the guy two days ago. I know nothing about him. And it's gonna stay that way…whether I want it to or not."

Steve's smile gradually faded and he slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he listened. "Why? He's not…what do you call it? In the closet. Is he?"

A snicker escaped the mechanic, his feet shuffled noisily against the concrete of the walkway leading to the sidewalk, loving Steve just a little bit more for his effort. "No. Not at all, really. He's…" he took a deep breathy. "He's leaving."

"So you'll see him when he gets back."

Bucky just shook his head. "Nope."

"Bucky, it's not—"

"He's going to London, Steve. For two years." Steve said nothing for a moment, looking out at the street, wincing as the sun glinted off the windows of the houses across the street. and sighed. Bucky blew out a breath and pulled out his wrinkled pack of cigarettes. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked sharply when the pack was suddenly snatched from his hands.

"Me?" Steve cocked a brow. "When does he leave?"

"Steve."

"When does he leave?" he repeated, holding the cigarettes out of Bucky's reach when he tried to grab them.

"Why does it mat—today, okay? Which is why I shouldn't have spent the last two fucking days with him."

A large-palmed hand shot up. "Relax." Bucky glared at Steve, breathing sharply through his nose, and the blond's head tilted to the side, brows drawing together. "You spent the last two days with him? What were you even doing?"

Bucky thought back to the first night of blaring music, flashing lights, and those first new kisses; riding through the city with Loki pressed against him; meeting his friends; the long chats from earlier that morning; and, of course, the sex. "Stuff."

"Stuff," Steve repeated with a snort. He sighed, loudly, and tucked the pack of cigarettes into the pocket of Bucky's leather jacket, slapping a hand to his chest. "Get out of here."

Bucky looked at the pocket and had started to reach for the cigarettes, then froze. "What?"

"You're not really here, Bucky. So, go. Go find this…what was his name? Loki? And tell him how you feel. Before he gets on that plane."

Head shaking, Bucky removed the cigarettes and stuffed them into his back pocket instead. "I don't…know how I feel."

"Yes, you do." Steve paused, seeming to want to say more, but struggling to find the way to express himself. Bucky's brows rose as a small grin emerged on the blond's face. "I know it's hard. To…give yourself over to these kind of feelings. You weren't there…—um, you didn't get to see me when I met Peggy."

They were still in uncharted territory, switching to Steve's personal life, and Bucky shifted uncomfortably. "I got your emails," he mumbled.

"By the time I told you about her, we'd already been on a few dates and that was after I finally got over my anxiety to ask her out in the first place. And, actually, I never told you, but she asked me. It took me a long time to tell you because…" he shrugged. "I don't know. I felt weird, embarrassed, childish."

Bucky's face was on fire and he fought fiercely to fight it back. "Steve, what are you getting at?"

"This shouldn't be uncomfortable for us, Bucky. We're best friends. We, we grew up together. Some of the hardest things I've face in life, I faced with you beside me. In some way. These are the kind of things we should share. I mean, nothing too intimate because I don't need to know that much." They both paused to share a chuckle. "But I should have been able to tell you the day I met the love of my life."

"You did!" The mechanic argued.

"Six weeks later!"

"Well…at least you told me. Right?"

Steve scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Just go and find him. Even if he doesn't say anything back. Even if he still gets on that plane, just go. You'll feel better once he knows. And maybe he'll reciprocate. But you can't just let him go, pal. I…" Steve hesitated, stammering lightly. "I almost lost Peggy because I didn't trust her feelings for me."

"What are you—Steve, what are you saying?"

"Because I thought she'd eventually leave." Steve shrugged and lowered his gaze. "Like everyone else did," he murmured. Feeling that like a punch to the gut, Bucky dropped his head into his hands, sighing, and started to turn away. But Steve was there, pulling him back around. "Tell me that's not what you're afraid of and we'll go back inside and have that cake. Can you tell me that?"

Bucky's eyes were damp and red when he lifted them to Steve's. "He's leaving anyway. No matter if I go after him or not. He's gotta go."

"How do you know?"

"Steve—"

He grabbed Bucky by the arm, and chuckling, gave him a push toward the driveway, where his motorcycle was parked. "No. Stop making excuses and just go!"

Bucky laughed even as he gained his balance again. "You're crazy."

"Maybe. Go." He aimed a finger at the bike.

"All right, I'm going. Listen, tell Peggy—"

"Don't worry about Peggy. I'll update her. Call me later to tell me what happened! If you're not otherwise occupied that is."

Bucky smirked and gave him a two-finger mock salute as he slipped on his helmet then fired up his motorcycle.