Sorry bout the late posting but it's fluffy so I hope that makes up(?). Anyways second to last chapter for reals So boohoo...not really. It ends sweet. That's all you get. This is just a quickie little filler cheater btw. No more spoilers...that's another lie. Fillers are spoiler conductors sooooooo yeah.
I am dedicating this chapter to my father. Thanks for the dance.(ゝ。∂)
It was about when Steve walked into the kitchen and set a few grocery bags on the counter. Natasha and Clint where sitting on the couch together (actually, Clint had fallen asleep on Natasha's shoulder with his earbuds in and his iPod laying in his lap and Natasha was reading a copy of Cosmopolitan from 2010). She gave Steve an apologetic look when he started putting the fruit away—seeing how she couldn't exactly get up to help.
"Who gets groceries at eight in the evening?" Natasha pressed with sarcastic interests, but didn't get an answer. However, she knew him too well, "I know what you're going to ask. He's out on your guys' balcony."
Steve arched an eye brow and put some cold cuts in the refrigerator, "how'd you know I was gonna ask?"
"You always do."
"Gee, thanks," Steve closed the fridge and headed for thier room.
...
Bucky was sitting in a lounge chair barefoot, in some black cargo shorts and a navy T-shirt, with a cigarette in between his metal fingers. He heard the glass door click open and a second later Steve sat down on the edge of the other chair. The captain eyed the multiple butts in the ashtray on the ground by Bucky's chair and the pack of Marlboro in his pocket. The ex-assassin side-eyed him for a moment before bringing the cigarette to his lips again. Steve was wearing those old jeans Bucky always stole, a grey polo, and those black Converse he practically lived in.
"Since when did you start smoking?"
"Since I first shipped out. I never smoked around you 'cause I knew you hated it," he took another drag and flicked some ashes into the tray.
Steve relaxed into the chair and just watched Bucky. It was all like a weird dream, and every so often he stopped to focus on the fact that Bucky was back. He looked exactly the same now—aside from the metal arm and a few scars here or there—a haircut , some old memories, and the trademark "punk"/"jerk" banter and he was Bucky again. After a final drag, Bucky put the cigarette out and reach across to flick Steve's hand. He took notice and tangled thier fingers together.
"You wear that glove like all the time, ya know. It's like Steve said matter-of-factly and he stroked it lovingly with his thumb.
"Keeps the metal from snagging on everything," he stretched a finger up and absent-mindedly traced the edge of the bandage just above Steve's wrist, "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened, its just I-I...I snapped and—"
"Hey, come on, you cant blame yourself for that; it wasn't your fault. No one else does."
Bucky stood up and walked over to the glass railing. The way he leaned on it spoke volumes of self-anger and what seemed like deep guilt, "Steve, I-I shot you in the arm! Didn't I say something like this would happen? But you wanted me to come, so I did. And look where it got me. I can't even hold a gun for two fucking seconds without putting someone I care about in danger," his voice hesitated to hitch over the lump threatening to form in his throat.
Steve's eyes momentarily flicked down at the bandage on his arm. He pulled another cigarette and one of those cheap Bic lighters from his pocket. The lighter refused to light, and on about the tenth unsuccessful click, Steve walked over.
"No, hey, c'mon...don't. Hey," he pleaded quietly as he took Bucky's hands in his own, offering up a weak smile on the last hey.
Steve pulled the lighter away and shoved it into his own back pocket, and pulled the cigarette from Bucky's mouth—also pushing it into his pocket next to the lighter. He laid a couple of apologetic kisses on the assassin's knuckles before dragging him inside the room and standing him in the middle of the room. Bucky eyed him with an exasperated glare as Steve plugged his phone into the stereo system and scrolled through some music. He clicked play on a song and pulled Bucky into a loose hug. They were dancing and Bucky knew it; the only other times he and Steve had danced was when he was drunk or for a bet. But never just for the hell of it. And—to be honest—it was nice.
"What are you doing?" he tried to sound irritated but all he did was smile and try not to laugh when he heard the first few piano notes.
Fly me to the moon. Let me play amongst the stars. Let me see what spring is like, on a Jupiter and Mars.
"We are dancing. To Frank Sinatra," Steve cocked his head and started slowly rocking back and forth to the music.
"And why?" Bucky knew he wasn't fooling anybody. This was sweet and Steve was only trying to make him feel better...the sad part was that it was working. He gave in and leaned his head on Steve's shoulder.
In other words, hold my hand. In other words, baby, kiss me.
"'Cause you're a stubborn punk, that's why," he sentimentally kissed the top of Bucky's head and continued rocking back and forth to the quiet jazz.
Fill my heart with song, and let me sing forever more. You are all I long for. All I worship and adore.
"This is nice, Steve. Really. It's sweet," Bucky took a step back; nervously hunching his shoulders down, hugging his arms together, and staring down at the carpet, "it's just that...well..."
He stopped the music, "Just that what? Bucky, what's wrong?"
"I think we should get married," he whispered it so quietly it was almost inaudible.
"Bucky, I can't hear you when you mumble. Say it."
"I wanna get married!" Bucky blurted fast and firm before shrinking in on himself again.
Steve's jaw came close to hitting the floor as a genuine smile stretched from ear to ear. It wasn't exactly the proposal he had in mind, but it was still perfect. Of course he wanted to marry Bucky, and of course he was going to say yes. He had wanted to grow old with him ever since he first saved Steve from that bully in the schoolyard so long ago. This was a goddamn dream come true. They had both been through hell and neither of them were the same, but at least they were still together.
"Are you kidding me?" it came out as half a laugh, but he just wrapped his arms around his new fiancé and peppered him in affectionate kisses, "yes!"
"Really?" Bucky didn't need an answer to that. Steve holding him like this was answer enough, "...but, I don't have a ring."
"I don't care about that right now! Oh my God, this is...oh my God, I have to go book a venue, and I've never planned a wedding so we'll need one of those—we have to tell everybody now!" he knew he was ranting and took a second to calm down, "thats for later. Let's just enjoy ourselves for now."
They were getting married. This was actually going to happen.
A/N—yeah...Stucky was too canon to NOT have them get married. And I also kinda blame tumblr for this one, but IDGAF I gotta go write THE BEST WEDDING EVER !
