"Home!" Tessa shouts the moment he flings the apartment door open. She blows past him, almost nailing him in the foot with a crutch as she hops over to the sofa and flops atop it. Immediately, she sinks into the worn cushions, turning her face to mutter into them, "I missed you so much."
Bucky lets out a soft groan as he kicks the door shut and heaves their bags off into a corner. "Last week you said this place was like a sealed tomb that you couldn't escape from," he points out as he ambles over and drops down onto the couch beside her.
She rolls her face toward him, never lifting her head from the cushion. "I say a lot of things."
"That you do," he replies with a smile and a contented sigh.
Tessa closes her eyes as she leans further back, letting herself dip deeper into the sofa's soft familiarity. The last week had been great. Meeting Nathaniel for the first time, playing with Lila, hanging out with Cooper, talking and laughing and drinking with Clint and Laura… it was all just fun and crazy and chaotic enough to pull her outside of her own head a bit. And it had been a long time since she'd seen – and felt – that much joy on Christmas. The trip was worth it just for that jubilant energy she was able to pull in and tuck away.
But, well… it was still a lot. No one would believe – looking at the serene, bucolic farmhouse from the outside – the sheer volume of life inside that home. Only now, hours after leaving the Barton homestead, have the echoes of laughter and children's screams finally stopped reverberating through her ears. "Listen," she hums out softly.
Bucky cocks his head towards her, his brow furrowed. "I don't hear anything." He watches as a wide smile slowly spreads across her face. "Ah," he intones, understanding seeping through him as he lets his head fall back into the cushions so he too can soak in the blessed silence. He reaches out and lazily takes her hand in his, interlaces their fingers, and gives a quick squeeze. "It is definitely good to be home."
The two sit like that for another twenty minutes or so, their soft, steady breaths falling quickly into rhythm as the tensions inherent with any sort of travel begin to fade away. But before the blissful solitude is able to lull him completely to sleep, Bucky forces himself up and off the couch. It is, after all, almost eight and they haven't eaten all day.
"Where are you going?" she asks when he rises, idly grabbing at the air as he moves past.
"Food," he mutters simply, heavy feet trudging into the kitchen.
She shifts on the couch, not quite willing to get up herself, and makes a command decision. "Friday?" she calls out to the voice in the walls. "Will you please order us a pizza?"
The AI responds with a quick, "Absolutely, Dr. Sullivan," and not a single question. There's only one pizza place close enough to deliver to the compound, and they only ever get a medium hand tossed with sausage and onions. So Friday knows better than to inquire any further.
Bucky huffs out an exhausted breath and leans back into the room, looming in the doorway to the kitchen. "You're so damn smart," he breathes out.
She releases a long sigh – "I know" – before glancing over just in time to see him take hold of their bags and hoist them all up at once. "Now what are you doing?" she asks with a pout. "Just leave them. We can unpack tomorrow."
He heads back into the bedroom, shouting over his shoulder as he goes. "I told Steve I'd help him with the early morning training runs. And you have a follow-up in the city at eleven."
She groans loudly at the mention of her doctor's appointment. This whole getting hurt thing was bullshit. She used to be so good about convincing patients to be… well, patient. "Recovery takes time," she would tell them. Or…"Give your body time to heal." All the things that doctors normally tell their patients… she uttered that same advice with an authoritative air, never a doubt in her mind that despite the cliched sound of it all, it was very simply the truth.
But now she's on the other side of those adages – the angry, frustrated, pained side. And if she has to hear one more doctor tell her to take it easy and be patient, she's gonna lose her freaking mind.
She slowly pulls herself off the couch, grabs her crutches, and hobbles back to the bedroom. "I could reschedule the appointment," she says with a forced levity as she moves into the room.
Without looking away from the open suitcase before him, Bucky replies, "No you can't."
A deep, almost comical frown rolls over her features. "But I don't want to go," she whines, leaning heavily on one crutch.
He glances up at her and raises a single, assessing eyebrow. "You're going," he tells her before returning to the unpacking. "And I'm going with you so you don't have the chance to lie to me about any of it."
"Lie?" she questions, disbelief lacing her tone. "I don't lie about my…" she frowns down at her braced leg. "Condition."
He pulls a few neatly folded sweaters out of the suitcase and sets them on the bed, separating the clean clothes out from the dirty ones that are piling up at his feet. Then he looks over at her with a giant, knowing smirk. "Steve told me what you told him."
Her brows twist in confusion as she shifts her weight to the other crutch. "What did I tell him?"
"That you're still anemic and your blood pressure's been high."
She lets out a psh and moves over to the edge of the bed, indelicately dropping down onto it. His eyes follow her every movement, down to the small, dismissive flap of her hand as she says, "I told him that it was a little high the last time I checked, which was days ago."
He shakes his head admonishingly and drops some more dirty clothes onto the floor. "Uh huh," he intones, returning his focus to the suitcase in front of him. "And he mentioned that you've been trying to ween yourself off the pain pills. Even though you are in pain."
She lies back on the bed and releases a deep sigh. "He's such a tattletale."
"Doll, you've got no idea," he says with a crooked smile. "As if being the smallest kid in class wasn't bad enough, Stevie was also the one who ratted out all the cheaters."
She lets out a small laugh before shifting into a more comfortable position. "Yeah, that makes sense. He's got that inflated sense of justice."
"Which is why he's always sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong," he mumbles, a hint of annoyance permeating the otherwise joking quality of his voice.
"Ugh," she moans, flinging her forearm across her forehead. "That reminds me… I have to call the Professor too."
Bucky turns his back on her, stepping over to the bureau to begin putting the clean clothes away. His face draws into an almost pained grimace. The Professor. Yes, she has to call him. She has to talk to him about… fixing her. He knows it's the right thing to do. It's the right thing for Tessa. But damn if the thought of her going back to that place – and going back to who she used to be – doesn't launch a deep, sick churning in his gut.
He tries to shake the qualms out of his head as he shoves a couple of T-shirts into a drawer. It's right, he tells himself. It's what she needs. He leans down and tucks away a pair of sweatpants. She deserves to know about her past. Then he opens the top drawer – his sock drawer – and drops in a couple pairs of socks. She deserves…
He loses his train of thought completely once he notices the little velvet box still buried in the righthand corner of the drawer. He lets his fingers slowly drift over to it, looming just above, the pad of his index finger barely brushing along the velvet surface. He stands stark still, silently contemplating what to do next as he stares down at the box, and all of the promises it contains.
She notices his oddly stilled form and asks, a note of concern to her voice, "What are you doing?"
Startled, he twists around to look at her, and he sees that she's got herself propped up awkwardly onto her elbows. She's also positioned a bit on her right side, which lets him know that her left is aching. He frowns over at her and, ignoring her question, he asks, "Did you take a pain pill?"
She rolls her eyes, flops back down onto the bed and extends her hand in a dramatic gesture. He smirks over at her before quickly snatching up the box and slamming the drawer shut. Then he grabs one of the just unpacked pill bottles and sits down on the bed beside her. He shakes out a single Percocet and drops it into her waiting palm. She tosses it back, swallowing dry. "I would've gotten you some water," he says with a laugh.
She simply sighs and moves further onto her right hip, curling about him. He reaches out and pets back the hair from her forehead. There's an edginess to his energy, a nervous, almost frightened undercurrent that she feels move through her the moment his fingers brush across her brow. "Are you sure about this?" she asks softly, folding her right arm beneath her head as she stares up at him.
He doesn't have to ask what she's talking about. "If you are."
They hold each other's gaze for a long, silent moment before she reaches up to take hold of the hand at her temple. "What's this?" she says, frowning as she feels his fingers tighten around something. She pulls his hand down and unfurls his fingers to reveal the small velvet box.
She's barely able to make out what it is before he – without any hesitation – pops open the box and removes the ring. "I know what you said," he murmurs, voice soft and low. "So… you don't have to think of it as an engagement ring if you don't want to." He gently grasps her left hand, stroking the back of it with the side of his cool metal thumb. "But I want you to wear it."
He slowly, delicately slides the ring onto her finger and for a moment she's stunned silent. There's something about the fit of the ring – how the band hugs her finger just right, how the barely there weight of it rests against her flesh – that just feels so… natural. "Jamie," she mutters distractedly, continuing to gaze down at her hand in his.
He twines his flesh and bone fingers with hers, carelessly nudging the giant emerald from side to side as he says, "I want you to have it. I want you to be able to look at it, anytime you're unsure about… anything. Anytime you think you might be forgetting who you really are." He shifts his focus from the ring to her eyes, and he looks deeply into them as he cups her face with his metal palm. "I want you to remember that this," he says, giving her fingers, her hand, a firm squeeze, "is who you are." He slowly brings her hand up to his chest, to his heart. "You're a part of me."
She's silent for a long moment, content to just gaze into his blue-gray eyes. She lightly presses a fingertip along his sternum, tracing the line of a scar that's now faded into nothing. The scar that she insists – despite knowing it's no longer there – she can still somehow feel. "What if I want it to be an engagement ring?" she asks softly.
He tries to hold back the huge smile that threatens to take over his face, tries to keep his cool lest his excitement spooks her. "Then it can be that," he offers with a casual shrug.
She quirks her head at him and shows off a coy grin. "But you didn't propose," she says with a teasing lilt.
"Oh, I didn't?" He wrinkles his brow, a sort of radiance burning through his eyes as he works to keep a straight face. "Do I need to get down on one knee?" She nods eagerly and he drops from the edge of the bed to kneel before her. "Better?"
Her face lights up as she tells him, "You better make this good," eliciting a small, almost nervous-sounding laugh from the super soldier.
"Alright," he says, clearing his throat. He looks down at the hand that still sits in his and quickly tugs the ring from her finger.
"Hey!"
"You can't expect me to propose without a ring," he says, amusement shining from his eyes.
She sighs dramatically. "Fine," she quips. "Go on."
He lets out a single short snicker before his face turns serious. A thoughtful, tender smile unfurls. "When I first met you," he starts, his eyes seeming to stare off at nothing. He shakes his head before letting out a soft, almost self-deprecating laugh. "For the longest time, I couldn't feel. Not anything other than pain. And in the beginning, when I first came back… even when I was with Steve, I just felt… bad. Guilty, mostly." He looks down at her, locks onto her eyes. "You made me feel something," he says simply. "Something else. Something good." His smile grows wider, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "And then you made me feel… more."
"I made you fall in love with me," she teases.
He waggles a finger at her. "See, you are more powerful than you realize." He looks away for a fraction of a moment, an almost somber quality rolling over his features. She tightens her hand around his, bringing his gaze back to her, soft and tender. "You made me whole again. Or, as close as I'll ever get."
She stares into his steely eyes and feels his energy wash over her. She allows it to wrap around her, envelope her with the love and joy and adoration – and even the fear and anxiety… and hope – that it contains. "I love you," she says softly, not even realizing that she said the words aloud until he emits a small laugh at the interruption. She ducks her head into the pillow. "Sorry," she utters bashfully.
He pulls in a quick breath, ready to start again. "I don't think I could ever be whole without you." His irises seem to darken, just a bit, at the gravity of that declaration. But they shine once more when he says, "I love you too. More than anything. You're so damn amazing."
She barks out a quick laugh, and moves to wipe away the few stray tears that seem to be leaking from her eyes.
He chuckles a bit at her reaction, but is still quick to point out that, "You are. You're beautiful, and funny… You make me laugh like no one else does. And you are so unbelievably smart."
"Go on," she singsongs, wiggling her eyebrows.
He shakes his head. "And you make me crazy," he teases. He brings his eyes back to hers, locks on once more. "And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Or the rest of your life," he interjects quickly, rolling his eyes. "Whatever forever means for us… I want to spend forever with you." He holds up her left hand and carefully pivots the ring around in his fingers, holds it out just in front of her ring finger, prepared to slip it on. "Tessa Sullivan, will you marry me?"
She nods enthusiastically, unbidden tears now streaming steadily down her face. "Yes."
His brow furrows slightly. "Yes?" he asks, stopping for clarification just as the ring meets the very tip of her finger.
She can't tell if he's messing with her or if he actually is uncertain about her response. "Yes," she says louder. Then with a bit of a dramatic huff, "God, yes."
He laughs as he slides the ring back onto her finger, places it where it so obviously belongs, where he's longed to see it for so long now. And he leans down and kisses her softly, tenderly. But then she lets out the smallest string of sweet giggles, and he can't help but press deeply into her, almost moaning into her open mouth as he climbs onto the bed, propping himself up above her. She returns the kiss with a sort of joyful fervor, still smiling around his lips, still giggling into him as she tugs him closer.
He can taste the salt from her tears, and somehow, he thinks, she's never tasted sweeter.
Author's Note: That's it for this rather loooong interlude. We got some sweet fluff, some holiday fun, and some pretty important decisions. Stay tuned for what I guess will be Part 4 of Bucky and Tessa's story... coming soon. And thank you so much for reading...really.
