Peace and quiet crept up on us gradually. It came in the little things; lying in bed together in the mornings, the simplicity of work, the two week vacation we took to San Francisco, and the detour to the Grand Canyon on the way back, with the only preparation to leave Bucky a key to the new front door, in case he wanted somewhere to retreat. He'd continued to visit us, with or without warning, but they were welcome surprises, and he hadn't said a word of Russian in months.
Six weeks after our holiday, I came home from a volunteering shift at the local library with a surprise in my bag, only to find there was one already there. I glowered at the door as I opened it, and shut it behind me, cutting out the low rumble of cars to reveal the sound of voices from ahead. Smiling, I toed off my sneakers and moved along to the living room, to find Bucky and Brock looking unusually preoccupied, on either ends of the couch. I hesitated, eyes flicking between them as they both looked up at me.
"I can go for a walk?" I offered cautiously.
They both shook their heads together, puppets on the same strings.
"Actually, you might be able to help," Brock said.
I put my bag down with a heavy thump, the moved over to the chairs, still eyeing them both suspiciously.
"What going on?" I asked, waiting for the apocalyptic news.
Brock grinned, but Bucky was avoiding my gaze. "Bucky wants to know," Brock said, his voice almost vibrating with emotion, "about the lake I took you too. About what I asked you there." His eyebrows rose significantly, and my jaw dropped as I turned to Bucky.
"Really?! Oh, Bucky! Congratulations!"
He flushed but grinned guiltily. "Well, I don't think Steve's going to do it," he said.
"Hmm." I looked away, trying and failing to stop my lips pursing angrily. "Well," I brought back my smile with an effort, "I hope you're both happy. I can't think of anyone who deserves it more."
Bucky wasn't fooled, grinning at me. "Still not forgiven him?"
"He dislocated Brock's shoulder," I said stiffly.
"You hit him with a rolling pin."
"He broke my door."
"He bought you a new one."
"It's not the same."
"Okay, okay," Brock broke in, shaking his head with a smile. "Let's not get into that again."
I huffed, but relented, sitting back in my chair. It's not about me, I reminded myself and forced a smile. "What did you want to know?"
Bucky looked away, his hands twisting together. I watched the browned flesh pressing on the black leather glove covering his metal fingers.
"Why there? What did it mean?" he asked, glancing sideways at Brock. "Did you know that... were you confident she would say yes? And..." he looked up at me and hesitated. "Why did you say yes?"
Brock and I looked at each other.
He spoke first. "I... There was nothing specific about that particular cabin, that lake. I wanted... I guess I wanted to get away from it all. I wanted to try..." He stopped and sighed. "I guess I wanted to try and separate it from everything I'd done before. I wanted to be a different person, in a different place. I wanted to try and be the person I could have been if I hadn't made such bad decisions."
He looked across at Bucky. "It didn't work," he said flatly. "I was the same person there. Guess I always knew that, but..." He smiled. "I was scared. So scared." He looked across at me, his eyes shining. "All the missions, with you, with Rogers, with Jack, I was never so scared as when I asked that question. Because I couldn't possibly imagine Grace saying yes. But I couldn't imagine going on without trying."
Somehow, we were both smiling through fuzzy vision.
"So no," Brock said to Bucky, never taking his eyes off me, "I wasn't confident that I'd get the answer I wanted. I don't think anyone could be, unless they'd discussed it before."
I reached out and took his hand, squeezing his hand. "There was no place, no way, that you could have asked me that would have changed my answer," I told him.
"Someone bring out the tissues," Bucky said.
I gave a laugh, turning my gaze back to him, watching him examine the ceiling.
"The point is," I said, "it doesn't matter how you ask, it matters who you are asking. You love him?"
Bucky smiled, and the answer was written across his face. I couldn't help smiling back.
"Then don't worry about how. There are a million different ways. You could find something special to you, something meaningful from your past, or you could go somewhere new, make new memories. Or you could just walk through the door, go straight up to him, tell him how you feel, and what you want. Whatever feels right for you. Just make it happen."
Some of the joy faded from his face.
"But what if he says no?" he asked quietly, after a moment of silence.
"Then at least you'll know," I said simply. "No doesn't always mean never. I don't know Steve. He might want to wait, he might not want to do it at all. But it will let him know you want to, and that you're serious about it."
He didn't look convinced.
"Either he'll say yes, or he'll say no," Brock broke in. "Both of them are starting points, things you can move forwards from."
Bucky nodded slowly. "I guess." He sat in thought for another moment, then roused himself. "I should go."
"You don't have to," I pointed out, but he shook his head.
"No, I..." He took a breath. "I have some thinking to do. Planning. I have some planning to do." His guilty grin was the most innocent thing I'd seen in years.
As the door shut behind him, I shook my head with a smile and went to retrieve my bag, groaning at the forgotten weight of it.
"Carrying bricks around?" Brock asked.
"Not this time," I said with a grin over my shoulder. "Just something for next week."
"Ah," his eyes twinkled. "In that case, I didn't notice anything."
"Good!" I called back as I went along to our bedroom to stash the heavy book in my drawers. There would be a chance when Brock was out to wrap it.
.
.
Next Monday, we were both woken from a lie in to the sound of Brock's phone. If it had been anything other than Bucky's ringtone, I would have smashed it. As it was, I opened one eye, more for the amusement of watching Brock curse as he flailed for the guilty device. He put it on speaker, dropping it onto the bed between us.
"Dude," he said accusingly, by way of a greeting.
"I'm engaged."
I squeaked, then promptly started coughing as my throat reminded me that it was too early for loud noises.
"Wow. Jeez. Congratulations," Brock said, looking stunned, but also grinning at my predicament.
"Will you be my best man?"
I stopped coughing.
Brock blinked.
"Wow. Man, I... wow. I'm... Is Rogers okay with that?"
"He will be."
"Then... yeah. I'd be honoured. But... you sure?"
"Wouldn't have asked if I wasn't. Wanted to let you know."
"Thanks. Congrats. Again. Seriously."
"Thanks. Gotta go. Oh, and Happy Birthday." Bucky hung up.
Brock blinked again. "Didn't know you knew," he muttered, tossing the phone away, and grinning over at me. "You up?"
I groaned, rolled over, and sat up. "I'm up." I reached under the bed and pulled out the book I'd wrapped in silver paper. "Happy Birthday."
Brock kissed me on the cheek and took the parcel, then tore into it like a child. I laughed as paper shreds flew everywhere. Brock pulled out the thick book with a frown, looking up at me with wide eyes.
"I found your other one," I said with a smirk. "It's a bit dog-eared."
He gave me an affronted look. "I think you mean 'well-loved'," he sniffed, then broke the act and grinned. "Thank you. I love it." He ran a rough hand over the embossed cover, promising more than 250 of the most potent poems, then flipped the book carefully open, leafing through a few pages before closing it again.
"Thank you," he repeated, leaning over to kiss me. There was a twinkle in his eyes when he pulled back. Carefully setting the poetry book aside, he slipped out of bed, padding across to the dresser and pulled out a thin rectangular package in blue paper.
"Happy Birthday," he said, handing it to me as he rejoined me on the bed.
I grinned, then attacked the paper with just as much enthusiasm as he had used on his.
It was another book. Viva Coldplay. I grinned, opened the front page and my jaw dropped. It was signed. I squeaked for the second time, and Brock chuckled.
"Thank you," I breathed, "I love it!"
"I love you," he returned.
"Love you more."
"Not possible."
A/N: Birthday cuteness! And an engagement! Hope you enjoyed.
And since I firmly believe in credit where credit is due, my thanks to Scarlett Barnes for giving me the inspiration to get this chapter finished after I got into a funk, for her constant corrections of my poor Americanisms, and for letting me bounce ideas off her. She's a gift.
Go check out her new story "Let the Wolves Enjoy My Bones", which is an Expansion/Rewrite of the post-credit scene from Civil War, and huge improvement. It's great. Check it out.
P.S I love reviews!
PPS, there's an interview with FG where he says he likes poetry, so that's where the inspiration for his present came from. He's also literally Grace's Brock in it XD Will try to link at some point.