Bucky gave a limp shrug, resisting the urge to play with the cooking batter in the pan. "I uh, I really don't know what to tell you," he admitted, checking the open recipe book beside him periodically. "Sammy, she – she started as the hostage and by the end of the first week, I guess we'd traded places? I couldn't leave her if I wanted too, and believe me… believe me I wanted too."

Behind him, the scratching of graphite stilled. "This is starting to sound familiar? Actually, yeah, I'm pretty sure I've read this somewhere," Steve chuckled warmly, giving him an absent smile and an equally as absent answer. "You ever heard of fanfiction? Tony introduced me to it. Scary."

The words went clear over the assassin's head. "Fan – fanfiction?"

Steve was staring down his sketch, canting his head side to side and apparently not even listening. "It sounds rather sweet to me," he murmured, using his thumb to smudge some shadows into his work. "Buck, you were never a simple guy – so a simple dame wasn't gonna cut it. It uh, it actually used to annoy me, back then, when you'd go out for a night and come back looking defeated. You had everyone falling over you, but you never wanted any of them. I never understood how you could be so picky."

Flipping the pancake – cook until both sides are golden brown – the assassin only took a careful breath in, tasting cinnamon on his tongue. "They were all the same, each and every one of them," he muttered, frowning at the stove. The memories were faded, sitting behind his eyes, but he could remember frustration. "It was like someone had come through our neighbourhood with a cookie cutter."

"Wait, so you remember?" Steve snorted, peering up to give him a bland look through his lashes. "Figures. You don't remember making me ride the cyclone that one time, but you remember your countless dates."

Bucky twitched. "Shut it up or shut it down, punk."

Steve gave him a lopsided smile, going back to his sketch with a quietly familiar hum. "I'm shutting up, I'm shutting up…" he muttered, giving a mocking salute when the man turned his back. He was only lucky the assassin missed the action. "Hey, can you pass me the blueberries? If I don't get a handful now, Tony will make sure I never do. He's got something of an obsession with them."

The bowl was whisked away, and the brunet snarled without heat. "You do not touch the berries. You do not touch what leaves the skillet. You do not touch anything," Bucky commanded, pointing a dirtied spoon between blue eyes. "Samara likes blueberries and raspberries on her buttermilk pancakes but I've never seen her use syrups, so I'm not going to bother with any. If you're hungry, you can have some maple…" he muttered, checking the bottom of the pancake to make sure it wasn't burnt. "Or pop-tarts? I don't know what they are, but your cupboards are pretty packed with them."

Steve chuckled again, following the train of words as easily as the assassin followed the ramblings of his doctor. "Oh, this is for her? What did you do?" he asked, propping up his chin in his hands. "You're kissing more ass than usual so it must be bad. You didn't say she looked fat, did you? I should warn you – when they ask, it's usually a trap."

Bucky frowned, hiding the eyeroll. "I didn't do anything," he grumbled, leaning against the counter and idly watching the batter cook. "Samara didn't sleep too well and – and since when do you use the word 'ass'? Last time you absolutely had to refer to someone's backside, you called it their gluteus?"

"You don't remember what we used to do every weekend, but you remember what I used to call people's backsides," the soldier murmured through his teeth, pleased expression fading into annoyance. It was satisfying to watch the symbol of their great nation pout. "You know what I should do? Crash another plane into another icy ocean, and pray I'm not found this time around."

Bucky pulled the pan away from the hot plate, admiring the warm colour of the breakfast he'd made. She was going to love it. "Saturday I'd stay at yours, usually on the couch or in our blanket fort, and then Sunday you'd make pancakes and read out the jokes in the newspaper."

Steve faltered, features shuttering. "You do remember what we use to do every weekend?"

Bucky didn't answer, instead only neatly stacking the pancakes; surrounding them in berries and admiring the colours again. "We need to make another one of those," he mused absently, next moving to try and figure out the coffee machine. "I miss Fort Spangles."

"I miss the days when you didn't call it that," Steve muttered sourly, shoulders hunching up. "I thought we called it something painfully childish? We came up with the name when we were what, twelve? You don't get to change that because I started wearing spandex. That's not in the rule book."

Bucky shoved a cup under the nozzle and glared over his shoulder. "I don't have to follow your rules. You used to giggle every time we played soldiers because you'd get to say – Roger that, Barnes. Twelve or not, there is no excuse."

The blue eyes glared back with such a familiar wave of righteous fury, and the sight made his heart ache a little. He was aware the man had changed a lot, losing the health problems and gaining strength in return, but there were still hints of that little blond boy he'd met in a back alley – the same innocently perfect kid that had been trying to fight men ten times his size with nothing but determination and bruised hands.

The memory still served to make him smile, the constant knot of frustration in his chest loosening. What would his life had been if he hadn't investigated the sound of a shout that early afternoon? If he hadn't turned a corner and seen three men cornering what he'd thought was a dangerously young child, hands fisted around a leather wallet and knuckles bloodied.

Bucky wouldn't be here, cooking pancakes on an electric stove, for one. He never would've escaped that facility and its experiments back in the war – but then again, would he have even joined the fight? Steve had been his reasoning for enlisting.

"It's a little strange," he thought aloud, silver wrapped around white ceramic and leeching its warmth. The dark surface of the liquid held his attention, and absently he realised this was the first time he'd spoken without being prompted by another. "But I'm happy they found me – Hydra, I mean. If they hadn't, I would've bled to death and – and you'd be alone right now, dealing with this shit on your own."

Steve was quiet behind him, mouth opening and closing without managing words.

Bucky turned to give him a weak smile, gently placing the cup beside the arranged plate. "See why I said strange?" he chuckled awkwardly, the sound aborted when blue eyes took on a hurt sheen. "I'm happy they found me, because it means I survived, you know?"

The attractive features of his best friend were still hurt, confusion now holding the gaping maw of his lips. "Bucky, I don't…" he tried, shaking his head and straightening out the slump to his shoulders. "I don't understand. I don't know."

"It's just…" Bucky resorted to toying with the napkins. "I would be dead right now. I would've died young, and that… that would've sucked. I always looked forward to the future, to the family I would've had, to the life I would've lived," he murmured, wincing slightly when he next swallowed. "I understand that what did happen – the brainwashing, the assassinations – it wasn't good, but it was better than death, wasn't it? Because now, I can found out what I could've had and I just, I want normal and I want – " A quick head shake ended the thought. "Don't worry. Anyway, does that make more sense to you?"

Steve gave a slow nod. "Yeah, and um, I'm glad too, as weird as that is to say," he grimaced, fiddling with the pencil in his hands. "I thought you were dead, and that – that broke me, and I hate that I couldn't protect you from them but…"

Bucky cleared his throat. "But you can protect me now. Which is odd, I'm so used to protecting your frail ass."

"Hey," Steve protested weakly, eyes shining with something nether of them acknowledged. They pretended he never wiped at the corner of the big blues either, only focusing on the feigned argument at hand. "Even when I was sick, I'm pretty sure I managed to land a hit every now and then."

"I'm pretty sure I managed to hit more though," Bucky pointed out, resting his arms against his chest. The scolding look he sent the blond was so at home on his features, he didn't bother to question it. It felt right to feel annoyance at the gut instinct and damn attitude that punk had. "Luckily though, I never had to face someone who was bigger than me. If I did, then sorry but you would've been on your own."

The teary eyes were replaced with a signature unimpressed glance. "Everyone was bigger than me, and I never gave up," Steve pointed out.

Bucky snorted. "I know, it's what used to make me so pissed at you. Know when to quit, Rogers."

Steve watched him for a few seconds, hands clenching and unclenching as they rested haphazardly on the sketchbook between them. The page it was open to held an unfinished drawing, some lines ending abruptly while others seemed out of place, and blue eyes dropped to stare uselessly. "It's good to have you back," he whispered, clearing his throat before drawing absent shadows.

From where he was, the sketch seemed to resemble a familiar genius. "I'm not back completely," Bucky defended, perking up when the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. "Still missing a few bits and pieces."

"It's better than nothing," Steve shrugged, catching the incoming company too and schooling his features. "I missed you."

It felt awkward to return the sentiment, but he tried, head dipping in a nod. "Missed you too, punk," he allowed quietly, watching the door swing open silently and let two bodies through. It was almost startling to realise that he wasn't lying. He remembered their friendship enough to miss it, and the thought made his chest loosen from the tight knot it had curled into.

He was becoming Bucky again.

The small moment of panicked happiness was broken by an amused laugh, the sound familiar enough to snap him out of it and catch his attention. Right. There were other people in the tower – people who mattered to him. Blinking to clear his mind, he looked up and cracked a smile.

The twin brunettes that smiled back oozed confidence, looking every bit like they owned the damn place – which he supposed one of them technically did – and every bit like they had something hidden up their sleeve. If it hadn't been for the dark circles under knowing eyes and the tired edge to their smiles, he would've called them dangerous – but as it was, he only found them adorably threatening. Like a kitten, decked out with sharp teeth and claws, but defenceless when you got out of reach.

The thought gave him pause. Stark did seem like a pleased feline at times, and he knew from experience that his doctor adored having her hair petted, always arching into the touch and complaining when he stopped…

Maybe he was onto something here?

Yet again, his train of thought was thrown askew by the others, this time by twin arms snaking their way around his waist. "Hey you," the woman greeted, smile smothered against his borrowed shirt. "Did you miss me? Duh, right? If I was you I would've as – are those pancakes?"

Bucky didn't bother hiding either the chuckle or the pleased grin. "Hello to you too, darling," he drawled, resisting the urge to squeeze damage ribs and instead pressing a kiss to her brow. After pulling back, he gestured casually to the filled plate. "What? Oh, these old things? They're just something I threw together…"

Samara's smiled widened. "If you made them then why isn't the kitchen on fire?"

"I made them, thank you very much," Bucky growled, reaching out to mess up the perfect curl to her bangs. It earnt him an indignant squawk, and a weak hit to the centre of his chest that barely caused a sting of pain. Blinking at where she'd hit, he let out a snort. "I am capable of playing housewife if I have too, you know. Someone had to take care of mister nobility over there."

Steve – admittedly distracted by the other person in the room – took a few seconds to catch the comment. "Hey, I was the one who'd cook," he pointed out smartly, folding his arms against his chest. "The most you ever did was make a blanket fort."

"I put a roof over your head, and you have the audacity to complain?" Bucky feigned a disappointed sigh, shaking his head at the other man.

Samara was watching the exchange with impatience amusement, eyes clearly pleased at their relationship but hands already pointing to the untouched plate. "This is sweet and all – besties reunited, yay – but do I get the damn pancakes or not?" she demanded, shooting them a bored look before her fingers inched closer. "Because I'm about three seconds from stealing them and going on the run."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I made them for you, genius," he muttered, shoving the plate closer and admiring the way her eyes lit up. Instantly, her hands had scooped up the cutlery, a berry already sneaking past her lips. "Oh? Hours of toiling labour and I don't even get a thank you?"

The doctor faltered. "Thanks," she murmured, pressing her lips against his cheek in a wet kiss. "And what's this about hours?"

Steve was the one who answered the mumbled question, his features warmed in laughter and hand hiding his smile. "It took him a while to find the recipe books we have stashed around in case of emergencies, and even longer to find where everything he needed was," he admitted, snorting into his hand before covering it with a cough. "That darn kitchen, a labyrinth, I swear…"

Tony finally spoke up, dipping his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you, thank you, it took a lot of thought," he gushed, winking once. "I figure, if your kitchen is more trouble than it's worth, people won't invite themselves into it. Better yet, they won't eat all your food."

"It didn't stop me?" Bucky shrugged. "Your logic is faulty."

"My logic didn't factor in pig-headed stubbornness," Tony corrected smoothly, his next movements so quick no one managed to stop him. It seemed that one second he was reclining beside the super soldier, and the next he'd stolen the prepared cup of coffee from the counter. "Oh god," he coughed, hitting his chest after only one gulping mouthful. "Who made that? Satan?"

Bucky wasn't even mad, his smile smug. "I made that," he allowed, sighing happily when the man's face went red. "What's the matter, Stark? Can't you handle a little bitterness? That doesn't seem like you."

Tony only pulled a face, continuing to hit the centre of his chest as though he was trying to get his heart started again. "Samara, honey, if that's how you have your coffee, you must be suicidal," he decided, now rubbing the abused skin with a wince. "Don't worry, it'll be okay, just hold on and we'll get you help – or sugar, we'll get you sugar."

"Or, you could get your own damn coffee," Samara offered dryly, primly taking a delicate sip from the cup and closing her eyes. "Buck, it's perfect."

Tony stared with a horrified look in his eyes, lips curled up to show his displeasure. "Perfect? Perfect? It tastes like ass. How did you manage to make coffee – the damn liquid of the gods – taste like ass? Is that your superpower?"

The doctor gave an uninterested shrug, content with the breakfast. "I don't like it with all that crap," she wrinkled her nose, free hand gesturing between them in disgust. "All that cream, cinnamon, chocolate, caramel – it's a waste. I think coffee is meant to be bitter and dark, something I can drink on a diet without fretting. It's not meant to have all that…" Her brow came together as she struggled for words. "Help me out here?"

"It's not meant to have all that…" Tony blinked, searching for words before; "Decadence?"

At the simple word, the room went quiet, the present company feeling confusion weigh down their brows.

"I feel like that was an odd word choice," Bucky murmured suddenly, breaking the silence with an uneven shrug. Whatever stupor had come over them was broken in a similar way the silence was, and everyone went back to pottering around. "But I also feel like I'm missing something?"

Samara gave him a placating smile. "Inside joke," she soothed, giving the others the same curve of her lips.

Bucky eyed her, blue narrowed into curious slits. "Hmm," he allowed, folding his arms against his chest. The woman only continued to calmly eat the food he'd prepared, happily bouncing on the spot, and it broke his resistance. "Okay, sure, I'll let you have that then. But what has you and Stark looking so suspicious? Don't think I didn't notice the criminal mastermind smiles."

Samara swallowed, waving her dirtied fork across the counter. "I have no clue what you're talking about," she grinned, still wiggling like an excited puppy. "And by that I mean, I'm eating so ask him."

Bucky's raised brow was directed to the other man. "Stark?"

"Okay, one, we've talked about this. It's Tony. Toe-knee. It just slips from the tongue with no effort. Unless you count manners being too much work, then yeah, there's effort," the billionaire started, hands gesturing to his lips before shooting to point accusingly at gold eyes. "And two, ew, are you trying to pin this on me, teen wolf? You traitor. See if I ever do anything nice for you again."

Samara quirked up a content brow, lips brimming with pancakes. "F'k 'ou," she slurred, not bothering to do anything more than shove another forkful past her lips. The teeth baring smile was just the cherry on the cake.

Tony didn't seem to agree. "Oh gross, close your mouth."

In response, the woman dropped the pretence of smiling and just let her lips drop open.

"Okay, okay, you win, god," Tony declared, hands flung up to protect his eyes. "Just put the pancakes away. I'll tell them everything, I swear."

Samara smiled, lips smacking together again and a pleased look overcoming her features at the victory. The assassin only smothered a chuckle and shook his head, pleased with her ruthlessness. This was why he liked her as much as she did - the damn woman took no prisoners.

Tony peeked through his fingers, tugging on his shirt to gain back a semblance of his dignity. "You two are a dangerous pair," he commented lightly, fixing his hair next. "Teaching each other bad habits and the like. Anyway, the plan I thought we weren't telling them about yet – " the words were pointed, but only earned a snort from the woman – "Was to hit a beach in the next couple of months or so. Get in a vacation before the media shitstorm manages to drown us all in paperwork and press conferences."

Steve, who had been content to listen to them argue, managed a frown. "We're gonna have a problem with the media?" he questioned, leaning forward and giving them his full attention. "Siberia, or Buck?"

"Most likely Bucky," Tony shrugged. "Natty, bless her heart, put all the files onto the internet remember? Someone is bound to know who he is."

Whatever elation he was riding on failed, crashing down hard at the news. Once again, his past was catching up. Bucky sighed, running a hand over his head and messing up the simple wave to his hair. "I don't want to cause any problems," he muttered, shifting his weight. "If it's easier for me to cut ties, or cease involvement then I can always – "

"What?" Tony snorted, sending him a strange look and preparing a sweeter cup of coffee. "We're not firing you. I mean yeah, you can be an asshole, but you're not all bad – and without the red book of secrets, you're not a threat. If anyone asks, we can tell him the soldier is dead and that we managed to find the sergeant again. If they kick up a fuss, we'll kill 'em."

Samara choked on her breakfast,

Tony hid his pleased smirk in the rim of his cup. "You're on the team now, Bucko. Get used to it," he announced. "Now, about that beach…"

Bucky blinked.

Then, for the heck of it, he blinked again.

"That's what a…" the assassin paused, shifted his weight, then tried again. "That's what a Lamborghini is?"

Beside him, the woman seemed to mimic his curious look, her head cocked to one side and lips pursed. "It's not even that awesome looking," she realised sadly, giving him a glance that was neither awed nor disappointed. "I hear people talking about them all the time, but I never really cared enough to look them up and see with my own eyes. I feel exactly like I did in Buffalo."

"Niagara Falls?" Bucky guessed lamely. "Yeah, same here actually. I feel like the only reason I'm impressed is because I'm meant to be," he snorted, folding his arms and studying the shining metal.

There was the sharp clattering of keys behind them both. "You could be impressed because it cost more than what the good doctor earns in a year," Tony rolled his eyes, throwing the small metal keyring towards the assassin. "There we are. Go nuts. But be home before six – we're ordering take out. I think it's time we introduced our men out of time to the best movie in the world."

Samara brightened up a little. "Oh?"

Tony nodded firmly. "I figure they need to see it before we go to the beach," he murmured, amusement poorly hidden. "Jaws."

"You're a terrible human being," the woman realised, not even shocked as she turned to give the man a disapproving look. His grin was unrepentant and she shook her head, giving a small laugh. "But you're also a bloody genius – why didn't I think of that?"

The billionaire winked, moving to go back indoors and no doubt moon over his own super soldier for a while. "Play safe kids," he drawled, waving over his shoulder before disappearing through the glass doors of the tower. The crowded streets of the big city didn't seem like the best place to play around with such an expensive car, but he'd insisted on it, so why the hell not? He could probably talk his way out of any legal fines…

Samara chucked louder now, moving forward to brush a hand over the paint. "It's still rather pretty," she allowed. "I mean, we basically got it free of charge and as he said, they're expensive. I'm surprised he actually brought one."

Bucky cracked a small smile. "He was desperate for you to shut up," he revealed. "I think if I'd asked for a kidney, I would've got it."

The woman grinned, wrinkling her nose before the expression faltered. "Hey, there's something in the front seat," she pointed out, pinching the keys from his hand and unlocking the doors. Peering in, now without shaded glass in the way, she could make out the large box and the label smattered across the front of it. The snort was pure amusement and disbelief. "Oh my god."

"Do I want to know what it is?"

Samara straightened up. "Hell yeah you do," she promised, gesturing for him to look too. He bent at the waist, doubling over to peek through the low opening when her voice sounded above him. "A giant box of hot chocolate."

Bucky was the one to chuckle. "My god, I've seen heaven…" he teased, brushing his hair away from his eyes and looking over the street. "I don't really want to drive it, not until I've gotten a better handle on the newer cars. You feel up to it?"

Samara was already in the driver's seat. "Okay! Get in loser, we're going shopping."

The pop culture reference was another one he didn't understand, but instead of feeling frustration, he made the absent promise to watch whatever it originated from with the woman. "Mind moving the damn hot chocolate then?" he asked, cocking a brow and waiting.

"No. It's more important. You can sit in the back."

Bucky wanted to argue, really he did, but he realised that revenge would be easier to get if he was behind the woman. He wasn't one for petty acts, but hitting the back of her chair as she drove seemed like a good thing to do. "Alright," he allowed slowly, waiting for the door to open up the back seat for him. It slid up in a smooth movement, and he admired it idly before dropping his weight against the leather.

He could only see the edge of her eyes, nothing more than a flash of long lashes and smiling gold. "You ready? Once we get out of the city, I'm gonna break a few laws. As an Avenger, think you can handle it?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Shut up and drive, you beautiful idiot."

Samara grinned, starting the car with a rolling purr and pulling out of the parking spot with ease. The sound of the engine wasn't really something he usually admired, but the sound of her laughing – sheer joy making it more breathless and genuine than he often got – was something he did. He'd convince her to let him sit beside her by the time they got out of the city. He wanted to see her without leather in the way.

Speaking of…

Bucky grunted, awkwardly shifting in the cramped space. "Hey, Samara?" he started, leaning closer to get her attention. "Could you move your seat up?"

Okay, so last week I couldn't update for multiple reasons – the main one being I don't want this story to end. The second was I had a concussion but that's not important. This would've been up earlier, but I had a doctor's appointment so sorry for the tardiness.

This is it. We're done! I want to thank you all for reading this, and supporting me during the writing phase. As I've said, I won't be writing a sequel, but I will be writing a series of oneshots because I love these two too much to leave them with their happy ending. If you have anything you'd like to see, send me a message or leave a review! I will try my damnest to write every one of them, if they fit what I want for them of course.

Again, thank you so much.

Taila xx