Bucky had kissed him.
And Sam had pulled away.
The kiss had been a damn good one, too, tender—more an intimate brush of the lips than an action of passion. Soft. A little shy, even, not unlike Bucky himself. As soft and shy as a globally-feared ex-assassin allowed himself to be perceived, at least. The kiss, Bucky's hand resting on his hip—those were the kind of gentle touches that made Sam's stomach soar, like when wind raced beneath his wings on a mission and lifted him miles into the sky.
Sam would be lying if he said he hadn't leaned forward during those first few seconds, because goddamn if Bucky hadn't chosen the perfect moment. Weeks of thinly-disguised flirting had finally come to a head, where the two of them stood mere inches apart beneath an aging cypress in the front yard while the Sun sank below the horizon and made the world glow with gold around them. The only way to make it more perfect would've been if some jazz had started floating out the open window of the kitchen when Bucky took the first step forward, but Sam hadn't shown him that particular stash of records just yet.
Yet. Implying a future of romantic jazz nights between them.
Yeah, Sam had leaned in, holding his fractured glass heart in his hands, waiting for Bucky to take the pieces and slowly put them all back together. Waiting for Bucky to complete the unfinished project, to fix what had been broken by a stray RPG so many years ago.
And then Sam had pulled away, because that beautiful golden sunset made Bucky's hair gleam with the faintest touch of blond, that rare summer breeze hissed like a dying missile past Sam's ears, the kiss was so familiar, too familiar, and Sam was falling, falling—
"I'm sorry," he'd whispered, clenching the jagged pieces of his glass heart so tightly they severed his lifeline. Because in that moment, Sam didn't know what—who—he was supposed to live for.
And with those two words, maybe Sam had gouged a matching hole in Bucky's heart, too. That was what he did, right? He worked every day to protect others, to protect the entire damn world, but Sam had never been able to protect those he cared about the most.
Protect them from himself.
He'd walked away from Bucky without a second glance, because nothing hurt more than looking back on what could have been.
Sam kept to himself the rest of the evening, offering Sarah and the kids the thin excuse that he was tired, that he'd taken a nasty hit on his most recent mission, that he'd tweaked his back a little more than initially thought, that he'd be right as rain with a couple extra hours of shut-eye. Cass and AJ called him an old man before hugging him and asking if they could play with the shield, to which Sam chuckled and agreed—so long as they were careful and didn't try throwing it.
He'd never been any good at lying to his sister, though.
"I'm coming in," Sarah said later that night without even knocking on the door. Sam simply rolled his eyes, because what could he do? Say no? Not until Hell froze over, and that was at the earliest.
"You shouldn't disturb your brother while he's sleeping," he went with instead, very much awake as he smirked at his sister when she entered the bedroom. "What would our mother say?"
"She would say that my brother never fails to wake up at the smell of her homemade ginger snaps, no matter how deep he's sleepin', so you might as well get his ass up anyways," Sarah teased, nudging the door shut behind her with her left foot.
Sam laughed and pushed himself upwards into a sitting position, bracing his body against the wooden backboard of his bed as he crossed his legs. "I take it there's a plate of fresh cookies behind your back," he said, noting how his sister's hands remained out of sight even after she'd closed the door.
Sarah shrugged, feigning an air of innocence. "Maybe."
Sam chuckled again. His sister could read him like an open book, but he'd be damned if he didn't know her like the back of his hand, too. "Alright, I see how it is. Holding the cookies hostage until you get information out of me." He imitated her airy shrug. "No problem. I've got nothing to hide."
"Not from me, maybe." Sarah raised an eyebrow. "But what about Bucky?"
Sam's pulse quickened, and he stared at his sister warily. "What about Bucky?"
Sarah sighed, placing down what was indeed a platter of ginger snaps on the five-drawer dresser beside the door. Still plenty far out of Sam's reach, of course. "That lovely old cypress in our front yard lines up directly with the window over the kitchen sink, you know."
Sam grimaced at the realization, heat rising in his cheeks. "Ah. You… saw us, then."
"Damn right I did. I saw you walk away from the man who makes you smile that stupid grin I haven't seen on your face since—"
"Don't." Sam's voice was tight, barely above a whisper. One hand dug into the white sheets on his bed while the other clutched desperately at his left knee. "Don't say his name, Sarah."
A heavy silence hung in the air, weighing like an albatross around Sam's neck.
"Alright," Sarah finally replied, her own voice hushed. "I won't." She lowered herself onto the bed beside her brother, both hands in her lap as she locked eyes with him. Her gaze pierced Sam's soul. "But you will, Sam. You have to, and you know it."
Sam bristled. "And what if I don't?"
Sarah shook her head. "We are not playing this game. Not tonight." She placed her hand on top of his, the hand gripping the life out of his knee, and gave it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of her touch made him relax, if only slightly. "Let yourself be happy, Sam. Please."
Sam exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "You make it sound so simple."
"Not everything has to be complicated."
Sam snorted. "Maybe not, but this is."
"I don't see how. Y'all have been getting closer and closer for the past month, Sam. Don't think I haven't noticed the way Bucky conveniently 'helps' you practice with the shield all the time"—she shook her head, amused—"although it's obvious as hell he's doing more ogling than helping whenever you wear that tight-ass red tank. Which I know you do on purpose. And I haven't missed how you make every little excuse to do basic chores with him, too! Just so y'all have some alone time outside of missions. Bucky finally made an effort to close the distance between your sorry selves and you—"
"Sarah, you don't understand—"
"No, no. Stop. You aren't hearing me, Samuel." Sarah took a deep breath. "Look. I know what's going on, okay?" She moved so she was sitting directly beside her brother, dropping her head onto his shoulder. "You're afraid of falling. In more ways than one."
Sam chuckled, resting his head atop hers. "You did not just make a pun out of my PTSD."
Sarah winced. "Okay, well, now you're making me feel bad."
"Sorry, sorry. I'm just teasing." He paused, then sighed, his shoulders slumping. "And you might be right, anyways."
"I'm always right."
"Sure you are."
Another silence fell, though far more comfortable than the previous one. The smell of ginger snaps had fully permeated the bedroom, and goddamn if Sam didn't want to snag one or two or five for himself. They'd be a more than welcome distraction.
"You're not replacing Riley, you know," Sarah whispered. "Love doesn't work like that."
Sam closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. "I know." His grip tightened on his knee. "But I'm scared I will. Without meaning to."
Sarah gave his hand another gentle squeeze. "Just because Riley is gone doesn't mean you'll forget him. Just because Bucky is here now doesn't mean Riley isn't here, either." She tapped the left side of his chest, and though Sam's eyes were still shut, he knew a tender smile was tugging at the corners of his sister's lips. "Your heart is plenty big enough for the both of them, Sam. And your life can only be richer for having had so much love in it."
Sam shook his head, opening his eyes as he gave her an amused look. "Okay, when did you get so wise without me knowing?"
Sarah simply winked at him, lifting her head from his shoulder. "I take it this means you'll go talk to Bucky?"
Sam hesitated. He should, yes, needed to—
"Alright, alright. I know that face." Sarah pursed her lips. "Let me ask you something." There was a pause before she continued, as if Sarah was perfecting the question in her mind before releasing it into the world. "When you kissed Bucky—"
"—when Bucky kissed me—"
"—fine, when Bucky kissed you and you kissed him back… Was it like falling? Or was it like flying?"
Sam blinked. "What?"
"You heard me."
Sam hesitated a second time. Walking away from Bucky, his heart pounding and stomach sinking, fighting back the nagging anxiety and the terror of losing what was too damn good to be true and the fucking heartbreak, fearing the heartbreak of going through that pain all over again—
Yeah, he'd fallen. Hard.
But the kiss…
"I think I need to talk to Bucky," Sam admitted with an embarrassed grin, and Sarah laughed as she flicked his nose with her free hand.
"Told you so."
And dammit, Sam couldn't even argue. "Do I at least get a ginger snap now?" he asked as his sister climbed off the bed and removed the metal tray from the dresser.
Sarah winked at him. "Bucky has the rest in the kitchen. He helped me bake them and volunteered to cover cleanup duty." She shrugged. "If you don't make a move on that pretty boy, Sam, who's to say I won't?" And with that, his sister slipped out the bedroom, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts.
Well, alone with his thoughts and the lingering scent of ginger snaps.
Sam sighed, dragging himself off the bed and nearly tugging his sheets along with him. To the right of where the cookie tray had rested only seconds ago was a double picture frame, the glass facing downwards so the portraits were hidden from prying eyes. It was a small ornament, fitting pictures no larger than those mini polaroids Cass and his friends loved to collect.
Sam hesitated, then picked up the frame. The right half was empty. Had been for years. On the left side, though, was a portrait of himself and Riley, arms around each other's shoulders as they grinned goofily at the camera. Delight practically radiated from the picture, like he and Riley hadn't spent the whole day dodging enemy fire in the blazing Afghani heat.
Sam traced his thumb below the portrait, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips despite the ache in his chest. After a pause, he grabbed his wallet from the other side of the dresser, carefully pulling out the small photo Sarah had gotten printed for him only a few days ago. It was of himself and Bucky, laughing and playing chicken fight with his nephews in the water. AJ was on his shoulders, Cass on Bucky's.
Sam took a deep breath before slipping that photo into the empty half of the double frame. He made sure both pictures were upright when he returned the frame to the top of his dresser, bearing the two halves of his heart for the world, or at least for him, to see. To remember.
The glass was all in one piece.
When Sam joined Bucky in the kitchen, the ex-assassin was sitting at the table, nibbling at a ginger snap with slumped shoulders while staring glumly out the window. Sam probably would have laughed at the sorry sight had he not been near-queasy with nerves. Though his queasiness didn't stop him from feeling tempted to steal that ginger snap straight from Bucky's hands.
"This seat taken?" he asked instead, startling Bucky. Sam sat down beside him without waiting for an answer.
"You want to throw that seat at me?" Bucky asked after a minute had passed. "Because I wouldn't blame you after—"
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "No, man. Unlike you, tossing around chairs is not how I find catharsis." He took a deep breath. "I wanted to apologize."
Bucky promptly shook his own head in response, the barely-suppressed shock scribbled across his face arguably the most emotion Sam had ever seen from him. "What? No, I'm the one who needs to apologize. I overstepped, I shouldn't have—"
Sam rolled his eyes. If he'd had the nerve, he would have kissed the man then and there to shut him up. "Bucky, relax. I freaked out a little. It's not a big deal."
"But I shouldn't have put you in that situation in the first place—"
"Bucky." The additional emphasis on his name effectively silenced his friend, though Sam couldn't bring himself to look anywhere besides his own hands clasped on the table before him. He exhaled slowly. "Look. I haven't been with anyone since Riley died. So you kissed me, and I kissed you back. But I ended up psyching myself out of it."
Bucky grimaced. "See, I should have known that—"
"Buck, you didn't do anything wrong—"
"—I promise, it will never happen again."
Sam quirked an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. "Come on, now. I didn't say that."
Bucky's eyes widened. Sam shifted in his chair so they sat face to face. His gaze flickered down to Bucky's lips, and this time he didn't allow his mind to interfere as he leaned forward and captured them in a tender kiss. There was no golden sunset, no summer breeze, and no romantic music, but the moment was perfect all the same. Sam's right hand cupped the back of Bucky's neck, fingertips brushing against the short, dark hair. The kiss tasted like ginger snaps, he realized, but the touch—God, the sparks between the two of them made Sam feel like he was flying.
So Sarah had been right. Sue him.
"Wow," Bucky breathed as they parted, a note of undisguised awe echoing in his voice. It was a sound Sam decided very quickly that he liked, and more importantly, a sound Sam decided he very much wanted to hear again. "That was… wow."
Sam chuckled. "You're cute when you're starstruck."
Bucky at first seemed like he wanted to respond with a snarky comment, but apparently decided against it, as he ended up saying, "I mean, I just kissed Captain America. Can you blame me?"
"Mm, that's a pretty good point. Guess I can't hold your awe against you." Sam leaned in again, as if to steal another kiss, but instead stole the remaining half of the ginger snap in Bucky's hand while Bucky was distracted by their close proximity. Which Sam also couldn't hold against him—Sam knew he was a fine specimen and was pretty damn proud of that fact, too.
"Ha!" Sam crowed as he pulled away, taking a massive bite of the ginger snap before Bucky could protest. "Victory tastes so sweet."
"You know you could have just asked," Bucky said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I would have given it to you. Or gotten you one from the container-full that Sarah and I made."
Sam swallowed, shaking his head. "Nope. Not a risk I was willing to take," he said, mouth still halfway full.
Bucky rolled his eyes, a smirk creeping onto his lips despite his clear efforts to fight it down. "Let me guess. You only kissed me to get a taste of the cookie."
Sam shrugged, finishing the last of the ginger snap. "I can neither confirm nor deny that statement."
"Right." Bucky shook his head before standing up, placing his vibranium hand on the back of Sam's chair and giving himself the height advantage as Sam remained seated. "Well, the least you could do is return the favor."
Sam chuckled, reaching up solely to tug Bucky downwards. The tips of their noses were a mere inch apart. "I'm a fair man."
"Comes with being Captain America?"
"You could say that."
Bucky kissed him.
And Sam kissed him back, because he'd be damned if he ever pulled away again.
xXxXxXx
i really want some ginger snaps, god. also if you noticed my (very obvious ksjdasdks) reference to the rime of the ancient mariner i am Kissing you on the lips xoxo