"Bye, Sarah."

Sarah is used to goodbyes. She doesn't ask anything of Bucky, and he doesn't ask anything of her. When he visits, it's like their own little private world, but the borders of that world only extend until it's time for him to leave again.

She has said goodbye to a mother, a father, and a husband. Her first goodbye to her brother came when he joined the military. Another, even more profound one, came when he started the fight that made his name known worldwide. His hellos became more and more temporary after that.

When you say goodbye to so many people over so many years, you learn not to expect much. You square up against life, and you depend on the one person who doesn't leave, yourself. She has learned just what she's capable of—and what she isn't.

She's surprised when Sam comes home, even more surprised when his quiet friend follows. She doesn't expect much, but Bucky comes back. First with Sam, then alone. Sarah lets herself enjoy the time; she's learned to make the most of it.

"Let me do that; you look tired."

Simple words. Bucky is visiting for the fourth time in as many months, with no Sam in sight. He takes the broom handle out of Sarah's hands and starts sweeping. She feels a sudden flash of something—is it anger? It shouldn't be anger. He's being kind.

"I'm—fine," she says. "I can do it."

"I know you can, but you look tired, and I want to help."

Sarah rubs a hand across her face and sits down. She's frustrated; she can't quite figure out why for a few moments. Finally, it hits her. She's angry at herself for letting him see how exhausted she is, how much the real world has worn her out. This is supposed to be their special, perfect, unreal time together.

Bucky finishes sweeping the kitchen and puts the broom back behind the door. Then, he comes and drops down in front of her, squatting down to the floor in front of her chair. "If I just did the wrong thing, I'm sorry."

Sarah shakes her head, finding his eyes almost painfully intense. "No, thank you. I always appreciate your help."

"The heck you do," he answers. "You're not happy, and I want to know why. I can't get it if you don't tell me."

"I can't—" Sarah answers.

"Can't what?" He looks up at her through his eyelashes, still kneeling in front of her chair.

"You're—leaving three days from now. This is supposed to be a good time—relaxing, family time. Not tired Sarah depending on you for real-world stuff. That's not it."

Bucky shakes his head, and now Sarah can tell that he's aggravated, something she's seen next to nothing of before. He stands up to his full height. "Get up." His voice is soft, but insistent. Surprised, Sarah complies. Bucky takes her place in the chair and pats his knee. "C'mere."

"Are you kidding me?" Sarah hasn't sat on anyone's lap since she was about eight. She was too tall the one time she and her husband had tried it while they were dating; it was a no-go that had ended in laughter.

Bucky is taller and stronger than his predecessor. "I mean it," he answers. "We gotta communicate better."

Sarah smiles, feeling a little foolish, but she finds she doesn't want to say no. Bucky isn't the kind of guy who tries anything he doesn't ask about; she doesn't feel any anxiety as she lets herself take the knee he's offered.

"Better," he says, though she just feels awkward. That feeling doesn't last long, as he maneuvers her closer and somehow pulls her into a more relaxed position, with his arms draped comfortably around her.

"A'ight," he says. "What's that about you not being able to depend on me, Sarah?"

Sarah is distracted by, well, a great many things in her present position, but she forces herself to answer. "I'm not saying you're not dependable."

"Nah, you're just saying you don't want to depend on me, which is even worse."

Sarah finds Bucky's shoulder very convenient to bury her face against to hide from his eyes. "I'm sorry, okay. I don't even really know why I got upset," she says, her voice muffled. "You do dishes; you sweep; you're practically the perfect man. Happy now?"

"Nope," he answers, holding her against him. "Why can't you depend on me, Sarah?"

Sarah sits back up. "I—can't answer that right now, but if you give me time, I will. I promise you we'll talk about it before you leave. Deal?"

"Deal," Bucky answers, smiling at her. "I like this, though."

"Me, too," she answers, kissing him and feeling in his return that there's nothing wrong in their relationship at all. An open question doesn't have to mean a break in the harmony; it just means an opportunity to grow.

—

Sarah thinks, for three days. She watches Bucky give the boys piggyback rides and laughs at late-night TV with him on the sofa. She feels his questions every time he looks at her, but she avoids answering them. Sarah doesn't like uncertainties, and she feels uncertain. Bucky is challenging promises she's made to herself, sacred promises like the one from the day her husband died about never depending on another person. She could make him leave, but that no longer seems like an option, not when she finds the thought of her world without him almost unbearably bleak.

Finally, on the last day, after the boys are in school, Bucky finishes packing and brings his suitcase out, depositing it in front of the door. "This is it, Sarah," he says, standing next to his suitcase with his arms folded. "Time to tell me what you've been thinking all week."

"I'm scared," Sarah blurts out as she stands in front of him, almost surprised by her own honesty. "I haven't—had anybody I could depend on for a long time, and I'm used to people coming and going. If I let you see that I'm tired, or I'm stressed, or the real world is getting to me, you're the kind of guy who wants to help. That—scares me, because if I get used to depending on you, what happens when you're gone for good?"

Bucky's immediate answer is to hug her, very gently and tightly. "I get it," he answers after a long time. "I know we haven't got this totally figured out, but I know I want to be more than a fantasy world you visit now and then."

"Sarah, you're a lot more than a weekend visit to me. In my time, people made commitments that lasted a long time, like all their lives. I know we're not there yet, but I also know I can't keep doing this if you don't let me in for real—you gotta let me help sometimes when things aren't perfect. You gotta let me see your bad days, too. Then you can see that I'm gonna stick around."

Sarah closes her eyes, calming against Bucky's shoulder. "Okay," she says simply. "I'll work on it."

"Just like that?" He asks, pulling back a little so he can see her face, his expression confused. "I figured you'd at least argue a little."

Sarah grins and shakes her head. "No, believe it or not, I just agree with you. We can't have something real if we're not both being real—and I want something real."

Bucky kisses her this time, like a seal on a contract.

—

Sarah's phone vibrates an hour after Bucky leaves. She picks it up and smiles to herself like there's no tomorrow. There's not much to the message, but it means the world, because it tells her that somebody is going to be there, even when he's gone.

"Hi, Sarah."