Sam and Bucky left me to work on my portfolio - I also had a print to finish for Sarah. I thought that I'd go with the printer upstairs first, then if I didn't love how it turned out, I'd try out my new darkroom. Sam had mentioned some "stuff" he needed to finish - vague, but he WAS Captain America - and Bucky had to check in with Raynor after he made one last amends.

"It's Yori," he told me, alone in my - I didn't really have a name for the workspace Dad created in the guestroom -. "We're friends, or we were -" his eyes were tight and I reached out to hold him. "I killed his son, Brooke. I snuffed out the life of his son, and I have to tell him that - confess to him that I DID it."

"It wasn't -" I stopped, he didn't need me to say that, not now. He wasn't looking for absolution from me. He was looking for strength. Framing his face gently between my hands, I forced him to focus on me, not what he was about to do. "You are Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, formerly the Winter Soldier. The Winter Soldier killed Yori's son and YOU are going to confess to that -" he looked so torn apart by it, the knowledge and the memory. "You'll tell him, you'll admit to it, and give him the power to decide what to do with it -" We both knew that Bucky had been pardoned, the consequences he'd face from Yori were higher though - the loss of a friendship and comradery that he'd come to appreciate and enjoy. "But regardless of what Yori does with what you tell him, you'll come home -" hearing the word, knowing that I meant me and our house, I felt some of his tension relax. "And I'll be right here waiting for you, Bucky."

Bucky's arms were tightening around me, clutching me like a drowning man might a life preserver. And the kiss he took before he left was just as desperate. He needed reassurance. And I hoped that Raynor AND Yori understood just how fucking hard he'd worked to get so far.

While they were gone, I worked on getting the image of Sarah's boys and the shield just right before making it big enough to go over her mantle. It was touch and go, and it took longer than I cared to admit, but when it was finished - I have to admit I was pretty damn impressed with myself.

The bigger issue, I realized, staring at the huge picture that I'd managed to figure out how to create - was how to get it from Brooklyn, New York to Delacroix, Louisiana without it ripping or wrinkling? A tube would be perfect, a frame better, but -

A soft knock interrupted my musing and I looked up to see Sam staring at me from the doorway. "I see you figured out Sarah's copy," he was grinning and I rolled my eyes. "It's huge."

"No kidding," I tilted my head while I contemplated the closest office supply store. "I need to grab a tube."

"A tube?" He'd moved closer to study the picture, his eyes roving over the matte finish. "Like what they put blueprints in?"

I nodded. "Can't have it ripping up before we get there, can we?" He snorted. "I could have it framed, but I don't know what Sarah would pick, so I don't want to be presumptuous."

"Safer to get the tube," Sam agreed. "What size do you need?"

I told him and he grinned and said "On it," and was back out the door before I could argue.

With that task crossed off, I got up to see what Connie had brought with her grocery load. If it was going to be a threesome for dinner, I should probably fix something.

By the time that Bucky came home - and he'd been gone long enough to make me start to get worried - Sam was helping me in the kitchen. I'd been happy to see that Connie, knowing me and my family for as long as she had, had gotten me all the staples of the quick but hearty and leftover friendly dinners my mom had loved.

The house smelled like Italian sausage and melted cheese with a hint of garlic and yeast. Bucky found us as Sam was chopping up the salad add-ins - tomatoes, cucumbers, onions - and I smiled when he came straight for me and a kiss.

"Hey," it was a murmur against his lips, but he didn't really give me much of a chance for more than that. "You ok?"

"Yeah," his eyes looked like he'd lost something - and I knew he had. He'd lost Yori. "What's for dinner?"

"Brooke here is a freaking chef on top of being an artist, Bucky," Sam bragged, and I shook my head, while Bucky held tight to me. "She's making this baked pasta dish that - well I'm telling you what, I have a feeling we're going to be so stuffed that we won't have to eat the entire drive to Delacroix."

"That good?" Bucky stared down at me. "Sounds amazing," his forehead met mine. "But that's my Brooke."

Dinner was quiet, but Sam chalked it partially up to how good everything tasted. I think he knew where Bucky went, and with his background he was giving Bucky time to process what had happened with Yori. It wasn't as awkward as I would have thought - Bucky sat at the head of the table, now that I'd insisted he took it willingly - and Sam and I flanked him. His partner in heroism, and his partner in life - I hoped.

After dinner, with a nineteen hour drive ahead of us - I offered our bathroom to Sam first. He insisted that he'd shower in the morning, preferring to be fresh for the road. The hallway half-bath was fine for the night, so with that assurance, Bucky locked up and we went upstairs.

I insisted, since we weren't dealing with the upheaval that had come from Sharon's gunshot, a hostage situation, and Sam's unveiling, that we take that hot bath - Bucky needed it. Leaving him in our bedroom to take a couple beats on his own, I took the same care to draw it that I had when I prepared it the night I welcomed him home. A few candles and some soothing bubbles and salts, then I pulled him into the room - and I once again tried to wash away the grim of his day and the bad.

My back against the rim of the tub, cradling him against my chest, my arms wrapped around him, I told Bucky to tell me all about it - and he did.

Dried and back in nightclothes, back in our bed, Bucky pulled me into his body. We weren't as tired, and so - in the flickering blue light of the television - Bucky sighed into my still damp hair.

"We're gonna end up putting off your meeting Dr. Strange," I snuggled into his chest. "I'm sorry, Brooke."

"Why are you sorry?" I had to pull away to look up at him and I hated to lose his warmth. "Don't be," my fingers slid over his cheek, my thumb brushed his lips. "First we celebrate Sam - AND you."

"Me?" That got his attention, his eyes found mine even in the dimness. "Why do I need to be celebrated?"

"You, Bucky Barnes, are just as much of a hero, " he started to scoff, but I cut him off. "You are, you always have been." Pushing up, so we were face to face, I moved closer nose to nose with him. "Steve Rogers didn't like bullies so he called them out into the alleys, but who checked the alleys to see where Steve and those bullies were?" He started to say something, but I wasn't finished. "And yeah, he came searching for you when you were taken - when all of you were taken - but Bucky, what you went through before he got there? You withstood it, you survived. And you kept surviving." He didn't want to remember it, the Winter Soldier and what he did to survive. "You hate HIM, what they made you become, Bucky, and I get that - but I can't hate HIM - not when he made sure that YOU are here." He really wanted to argue, but I STILL wasn't finished. "You saved lives, Bucky, just last night. And then, you brought Sharon home with you even though you know I said I don't share - and you had to have had a tiny inkling that I might have thought -"

That earned me a chuckle. "I did think you might throw both of us out."

"I thought about it," I teased. "I love you, and I want to celebrate you every single day from here on out, Bucky."

"Every single day?" He asked, his voice going slightly husky. I nodded, and his fingers slid through my hair. "Can we start now?"

Our lips met and my only thought was "abso-fucking-lutely".