Thanks for your patience as I drafted and reworked this chapter. I hope you like it!
you came back as the underdog
part xi
The calls with Sam become more frequent, almost to the point where she's considering calling him and informing him of the schedule of Bucky's time. He gets him for a couple of hours in the morning, and once that allotted time is over, Bucky's hers for the rest of the morning, afternoon, evening, and nighttime. It seems fair to her.
Wanda's grateful that Bucky isn't holing himself away like the hermit he sometimes is. Sam loves his company (no matter how long-distance it may be) and his quips, even if he sometimes calls Wanda minutes later and spends an additional ten minutes complaining about Old Man Barnes and how unfunny he really is. Wanda likes being included in their strangely fitting duo, even though she doesn't think she's needed or has a place in it.
She doesn't quite know how to broach the topic of Sam and Louisiana with Bucky. There's a whole big world outside of Sokovia and her precious little bubble that she's a little afraid if she so much as references it, something will explode. And Wanda's tired of explosions.
She sits on the back porch and patiently waits for Bucky to return from investigating the kitchen. He laughs loudly, a nice, rich sound that makes her smile. Sam gets a nice warm laugh out of Bucky each and every time he calls. She likes listening solely for that sound.
Wrapping her arms around her knees, she looks out at Sokovia's never-ending backyard. It's green and lush, and the air is as warm as she wishes it to be.
This isn't the Sokovia she remembers. She prefers it that way. Far from the rubble, the despair, the death heavy and toxic in the air. It's the Sokovia she and Pietro deserved. It's the Sokovia she wishes would rise from the ashes and grow deep, unmoving roots beneath damp and healthy earth.
It's the Sokovia she could create if she was truly daring.
Despite being able to control anything and everything, she doesn't prompt either Bucky or Sam to end their phone call. She sits, patient, listening to the quiet of Sokovia rather than the chatter of Bucky and Sam. It's tempting to listen in, but given that one of them always gives her a quick summary of their conversation, Wanda doesn't fear she's missing out.
Ten minutes later, she stills as she hears the back door gently pop open. When he wants to be soundless, he can be quieter than a mouse. His bare feet pad gently against the wooden panels. Wanda keeps her gaze straight ahead, feigning obliviousness to his obvious approach.
His metal fingers are gentle in her hair as he tangles the strands. "You had a bug there," he murmurs. One day, he'll learn he doesn't need a silly, flimsy excuse to touch her.
"A bug," she repeats incredulously, brows furrowing as she peers up at him. His fingers remain in her hair as she closes one eye and squints. "What kind of bug?"
He watches his fingers in her hair, beginning to knot it. "A big bug."
"So, a Bucky bug?" She looks out to her backyard and smiles cheekily. "Or a James bug?"
He chuckles. When she peers up at him, his fingers remain in her hair and glide to the shell of her ear; he meets her with a furrow to his brows. "What's the difference?"
With a smile, she tells him factually, "One is extremely ugly and the other very, very stinky."
"Let me guess," he says with an amused sigh as he sits beside her, leg falling against hers heavily, "the ugly one is Bucky."
Wanda smiles at him and tilts her head up defiantly. He doesn't look away from her, doesn't take in the sight of Sokovia as it lays out beautifully and wrong before him in her backyard. She doesn't try and turn his face away from her. She thinks that every time he looks at her, he sees the real Sokovia. It never knew what it wanted to be.
"James, actually."
Chuckling, Bucky shakes his head incredulously. Wrapping his right arm around her, he tugs her towards him. She buries her face into his bicep. "Why can't I ever be a nice bug?"
"You can't get everything you want," she murmurs against his arm. It's something they both know all too well. It doesn't hang heavily above them like a thick and stormy cloud. It disperses, going somewhere else. He kisses the top of her head before he sighs, peering out at her backyard.
The sun's setting and the small flies are out in full force tonight. She thinks to magic them away, but as they've snuck through the force field of her bubble, she lets them be. Wanda may be able to give herself everything that she wants, but sometimes, it's nice to not have it all.
"Sam says 'hi', by the way," he says quietly.
She sighs quietly. "Hi back."
He chuckles. "It's a good thing I didn't leave him hanging on that one, huh?"
"What else do you tell Sam is from me?" Wanda wraps her arm around his, hugging him to her. He doesn't fidget beside her. He's still for the first time in a long time. It's how he's come to be with her—at ease. She finds it deliciously intoxicating.
He hums and smacks his lips. "That you think he's annoying."
"Sounds right."
"And that you really, really like me."
Wanda smiles, burrowing her face in his arm when he glances at her. He chuckles, lifting his other hand to brush against her temple. His Vibranium fingertips are warm and soft. The gold glitters in the setting sunlight.
"Debatable."
"The number of times you wound me, Maximoff."
She smiles, humming quietly. Resting her cheek against his arm, she looks out at Sokovia. It's too peaceful. Everything in Sokovia is so eerily and wrongly peaceful. She wants to believe that it had been like this once—quiet, undisturbed, something so many looked over as it never moved a muscle.
"I told him that I'm having fun," he says. "He's going to call you later and ask if I've been brainwashed or cloned or some alien bullshit."
She laughs. "I'll tell him that you have been."
He groans. "Thanks for supporting me."
Bowing her head, she kisses his arm. "Any time."
.
.
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Bucky sits quietly in bed as he reads his special daily newspaper. The Scarlet News is written, photographed, edited, printed, and distributed by a literal one-woman army. It's something he likes—and never lets her forget. He prefers to read the ones she conjures specifically for him in bed and takes the rest from New York City and Louisiana to the kitchen table to pour over when he eats his breakfast. Something about it being special and intimate. Wanda always flushes whenever he informs her of why he's opted to read a newspaper instead of his book in bed.
She's done her best to stop watching him, looking for a furrow to his brow, a downward curve to his lips to indicate he truly dislikes the articles she's written. The newspaper is filled with stories she's created herself, but inside is an insert that contains the world's news that she thinks he'd find interesting.
More articles of Sam have been making headlines, beautifully lit photographs capturing him in flight while donning the spectacular Captain America uniform which makes him look ethereal. She likes that she can still see Sam in those photographs while the world gazes upon him with the admiration she always felt the Falcon deserved. She likes that Bucky made that happen for someone who is so humble and would never ask for anything for himself.
She turns her head towards him when he sighs. Laying down against her pillow, he remains propped up against his. He turns the page and doesn't so much as glance towards her despite knowing she's watching him. It's a comfort she likes, the way he accepts that sometimes she likes to study the line of his profile. It's something she wishes she had done with Mama and Papa.
He chuckles.
"What?"
He glances at her and shakes his head. "Nothing." Wanda waits for Bucky to peer down at the newspaper before he thinks to speak again. "It's just that… there was an article about Steve at the museum. His museum."
Wanda shifts against the bed, watching him intently. She knows which article he's speaking of. Steve—an older Steve, one who's lived a life that has been plentiful and beautiful—had visited a museum that doesn't quite tell the truth of the life he's led. Some of the historical moments of Captain America belong to another. His appearance at the museum had been newsworthy. Apparently, it's the first time since its inception that he's stepped foot inside.
She knows that Bucky's been there once. Watching him, she tries to see a flicker in his cool expression. A purse to his lips, a downward curve. The museum belongs to a Steve he knows all too well, one who hadn't lived a completely happy and domestic life.
Despite her search for a crack of displeasure, his expression doesn't convey anything other than gentle amusement.
"Do you talk to Steve?" she asks gently. "The one who's here."
He's quiet for a moment. His eyes pause somewhere on the page, unfocused. While Wanda immediately regrets the question, she doesn't try to erase it from existence. It lingers, but not uncomfortably. "No," he answers softly, shifting his gaze to settle somewhere above the paper he still holds in front of him. "I can't face him. He's had a whole life without me."
She smiles kindly and shakes her head. "I doubt that," she says gently. "He never stopped thinking about you when you were gone." Dead. Brainwashed. 'Gone' is such a kinder word, one that HYDRA doesn't deserve for stealing decades of his life. "Maybe you should see him. He's your friend."
He rubs his hand against his cheek roughly. "I don't know…"
"What's there to be afraid of?" She furrows her brows gently as she regards him kindly. "He's Steven Grant Rogers. He admired his best friend James Buchanan Barnes. He has been put on a pedestal for his entire life. He hasn't lived, not until you gave him permission to. He would want to see you."
Bucky inhales slowly and deeply. While Steve hasn't ever been a delicate subject for them to tread carefully around and evade all together, the idea of a Steve who has lived a life during the time he had been frozen in ice is a strange concept. It's one that she thinks Bucky takes to heart. After all, Steve is the only person who can understand having seventy years of his life lost to a force beyond his control.
Now, he's filled in that deep, unforgiving void. The one who understood Bucky's pain is seemingly gone. Wanda's own void aches for Pietro in the same way Bucky's does for a Steve who doesn't quite fit as he should.
But he's still Steve. If Fietro has taught her anything, it's that void will always remain, no matter how he tries to fill it. She finds herself a little envious of the fact he has a true Steve an arm's length away who's waiting patiently for Bucky to want him as he is.
She watches how he holds the air inside of his chest, letting himself feel what he needs to feel. She doesn't press, doesn't try and slip into his mind. It's for him to experience alone.
"And then," she says gently, keeping her voice light, "after you have both gone out for a drink and laughed and pretended to be drunk, you can then take me to New York and its bars."
He cocks his brow in surprise and turns to look at her. His face is bright in a way that she's become accustomed to. This is James Barnes sitting beside her, not the Soldat. "Really?" He sounds taken aback by her suggestion.
She shrugs, keeping her smile in place. Wanda doesn't see herself breaching the borders of her Sokovian pocket. It's safe here. No one can be hurt by her here. No one will ever have to be ever again. She had initially created the cabin to give herself a home and had expanded it to keep herself locked away and everyone else out.
But for him, she smiles kindly and genuinely and lets herself believe that she'll be brave enough to cross that threshold.
"I want to hear stories about you," she says, scrunching up her nose. "I want to hear all the dirty gossip."
He rolls his eyes in amusement. "There's none," he says, the tension lifting from his shoulders. He rests his newspaper closed on his lap. Leaning over towards her, he smiles down at her all too sweetly. "I was a straight-laced good boy."
She chuckles. "I highly doubt that."
"I'll show you," he smiles. Bucky's quick to lower himself down and onto his side, and then he's hovering over her, caging her between his arms as he bites the tip of her nose and kisses her cheeks and jaw. Wanda wiggles and squirms beneath him, laughing as he nips at her neck and collarbones.
"This is not helping your case!"
He doesn't pull his head up from her neck. The weight of him above her is comfortable. Wanda feels safe, something she hasn't felt since following Pietro through the streets of a broken Sokovia, since finding those quiet moments during her two years as a fugitive with Vision.
Bucky licks at her neck and bites at her earlobe. Reluctantly pulling away from her, he peers down at her with a furrow to his brows. "What was my case again?" He laughs and buries his head into the hollow of her neck. Wanda curls her hands into his hair, tugging his face closer.
.
.
.
She's unsuccessful in shooing him completely out of the kitchen. Bucky stands at the threshold in the opposite direction of where she had wanted him. He needs to go out the back, not the front. If he went out the back, she'd be able to see him on the porch and easily threaten him with a withering stare. If she let him leave through the front of the house, there was no telling if he'd linger in the living room and slip his way back inside.
It's important that he leaves. He's ruining everything by staying.
How is she meant to try and cook him a surprise lunch if he hovers and supervises every single thing she does?
Wanda points her finger towards the front of her house. "Outside, now."
He laughs, reluctantly obeying and walking backwards out of the kitchen and into the living room. He keeps his hands held up in surrender, though, Wanda knows better than to trust him. "Yes, ma'am."
Standing at the doorframe of the kitchen with her hands planted sternly on her hips, she cocks her brow and pointedly stares him down. Watching him cross his arms against his chest, she magically pulls the front door open. He glances over his shoulder and laughs lightly; she waits until he disappears through the front door of his own volition before she turns her back.
Wanda returns to the kitchen and peers out the window he often sits in front of in search of seeing if he's trying to be cheeky and slip in through the back door. She can't find Bucky. He must be sitting outside on the front porch watching the lake. Sometimes, he simply likes to observe the small ripples of the water and the birds that flutter towards its surface.
Wanda gets to work, magicking her fridge open, her pots and pans out from the cupboards. It's with a flourish of her fingers that she opens the back door to invite the warm breeze inside. The benefits of slightly tinkering with the weather in her bubble mean that it's always a beautiful warm spring. If it wishes to be a wet warm, she allows it. Her home is never cold. Neither Bucky nor herself enjoys the chill. The rest of Sokovia outside of her dome can be chilly and miserable, but not here.
Although she had promised to cook with her bare hands, Wanda does cheat a little. Bucky will know, but she's curious to see if he can pinpoint just where she had chosen to cheat. He's getting better at understanding her magic, the ways in which she takes shortcuts and the reasons why. Most of it's simply out of impatience. Despite being an incredibly patient person when it comes to chess, she's horribly impatient when cards are on the table.
And cooking, apparently.
She magically cuts the vegetables as she begins to cook her potato bake. Glancing out of the window to the back porch, she finds it's empty. He doesn't appear in a childish attempt to spook her. She keeps an ear out for the lawnmower, waiting for him to try to clean her gutters or weed her garden. Sometimes Bucky finds it near impossible to stay still or in one place.
But when she lifts her head again, there's nothing. No James. No disturbance in her backyard. She doesn't like it.
It's strange to think of him so quiet, but perhaps he's finally taken her request that he simply relax and switch off to heart.
Once she's done (magically speeding up her baking time), Wanda slips out onto the abandoned front porch and balances their plates on the railing. She spells them so they won't tumble even in the gentlest of winds. She leaves them be, knowing her magic is stable enough.
Wanda observes him from the porch with her arms crossed against her chest. Despite her being outside, Bucky remains out by the lake, standing still with his head slightly bowed and his hand pressed against his ear. It'd be easy to tap into his phone and make it a broadcast that she can hear, but Wanda remains where she is, letting the distance protect him and his privacy.
She knows who he's talking to. More and more, Sam's been calling, unintentionally returning Bucky to her with a furrowed brow and a pinch to his lips that always turns into a smile. The outside world keeps wanting to take him from her.
A long time ago, he'd been standing on the edge of her lake with an air of uncertainty that she believes punctured the bubble she'd grown around her house. He looks a different kind of tense now. It's unfamiliar for the sole fact she hasn't seen that tension since the Avengers' Compound had housed men and women who wished to do the right thing by the world but always kept bruising it. It's familiar in the fact that she's seen it before, but on a different set of shoulders.
She waits patiently until he turns on his foot and begins to pace the edge of the lake. His voice is a little louder now—exasperated at Sam, no doubt shooting down all of his quips and playful insults.
Waiting patiently, Wanda sits on the steps and watches him. It's one of the few times she can do so without catching his attention. He walks with ease, kicking some stones and clumps of wet dirt. He doesn't toe the lake, keeping his boots as dry as he can. He shakes his head, throws his head back to the sky, and chooses a few loud colourful words for Sam.
A few minutes later, Bucky walks back to her with his hands in his front pockets. She waits until he's a few foot stones away from her before she thinks to even speak.
"Is Sam okay?"
Bucky nods. "He's good," he says with a small reassuring smile. It looks slightly tense. "Talkative, like always. Hoping he grows out of that soon." He scuffs his toe against the ground.
She smiles, appreciating his attempt at humour, but she knows what he's not saying. It's always been inevitable. Captain America cannot exist without his right-hand man. Captain America can't exist without Bucky Barnes.
Pressing her lips together, she lets out a soft exhale through her nose. Quietly, she states, "You need to go back."
He looks down as he takes a couple of steps and stops in front of her. With his hands in his pockets, he stands before her near the base of the porch steps. Wanda waits for him to move, to peer up at her with a solemn expression that makes her warm, safe bubble feel cooler than it should.
When he does look up at her, Sokovia still feels warm.
He crinkles his eyes and nose. "Would you come back with me?"
They both already know the answer. While he often takes her fear of venturing further than Sokovia as being wrapped up in Westview, he sees a woman who's strong and capable of too much. Wanda knows the truth. She's afraid of everything beyond this realm in Sokovia, of herself, of the world.
Wanda gives him a small smile and shakes her head. She answers gently, "No."
Pressing his lips together, he nods. Looking down at the grass, he keeps his gaze from her. She can feel the disappointment ebb off from him. It's always been there, each and every time she gently rebuffs the idea of truly following her dreams of travelling the world and seeing it for both herself and Pietro. It's easier when it's a fantasy. No one can get hurt when it's only a dream.
She licks her lips and wraps her arms around her knees, hugging them to her. "When do you need to go?"
"He's picking me up in a couple of weeks." Bucky looks up at her, eyes slightly narrowed. He looks worried. "I'll be back, you know. It'll be a return to sender type of situation. Probably done very gleefully."
She widens her smile purposefully. "I know. Sam finds you very, uh…" She taps her finger against her chin as she narrows her eyes playfully, making a show of trying to search for a word that Sam has repeated incessantly since AJ had used it to describe Bucky. "A square."
Bucky's brows lift in amusement. "A square, huh?"
Wanda nods. "The biggest square."
He chuckles and begins to ascend the short staircase. Wanda stands, brushing the back of her shorts. Standing three steps below her, he comes up to her chin. His blue eyes are always so lovely. Wanda looks at him, keeping her hands clasped in front of her and as still as she possibly can. If he sees one flicker of uncertainty, one second of fear, she knows he'll stay.
"Come," she says, smiling. Reaching out for his hands, Bucky lets her take them easily. Rather than lead him up the stairs, she steps to his side and begins to lead him down them. The plates follow in the air at a gentle pace as she begins to lead him towards the lake. "I made a very nice lunch."
"I can tell," he says warmly, giving her hands a squeeze. "Smells delicious."
"I made it all myself," she says proudly, smiling widely. Tilting her chin up, she pulls her shoulders back and tries to take on an air of a proud housewife. She's been one before. The script had allowed for it, and she had easily fallen into step, following each and every direction she had given herself.
But it's tougher this time without the live audience or the laughing track. There's no one to play to but him, and she knows that if he knew she was trying to be perky and unwavering for his sake, he'd tug her back and delete the scene. Despite being a vault himself, he's become skilled in cracking her open.
The lake is too bare for a lunch. Wanda wishes for there to be two comfortable outdoor seats perched on the lip, and so two cane chairs appear. The pillows are soft and the chairs are too low—the kind that she loves and the kind that Bucky pretends to hate when he sinks into them. The plates follow safely behind them. His hand brushes against hers before he glances over his shoulder and chuckles at the plates.
Rather than fall into the chair, Bucky plucks his plate from the air and comes to stand behind her. Wrapping his arms around her, he hardly seems to care that he's made it rather difficult to eat his food. But Wanda doesn't mind, directing her plate to sit on the arm of her chair. She rests her hands against his arms, ensuring to fan her fingers over his Vibranium forearm. It sings softly to her, warm and comforting all at once.
He shifts against her and chuckles softly against her hair. "Might need you to feed me," he chuckles. Wanda rolls her eyes, leaning back into him. She knows that if she was to ask him to stay, he'd do so, even if it proved to be difficult for him.
.
.
.
Since Sam's requested Bucky come to Louisiana for a few days, he's become an untamed ball of energy. For the last few days, he's been busy checking her house to ensure that the wires aren't fraying and her pipes haven't cracked. He's been busy ensuring the grass is short enough for her to walk around in and not get lost. He's checked for weeds, not wanting her to hurt herself when she walks her yard barefoot.
She understands the need to be busy, to make sure everything is perfect. Wanda remembers Pietro fussing about their broken apartment in Sokovia, wanting to ensure that the kitchen chairs that were mismatched and made of different materials were perfect. She remembers how he had stolen an armchair that didn't match their couch. Vision had been the same once: doting, worried, caring.
Despite her experience in seeing the men in her life flutter about uncertain of how to leave her for a mere hour, she isn't quite sure how to console him and make him feel better. He doesn't need to worry about her. He can leave the house in disrepair and she'll still be able to get a decent rest. She doesn't need him to fix the gutters or check the roof tiles are all in order, but Wanda allows him to do so. He needs it.
She stands in her backyard with her arms crossed, watching him as he takes to building skin for her greenhouse. It's half-built with its wooden skeleton in place and some of its muscle and flesh beginning to grow. It's been a sight-seeing it begin to take shape at such a slow, human pace. Wanda hadn't taken pleasure in the slow build of anything before.
Clicking her fingers, a jug of lemonade materialises in her hand and an empty glass in the other. Bucky wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his left hand. The Vibranium glistens.
His face is red and his blue eyes are bright. Wanda can't help but smile at him. This must be what it's like to have a fantasy come to life. Bucky's shirt sticks to him, emphasising his sharp build. She can now understand the allure of him. All she wants to do is watch him, but it's not only for his beauty. She enjoys the power in his step, the way he easily moves his Vibranium arm in conjunction with his right. Everything about him is coming together so beautifully.
"You need to stop looking at me like that," he smiles lopsidedly, coming to stand in front of her. He's sweating, panting a little. It amuses her greatly that despite being a Super Soldier, such hands-on work can still exhaust him. She's grateful that he hasn't lost that. Bucky savours the normal, mundane things that Wanda has always been afraid of.
"You don't have to try and finish the greenhouse now," she says.
He shrugs, holding out his hand for her to pass him the empty glass. She does so reluctantly. "I want to," he shrugs. "I can't come back to a place that's pantless."
She smiles up at him and begins to pour him a glass of lemonade. "You mean plantless."
"Do I?" Bucky winks before he lifts the glass to his lips and almost downs all of it. Wanda watches his throat, how it's pink and a little dirty. He wears the domestic life well.
Holding out her hand, he reluctantly hands over the glass to her. She lifts it to her lips and downs the rest of it. "Do you want any help?"
He shakes his head. "Not yet. But what do you think?" He wanders over towards the skeleton of the greenhouse. With each layer he builds, she spells it to protect it from the elements. It's the only magic he'll allow; he insists on building it by hand.
"I love it," she says, smiling at him. She thinks Bucky blushes.
"I'm glad," he says, smiling a little shyly. "Because you're going to teach me how to keep a plant alive. I've got a black thumb." He holds up his left thumb, literally black despite how it glitters gold. Wanda laughs; he smiles proudly, enjoying that his silly joke has landed.
He returns to building her greenhouse. She stands and watches him, enjoying the way he regards it as a puzzle. It's one of many things he's chosen to do, and she knows it's one of the many things since arriving in Sokovia that he's enjoyed.
He's been reminding her of any chance he gets that he's returning. When they brush their teeth, he feels the need to remind her that she better keep his toothpaste for when he comes back. Washing dishes by the sink, he reminds her to not get too used to washing and drying as he'll be back to take over his proud position.
She thinks he's on the cusp of telling her not to move a single muscle. He'll be back. Over the last few days, she's begun to think he's trying to convince himself.
Wanda remains outside until he shoos her away. She reluctantly leaves.
.
.
.
Spelling the grass to grow ankle-high, she laments about her itchy calves for several minutes while tucked away in bed. Although Bucky's well aware of the fact that the grass had grown no taller than half the height of her big toe, he nods and tells her that he'll mow the lawn first thing the next morning. "We wouldn't want Little Miss Witchy Pants to have itchy ankles."
While Bucky pushes the lawnmower effortlessly across the lawn the following day, Wanda doesn't tend to any of her chores. She doesn't need to. Her house is in tiptop shape with its gutters cleaned, weeds somewhat manageable, and her house swept and clean of any dust. While she's tempted to sprinkle it with a little bit of mess so she can keep herself occupied, she settles for leaning against her wraparound porch and watching Bucky's metal hand glimmer in the sun.
He's stopped wearing shirts on the days where the sun pelts down. His left shoulder looks as good as his right, if a little sparklier thanks to Wakanda's golden tint to his arm. His skin's a little red, his Vibranium arm glistening very lightly of the shade. She knows that she's the only one who can see it. The Vibranium arm isn't merely metal; it reacts to the world around it ever so subtly.
He turns off the mower abruptly, wiping the back of his hand against his forehead. Wanda cocks her brow as he looks at her and smiles, and when he tilts his head to the side, she turns on her foot and walks around the porch and down her front steps. He appears at the side of her house and doesn't stop walking; she easily falls into step with him.
"Where are you going, Mr Barnes?"
"For a dip," he says, sounding a little puffed out. She suspects he's playing up how exhausted he is; she knows pushing a lawnmower up a steep hill would only wind him for a few minutes.
Wanda remains in step with him as he leads them to the edge of the lake. Toeing off his boots and socks, he begins to unbutton his pants. Wanda's brows furrow as she watches him dumbly. When he stands in just his black briefs, he smiles at her a little too toothily for her liking.
"Are you going to play lifeguard today?"
"I've considered it," she says. "Sometimes you're like a log that just floats uselessly."
He laughs. She watches him as he slips out of his briefs and stands confidently bare. Taking a step, he slips his feet into the water. He looks at her again before he begins to slowly wade into the lake. Wanda waits until he's hip-deep before she's toeing off her sandals and slipping out of her dress and underwear.
The lake's cool enough to see her shiver. With a little swish of her fingers through the water, the lake begins to warm slightly. It becomes comfortable, feeling as though it has been baking gently beneath the sun for a long period of time.
Bucky swims out to the middle of the lake, now shoulder-deep. She presses balls of magic beneath the soles of her feet to keep her head above water.
Wanda doesn't allow him the luxury to turn around and face her. Magically propelling herself forward, she leaps onto his back and wraps her arms and legs around him. His hands immediately grip her arms to keep her steady as she wriggles against him. After a few moments, she stills, resting her chin on the top of his head.
"You know," he chuckles, "your chin's really pointy."
"I've been told this," she says, hugging him closer. She digs her chin in a little deeper, smiling when he laughs a little louder. "And I do not care."
"I can tell," he says, brushing his metal fingers against her arm.
He wades through the water with no particular destination in mind. His skin's warm beneath hers. His hands remain on her wrists in an effort to keep her there. Sometimes, she thinks he's a little worried that she'll slip away if he lets go.
Resting her mouth against his hair, she murmurs, "Have you ever skinny dipped before?"
He shakes his head. "Not really. I was always too busy—"
"Being responsible," she says thoughtfully, humming. "Busy sweeping ladies off their feet some other way?"
"Dancing," he says. "And bar hopping."
She hums thoughtfully.
"Have you?" he asks, tilting his head to try and spy her from the corner of his eye. It's impossible for him to see her, given she clings to him like a barnacle and doesn't move her head. His hair's soft against her face.
"What?" she smiles.
"Skinny dipped," he asks with a put upon exasperation.
She hums thoughtfully and taps her fingers against his chest. She nods. "I have," she says. "With Vision." He gently tightens his grip on her wrist. "He blushed very red," she chuckles, "and I think his eyes bugged out of his head."
"You have that effect on people."
"Thank you," she smiles kindly. "He didn't think it was appropriate… or he was very overwhelmed by it. But I stripped anyway and I ran into the water."
"Where was this?"
"A lake," she says. "After Steve freed me from the Raft, Vision and I tried to travel everywhere. I wanted to go to Australia and skinny dip at one of the beaches there, but we started at a lake first. We needed some practice."
"Skinny dipping training wheels," he muses. "I can understand that."
"It was fun," she continues, "and he eventually joined me. It was freeing to not be weighed down anymore. Swimming naked felt like flying."
"Something both of you do pretty well," he says kindly.
"We fly well," she replies, "but we didn't swim naked well." She smiles against his hair, her eyes pricking slightly.
Her heart lurches at the memories of Vision, of his laughter and the way he used to look at her like she was a revered painting in a museum. Bucky doesn't look at her as Vision does. She likes the differences between them; Vision had been shy and boyish, and Bucky feels rawer.
He laughs, ducking his head. Wanda lifts her chin off of his hair and sighs, peering over him to Sokovia. It's quiet, an impossible quiet that doesn't make her head spin. Even with his thoughts bubbling tantalisingly for her to pluck, everything is so still.
"Well," he says, clearing his throat, "I'll have you know that I swim naked really well. I don't fly at all."
She smiles, chuckling. "I know," she says. She begins to slide her hands from beneath his, pressing her palms hard against the planes of his chest. He sucks in his belly, shivering gently. His heart begins to pound louder. "You do the naked thing very well."
"Wanda…" he warns. This time, she allows herself to feel what he feels—warmth, desire. It makes her feel slightly dizzy.
"What?" She rests her hands against his belly, pressing tightly against his back. Peering down at the top of his head, she smirks as she slowly glides her hands up the length of his chest, enjoying the way he falters in his wading through the lake.
"Stop it," he says quietly.
"Stop what?"
"You know what."
"Do you want me to stop touching you?" Slowly, she begins to pull her hands from his wet skin. Before she can even lift the heel of her palm, his hands press hers down quickly. The Vibranium hand sends a little tingle through her.
"You know I don't," he says. Wanda begins to wriggle against him. "What are you doing?"
"Torturing you."
He barks his laughter. She grips him tightly, wrapping her legs around him. When he lets go of her hand, she takes that as her invitation to slide her palm down his chest and belly and to the crease of his hip. He's so long, but she makes it work, sliding down his back slightly. His hands press against her thighs, holding her up. His breathing's grown shallow; she presses her cheek to his, resting her chin on his shoulder as she watches her hand beneath the water reach down to touch his cock.
He bends slightly and makes a noise low in his throat. It sends an intoxicating shiver through her. She likes the sound; it's almost like a growl. Wanda purposefully fumbles with him again before she grips him confidently. Bowing her head, she nips at his shoulder and smiles when his hands grip the back of her upper thighs tightly.
Flush against him, Wanda slowly moves her hand along the length of his cock. Bucky's slow to stop wading through the lake. The ripples on the surface are caused by her hand as she strokes him.
Biting his shoulder again, she drags her tongue along his skin and to the line of his neck. He tilts his head to the side in invitation for her to explore him further—and she does. As she pumps him and he grips her thighs tightly, she glides her mouth up the line of his throat to nip at his ear.
"I don't want to come like this," he says quietly.
"Who says you're coming at all?"
He chuckles quietly, the sound deliciously strained. Nipping at his earlobe, she grazes her teeth along his neck and sucks at his pulse point hard. His breathing's heavy; his hips buck into her hand. Wanda thinks to ignore him and make him come like this, with her wrapped around his spine protectively and him capable of nothing but gripping her thighs and letting her pleasure him.
But he tilts his head away from her and grips her thighs tight enough to encourage her to reluctantly pull her hand away. Wanda quietly slips off of his back and swims to the edge of the lake. Bucky follows her.
She sits on the lake's lip, her feet still stuck inside of the water. Bucky emerges like something ethereal from the water and lowers himself to his knees between her legs. She stares at him with parted lips and something hot and needy warming her gut. His hands are warm against her knees as he grips them gently and encourages her to open her legs.
He presses her into the earth as he lies on top of her. With one hand pressed into the dirt, he slopes his mouth firmly against hers as he presses his left hand against her hip. Wanda sighs against his lips, unable to nip at him as he turns away from hers and buries his face into her neck. She peers up at the cloudless blue sky and licks her lips, arching into him as he kisses the hollow of her throat, her collarbones, and breasts.
Before she can peer down at him, Bucky's kissing the corner of her mouth, the tip of her nose. His hand disappears from the earth as he slips his hand beneath her and pulls his other hand from her hip.
She threads her fingers through his hair and tugs at the short strands when he brushes the head of his cock against her cunt. The dirt flushes red, the lake's surface a sunburnt by her magic. Widening her legs, she digs her heels into the wet bed of the lake and grips his hair, tugging his head into her neck. She moans when he pushes into her, his weight heavy on top of her.
Dragging her fingers along the nape of his neck, she digs her nails into his back and bucks up into his still hips. She breathes shakily at his gasp and moans sharply when he nips at her shoulder.
Bucky's slow to thrust into her. It's almost like he wants her to writhe beneath him and spur him into action. She thinks it might be revenge for pressing her naked body up against his in the lake.
But then he's moving, his hips jutting slightly off-rhythm. It's clumsy and it sends heat through her entire body, causing the lake's surface to spark quietly with red. Bucky continues to thrust into her, and when she lifts her hips, he presses her hip down with his right hand and reaches for her hand with his left. Wanda twines their fingers tightly, gripping his Vibranium hand as tightly as she can. She lifts her legs and wraps them tight around him, wanting to keep him as an integral part of her even when the world around them wants to take him from her.
His mouth's clumsy against hers as he fucks her into the earth. Wanda bites at his lips, digging her nails into his back as she tries to tear him wide open. He sparks red; the lake glows scarlet as her magic seeps into the water and dyes it a rich shade of fire.
He comes with a sharp buck of his hips into hers and a hard bite to her bottom lip. Gliding her hand into his hair, she brushes her nails against his scalp as he buries his face into her neck. His hips shift weakly against hers before he's pulling out of her and away from her neck.
Wanda's fingers slip against his hair, but she retains her grip as he slides down her body, kissing his way along her chest and belly and ducking his head between her legs. His hands grip her hips tightly as he licks at her cunt and slides his tongue inside of her. She cusses in Sokovian, earning a warm chuckle from him.
Bucking her hips against his face, she grips his hair tightly and moans loudly. The deep mossy green grass blades begin to turn red. The damp and dry brown earth becomes saturated in scarlet. Her magic crawls up the footstones to her front porch and pains the timber a deep apple red.
When he sucks on her clit, she comes, pressing her hips into his face and her nails deep into his scalp. Bucky kisses the inside of her thighs before he lifts his head, his lips wet and his blue eyes hidden by red.
She peers up at him dumbly, sighting the spark of scarlet in the tips of his dark hair. Bucky crawls up the length of her and plants both of his hands on either side of her head. His cheeks are flushed, but they're not the only part of him that's a shade of red.
She furrows her brows when she realises his eyes aren't on hers. He's looking at her temple with a curious furrow to his brow.
Still panting, she peers up at him quizzically and ignores the heat burning her skin. "What?"
He licks his lips, his tongue lingering where she's most likely bruised him from nipping too hard. His gaze doesn't shift from her hairline. "You've just got… something there."
Her eyes widen slightly. His blue eyes remain scarlet. "What is it?"
Tentatively, he rests his weight on his right hand and lifts his left to touch her forehead. His fingertips barely skim her hairline and hair. What he touches sends a spark through her—a powerful, drunken heat.
"Your eyes are glowing," he says, finally looking at her. She studies his face, her brows furrowing. She finds his expression is one of wonder. There's no fear in his eyes, even though they don't look as his eyes should. She misses the endless blue.
"So are yours," she says.
His brow cocks before he laughs quietly. "Are they?"
"Yes," she says, nodding. "They're red."
"So are yours."
Wanda licks her teeth and pushes herself up to rest on her elbows. He doesn't back away from her, doesn't appear frightened by what he can see and how she's temporarily changed him. He remains hovering over her, a knee between her legs, eyes glowing red.
"You've got a…" His brows furrow as he peers at her hairline once again. "It's like a half-formed crown."
She licks her lips dumbly. "It's—" Her magic. That much is obvious. She watches him as he keeps looking at her hair curiously. It's the same way he's taken to her magic since arriving; it's with wonderment. She waits for the hatred, for the fear—but it never comes as it should with him.
"Is that going to appear every time we have sex now?"
It's strange the way she laughs. So overcome with incredulity and surprise, she can't help but shake her head and lick her lips. He peers down at her in amusement, his flushed cheeks reddening.
"Maybe," she says, feeling shy. She gazes at his left shoulder for a prolonged moment before growing confident enough to look him in the eye. "Is that… okay?"
He nods. "It's hot," he says. Then, he shrugs. "Might make roleplaying a little easier."
She laughs and smacks his Vibranium bicep. "Everything's a joke to you."
"This isn't," he says, peering down at her seriously. "Does it hurt?"
She shakes her head. "No." She smiles up at him and brushes her fingers through his hair. The tips remain red as if he's a hearth made of embers. "Do your eyes hurt?"
He shakes his head. "No."
"It'll go away," she says.
"I don't care," he says, shrugging once more. "I trust you."
Reluctantly, he pushes up and onto his knees. He holds out his hand for her to take, and once her palm presses against his, he's clumsily hauling her up and off her feet. Dirt sticks to her back thickly.
"You're a bit dirty," he says, peering behind her and smirking a little too smugly for her liking.
Narrowing her eyes playfully, Wanda does her best to control her flush. His fingers graze against her hipbone gently as he makes a show of trying to brush the dirt sticking to her skin away. When his hand brushes against the swell of her ass, she sighs heavily and feigns seriousness. "I guess I'll go shower—"
"Uh, no." He's quick to scoop her up into his arms and pull her against his chest. She kicks her legs happily, smiling as he grips her firmly against him. Bucky begins to wade back into the lake. "There's no need for that."
Looping her arms around his neck, she laughs. "You're incorrigible."
"And you're dirty," he says, slipping into the water until he's neck-deep. He doesn't let go of her and she doesn't try and swim away. Tsking, he shakes his head as he peers down at her, a toothy boyish smile spreading his lips. "What are we going to do with you, Wanda?"
"I don't know," she murmurs, brushing her fingers against the nape of his neck. She peers up at him with a warm smile.
Slowly, the red disappears from his eyes. She smiles widely when she finds the deep endless blue she loves so much staring down at her.
"I think I know where to start," he says, feigning seriousness with a furrow to his brow. Before she can think to ask for more details, he's tossing her into the water.
.
.
.
When Wanda steps out of the shower, she can hear Bucky speaking to someone. He's in her bedroom, quietly moving around as he looks for something only Bucky Barnes knows of. Towelling her hair dry, she listens to him move about until his voice and warm laughter become distant. He ventures down the stairs and out the back door, quietly closing it as the house remains warm despite him disappearing from inside of it.
She dries off and dresses in shorts and an oversized button-up shirt, lazily walking around her bedroom and tugging at the sheets. Despite wanting to wander downstairs and find him, she knows that his time on the phone at this hour is precious. She never wants to intrude. Even with him inside of her house, she wants him to have space.
Ten minutes later, she ventures downstairs, fingers in the middle of finishing a French braid over her shoulder. Bucky's laughter is loud from the back porch. The light's warm as it flickers from the mosquitoes and moths, and Sokovia grows quiet as it readies itself for slumber. She ensures to remain quiet in the kitchen as she fetches a tall glass from a high cupboard and places a few ice cubes inside.
When she's filling up her glass, Bucky peeks inside. His phone's by his side, the light still glowing. "Hey," he says quietly. She looks up at him and stops the tap. "You want to come outside?"
"I don't want to interrupt."
He shakes his head. "Not interrupting. I wanted to give Rebecca the grand tour of Sokovia at night and figured, you know…" He gestures with a hand towards her. "You're the best tour guide."
She smiles, biting her bottom lip. She can hear Rebecca through the phone, her voice crackling from the distance. "You still haven't figured out how to put me on mute, Jamie!"
Bucky forces a sweet smile and presses the phone to his thigh. Rebecca laughs as she's plunged into darkness. He begs, "Please."
Wanda chuckles. "Okay. Give me one minute." She holds up two fingers and he laughs, slipping back outside.
Taking a sip of her water, she fetches him a glass and fills it almost to the brim. When she approaches the door to magic it open, Bucky's gently swinging it aside and gesturing with a flourish of his arm for her to step outside.
He smiles as he takes his glass. "Thanks." Taking a long drink, he holds his phone up with his other hand.
"Drinks like a fish, that one," Rebecca chuckles.
Wanda closes the door behind her as he sighs happily, holding his perspiring glass in his right hand. He clears his throat and rolls his eyes at Rebecca. "Be nice."
"I'm always nice."
He mutters under this breath, "Debatable."
"Introduce me already! I'm tired of you, boring old man." Rebecca clicks her fingers. Wanda stands quietly on the porch, smiling as she watches Bucky roll his shoulders and feign irritation at his little sister's impatience.
Bucky looks to her for a moment, seeking permission. At her nod, he takes a step back and brings Wanda into frame. Rebecca's an older woman with long grey hair. Her eyes are a warm brown. Wanda thinks she can see the family resemblance in the strong line of her jaw. Her smile brightens up the room as Bucky's does.
Wanda lifts her hand. "Hi."
"Hello," Rebecca says, smiling. Her tone is lively and youthful; Wanda imagines this is how she sounded when she was a young woman. Her lips are a little pink. Wanda thinks she's dressed up for this phone call. "I'm Rebecca, the one who got all the best genes."
Wanda chuckles. "I don't doubt it."
"Standing right here," Bucky grumbles.
"You're very pretty," Rebecca says with a smile. Her gaze turns to Bucky who's half in frame. "She's very pretty. You didn't tell me that."
He sighs and shakes his head. He feigns annoyance. "I think I told you plenty of times, Bec."
"Not that," she says. Rebecca shifts where she sits in a comfortable armchair. Despite being several years younger than Bucky and appearing her age, she seems energetic in a way that Bucky isn't. "He doesn't tell me anything. He's like a stone you try to bleed dry. Nothing comes out."
Bucky sighs. "I talk."
"He doesn't," Wanda says with a chuckle. "He's very, very hard to get anything out of."
"I speak."
"He is, right?" Rebecca sighs. "He was always like that. Jamie never liked to talk about himself. I always thought it was because he knew he was boring."
"Again," Bucky sighs, "I'm right here." Despite his disgruntlement, Bucky smiles. She thinks he's blushing beneath the dull light of her porch light. She could turn off the light and know he'll still glow brighter than the sun and moon combined. Each time he comes back to her after speaking to Rebecca, he glows with happiness. It's almost like he's whole again.
Not wanting him to be plunged into too much darkness, Wanda brightens the globe.
"Woah," Rebecca exclaims, eyes wide. "I wasn't the only one who saw that, right?" Bucky shakes his head, chuckling quietly. Rebecca stares through the phone in wonderment and leans closer as if she can see a different angle. She sits still for the first time since Wanda's seen her. "You really are magical."
"Told you," Bucky says, smiling proudly.
"So," Rebecca sits up straighter, possessed by old, youthful energy, "what are your thoughts on Samantha and Jeannie? I need to know—how real is it? Do you have to wear an outfit, too?"
Bucky gestures for Wanda to follow him away from the back door. He takes a seat on the porch steps, keeping the phone positioned in a way that allows Rebecca to see them both. Wanda sits beside him, resting her knee against his. "You're in for a long night now," he sighs.
"Shut up, Jamie," Rebecca laughs.
"I do like Samantha's nose wriggle," Wanda says. Resting her cheek against Bucky's shoulder, she narrows her eyes thoughtfully. "And Jeannie's outfit. I like red. I have one, but I don't need to wear it all the time."
Bucky leans away from her so he can regard her curiously. "You never told me that."
She shrugs, feeling self-conscious. "I haven't needed to wear that."
"So, next phone call," Rebecca says, smacking her hands against her thighs, "you're going to model it for me. I've never seen a… you know what in a costume before."
Wanda smiles, ducking her head. "I'll gladly do that for you, Rebecca."
"It's Bec," she says, smiling. "Considering this old geezer's making me feel old, please, help me feel like I'm ten years younger than old man James."
Bucky rolls his eyes. "What a pathetic attempt at grasping your youth, Bec."
"Shut up, Jamie."
Wanda pinches his side. "Yes, Jamie," she says, much to his chagrin, "shush."
For the next few hours, Wanda sits out on the porch with Bucky, taking turns in holding the phone as she demonstrates her magic to Rebecca. Red balls form in her hands, float around the air between her and Bucky, and even flutter as butterflies land on his nose. She promises to send some magic fireflies to Rebecca the next time they speak. Rebecca promises Wanda that if her brother comes to visit in the next week, she'll send her a few of her own fireflies. Wanda looks forward to it.
After Rebecca bids them a reluctant goodnight, Wanda stays outside with Bucky and summons a swarm of fireflies to take flight and litter the sky in her dome.
.
.
.
He's been suspicious all morning.
They're four days away from his expected temporary departure, and she's been looking for signs that something will be amiss. That something inside of her bubble has cracked. That something will happen to him that she can't control. But everything seems so frustratingly normal. Everything remains snug and tucked inside of her realm of control and destruction.
Except for that small and proud smile he's sporting. He hums as he bats her hands away and takes their breakfast plates to the sink. Rather than run the tap, he comes back to her and stands behind her chair.
"Trust me?" he asks.
"I'm considering a refund on that."
He chuckles. Holding one of her soft scarves out in front of her, she nods at his wordless request and allows him to wrap it around her eyes. "No cheating."
"Promise," she says and means it. Despite her curiosity, Wanda remains compliant with his request. Her brows furrow. "When did you get my scarf?"
He laughs. "Trade secret."
It's clear that this has been a plan all along. Bucky, despite being someone who thinks ahead, is not that great of a planner when it doesn't come to military strategy and Avenger-business. He's impulsive when he gets to be James. He's someone who thinks on his feet and makes things up as he goes—but this is different.
He helps her out of her chair and hooks her arm with his, holding her close to his side. She knows from the sound of the back door opening where they are in the house, although, she can't quite figure out where he wishes to go as he gently helps her down the steps. She presses her bare feet heavily against the wooden panels to try and figure out the path he has planned. He remains pressed against her, his skin warm as it kisses her own. Wanda's grateful they don't live in suburbia; it's hardly appropriate for him to walk out in his loose track pants that hang too low on his hips and her in just one of his shirts.
"Do I get a hint?"
"It's green."
She sighs, shaking her head. "You are a very annoying man."
"I'm aware."
Wanda continues to ask him questions. Is it blue? Is it floating? Does it have legs? Is it a tree? A caterpillar? And at that, she tells him that Pietro had once brought her a small bug that she had kept safe and hidden away in their shared room until Papa had discovered it and let it free. Its home was outside of their small apartment. It had its own family, its own friends. She wonders if that bug had ever made it back to its nest.
Bucky slows gently to a stop. The grass is damp beneath her feet. She can't quite discern where they are in her yard. She presses her big toe subtly down into the wet earth and discovers that she can't tell the difference, either. Are they at the back of the house? To the right? She can't hear the lake or the birds that tend to hover in one of her fruit trees, so she knows they're definitely not in the front yard.
"You're enjoying this," she says, purposefully pressing her lips into an unimpressed line.
"I am," he says smugly. "It's not every day you get the one-up on the Scarlet Witch."
She rolls her eyes, not that he can see. She huffs and tugs a little harder on his arm where they're linked. "I don't like you," she murmurs. Bucky laughs.
"Stay here," he says.
"Where else would I go?"
He laughs again. Gently sliding his arm out from hers, he rests his hands against her hips to quietly tell her he's behind her. Wanda knows where he is at any given time these days, but she imagines this is something he likes to do. This is his language, touching people. She knows it's also in his vocabulary to push them away and for him to physically withdraw.
He gently and slowly—too slowly—works at untying the small and loose knot of the scarf. At her huff and utterance of him taking too long, he only goes slower. He tugs the scarf away from her face.
"What do you think?" He's a nervous ball of energy as he remains behind her. Wanda thinks to turn around and settle his nerves, but she can't pull her gaze away from what's in front of her.
The greenhouse is more magnificent than she had ever expected it to be. It's big—as big as he had said it would be, a touch bigger than his drawings had indicated—and stands before her so magnificently. It remains unpainted, but it's built—its bones, muscles, and nerves stable and there.
She must've been quiet for too long. Bucky shifts behind her, wrapping the scarf around his metal hand nervously. His left hand feels muted to her. "It's not as grand as your attic, but—"
"I love it," she says, staring at it in awe. She smiles, biting her bottom lip. It has a high roof, as she had asked, and glass windows on every side of the structure. She can easily block the boiling sun with her magic or curtains. She can see shelves inside, perfectly built from wood.
She turns around and smiles up at him. "I love it," she says, her vision blurring slightly with tears. "It's perfect."
"You sure?" His eye crinkles as he looks over her shoulder at the greenhouse. "I could probably fix the window there," he says, lifting his arm to point to the right side of it. "Looks a bit wonky."
She smacks his chest and ignores a tear slipping against her cheek. "Don't you dare!" she says with a wide smile. She reaches for his hand, taking his metal one between her fingers. "It's perfect because you built it for me."
Bucky blushes, still looking over her shoulder at the greenhouse. His gaze is no longer scrutinising it. She knows he's avoiding looking at her.
She lifts her other hand to his cheek, brushing her fingers gently against his skin. "I love it," she says again.
"I'll paint it," he says, nodding. He bites on his bottom lip before he releases it and peers down at her. His lips curve upward into a small, shy smile. "Maybe scarlet."
She laughs. "I think I'd like blue."
His brows crinkle together. "Blue?"
Wanda lifts her fingers to brush against his brow. "Blue's your colour. I have enough red here. My house looks red in the sunlight. I want something blue."
He nods, letting out a small breath. "Blue it is."
"Can you give me the tour?"
"Of course," he says, squeezing her hand in his. He gently tugs her along the grass and to the greenhouse's entrance. Opening the glass door, he gestures with a sweep of his hand for her to step inside first.
It's bigger on the inside than it seems on the outside. Wanda gazes up, enjoying the shelves that are taller than her. Lips parted, she stares up at it in wonderment. She feels like a little girl walking into the chocolate factory of her daydreams. The bare wooden interior is perfect and raw. He's lined a few of her empty pots along the left side of the shelves and brought in some of her gardening equipment in a tin bucket.
"Well," he says, inhaling deeply as he looks around. "This is the Cauldron."
She laughs. "The Cauldron?"
He nods. "Yup. Every witch needs one, right?"
She nods. "Yes," she says, "every witch needs one. Do you know what else every witch needs?"
Bucky's brows crinkle as he peers down at her. She almost chuckles at how serious he appears. He thinks he's missed something; it's cute. "What?"
"A kiss." Wanda smiles, standing on the tips of her toes. Wrapping her arm around his neck, she presses her lips into his smile. His flesh hand presses against the small of her back as he smiles against her mouth, slightly distracted as he chuckles.
"We need to get through this tour," he murmurs against her lips.
"In a minute," she says, biting his bottom lip. "I'm using my cauldron for witchy things."
She thinks he rolls his eyes, but she hardly cares. Wanda lets go of his hand and wraps her other arm around his neck, moving her hands to thread in his hair. She presses into him roughly, standing on the top of his feet.
Bucky does get to give her a tour of her greenhouse after she's finished biting at his mouth. Wanda doesn't keep her tears at bay, feeling warmth and happiness at having something built for her.
.
.
.
The last time Bucky had a call from Sam, it'd been the day he'd shown her the finished greenhouse. When Sam calls again, she knows it's final.
Sam doesn't call again like he usually does; Wanda knows what it means.
It's not from a lack of interest or having less to talk about. She knows Sam's either preparing for flight or he's in the air, making his way from New York to Sokovia as she clears the kitchen table and begins to wash the plates.
Bucky moves around quietly, wiping the table with ease after their dinner. She glances at him from the corner of her eye as he moves about, head down, his mind somewhere else. He's not far. Whenever Bucky's mind wanders these days, he never goes too far from her. He's always close by, always in Sokovia. A part of her feels incredibly selfish knowing he's not so far she can't find him again.
He was never meant to finish his story here. Wanda knows that this is merely a pitstop—an important one, one that she hopes he'll return to multiple times during his journey—but every television arc has to end on some cliffhanger. She supposes that his penultimate episode of Wanda and Bucky poses the question of whether or not he'll be back.
"Leave 'em," he says, hip jutting against the kitchen counter. Wanda waves her hand dismissively. He chuckles. She continues to scrub at the plates and pile them into the drying rack, listening to him as he approaches her.
Stepping behind her, he eases the cutlery from her hands and drops them back into the soapy water. Wrapping his arms around her, he tugs her back—she lets him—and away from the sink. Reluctantly, he steps away from her.
"Bucky…" she sighs heavily, turning to face him. Tilting her head heavily to the side, she smiles at him, feigning annoyance.
He ignores her. Bucky holds out his hand and wiggles his fingers in encouragement for her to accept his offer. "C'mon," he says cocking his head to the side. His smile's boyish and handsome, and she can see how James Bucky Barnes won more hearts than he could ever handle.
She places her hand in his and squeezes.
He leads her through the kitchen and out the back door, down the porch and onto the dry grass. The night's shadows flee from them as she makes the stars burn a little brighter above their heads. The night's deep and dark, but it's not full of terrors when she has her hand in his.
Pulling her into him, he rests his hand against her hip. He begins to sway. Wanda laughs.
"Put the music on, Maximoff."
Wanda smiles. With a scrunch of her nose, music begins to play from all around them. Her mother's song spells her Sokovian backyard into something mystical. The song has always seemed sad to Wanda, and she thinks it's even sadder now.
He dips her, laughing brightly. Wanda shakes her head and sighs. "You barely know how to woo me."
"Really?" he cocks his brow, his smile only widening. "I think I've done a pretty good job if I say so myself."
She rolls her eyes.
"I mow your lawn, clean out your gutters," he says as he lifts her up, his hand warm and firm against her back. She follows him, allowing him to lead. It's a dance that has her seeing different sides of her backyard. He moves with practised steps—steps that haven't abandoned him after seven decades of lack of use. She's glad that there are pieces of his old life clinging to him; he deserves to be coveted in such a way. "I dust."
"Poorly."
"And I correct the bed after you make it."
She tilts her head upwards as she smiles. "I am a good bed maker, I'll have you know."
He smiles and spins her. Wanda laughs; he tugs her back, his smile as bright as the glowing moon. "I built you a greenhouse."
"It's not painted yet."
"Not yet," he says, his blue eyes bright despite the darkness. She happily watches him as little balls of white, red and blue lights begin to burst gently to life around them, slowly ascending to sit above their heads. She can see his blue eyes properly now. "Okay, so, maybe I can't create my own lights."
She smiles and shakes her head fondly. "You can't."
Bucky keeps his gaze up at the lights. She watches the way his bright smile begins to soften into something smaller. It doesn't dull, although, she can see something settle over him. He looks at her and says quietly, "I can always not go, you know."
Wanda shakes her head. "You need to go," she says. Ignoring the way her heart flutters anxiously in her chest and sinks heavily to her feet, she gives him a small smile. "Sam needs your help and you want to help him."
His lips part and he sighs heavily. He peers down at her and smiles, "I can still stay."
"You'll come back," she says, brows furrowed. Tilting her head to the side, she regards him fondly, "Remember? I won't get used to doing the dishes and drying them. You'll be back to do that for me—both things."
He smiles, although she can still see the tension in his shoulders. He continues to move her along the grassy dance floor. "Both things, huh?"
Wanda nods, humming in the affirmative.
"You know, I can—"
Wanda laughs, sighing in exasperation. "Go," she says, smiling and peering down at the grass. His feet are bare and she thinks it's so perfect the way he still moves like a practised dancer. Not even being in Sokovia can change what's so ingrained in him. This is something from the 1940s that he's kept within himself and shared with her. "Not now, but you're going to go. When he gets here, you're going to go, and I'll be okay."
When she looks up at him, he scrunches up his face and teases, "You could always cloak this place so he can't find us…"
She laughs. "I already told him he'll be able to find us. I can't go back on my word. I like Sam."
"But you like me more," he says. Wanda hums, feigning thoughtfulness. He furrows his brow and feigns concern. "You like me more, right?"
She shrugs.
He laughs and dips her, and the ends of her hair brush against the grass. His Vibranium arm glows red from her magic as he gently pulls her back up and against him.
"You like me most, right?"
She purses her lips and makes a noise of disagreement. She laughs at the way he pouts.
Pulling her closer, he buries his face in her neck. His smile burns her skin. It's a nice feeling, and one that she clings to, bringing her arms around him. Her hand slides up his spine to the nape of his neck and the other one presses fiercely at the small of her back. He doesn't guide them around a dance floor any longer. They remain still beneath the safety net of her magic.
Wanda presses her hands against him tightly, wanting him to feel held. She knows he'll be back. Sam will return him in a feigned fit of relief and exasperation. Bucky keeps his promises. Resting her head against his chest, she inhales quietly and closes her eyes.
While she doesn't want him to leave her at all, she has to trust that he'll come back on his own.
notes.
• Earworms: Blue Jeans, Lana Del Rey, Got It by Marian Hill, Here Right Now by Lindsey Ray, Will You Love Me Tomorrow by The Shirelles.
• The next chapter is the last chapter! We're at the finishing line, guys!
• This chapter was meant to have some newspaper articles in it, but I removed them for various reasons. If you'd like me to publish them (some are super silly), let me know!