CHAPTER FORTY-SIX—December 2039
Bucky smothered a grin in Sam's hair. Would she sleep? No. She'd spent the week reaching— reaching for a cup of coffee, reaching for a notebook, or reaching for—well—various parts of Bucky's body. That was his angel: stubborn and energetic. No more of Steve's borrowed clothing was harmed in the process, but Bucky remained ecstatically exhausted, surviving on catnaps like Karma under the patio furniture, taking rest where he could.
He found this reprieve, snuggled in the seat of the helicopter, Samantha held to his chest, watching a movie she chose.
The Lady and the Monster.
Bucky admitted to himself that they might be evenly-matched cheeky shits, but he wouldn't argue the point while burying his face in the hair pooling behind her head. Soothed by the heat she radiated in the small cabin, he fought the urge to ask her to go steady with him. Why not? He was already doll dizzy in an alternate dimension or—what would Sam call it?—an underlying word-he-didn't-understand subspace with something-something properties. He took a deep breath and tightened a sweaty hand around her waist.
"Are you trying to bake me, cookie," he asked into the nape of her neck.
Sam sighed and turned her head, yanking the locks out from under his cheek. Narrow eyes judged him, and Bucky looked down to pursed, pink lips.
He cracked another smile, pecking a kiss on her jaw with a low, "What? I've got the hots for ya."
Sam barely contained her laugh. "Did women like this nonsense?"
"No harm in trying," he shrugged back. It makes you happy.
Sam faux-scoffed and rolled back over to grab the nearest notebook, flipping towards the last pages to write a circle of text around the margins. There was no other room left anywhere.
Bucky walked a fine line. Afraid to set off the cascade of introspection they'd skirted past their first night in the mirror, he avoided asking Sam about her obsessive writing. He took cues only from what she brought up, adding any flirting he could dredge up from the ol' memory bank.
"Come on," he grumbled, leaning to take hold of the binding and pull the book away. A cramp seized his side. He'd forgotten. Two ribs just below his left pectoral were broken during some basic maneuvers days ago and hadn't quite finished healing. The shot of pain made him collapse onto Sam's side. "No working—" he played it off "—movie." He kissed her nose while tossing the notebook to the farthest corner of the chopper.
She pouted, quivering an exaggerated bottom lip while she rolled into his chest like a wounded animal. Sam was slick though. Her palm dragged down his stomach before he caught her wrist, covering the wince from his ribs in a prepared huff.
"Look." Bucky waited till Sam lifted her eyes to him. "I don't want to hurt you—" he lifted her wrist up to kiss it "—or frighten you…"
Sam's face fell in genuine concern.
"…but we are out of coffee."
Absolute horror spread across her features. Sam recoiled, shuffling through all phases of grief in rapid succession. "You monster." Her wide eyes actually teared, and Bucky lay there fully impressed by her commitment to the bit.
He shook his head. "I know. I'm so sorry." He tried to kiss the pain away, first from her deeply furrowed brow, then her wrinkled nose, and finally those pouting lips. She let him. "You can put my brain in a vat if that'll make up for it…"
"Uh," Sam snorted, pulling back. "And risk you telepathically taking over my own? No, thanks." Bucky gave her a quizzical look while she pointed at the projection, frowning. "Have you not been paying attention?"
He had not, apparently. "Is that what's been going on?"
"Well—" Sam sat up "—I am clearly less of the 'lady' in this and more the mad scientist, so yes, that's what is happening here."
"What were these people on," Bucky muttered.
Samantha triumphantly turned, squaring her shoulders to him. "Wacky tabacky."
Bucky smirked and licked his lips. "Did you look that up?"
"Yes, I did." Her chest swelled with pride. "Friday helped."
He almost tackled her into a hug—a slow and ginger hug so as not to upset his ribs—but a buzz from his pocket stopped him. Bucky propped himself up to check the phone.
Steve: We know you two are here.
One of several moments he dreaded had come. Bucky turned around to see lights on in the house through the frosty window. He supposed that was bound to happen sooner or later, and knowing his best friend, Bucky figured Steve had not meant that to sound quite so cryptic. However, judgment still hung in the words. Steve knew the pair of them were together in his home, a significant betrayal that wouldn't easily be forgiven.
But Bucky had missed a message earlier, presumably during one of his catnaps.
Stark: We visit Sam on Xmas day. 11am.
Two dreaded moments. Bucky's stomach turned over as a lump formed at the back of his throat. So everyone knows we're here… He scooted across the leather, sweaty palms sticking to the material while he put an unhelpfully insignificant distance between them.
"Friday, pause," Sam said, attentive but not following. "Are you ok, Buck?"
There was that question again, though it landed differently now, all concern and devotion. Worse. Natasha's may have been meant the same way but felt flat, disingenuous by text. It made Bucky wonder how Sam had grown so close to Missy if text was all they had for so long.
Tony specifically wrote they were coming for Sam, just Sam. Bucky wasn't welcome, and really, why should he be? Bucky could distract her from the inevitable trouble brewing outside the mirror, but her family could actually protect her. He was bound to serve the Council, but Tony retired. Her father could take care of her when their bubble burst, as it was always bound to, eventually.
"What's wrong?" Sam's warm fingers curled over his shoulder and squeezed.
"Nothing," he chirped, pocketing his device again, "we'll need to go to the store." Bucky pulled her hand around in front of him and kissed her knuckles. "Get you a fresh notebook, too. We can take Steve's truck since they're home."
Sam looked through the glass, an odd, evaluating expression plastered across still features. She cocked her head to the side.
He popped the latch and slid open the door. "Gotta make a good impression on your folks, right?" Act casual. Don't make her panic.
Instead, Bucky panicked. He offered a hand to help Sam slide out, passing off his nervous twitching as cold shivers in the snow. Sam wrapped warm arms around his side, exquisitely worsening his spiraling thoughts.
They tucked into the house via the patio door, tiptoeing through the hall until realizing Steve and Sharon were nowhere to be seen. The water ran upstairs behind a shut door. Bucky broke away from Sam's grasp to shrug on Steve's coat from the peg it always hung on and smiled at the keyring. "Well, we ain't taking his bike," he joked with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
Sam stuck out her tongue. "Hardy-har."
"Right," Bucky sighed and tossed the keys at her. "So you're driving?"
The jingling chain smacked her chest and hit the floor. Sam stared down, unmoving, then peeked up the stairs before looking back at him with smug indignation.
"Pretty sure no one would find your body here."
Bucky could barely keep it together as he stepped forward, leaned to recover the keys, and planted a kiss on her cheek. "You know you love it." Bucky bit his lip. Spooked by the growing list of people against this, against them (two of which were a flight of stairs away), that was as close as he could get to saying the other thing. He buried the added pressure in his chest with the rest of his worry. "Plus your dad called dibs on killing me, so take a number, doll."
Steve erupted from the bathroom above, and both startled. Sam launched forward into Bucky's arms while he stared up the stairs. "I got you," he whispered, debating whether to call out to his friend.
Steve didn't acknowledge them. He came right down and grabbed two cups off the table a foot to Bucky's right. Still nothing. It wasn't until Steve was on his way to the kitchen that Sam stirred. Bucky opened the front door and ushered them out.
"So they can't see us," Sam observed on the trek to the car, unphased, "just like Karma. I'll need to write that down. This place is fascinating." She climbed into the cab.
Within seconds Bucky sweltered like he had in the helicopter and eyed Sam, glowing rosy in the dark.
She shrugged. "Force of habit. I like when you're comfortable."
A different kind of heat spread through Bucky. It was so sweet, these little bits of care Sam doled out, even after nothing but each other's company for days on end. No matter what happened at Christmas, he'd miss this.
Sam buckled her seatbelt, oblivious to her effect. "Can we get cookies? You keep making me think of cookies."
Of course. Bucky tossed his arm over the passenger seat to reverse, smoothing a hand over Sam's hair, tucking the growing strands behind the yellow hood of her sweater. "Whatever you want." He winked and drove off down the gravel.
Sorry for the short chapter but the fluff deserved to be on its own! Hope you enjoyed it, and more is coming soon. Thank you for reading!