The grocery bill ended up being a little hefty, but you had money set aside. Not to mention that at the end of every week you seemed to have more money in your bank account. A little snooping and a long talk with Sam revealed the reason behind this and you begrudgingly accepted that this money was going to keep showing up no matter how you demurred. You had initially wanted to complain about it to Bucky, you couldn't really say why, other than you felt he'd dislike the idea of being "kept" even less than you. But that could've opened up a whole other can of worms in terms of his emotional state, so you kept quiet about it. Besides, at least it meant not really having to worry if your cart got filled to the brim with all sorts of goodies.

You were pulled from your thoughts on it when you saw Bucky about to lift all the bags from the cart at once. With a hand on his arm, you stopped him. "Here, let me take a few."

His brow furrowed under the ball cap. Obviously he was strong enough to carry it all easily, but you were still in the store with plenty of prying eyes. He seemed to catch on quickly and left a few of the lighter bags for you to carry. There was virtually no traffic, so it was quick work getting back to the truck and putting everything in the bed under the tonneau cover. You locked it out of habit before turning to Bucky.

"You did a really good job in there," you informed him gently, absent-mindedly brushing some cat hair from his flannel shirt and smoothing out the fabric at his sleeve. For a moment, you thought about telling him how proud you were, but that seemed a bit condescending. Instead, another idea came to mind and you smiled up at him. "Okay, you've got a decision to make now."

Confusion passed over Bucky's eyes and you could've sworn you saw the muscles in his neck stiffen for a split second. You gripped his elbow reassuringly. "I know, scary prospect, deciding for yourself. But here are your options. One, we go straight home, no ifs, ands, or buts. Or, two, since there's nothing we bought that will really spoil, we can take a walk down to the cafe and get ourselves a treat. Up to you, I'm good either way."

"Cafe," he nodded after only a moment's deliberation.

"Okay," you beamed and saw some of the tension ease in his shoulders . "It's not too far. We'll leave the truck here and walk."

You guided him across the parking lot and out onto the cobbled sidewalk. The town decided several years ago that they wanted to make the place have an "historic feel." So you walked on uneven stone past antique storefronts on the main street, almost all the buildings a drab dark gray with white trim. The walk somehow seemed longer than you remembered, maybe because as you started down the street, Bucky seemed to fall back into that soldier-mode. Slight agitation, eyes scanning, and something about the way his fingers twitch make you wonder if he had a weapon concealed or if he was just missing the weight of one in his hands.

It worsened the further you got down the street and it started to worry you. You were about to say something, suggest cutting it short and getting home, when suddenly Bucky gripped your upper arm and roughly shuffled you in between two shops. You were too shocked to make a sound as he backed you firmly against a building, the full weight of his body pressed tight to yours like he would push you through the siding and bricks if he could. His face was turned from you, scanning the street with his jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscles twitching there. And you weren't sure if it was the fear-triggered adrenaline or the pressure of his chest to yours, but you couldn't fill your lungs enough and your heart was beating wild.

A few moments later, two people came running past the alley, jogging contentedly with their earbuds in place and neon colors to make them better visible to any traffic, completely oblivious to your presence. Bucky's eyes followed them as they past, his brow furrowing before he looked down.

"The sound," he murmured, voice like gravel as he tried to control his breathing. "Boots on cobblestone... I remember..."

"Bucky," you managed to breathe out. When his face turned to yours, you told yourself it was the lack of air that made you lightheaded, made your knees wobble, not the intensity in those smokey eyes or the feel of his breath across your cheek. Your fingers twisted into the side of his shirt near his hip, tugging gently, as you rasped out "It's all right. You're safe. We're safe."

A pained expression flickered across his face before his tongue darted haphazardly over his lips. His eyes scanned your face, lingering a fraction of a second on the scar on your cheek, on the curve of your mouth, and that tightness in your chest could only have been the pressure of him still against you. A few more breaths were shared this way before he swallowed hard and his lips parted. "I'm sorry."

"Just a little scare is all," you huffed out a laugh as he was backing away from you. Your senses were reeling and your skin was flushed as you steadied yourself on your own two feet again without the weight of him to hold you up. Just the adrenaline, you told yourself. When you managed to look up at him, his face was almost unreadable or maybe you hadn't gotten your bearings just yet. Still, you straightened yourself with a small, reassuring smile. "You okay? What did you remember?"

"The war," he answered, looking down at the ground beneath his feet. "Being chased by the enemy. Having to run, hide."

"And you were trying to protect me," you said, realization dawning on you. His only response was the slightest of nods. Forcing yourself to regain your composure, you sighed gently and tugged at the cuff of his sleeve. "Hey, you wanna just go home?"

"No," he replied, quick enough it surprised you. He looked up at you finally and you saw something like determination in his face. "I'm fine. Let's keep going."

Bucky started to raise his left hand toward you, but blinked and pulled it away again. With an amused snort, you grabbed his hand, metal palm cool against your own, and entwined your fingers, urging him back toward the street and ignoring the jolt that skittered across your skin. You glanced down the sidewalk, the joggers having vanished around a corner somewhere, before looking back at him. "You know, maybe you should think about taking up running."

"I do run," he informed as he fell in step beside you.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "When?"

"In the morning," he answered, like it was obvious. "While you're still asleep."

"Oh," you scrunched your face a little. You'd never heard him get up and leave, then again, that probably wasn't a hard feat for him. Pulling him off the sidewalk to cross the street, you added "Maybe I should start getting up and going with you."

Suddenly, that teasing tone was back in his voice when he said "You wouldn't be able to keep up."

Your mouth dropped open, amused and astonished. Not knowing what to say in response, because he was more than likely correct, you just scoffed and reached for the door to the cafe. You held it open for a patron who was leaving, he sniffled and unceremoniously wiped his nose on his coat sleeve before nodding a thanks your way. You cringed at Bucky who just gave a half shrug before following you inside.

The place was cozy and quiet even on it's busiest days, and that day was no exception. A few people were scattered near the back, on laptops with steaming mugs trying desperately to seem cosmopolitan in the middle of nowhere. You sidled up to some stools at the main counter, a feature leftover from when the place was a soda shop decades before. Though his face was stoic, you could tell Bucky was a little overwhelmed by everything that was available on the board, so you took the initiative to order for him just this once.

The barista made short work of the order and soon returned with a black coffee, an iced vanilla latte, and a chocolate chip scone. You broke the pastry in half as you watched Bucky first sniff then take a sip from his warm cup. A small smile crossed his lips, the one he had whenever he found something familiar and enjoyable that threatened to make dimples appear on his cheeks.

"Good," you asked and he nodded at you as he took another sip. "Wanna try mine?"

He sat his mug down and took your offered drink, bringing the straw to his mouth. You had to hide your laughter when he barely got a mouthful before he blinked rapidly. Pulling the cup away from him, he eyed the drink. "This tastes like someone spilled a little coffee in sweet milk."

Still, Bucky snuck another sip before putting it back down in front of you. To avoid laughing out loud, you quickly took a drink, though your shoulders still shook a little in amusement. He shot you a look as he reached for his half of the scone to take a bite and your chest compressed a little at the barest hint of playfulness there, too similar to the way it had in the alley not ten minutes before. But the lines of his face hardened suddenly when you were surprised by a familiar voice calling your name behind you.

"This day's been a bit more eventful than I planned," you sighed as you and Bucky turned to see the police chief making his way toward you, handcuffs jangling with each step. "Hey, Chief. How's it going?"

"Oh can't complain too much," he huffed, stopping to prop his hands on his belt like he was wont to do when he was trying to look official and imposing. "What's that on your cheek there?"

You brought your fingers up to your scar, chuckling lightly. "Wouldn't you know it, I cut myself shaving."

"Uh huh," the chief nodded with a snort, then turned his eyes to Bucky. You followed the gaze to see Bucky looking up at the man coldly, his left hand tucked behind him out of sight. "What's up with your friend here?"

"First time trying the coffee here," you spat, something funny to diffuse the situation. It succeeded in bringing the chief's eyes back to your. "So good it's left him speechless."

"Clever," the chief replied, looking none too amused.

He was going to push, you knew that. Just like you knew exactly what you could say to stop it. You didn't want to drag up those bad memories, but it was the only thing you could do to make a getaway for Bucky's sake. With a defeated sigh, you said solemnly "He served with my sister, okay?"

There it was. That look of sympathy you hated, sometimes felt you didn't deserve, flashed across the chief's face and you had to look away. At least Bucky's eyes were only curious, you could live with curious. The chief brought his right hand down on your shoulder, an act of comfort that made you flinch. Then he offered the hand to Bucky, whose eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He looked at the hand a moment before slowly reaching out to take it.

"Thank you for serving your country, son," the chief said, heartfelt, shaking hands firmly. Bucky seemed at a loss when the chief clapped the other hand around his shoulder. "Anyone puts on that uniform deserves more than a handshake and a cup of coffee, but it's the least I can do for you today."

The chief gave you a nod before walking away, though you heard him tell the barista to put your order on his tab. Another sigh, this time of relief, and you turned back to your drink on the counter, raising it in thanks and salutation to the chief who responded in kind before picking up a newspaper and finding a spot near the back. For his part, Bucky said nothing then, just finished his coffee and his scone, and you were grateful for however long his silence on the matter would last.

It lasted quite a while. Through the walk to the truck, the drive home, putting groceries away. He did calisthenics in the yard in the afternoon, came in and took a shower while you were reading on the couch. Even dinner came and went without a word. So long in fact, you might have let your guard down on the subject had you not seen his the wheels in his head turning all day. Adding things up. Once or twice, you almost just came right out and told him, end the almost torturous anticipation. But you couldn't, and a part of you felt you deserved all the hell you put yourself through over it.

Finally, when you were drying the dishes and putting them away, Bucky came into the kitchen and said "Sam brought me here because of your sister."

You paused, putting your dish down so you wouldn't drop it or break it. He just stood there, waiting patiently for you to answer. You swallowed back the bitterness in your mouth, the tears starting to form. "In a way, yes."

"She came back from war... different. Not quite like me, but close," he continued. His voice sounded almost cautious as he stepped toward you.

"You're very perceptive," you tried to sound amused, but your voice was weak and your nose and eyes began to sting.

"She's gone now, isn't she?" It was less a question and more a need for confirmation, eyes intense as they scoured your face. "How?"

"Self-inflicted gunshot wound," you answered after clearing your throat. It was easier to say that way, cleaner, clinical, like you could divorce yourself from what happened. The reality had been far messier and it had haunted you for so long afterward. Still did, from time to time, like now, when you were forced by circumstance to talk about it.

His head tilted a little, though his eyes never wavered. "You think you failed her."

"Yes," you choked out, sniffing hard and wiping hatefully at the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

After a few moments, Bucky finally looked away from you, turning his attention to the half dried dish you left on the counter. "I'll finish these."

"I can finish," you protested, happy to change subjects and try to push the past to the back of your mind.

Metal fingers stayed your arm, even as his right hand brushed over yours to tug the towel from your grip. Goosebumps rose across your skin. You told yourself it was the way he was looking at you, an expression that brooked no further argument. "Go get some rest."

Nodding, you relented. It had been a long day, physically and emotionally exhausting. You could only assume he'd seen that in your face. As you pulled your arm from him, his fingers tangled in yours a split second and it felt like he'd given them a gentle squeeze. But when you looked up, his attention was on the task at hand and not you.