(A/N: Sorry for the delay. Holidays and all. This is a pretty cheesy/fluffy chapter, and probably not my best. But here you are. Hope you find some of it enjoyable! ~Sithy)

A few days after your little get-together, Steve called you to thank you for dinner again. Maybe it was some politeness holdover from his upbringing, but you were also fairly sure he wanted to check up on how Bucky was doing. You glossed over the finer details – no need to divulge the late night conversation, sharing a bed, the day spent just enjoying each other's company lounging on the couch—but let him know that Bucky seemed to be doing alright. When the subject of your conversation walked through the living room from training, a little grimy from sweat and dirt and more distracting than you cared to admit, he gave you a questioning look. You casually used Steve's name in your next response and saw a contemplative expression cross Bucky's face. A moment later, much to your astonishment, he held out his hand in a silent request for the phone.

"Uh, hang on a sec, Steve," you said, feeling a smile tug on your lips when Bucky answered the confusion on your face with a nod of certainty. "Bucky wants to talk to you."

You wondered briefly just how shocked Steve must look on the other end as you gave over your cell. When Bucky brought the phone to his ear, you made your way to the kitchen. Ostensibly, you meant to give him some privacy and start getting things together for lunch. Yet, you found yourself eavesdropping a bit just the same. It wasn't very stimulating conversation on Bucky's end. There were a number of affirmatives and one or two negatives. You peeked around the corner to see him nodding or shaking his head respectively and you couldn't deny the fondness you felt over it.

"Yeah," he was turned away from you, but you could hear consideration in his voice. Then his shoulders squared and he sounded more determined. "Yeah. Let's do that… I'll talk to you then… Bye."

Before he could turn around, you ducked back into the kitchen and busied yourself in the pantry. Bucky walked in a few moments later, holding your cell phone out to you when you looked up at him. There was a hint of amusement on his face. "You're terrible at spying, kid."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you acted innocent, taking the phone to slide back into your pocket. He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but entertained, with a knowing smirk. Rolling your eyes, you gave a sheepish smile. "Okay, fine. But you can't fault me for being curious. What did you two geezers talk about?"

"He asked if I might wanna come visit him this weekend," he replied, tongue darting out over his lips as he went over to the fridge. "Told him I would."

"Oh," was your immediate response, struck a little dumb by the information. Why it surprised you, you couldn't really say. Obviously, Bucky wasn't supposed to stay cooped up in your house all the time. You were just meant to be a way station for him anyways, until Steve could convince the rest of his team that Bucky was safe and adjusted. It was a natural next step in the progress. It really shouldn't have caused you any concern. But it did. And Bucky's thinly veiled attempt at casualness over the matter didn't help at all, the minute agitation in his features giving him away.

"Is that okay," he asked in a hesitant voice, pulling you from your thoughts as he grabbed the water jug. There was concern and confusion in his face when he turned back to you.

"Of course, Bucky," you smiled. Moving to the cabinet to grab a glass, you shook your head vigorously. "I'm not your jailor. You can do whatever you want. And going out to see Steve is a good thing. He's good support for you. Plus, I'm sure he's super excited to..."

You realized you were starting to babble when you saw the curious tilt to Bucky's head. But there was a small smile on his face and his voice was gentle when he asked "You worried about me?"

"That obvious, huh," you sighed as you set the glass down on the side table next to the water. For some reason, Bucky seemed to be standing a little taller when you looked up at him and didn't appear quite as tightly wound as before. "I mean it when I say this is a good thing. I just... I want to make sure you're doing it because you're ready to and you want to, not because you think you're supposed to. Does that make sense?"

He nodded thoughtfully, brow furrowed as he turned his attention to pouring himself a drink. Bringing the glass up to his lips, he paused a moment to look at you again. "I'm ready to give it a shot. I want to try."

"Then that's good enough for me," you beamed up at him before grabbing the water to put back in the fridge. And it really was true. It was just your own ridiculous worry that had caused that flop in your stomach, maybe a remnant left over from painful past experiences, that's all. Now, there was only the jackhammer beating of pride in your chest as you glanced over at him. Bucky really was something else.

"Was wonderin," he began as he took his empty glass to the sink. When you turned to give him a quizzical look, he seemed to become a little uneasy, uncertain. "That dress shirt I wore Saturday... it was my only one."

"I see," you replied, remembering the way the seam at the shoulder had been torn to shreds. You also remembered how Bucky talked about looking presentable, almost like it was important, a way to help him feel a little more... normal. And if it was important to him, it was important to you. Offering up a reassuring smirk, you grabbed for the fridge door again. "I'll get lunch together while you hit the showers, old man. Then we will go out and pick you up somethin' real snazzy to wear for your date. Impress the hell out of 'em."

"You ain't cute, kid" he shook his head with a snort, but there was relief in his voice and a playfulness in his eyes.

"Oh, please," you teased back, waving him off as you dug out sandwich fixings. "I'm freakin' adorable and you know it."

Hazarding another glance Bucky's way as he headed for the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of that smile of his again. The one he'd been pulling more often recently, not constantly, but not quite so rare, like he was finally letting himself be a little happy. You were glad to have the fridge to turn back to quickly, because it was entirely too unfair and unreasonable just how hot your skin grew whenever you saw that smile flashed at you.

The closest clothing store was several miles down the highway, which meant a bit of a drive. Bucky didn't really mind though. You weren't taking the curves in the road as recklessly as before and the scenery outside his window was rather pleasant. There were rolling fields and horses and cattle and sheep, a far cry from the dodgy brick and metal memories of his childhood or his snowy, battle scarred nightmares. It was like one of those pastoral paintings in some fancy museum come to life. It was beautiful.

Still, his gaze kept moving across the bench seat to you. Thumbs drumming idly on the steering wheel, you hummed along with the radio. Something you referred to as "classic rock," loud and catchy and fun. He could see why you liked it so much. Your attention was dutifully on the road for the most part, though you did turn a smile on him from time to time. And that was beautiful too, more than he would allow himself to look at for too long.

There were quite a few cars in the parking lot when you finally arrived at the long row of storefronts, and Bucky's heart started to pound a little harder. More people meant a higher possibility of a threat, more cars were obstructions in his line of sight. As he got out of the truck, tugging his long, flannel sleeves lower, he scanned the surroundings. Everything seemed sufficiently mundane at first glance, but he was still nervous. You must have noticed it, because when you came around to stand beside him, you shouldered his left arm gently. Looking over at you, he found a reassuring expression on your face as you twined your fingers with his metal ones. His heart didn't slow down, but some of his tension eased on the walk to the store.

Once inside he felt a little less anxious. The few people around were intent on their own shopping, so no one turned an eye as you tugged him through the winding paths between racks and tables. Soon, he found himself in an area marked "Menswear" on the signage, standing next to a somewhat unsettling faceless mannequin done up in a tennis shirt and khakis like it was about to go for a stroll in the park. There was a display set up with crisply folded button-up shirts in more shades than Bucky was certain he'd ever seen before, despite his fractured memory. Pastel pink, lavender, sky blue, mint green, and crimson set among the neutral black, white, and grays.

"Here we go, dress shirts," you said with a flourish as he reached out to run his fingertips over the fabric of the nearest shirt, a disgustingly bright blue one that threatened to hurt his eyes. There was mischief in your voice when you added, "Well, what do you think? Is purple your color? How about this salmon one? We could see if they have an electric green one in the back."

Sparing a glance at your smirking face, he found himself chuckling under his breath. "Maybe something a bit more… traditional."

"Yeah, okay," you nodded with that sweet little laugh of yours as you continued perusing the selection. "Do you know what size you wear?"

How long had it been since he had known the answer to that? Seventy years ago he could've rattled off that and any number of trivial things about himself, but even if he could recall that particular piece of information, his body had changed since then. Bucky had worn whatever was handed to him by the scientists, then whatever things that looked to fit that he'd stolen from unattended dryers in laundromats or donation bins outside of thrift stores, then whatever Steve and Sam brought to him which were mostly the right size. In all that, he'd never really stopped to check a tag.

"I don't really know anymore," he finally admitted, hearing the strain in his voice as he realized you had been waiting patiently for an answer.

You nodded thoughtfully, before giving a little shrug and smiling. "We'll grab a few different sizes and you can try them on. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good," he nodded, relieved at how easily you seemed to accept these strange confessions of his, as you piled a bunch of shirts in his arms in varying grays, whites, and muted blues.

After you found a clerk to let him into a fitting room, Bucky took great care in changing, acutely aware of how easily he could rip the fabric on the metal segments of his arm or just from sheer strength. A few were small enough he wouldn't even think about forcing a button on them. A few were much too big, and he could have laughed at himself, feeling a bit like Goldilocks. It was a slate gray one that finally fit, much like his recently destroyed shirt except not quite as tight across the chest. You'd said he looked handsome in that one. Hell, you said he looked handsome more than just then. There may even have been a time, ages ago, when he might've agreed with you, but all he saw in the mirror now were metal and scars and eyes that looked almost as old and tired as his body should be.

"Well," he asked when he stepped out of the small room and presented himself to you. Bucky wondered at the twinge of awkwardness he felt in doing that. There were vague memories floating around in his head of being on display, circled as if by wolves with their teeth bared in cruel triumph, and there was only acceptance of it. Maybe it was the unabashed delight on your face or the way your eyes actually saw him as you walked straight to him that made him aware of his own skin.

"It looks great, Buck," you smiled, moving in close to him. "How does it feel though? Is it comfortable? Is there enough room at the neck? Can you move?"

Suddenly, your hands were on him, achingly delicate, worrying at the fabric, hooking a finger in the collar for a little tug. He let you inspect him for a moment, despite the stuttering in his chest, distracted by the gentle determination of your pursed lips and the clean smell of your hair. And his mind wandered to thoughts it had no right to, like just how soft your mouth might be against his. Jaw clenching tight, Bucky shook his head before biting out a little rougher than he meant to "Would you quit fussin' over me?"

"I am not fussing over you," you scoffed and your hands left him abruptly to anchor fists at your hips like you were insulted, though there was amusement in your features.

Barely able to tear his eyes from the twitching at the corners of your lips, desperate to hold back a smile, he knew if you blushed then, like you'd been wont to do recently, he could've been a goner. And damned if he didn't want to press his luck in that instant as he teased back with a straight face "You are fussier'n a mother hen and you know it."

You didn't blush and a part of him was thankful for that, who knows what he might've done. Instead, you rolled your eyes, dropping your shoulders in defeat even as you smirked at him. "Okay, fine. I was fussing. But, seriously, you think that's the size you need?"

"I think so," he answered, rolling his shoulders a bit and flexing his left arm just to make sure. There was no tearing or uncomfortable strain with his movements, so he nodded with finality. "It'll work."

"Good," you replied, though something about you seemed a little flustered as you gave him another quick once over. "Maybe we should pick up a couple in that size while we're here? Just in case?"

"Good idea," he nodded again before returning to the changing room.

Once back in his worn-out flannel, Bucky deposited the unwanted shirts at the little desk outside the door with a similar pile and joined you back at the display table. You glanced at the gray shirt clutched in his hands before speaking. "You gonna double up on gray or spice things up a bit? White's a bit see-through, but there are a bunch of other dark colors."

Walking around the table, he considered his options. Even this seemingly trivial decision seemed somewhat important, so he took his time thinking on it. If his delay bothered you in the slightest, you didn't show it, just stood aside and let him look, an encouraging smile on your face. He didn't have anything against the more colorful shades, he had clothes in varying colors, greens and reds and browns, but even the dark ones just didn't set right until he came across a deep blue-gray shirt. There was something almost familiar about it, though he couldn't place it. Sifting through the small stack, he found a size that matched the gray one.

"Nice," you beamed at him from across the table when he lifted it up to show you. "It's a good color. Two shirts down. Anything else you might like?"

"Nah," he shook his head a little. There were other clothes he recalled wearing before, waistcoats, suspenders, probably out of style these days. No need for a suit. Unlikely to be any weddings to attend in the near future and he hoped to god no funerals. "A couple good shirts and a decent pair of slacks is all a man really needs… well, maybe a tie."

"I see," you nodded in understanding, though there was laughter in your voice when you hooked your thumb off to your left. "Saw a tie rack back that way."

Following your gesture, he made his way between the tiered tables and shelves to the display in question. There were almost as many different ties as there were shirts, a myriad of colors and patterns. Maybe that's why you had sounded so amused at him. It had taken so long to pick a shirt, now he had another decision to make. He examined each one closely, feeling the slippery silks and satins between his rough fingers. Then the air shifted, his heart hammering in his chest as his blood ran cold. There was the clattering of hangers behind him even as he spun on his heel, apprehensive, ready for an attack. It came as an insistent tug on his left shirt sleeve from below his immediate line of sight. Looking down, he was shocked to see a little girl, maybe four or five years old, mop of dark hair on her head and hazel eyes big and round like saucers staring up at him from chubby cherub cheeks, unafraid.

Her little fingers grabbed hold of his left hand, staring at herself in the metal in wonder. She giggled excitedly and something clawed at the back of Bucky's mind. Little girls giggling on their way back home from the corner store. The littlest was holding his hand on the walk, her palm forever sticky against his. Wanna piece of my candy, Bucky? He looked down at her, shaking his head. Nah, Beks, that's yours. Her lip stuck out in a pout. How come you didn't get any with the money momma gave you? He patted his breast pocket and felt the change there. Savin up for art supplies. This pleased her greatly, he knew it would, and she bounced a little. You and Stevie gonna make us more pretty pictures? He smiled as he swung their arms playfully. Only the prettiest pictures for my pretty sisters…

"Hey, sweetheart." The sound of your voice, gentle and kind, pulled Bucky from his hazy childhood memory of his sisters. He'd had sisters… Blinking to clear his mind, he saw you just kneeling down beside him, leveling yourself to the girl's height as best you could. You glanced up at him, face awash with questioning concern. Checking on him. He gave a quick nod to let you know he was alright. Turning your attention back to the girl, you said warmly. "I bet someone's missin' you. Do you know where your mom or dad is?"

"She's over there with my baby brother," she answered, tilting her head toward the changing rooms just on the other side of the racks. She was still holding Bucky's hand and looked up at him gleefully. "Why's your hand so shiny?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly snapped it shut. That inquisitive, fearless little face had something in him wanting to answer, he just wasn't sure how or even if he should. Turning his eyes to you for help, he saw your understanding smile, which grew when you looked at the girl again.

"Well, you see," you began, as friendly as you please, not a hint of condescension. He felt himself start to smile a little as well. You seemed so good with her, so effortless, like it was a natural thing to you. "He had an accident. Hurt his arm real bad. So, they had to replace it with this one."

"Oooooh," she replied in an almost solemn tone at the simple explanation. Then she brightened right back up, like she'd thought of something clever. "Momma says kisses help boo-boos feel better."

Bucky felt his heart skipped a beat when you bit back your laughter, face ecstatic even as you shot a mischievous look up at him before you replied. "You know, I've heard that before myself. Why don't you give it a try and see if it works?"

The little girl gripped his hand tighter and pulled it to her for a loud, wet sounding smack of a kiss on the back metal plates. Then she looked up at him expectantly and for a split second, he wasn't sure what to do or how to respond. But when he flexed his fingers a little, her eyes widened in surprise. So, he closed his hand into a loose fist before opening it again and her face lit up in a toothy grin. He saw you, hand covering your mouth, face just as bright and happy. Clearing his throat, he spoke as gentle as possible. "All better."

Another peal of giggles was cut short by a frantic, female voice from over by the dressing rooms. "Maddy? Maddy, where are you?"

"Right here," the little girl called out, dropping Bucky's hand finally as she stepped around the tie display to wave.

You stood then, grabbing his hand yourself and smiling at him as you used the hem of your shirt to dry where the little girl had kissed. The woman behind the voice came into view, no doubt in Bucky's mind the girl's mother, both looked so much alike. She bent to scoop the girl up in her arms, her voice relieved. "Maddy, what have I told you about wandering off? I was so worried!"

"It's okay, Momma," the girl, Maddy, said back, wrapping her arms around her mother's neck. "I was just talkin to the man with the shiny hand and the nice lady."

"Shiny hand," the mother began, confused, then suddenly seemed to notice Bucky standing there, you right beside him. Her look of embarrassment worsened when she saw his left hand, which he quickly tucked behind his leg nervously. "I am so sorry! I hope she didn't…"

"She was fine," he assured, right hand clenching around the shirts he still held, feeling uneasy. But he managed a half smile. "She's a doll. Really."

"She can be," the mother smiled, though another concerned look crossed her face as her eyes turned to you.

Bucky followed her gaze to find you sticking your tongue out, scrunching your nose up, making a variety of silly faces at the very small boy whose head was peeking out from behind the woman's leg. The toddler had a grin plastered on his face, looking bashful as he kept burying himself in his mother's jeans only to look over at you again. Bucky nearly burst out laughing when you realized you were being watched, but he caught it in time so it was only a snort. God, two cute little kids around and damned if you didn't manage to be the most adorable thing in that instant.

"Sorry," you said, sheepish, that blush blooming on your cheeks now, and he could almost feel the warmth of it in his chest. "I just… like kids."

"Well, maybe you'll have some of your own one day," the woman said politely, eyes flickering over to Bucky for a second as she grabbed the boy's hand to make a retreat.

Somewhat taken aback by the small gesture, Bucky looked over to see if you'd caught it. But you were too busy waving at the kids who each had an arm flapping wildly in farewell. The girl was smiling at him over her mom's shoulder. After a moment's hesitation, unsure if he should or not, he finally gave in and lifted his left hand a bit and wiggled his metal fingers. He saw her smile grow impossibly wider before the three rounded the corner out of sight.

"You definitely made that little girl's day. Maybe even her whole week," you teased beside him, shouldering his arm gently as you laced your fingers with his, the pressure reassuring to him. You tapped your thumb against the metal there. "Told you it isn't all that bad."

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky replied gruffly. He was far from convinced he had anything more than a weapon attached to his left shoulder. Even kids can get distracted by shiny things they shouldn't play with. The girl had been cute though, innocent little face reminding him… Sisters? File that away. Ask Steve later.

But you, your cheerful, easy way with her, the way your face lit up. It had to have been your presence beside him that kept him from seeming so scary, kept the little girl from running off screaming. At the very least, he knew it had kept him at an even keel. Running his tongue over dry lips, he finally said "You ever have kids, you'll make a good mom."

You snorted in amusement, shaking your head as you rolled your eyes at him. Taking the shirts from him, you asked "Did you pick a tie before you managed to make a spectacle of yourself?"

Noting the change in subject, and not too upset about it, Bucky turned back to the display rack. One quick look and he pulled out a solid black silk tie. "Black goes with everything, right?"

"That's what they say," you smiled, sliding the tie out from between his fingers in a smooth motion. "Now if that's everything, let's get out of here. I've had enough excitement for one day."

He gave a nod, his own smile fond as he let you tug him toward the registers.