To say you were surprised when Bucky suggested the two of you go to the Harvest Festival together felt like an understatement. It was barely over a week after the incident at The Hall when he brought it up, anxious and shoulders tense, even more so than usual after coming back after a weekend visit with Steve. You assumed it was because he remembered the quiet discussion over photos and glasses of scotch, when you'd told him how you and your sister used to go. And it would be a lie to say your throat didn't go a little raw and achy at the mere mention of it. But you were almost overwhelmingly proud of him at the same time. A person who wasn't anticipating being better, who wasn't going to work their damnedest at it, who didn't believe there could be a light at the end of the tunnel... well, they didn't generally make plans, even just a couple weeks in advance. So, if Bucky thought he could handle another very public outing, you were happy to tag along in support.
Almost equally as shocking was a week after that when Bucky was waiting for Steve and Sam to pick him up and he let you know he decided to meet some of the other Avengers that weekend. He said it almost in passing, like it was a common thing, except his eyes gave him away. There was a bit of tension there, nervousness that you tried to soothe away with a brush of your fingers over his. You didn't want to pry, it really wasn't your place, you just couldn't help worrying he was pushing himself too far too fast to compensate for a perceived failure. But he assured you that he'd given the decision lots of thought and after a few discussions with Steve and Sam, they'd made arrangements to hopefully lessen his anxiety. Sam confirmed this in a text message after they hit the road again, because he probably understood your thought process better than you did yourself. And if the smallest, tiniest part of you felt a little bittersweet at the idea that Bucky might be moving on soon, that selfish sadness all but evaporated when he returned the next evening. He seemed pleased with himself, in a subdued way, more confident. It was obvious that he'd allowed himself to have a good time. You couldn't possibly worry about your own silly thoughts when he told you how the visit went, that soft expression on his face that you had come to adore a little too much.
The day you two were set to go to the Harvest Festival, you were waiting for him to return from yet another overnight stay. It was usually rather boring without his company, but those two days had seemed to drag even worse. Probably the anticipation of having a night out again. You ate up the time with books and movies and TV. Anything to squash the anxious excitement and occasional wayward concern. You were practically elbows deep in dishwater, just finishing up with the large cast iron skillet, when you heard the front door open.
"Bucky," you called out curiously. Though, honestly, who else could it have been? You'd given him a key to the house when he started his weekly excursions, just in case you were gone or otherwise occupied, like now.
"S'me," he answered, footsteps audibly approaching after the door was shut.
Expectant fluttering behind your ribcage chalked up to enthusiasm for the evening's plans, you quickly drained the sink and turned to grab a dishtowel to dry the skillet on the counter. Bucky was already taking up the kitchen door, bag slung over one shoulder and holding a paper hot cup in his hand, when you flashed him a grin. "Hey there. How was your second superhero sleep over party?"
"Take you all weekend to come up with that one," Bucky teased back with a raised eyebrow and a smile quirking up the corners of his lips.
"Nope," you shook your head vehemently as you hefted the weighty cast iron into your hands, leaning against the counter as you dried it. "It just came to me in a dream last night."
"Oh, so you been dreamin about me, huh, dollface," he asked, moving toward you, head tilted back a little in a cocky, mischievous smirk, almost flirtatious. That was something happening more and more lately and you were ashamed to admit once or twice you had to remind yourself it was just all in good fun.
"Now wouldn't that have been a nightmare," you stuck your tongue out at him playfully and were rewarded with a soft chuckle when Bucky pulled to a stop in front of you. Holding out the steaming cup to you, he grabbed the skillet from your hands. You took the offered drink, cradling it to warm your fingers as he tucked the heavy thing into its little cubby near the coffee pot. "What's this?"
"One of those vanilla latte things you like, only hot," he replied, resting his hip to the counter beside you and readjusting the bag on his shoulder. "Thought you'd appreciate something warm to drink with as cold as it's gotten."
"Well, aren't you sweet," you crooned cheekily, though you could tell it was still much too hot to attempt sipping on at the moment. You popped the lid carefully and put it on the counter to cool off a little.
"Nah, but the drink is," Bucky countered. You resisted the urge to smile even wider, remembering him saying something similar over a bowl of oatmeal when you were sick in bed. "Too sweet if you ask me. You're gonna rot your teeth out you keep it up."
You scoffed at him, pretending to be scandalized as you gave him a playful hipcheck to shove him out of the way so you could deal with wiping down the counter. He let himself be moved aside easy, that soft grin on his face. "This, coming from the man who in one day had three slices –rather large slices I might add- of that chocolate cake I made?"
"Hey," was his protested response, subdued laughter in his voice and his gray eyes. "First of all, in my defense, that cake was delicious. Second of all, that cake was cake. It wasn't hot sugary milk callin itself coffee. Don't care how much of that espresso shit is in it."
Shooting him a dirty look over your shoulder, you busied yourself with your wipe down. No good comebacks came to mind. Perhaps some other time they might have, but not then. Not when you were practically overcome with Bucky standing in your kitchen, casual and talkative and… happy. Such a far cry from the way he looked when Sam ushered him through your door all those months ago. It warmed your heart and ached in your chest and all those silly little cliché things. He was doing better, tremendously better. Soon, he'd realize he didn't need to stay with you anymore, that he belonged out in the world; that he was meant for much greater things than an old house in the middle of nowhere. And you consoled yourself with the fact that unlike everyone else before him, at least Bucky's leaving wouldn't be a tragedy.
"I'm gonna go clean myself up some before we head out," Bucky informed, interrupting your thoughts. If he noticed the unwarranted tears you felt trying to sting at the corners of your eyes when you turned to nod at him, he was good enough not the say anything. Just gave a gentle smirk before heading back out of the kitchen.
You finished up with the counters quickly, but crumbs and dirt clung to your shirt damp with dishwater. Definitely required a change. The latte was cool enough to sip now, sweet and delicious, when you picked it up to carry with you as you headed for your room. On the way, you noticed the bathroom door standing ajar and you stopped abruptly when you realized you could partially see Bucky at the sink in front of the mirror. The water had only run for a minute, so you figured he'd just washed his hands and went to his room. But there he stood, shirtless with his jeans riding low on his hips, creases starting to peek out. You could just manage to see his mass of dark hair pulled up into a bun, a few locks loose and tucked behind his ear, and his face was lathered with shaving cream. He craned his neck with his gaze fixed on himself in the mirror. It took you a moment to realize the glint of metal that caught your eye wasn't his left hand, but a knife in his right. The blade steadily drew up the curve of his throat and over the sharp edge of his jaw, leaving smooth glossy skin in its wake. When he reached the end, he withdrew the knife to wipe the blade clean on a cloth draped across the sink before beginning again with a new line.
"How's the drink," Bucky asked gently, hint of a smile tugging at his lips though he never seemed to lose concentration on what he was doing, even when he nudged the door open wider with his elbow.
Of course he knew you were there. It was Bucky for crying out loud. Still, you hadn't realized just how intently you'd been watching, holding your breath, and you could feel your face heat up in embarrassment. But you took the silent invitation all the same, moving closer to lean against the door frame. "It's good. Thank you. How much do I owe ya?"
"Nah, my treat, sweetheart," he replied as his eyes flickered to you a moment. When he finished the section of cheek he was working on, he offered you a devilish grin while he wiped the blade off. "In fact, I got us covered the whole night."
"Oh, yeah?" You raised a curious eyebrow at him, intrigued by his tone as you took a sip from your cup. The two of you never spoke much about the money situation, except that he knew about the weekly deposits you received and either cared very little or trusted you enough that he never made mention of wanting to change things. Part of you hoped it was the latter.
"Yeah," Bucky nodded, looking a bit smug as he turned his eyes back to the mirror. "Let's just say, I doubt I'll be allowed to sit at any more poker games with that bunch."
The latte in your hand was the perfect place to hide your grin when he brought the knife back up to his skin. Your gaze followed the long line of his neck from the way he tilted his head back, the slow steady trail of the blade over his chin. After the initial swipe, he tucked his lower lip between his teeth and pulled taught, leaning a little closer to the mirror, inspecting. You realized with mild fondness that he was double checking the skin in the little divot there. And you told yourself it was probably the sugar and caffeine from your drink that made your mouth a little dry and sticky before you spoke. "I've never actually seen someone do that before in real life; shave with a knife like that."
"Well, your cute little safety razors just weren't cuttin it, doll," he quipped with a small chuckle before bringing the tip of the knife to the work around his upper lip.
"A-har-har," you let the sarcasm drip from your voice at his little play on words. Taking the few steps to the linen closet, you pulled out a fresh hand towel you'd washed the day before. There was only one in the bathroom, you'd noted, and he could probably use one to clean up with that wasn't covered in shaving cream and bristly little hairs. When you returned to your spot against the door frame, you gave him a considering look before a mischievous smirk crossed your face. "You know, if you haven't lopped off the other one already, I say keep the sideburns. They look good. Might get you swarmed by the ladies tonight."
Bucky's hand froze for a split second mid-shave. You might not have even seen it if you hadn't been watching so closely. Then, he just continued on as if nothing had happened, though his lips quirked up to match your own. "Just one'd be enough for me, gettin back into the swinga things an all."
"Ah c'mon," you retorted airily while holding out the clean towel to him. "At least two. Or perhaps another fella?"
He gave a playful look of consideration with a raise of his shoulders, jutting his chin out as he pretended to admire his face in the mirror. His eyes rolled your way before leaning in a little closer. "We'll see how the night goes."
At that, he plucked the towel from your fingers with a wink and you had to suppress what you were sure was only laughter fluttering away in your stomach. Oh yeah, he was doing much better. The cheeky bastard. Still, you couldn't help one last little tease before resuming your journey to your bedroom. "Just try not to scratch up your pretty face, okay?"
The sound of his gentle chuckle followed you down the hall a few paces. Once in your bedroom, you sipped your drink thoughtfully as you rummaged through all your drawers to find a heavy shirt. There was no need for dressing up fancy, it was only walking around the Harvest Festival, not like a date or something. Jeans and a shirt and sturdy walking shoes would be just fine. It was just that you hadn't left the house much in... well, awhile, aside from a few errands here and there, so you hadn't thought about switching out your seasonal clothes like you used to. Most of your fall and winter stuff was still in the storage room. Finally finding a long-sleeve shirt, you resolved to tackle the neglected room sometime that upcoming week, perhaps with Bucky's help. At least for moral support.
Back out in the hallway, you caught sight of Bucky just outside the bathroom door tugging a clean, dark shirt on over his head. He threw you a little grin once he'd pulled the fabric down his torso and you could see he'd taken your advice about his sideburns, though his hair was still up in a messy bun. "You almost ready to head out, doll?"
You hummed an affirmative as you took the last few sips of your latte. By the time your cup was empty, you were already standing next to him to answer brightly. "Whenever you are."
"Then let's go. But don't forget your jacket. S'gonna be cold tonight," he warned with a slight point of his finger as he headed into the living room.
"What and take away your chance to be a gentleman and offer me yours," was your laughing response, pausing a moment to deposit your trash in the bin just inside the kitchen as you passed by. "That hardly sounds like fun."
Bucky shot you a wry look from where he stood leaning against the back of the couch, failing to cover up the traces of amusement on his face. Grabbing the red flannel he was so fond of from the arm of the couch, he deftly slid it on and adjusted the collar and cuffs. If you didn't know him, you'd think it was all casual cool. But there was a minute tenseness to it, the barest hint of apprehension, that you caught out of the corner of your eye when you passed him to put on your hoodie, though it only seemed to last as long as it took him to join you near the door. Still, you felt compelled to reach out like you did so many times before.
"Hey," you asked quietly, bumping your knuckles against his left hand in a silent request for access. "Sure you wanna do this?"
It surprised you when he twisted his wrist to grab hold of your hand, metal fingers sliding delicately against your palm. His head tilted slightly in question, brows raised, soft gray eyes scouring your face and he gave a reassuring smile. "I'm sure. How bout you?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I think we'll both have a good time," you nodded with your own grin as you reached with your free hand to pluck some cat hairs from his shirt and smooth down the fabric. "But you know the drill. You need to get outta there for any reason, just say the word and -"
"Yeah yeah yeah," Bucky huffed a laugh to interrupt you. Rolling his eyes, his gaze dropped to where your fingers rested in his, metal thumb swiping across the back of your hand before he looked up at you again through his eyelashes. "Same goes for you, alright?"
The idea that Bucky was concerned about you like that had your heart threatening to skip a beat. But you just gave his shirt an affectionate tug, biting into your lower lip with a playful scrunch of your nose. "C'mon. Let's blow this popsicle stand."
Those infectious dimples of his flashed as you gripped his hand tight and started pulling him toward the door. It was already dusk outside, the chill beginning to set in with the dimming of the afternoon sunlight. Bucky waited patiently as you locked the place, but when you turned to head down the steps, you noticed a sleek black sedan in the driveway parked next to your truck. There was no driver sitting in it and it only took you a second to realize exactly why you didn't see Sam and Steve when Bucky came home. Looking over, you found him with a mischievous smirk, one eyebrow arching up, and a set of car keys dangling from his right hand with a little jingle before he closed his fingers around them.
"Win that at cards, too," you asked jokingly while the two of you continued toward the vehicle. Though, you weren't sure you'd be surprised if he had. No doubt, he had a good poker face.
"Nah, just the chance to borrow it for the weekend," he answered, well-pleased with himself, maneuvering so he could hold open the passenger door for you. Despite your annoyed snort, he just grinned wider. "Figured if I was gonna take you out for a good time, might as well do it in style."
You paused to fold your arms and rest them across the top of the door, eyeing him with feigned offense. "Oh, is my old truck not good enough for ya anymore, Barnes?"
"I like your old truck just fine," he assured, leaning in a little closer. Some of the cockiness in his expression softened as he continued. "Every pretty girl deserves a fancy ride in a classy set-a wheels once in a while. Even if it's just to a country fair."
Bucky looked so young then, so self-assured. If this was him now, then you were certain back in the day Sergeant James Barnes could've charmed the robes right off the Statue of Liberty if given half a chance. Shaking the errant thought from your head made room for another, more pressing concern. "Do you even have a driver's license? At least, one that isn't expired?"
Blinking a moment, Bucky tore his eyes away from you with a low, laughing breath. The easy smirk was back on his face when he answered. "Don't you worry about that, doll. Worked out a temporary for the time being. Now would you get in so we can get goin', huh? Jesus, sweetheart, you're holdin up all the fun."
"Okay, okay!" You held up your hands in surrender before slipping into the seat, but you could see Bucky casting you a playful glare as he closed the door soundly behind you.
By the time you were belted in, he was already sliding into the driver seat and soon you were headed on your way. The interior of the car was sharp as the outside, all leather seats and fancy touchscreens at the console, a Stark Industries logo emblazoned at the bottom of the display. It took you a couple minutes, but you managed to find the radio controls, Bucky mumbling something about cars still not being able to fly. You were barely able to hold back your snicker at such a crotchety statement. He must have heard it anyway, even over the music, because he shot you a warning look, though it gave way to exasperated amusement when you started to sing along with the radio. At one point, you even caught him tapping his fingers to the beat of a classic rock song you'd played for him a few times before. And if you hadn't known any better, you would've sworn you saw him mouthing along to the lyrics like he was enjoying himself.
Night was in full swing when you reached the festival. The sun was gone and the moon hadn't quite risen yet, but the lights of the fairground glowed bright tucked away in the darkness. The closer you drove, the more your nostalgic excitement grew. There were good memories you had there; laced with a little sadness to be sure, but good nonetheless. Laughter and happiness, and you were itching to share that with Bucky. When he pulled into a parking space, you didn't wait for his chivalrous insistence on getting the door for you. You were out on your feet in an instant, gazing across the lot and the groups of people coming and going. Parents pushing strollers with sleeping babies, little kids with balloons and mounds of cotton candy, the sounds of absolute delight filling the air.
Looking over at Bucky as he rounded the front of the car to meet up with you, you expected to find him tense, anxious, considering the crowd and the noise and all the things that could disrupt his line of sight in every direction. And maybe some of that was there, little traces at the edge of things, like the way his gaze darted toward a particularly loud squeal of a child in the distance, but it was mostly overshadowed by the soft smirk on his face and the way the corners of his eyes crinkled as he reached out to lace metal fingers with your flesh ones. "C'mon, doll. Let's get a move on."
It was a little wild to have Bucky being the one to gently tug at your hand, pulling you away from the car and toward the entrance. But it was wonderful to see that bit of excitement in him, that playful glint to his eye once you were in step at his side. He slowed his pace to better match yours, but you were having none of it, instead overtaking him so you could be ahead of him. Amusement colored his face and he let you drag him along with little fight until you reached the ticket booth. Bucky paid the admission price and shot you another look when you opened your mouth, like he knew you were about to protest. You clammed up about it, but not before sticking your tongue out at him, which made him grin before pulling you around the booth and into the fairgrounds. Though you did have the forethought to grab a map before you were out of arm's reach.
Maneuvering off to the side, away from the heavy throng of foot traffic, you unfolded the map to see what sort of booths were available and let Bucky have a chance to scan the layout of the place. He may have been in a spectacularly good mood, perhaps without much concern of being triggered, but you knew a part of him would always need those moments, a chance to take in his surroundings and calculate escape routes and possible threats, even if it was all subconscious. And you were more than happy to oblige. When you felt him close behind you, peeking over your right shoulder much like when he'd been teaching you how to shoot, you knew he was ready to continue.
"This place first," you urged, tapping your finger on the glossy paper in your hand.
"Thought the whole point of a place like this was wanderin around and findin interesting stuff," Bucky chuckled, though he began to move away from you in the direction the map indicated.
You shivered involuntarily, all the warmth of him and the width of his chest no longer blocking the chilly night air from your back. "We'll get to that. Just trust me. You will not be disappointed."
"Whatever you say, sweet cheeks," he replied with a good-natured shake of his head as you wrapped your hand in his.
It wasn't a far walk to the stall, but there was a line of people waiting to reach the food counter. You grinned wide as Bucky read the signs advertising a plethora of fried things to eat or barely edible sounding concoctions on sticks. Apparently this year's newest item was fried bubblegum. Bucky grimaced with a scrunch of his nose. "What the hell? Do people actually eat this stuff?"
"Oh yeah, fair food's a tradition," you informed primly. "But we are here for one thing and one thing only. Fried Oreos."
Bucky's eyebrows shot toward his hairline in concerned confusion. "Why would someone fry an Oreo? It's already a cookie."
"Look, back in your day, everything was boiled," you teased which earned you a derisive snort from him as you both moved forward in line. "These days, everything gets fried."
"Well, it sounds all sortsa wrong," he grumbled a little, though the corners of his lips were still tipped up as he glanced over at you.
"Oh, but it tastes all sortsa right," was your dreamy counter, the smell of frying foods already starting to make you salivate. Thankfully, you were next in line, so you didn't have to go crazy in anticipation much longer. "Come on, Bucky. Just try one. If you don't like it, I've got no problem eating the rest."
"Fine," he sighed in mock defeat before stepping up to the counter. "An ordera those fried Oreos and two Coca-colas, please."
The food came out piping hot, too hot even through the paper basket they came in, so you let Bucky handle those while you grabbed the drinks. It was crowded in the immediate area of the food stalls, but he managed to find a small table to stand at that was out of the way. Eyeing the powdered sugar covered mass in front of him with a bit of hesitation, he said begrudgingly "Well, they don't smell too terrible."
"That's the spirit," you joked sarcastically as you reached for one to pop into your mouth whole. Turns out, your desire for the sweet treat had overridden your common sense, because you soon realized just how hot it still was. Bucky's face lit up, trying and almost failing to hold back his low chuckle, when you made a no doubt entirely ridiculous face as you attempted to chew quickly against the burning sensation on your tongue. Still, you managed a sobbing laugh at your own stupidity after you finally swallowed and scrabbled for a drink of your cold soda.
"You alright," Bucky asked, amused tremor in his voice.
"Peachy," you smiled weakly after gulping down a good portion of your drink. When you nudged the basket in his direction, he gave you a disbelieving look. "Obviously they're good enough I risked half my taste buds to eat one. Just, y'know, be careful."
Chewing on your straw a little to mask your forming grin, you watched carefully as Bucky did as instructed. He tested the temperature of one of the Oreos with the fingers of his right hand. Either it had cooled down well enough or he wasn't nearly as effected by it as you were, because he had no problems picking it up to stuff in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, the little line between his eyebrows deepening. Something in the annoyed expression that finally crossed his face had you smiling.
"You like it," you stated knowingly, nudging his arm with your elbow as you grabbed for another. Thankfully, this one was nowhere near as hot as the first.
His tongue darted out to lick at stray powdered sugar and oil that stuck to his lips as he gave you an unimpressed look. "They're alright."
"Oh, I see." With an understanding nod, you began to pull the basket closer to you. "Well, if you don't care for them, then you won't mind if I have the rest."
Quick as lightning, just as expected, Bucky reached out and snatched another one. The vicious little smile on his face was only tempered by the softness around his eyes when he bit the Oreo in half. Like he planned on savoring it. He studied the middle of it while he chewed slowly, though it eventually followed the first half between his lips. Bucky didn't even bother to finish eating before he asked "We could probably make these at home, couldn't we?"
"Probably could," you smiled, still a bit thrilled whenever he said we or referred to your house as home. A third Oreo made its way into his mouth, though this one managed a light dusting of powdered sugar on his chin. Without much thought, you used the back of your index finger to wipe the mess away as you continued. "But then you'd complain about me trying to fatten you up, like you did to the cat."
Gray eyes glowed with a little mischievous mirth as he looked at you and you took a moment to tuck one of those stubborn locks of dark hair behind his ear. But when you absently let the backs of your knuckles graze down his warm, freshly shaved cheek, Bucky started a little in shock, pulled away a fraction. "Christ, your hands are ice cold."
"Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't..." you began, dropping your hand to the table, though you trailed off when you realized Bucky wasn't really paying attention. Instead, he brought his left hand up to his cheek, face blank as he pressed the metal plates of the back and his palm to his skin for a second.
"Gimme your hands," he said in a quiet order, licking the sugar from the fingers and wiping them dry on his jeans before holding both of his hands out to you, palms up.
Your eyes narrowed in confusion at the little show, but you couldn't help the nervous laugh that escaped you. "What?"
"C'mon, sweetheart," Bucky urged gently with a smirk and curled his fingers into grabby hands a couple times. "I ain't gonna bite. Give 'em here."
Playing along with a gentle huff of laughter at the situation, you laid your palms in his. Both of his hands were warm, even the metal one, and you realized that's what he had been checking against his cheek. Making sure it wasn't cold. Bucky delicately circled his fingers around your wrists to draw them up toward his face before cupping your hands in his. The first warm breath that skittered across your skin surprised you, muscles jerking a bit of their own accord. But Bucky's hold on you was firm and he continued what he was doing, moved your hands this way and that to give long, slow, warm exhales all over every inch of cold skin. It seemed an innocent enough gesture, probably something he'd done for his little sisters ages ago, you rationalized. And surely the goosebumps that raced up your arms were from the temperature contrast and not the one or two times you thought you might have felt the faintest brush of lips against your knuckles or across your wrists. That must have been your imagination, because each time when you looked up at him, the expression of pleasant concentration on his face never changed.
Finally, Bucky pressed your palms to his cheeks and gave a satisfied nod. "Better."
"Thanks," you replied, sounding a little hoarse as he set your hands on the table. Picking up your soda, you were about to take another drink to combat your dry throat when you paused, unable to hold back the tease that came to mind. "Always knew you were full of hot air."
The painfully disgusted sigh Bucky gave off nearly made you snarf your drink. He bit into his lower lip, as if holding back a smile, as he glared at you. "Y'know, just for that…"
"Hey," you scoffed with a laugh as he picked up the last of the fried Oreos between metal fingers and popped it into his mouth. There was a taunting look on his face while he chewed, pleased with himself, but you were distracted by something you saw on his arm as he reached out. "Hey, what's that?"
Moving in closer to his arm to effectively block it from others' view, you tugged his shirt sleeve up a little bit. Bucky didn't protest, though his chewing slowed until he gave a hard swallow, eyes moving curiously from your face to where you touched the metal plating. Under the fabric, at a bit of an awkward angle on the outside of his forearm, was a splotch of blue about the size of a quarter that you hadn't noticed before.
"Phthalo blue," Bucky informed, sounding slightly annoyed, once you positioned his arm so he could see it.
You raised a curious eyebrow at him while he scraped at the color with his fingernail. "Phthalo blue? As in, paint?"
"Mmhmm," was his hummed affirmative, nodding slightly as he worked. Then, he added in a distracted grumble. "Thought I got all this off already."
"You've been painting," you asked, that warm, proud feeling suddenly blossoming in your chest again. The image of that precious little winter scene with it's time-muted Christmas trees and the curve of Bucky's fond, nostalgic smile flashed through your memory.
He looked up from what he was doing then, blinking a few times and diverting his attention to his soda as the corners of his lips curled up. "Yeah. Been tryin my hand at it again with Steve and Sam."
"Aw, Bucky, that's awesome," you beamed. You wanted to remind how well he was doing, how strong he was being, and just how proud you were of him, though you were quite certain your opinions on the matter didn't mean nearly as much as you might wish they did. But out in public didn't seem like the right place to bring it up and you made a mental note to say something once you both were home and settled. For that moment, you just smiled wider and gently fixed his shirt cuff, which seemed to ease something in him you barely knew had tensed. "Think you might show me sometime?"
"They ain't much to look at, doll," he snorted with a shake of his head and picked up the trash, moving to deposit it in the nearly overflowing can nearby. You were only a couple steps behind him, pulling up alongside his left, when he looked over at you with his chin tilted up in that cocky, in no way at all charming, smirk of his. "But maybe. If you're nice ta me, that is."
"Nice to you?" Incredulous though you sounded, you still managed a surprised smile as the two of you started to meander down one of the main paths of the festival. "When am I ever not nice to you?"
"Always knew you were full of hot air," he replied in a tone meant to mock, though he was grinning back at you. "You're a fuckin smartass and you know it."
"Awww," was your crooning response, wrapping yourself around his left arm, pressing your cheek to his shoulder to pout at him playfully. "Am I too sassy for you, old man?"
Bucky barked out a quick burst of laughter, never lasting as long as you wanted them to, before giving you a fond expression that had your cheeks threatening to heat up. "Hell no, sweetheart. Always liked a gal who's quick 'n clever."
"Yeah," you questioned in a teasing tone with a nudge to his side, maneuvering to avoid a group ahead of you that had slowed down in the middle of the path. "Doesn't mean a quick 'n clever gal would like you back."
"Ouch," he hissed, clutching at his chest dramatically as if he were wounded despite the smile on his handsome face. It twisted a little then, wistful, eyes becoming slightly unfocused with memory. "Maybe a couple did. Once upon a time."
Immediately, you regretted your thoughtless comment. You never really meant to make him feel bad, and sometimes, when things were so relaxed between the two of you, when you could forget why Bucky came to stay with you or why Sam knew you'd be available, when it felt like you were just two people enjoying each other's company, you could lose your filter. Pressing in a little closer, with a reassuring squeeze of his hand and a pat to his chest, you tried to sound light and jovial. "Aw, don't worry, Buck. I've no doubt you'll be able to snag yourself another. Word of caution, though. We tend to raise 'em a lot snarkier than you might be prepared for."
"Oh, you'd be surprised, darlin," Bucky countered, nowhere near as upset as you thought. "Now, pull out that map and let's see where we're headed."
After perusing the list of booths and shows and attractions, you and Bucky decided to head in the direction of the rides situated near the back of the fairground. Though, on the way, there was a little petting zoo and pony ride area that had been set up for little kids that you insisted on stopping at despite Bucky's attempt at a put-upon sigh. The people running the booth were getting ready to close up since it had gotten dark, the riding long since ceased to allow the ponies a chance to rest before the trip back. But there were still a few animals left to see and a woman sat at a folding table with a lock box and small bags of various feeds and treats you could buy to give to the animals. There was a muscular dark brown quarter horse just outside of the makeshift booth, ears pricking up back and forth at the sound of children passing by, sticking its head inside in search of apple slices or sugar cubes it was accustomed to receiving. It sniffed at your empty hand when you approached and seemed none too pleased, but let you stroke its nose as its ears perked toward Bucky, who was keeping a respectable couple feet between them. Before you could question it, the horse pulled its nose from your hand and bowed its head toward Bucky a few times, pressing its snout toward him expectantly. Slowly, though he didn't seem afraid, Bucky raised his right hand toward the animal. The horse was undeterred by the carefulness of the movements and immediately shoved its nostrils to Bucky's palm, mouthing a bit at emptiness before snorting loud and a little wet right into Bucky's face.
"Thanks, pal," he said evenly, relaxing after having instinctively braced for the impact. You had to chew at the insides of your cheeks to keep from laughing as he wiped at his face with his left sleeve and gave the horse a few quick pats on its neck. But there wasn't any real ire in his voice when he added "Just had ta make me look bad, huh?'
Bored at this point and with no other people waiting around with food, the horse simply turned around and walked off a few paces to its water trough to drink. Bucky raised his eyebrows at you in a silent, mild chastisement, obviously placing blame for the incident solely on you and your desire to see the animals. You couldn't hold back your grin at that, grabbing his hand to tug him along toward the little pen where pygmy goats were standing around, bleating every so often.
"Goats," Bucky huffed under his breath as you both stepped into the little area.
"What've you got against goats," you asked him, unable to contain your chuckle while a few young ones came up to greet you.
"Nothin, just..." he tried to wave the question off, but that look over took his face. Remembering. And a grin cracked across his face, hands sliding into his pockets. "On our way back from a mission, got late, decided to bed down for the night. No one really sleeps much in the field... 'cept maybe Dernier, I think. Anyway, me, Stevie, and Jones got an early wake up call. Roaming herd a goats got past Dugan and were chewin on our tent and riflin through our supplies."
"Oh my god," you breathed out, mouth and eyes wide at the story he regaled you with. You were already crouched down, petting one of the kids. "That's wild!"
Bucky shrugged a bit and hiked up the fabric of his jeans an inch or two so he could hunker down beside you comfortably. "S'how I found out goat doesn't taste too bad."
Your hands shot out to cover the goat's ears and it gave a gentle bleat in protest. The stern look you turned on Bucky had his shoulders twitching minutely in a soundless chuckle. Just then, one of the smaller kids turned and butted its head against Bucky's knee. It didn't accomplish anything besides drawing his attention, but the goat tried one more time before turning and head butting the kid in front of you right in the side, knocking it over with another short bleat.
"Ah, tough shit for a little guy," Bucky smirked before patting his knee to lure the kid back over, resulting in another ineffective headbutt. "Should name you after Steve."
"It's a girl goat, Bucky," you informed with a snicker, helping the accosted kid up onto its legs.
"Sorry, ma'am," he said to the goat with a serious nod of his head, nearly making you double over with laughter. Bucky hooked a thumb in your direction. "Should name you after her then."
Unsure exactly how to take that jab, you reached out and shoved at his chest lightly with a cluck of your tongue. Bucky was strong and agile and well-balanced, so you knew the instant he started to fall onto his ass, it was because he let it happen. Still, you hadn't anticipated the quick and fluid way one of his feet shot out to kick your support leg out from under you, sending your own ass swiftly into the dirt and straw beside him. He was on his feet a split second later, satisfied look on his face, as he held his hand out to you. You tried to glare, you honestly did, but there was just something too funny about the situation, the playfulness in Bucky's eyes, that wouldn't let it stay there for long. When you took his hand, he swiftly pulled you upright and after dusting yourselves off, the two of you wound up chuckling together as you made your way back out to the rest of festival arm in arm.
The lines for the few rides weren't as terrible as you imagined they'd be. Chalk that up to it being the last night of the festival and a Sunday night. It wasn't long before you were on the Scrambler, Bucky on the outside of the carriage so he wouldn't crush you during the spinning. You couldn't help but watch his reaction, certain it had been quite some time since he'd had the chance to be on an amusement ride. Things started off fairly easy, a smooth spinning that had the corners of his lips turning up ever so slightly. Yet, the faster the ride went, the wider his grin got, until he was laughing every time you were forced against his side with a giggled yelp of surprise. He was so happy and having such a good time, you wished the experience never had to end for him. But all rides do end, eventually, this one with you leaning against Bucky a bit as you walked, somewhat disoriented. One off step as you exited the ride let you know he was slightly off-kilter too, but managing and still smiling.
"Let's hit the Ferris Wheel," Bucky suggested next and you noted the baseline of excitement in his voice and eyes as he tugged you along.
You didn't protest, though Ferris Wheels weren't exactly your favorite thing. Truth be told, outside of looking out of a window of a very tall building or maybe happening upon a nest of angry hornets, Ferris Wheels were probably one of your least favorite things. You and your sister always passed it up when you came to the festival. But the pounding in your heart and the flop of your stomach were a small price to pay to do something Bucky would enjoy. It wasn't like he asked for much. The fact that he asked for this was incentive enough to swallow down the measly bit of anxiety that crept up your throat. Besides, you told yourself, the Ferris Wheel wasn't really that tall, you could handle it. So, you waited in line next to Bucky, distracting yourself with the lines of his face, the sweep of his hair into its bun, the way his neck curved as he watched the cars circle, the light in his eyes when he smiled over at you. And you smiled back.
Soon, it was your turn to be ushered into a seat, the ride operator mechanically checking the safety bar after you sat down. Bucky's gaze was darting everywhere in wild curiosity as you began your slow ascent. Though, a few moments later, you heard him say your name with no small amount of concern. You weren't exactly sure when you managed to screw your eyes shut so tightly, but you had to crack an eyelid to see. Your car was only halfway up, knuckles of your hands gone white with the death grip you had on the front edge, and you quickly had to turn your attention to Bucky before your head started to spin.
"What's wrong," he asked, frowning with his brows furrowed in worry, obviously noticing your hands.
"It's nothing. I'm fine," you assured in a weak voice and forced your fingers to let go of the car to slide them into your lap.
Consternation took over Bucky's face then, looking at you in disbelief. "Nothin hell, darlin! You're shaking."
You were, the fine tremble of muscles wound too tightly for their own good. Taking in a deep breath, you let it out slow to try steadying yourself. And still you felt your heart thump heavy in your chest. "It's just... Ferris Wheels aren't my thing. Rollercoasters I'm fine with, high as you please, because they just move so fast I don't have time to think about it. Ferris Wheels are slow and all I do is have time to think about it."
"Then why the hell d'ya let me drag you on here for," he questioned in frustrated shock, though it sounded to you like he was just shy of shouting.
"Because you wanted to," you countered as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. And to you, it nearly was. "Bucky, I saw how excited you were. And we've been doing all the things I suggested, you deserve to do something that gets you excited. I will be a-okay, just gotta remember to breathe, is all."
"You're somethin else, you know that, sweetheart," Bucky sighed with a shake of his head after a moment. "You're crazy and ridiculous and absolutely somethin else. C'mere."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," you whined out involuntarily, fear taking over, snapping your eyes shut when he shifted beside you and caused the carriage to swing as it started to inch closer to the top after a pause.
"Shhh, shhh. It's alright," he soothed gently, left arm coming up to rest across the back of your shoulders, cool metal thumb swiping idly at the nape of your neck. "I gotcha, m'right here. Hey, look at me. Look at me."
The feel of his right hand warm against your jaw, urging your face towards his, surprised you. And with less effort than you expected, you managed to open your eyelids. Bucky's thumb and forefinger slid down to grip your chin, tilting it up until you were looking him in the eye. A gentle smirk pulled at his lips, reassuring, as he shook his head slowly. "M'not gonna let anything happen to you, sweetheart. Promise I ain't. Just keep breathin like you said, but I gotcha, alright?"
All you could do in that moment was nod. He gave a quick nod of his own in kind, smile somewhat pleased, and his hand moved from your face to slip his fingers between yours against both of your thighs. You felt your cheeks starting to burn, so let your attention fall to where you held hands. Metal fingers still curved delicately around the back of your neck. Remembering what he told you about the way his arm worked, you knew the few times his fingertips and thumb strayed across your scalp were purely for your benefit, soft mechanical whirring filling your ears. It did little to even your breathing or slow the thundering in your chest, but something about the gentleness of it and Bucky's calming voice did help you relax some.
"Sorry you gotta put up with my shit," you eventually groused, ashamed of yourself, when the carriage reached the apex. "This was supposed to be something fun for you."
"You don't hear me complainin, angel face," Bucky replied, laughing off your statement though you snorted at the moniker. Metal curled at your hairline a tad as his other hand squeezed yours and he continued in a proud, if not boisterous tone. "I gotta pocket fulla cash I won fair and square. I'm out havin fun on a gorgeous night in the company of a lovely young lady who doesn't much mind my rough edges. And I've probably got the best view in the whole damned state. I'm on toppa the world, sweetheart. Toppa the world. Only thing could make it better is knowin you're havin fun too."
"I am having fun. Cross my heart," you admitted while writing an invisible "x" over the left side of your chest.
"Even up here," he asked, eyeing you skeptically with a raised brow and a twisted little grin.
You cringed a bit as the Ferris Wheel started to move again, finally descending. With a shrug, you answered "Better with you than without you."
Bucky chuckled, those boyish dimples deepening at his cheeks. You had to suppress a tingle in your spine when metal fingertips ran gently across your scalp to give your hair an almost affectionate tug. "Hey, I'll take it."
"This really was a nice idea, Bucky," you told him seriously, taking his right hand in both of yours to smile at him. That softness eased across his face again as you added "I was a bit surprised you wanted to come out here after everything, but I'm glad you did. And I'm really glad you invited me along."
Between the way he was looking at you and the anxiety that tried to flare with every creek and groan of the ride, you knew if you didn't stop talking then, you'd probably start to babbling like an idiot. Certainly, neither of you wanted that. Instead, you wedged yourself against his side, under his arm, before leaning your head against his shoulder. Bucky stilled at that and you suddenly worried that you may have overstepped his comfort zone. You were about to pull away when his left hand hooked around your far arm to hold you fast, inviting you to settle back against him. The ride didn't last much longer after that. Or at the very least, it wasn't as unnerving as it had been at the start. Though Bucky did make sure you got out of the carriage as quickly as humanly possible once it stopped.
Food was next on the agenda. You weren't sure you'd ever heard Bucky's stomach growl so loud since the two of you started sharing meals regularly. And after checking out the map again, he eagerly picked a place out. You ordered a cheeseburger while Bucky treated himself to three hot dogs that he slathered in mustard, grumbling about the lack of sauerkraut available. The way he wolfed down the first one after you found a place to sit, you considered signing him up for the next available eating contest. It was difficult trying to eat when you were on the verge of laughing. At some point in his eating, Bucky looked up at you, smiling with one cheek puffed out and loaded down with a half-chewed mouthful, licking a stray bit of mustard and crumbs from his lips, to say "They're no dirty water dogs, but they ain't half bad."
You barely managed to finish your burger before he was done with his hot dogs, because you'd taken his speed as somewhat of a challenge when he'd smirked at you. But you still won and that meant a little victory dance as you grabbed up your trash to throw away. Bucky wasn't too far behind you with his own. Once finished, you started down one direction only to feel a finger hook in one of your belt loops to pull you the opposite way.
"Ah, ah! This way, sugar britches," Bucky grinned, tugging you a little. "Somethin I wanna do next over here."
"Sugar britches," you sputtered out in laughter. "Jeez, Bucky. That your way of saying you think I got a sweet ass?"
There was little preparing for the devilishly delighted face he gave you, head tilted back with an eyebrow raised and his lower lip tucked firmly between his teeth, almost like you were good enough to eat. Or the unexpected fluttering in your stomach when he grabbed your hand and, in a heated voice, simply said "C'mon."
"Where the hell are you dragging me to," you asked, trying to sound more prickly than you really felt. It wasn't quite dragging, considering Bucky had paced himself for you easily, but he definitely seemed determined to get wherever he was going with a quickness.
"It's tucked away back here," he explained as he slowed a bit, apparently approaching the destination. Rounding the side of a stall, you saw exactly what he was talking about. An old school photo booth, graphics and fonts on the outside severely dated, but otherwise seemingly in good condition. You thought you might've seen it there well-over a decade ago, though the paint looked to have been touched up fairly recently and the curtain clean and new, but were surprised someone even still bothered to bring it, considering modern technology. Yet, Bucky smiled at you, walking backwards as he pulled you toward the booth. "C'mon, wanna get a picture with you."
Rolling your eyes, a little too fond at his enthusiasm, you let yourself be led easily, though you couldn't resist a light-hearted tease. "Y'know, we can take pictures on phones nowadays."
"Yeah, I know. Ain't the same though," Bucky countered as he reached back to draw the curtain open. When you fixed him with a warm smile and started to move past him, he stopped you with a hand to your elbow. You looked up to find most of the bravado gone from his face, brow knit in thoughtfulness as he seemed to be searching for the right words to say. His tongue darted out over his lips and when he finally spoke, his tone was quiet, secretive, like whenever he shared what was going on inside his head with you. "Almost everyone's gone in all my photos. Same with yours. Figured we could both use some new ones."
"Aw, Bucky," you whispered, feeling the sting of tears threatening at the corners of your eyes. With a bit of a wet chuckle, you gave his chest a weak shove. "That is not the kinda thing you say to someone right before a picture. Now get in there."
He seemed to understand the gentle chastisement, a soft smile quirking his lips as he ducked into the booth. Taking a moment, you sniffled some and wiped at your eyes to compose yourself. Damn you and how emotional you got when Bucky was just being nice. One more sniff and gentle sigh and you followed him into the booth. It was bright and a little cramped inside, Bucky already settled on the little bench, reading the instructions as he waited patiently. You were just trying to figure out how to situate yourself so you could both be in the picture when suddenly his fingers gripped into your hips to pull you down toward him.
You let out a surprised gasp at being tipped off balance. An airy oof accompanied it a split second later when you landed on his left knee. Pivoting to face him better, you thwacked him in the chest with your elbow. Not enough to hurt, just in warning, though a half grin still crept across your face when you grumbled "Gonna manhandle you back one a these days."
The look Bucky gave you at that was entirely too amused and mischievous, corners of his eyes crinkling, but he said nothing as he reached into his pocket to pull out some money for the booth. You used that time to read the instructions yourself. They were simple enough. Insert money for 4 snaps, buzzer sounds to indicate when to pose, take your pictures on the way out.
"You know, you can do different poses in these, right," you snickered at Bucky, brushing the stray hairs out of his face as he leaned around you to get the booth started. "You don't have to sit perfectly still and wait like thirty minutes for it to develop."
Turning wide eyes on you, he scoffed loudly while settling back on the bench with a chuckle. "Crissakes, sweetheart, m'not that old."
"Just making sure," you shrugged and grinned in return. To face the camera, you straddled his leg, sliding further up his thigh until your back reached his chest so you could both fit into the frame. And you tried not to think about it, how aware you were of muscles bunching beneath you as he shifted to get comfortable or the feel of his fingers curled loosely at the juncture of your hips and thighs. You cleared your throat quietly before throwing him a smile. "Get ready. First one, just regular, okay?"
"Sure," he replied gently, nodding as he straightened himself to prop his chin over your shoulder.
The loud buzz sounded and a moment later was the faint noise of a shutter snapping closed. The next one, you and Bucky agreed on something silly. When the buzz went off again, the two of you were looking at each other; you held your chin thoughtfully as he reached for his hair bun. The third one, you made a shocked face, only partially exaggerated because you weren't expecting it when he abruptly grabbed your upper arms and pretended he was going to bite your neck like a vampire. By the time the final picture came around, you were both laughing and you just lounged back against his shoulder, right arm hooked up so you could give the back of his neck a fond little scratch.
Admittedly, after the last picture was taken, you may have kept leaning against Bucky a bit longer than necessary. It was warm and comfortable in that spot. And there was something very appealing about being tucked away from the busy crowds of the festival with just him to keep you company. Yet, as kind as he was not to just push you off his lap, you got to your feet before you had a chance to make him too uneasy. Grinning down at him, you noticed he looked like he wanted to say something, mouth slightly open with that contemplative expression. But then he just smiled as he stood up, shuffling you out of the booth and back into the night air.
The photos were already waiting for you and Bucky snatched them up before you had the chance. Cupping them in his hands, he held them up in the light so he could see them better. You watched his attention travel down the slip of photo paper, grin spreading until he got to the last one. Then, he blinked, eyes growing a little wide as his mouth fell into a lopsided smirk. His playful gaze darted toward you before he quickly ripped the bottom picture off and handed you the rest. "All yours."
"Hey, what about that one," you complained as you glanced over the ones he'd given to you. They were nice little pictures, even the plain smiling one at the top, but you were extremely curious about the one he was spiriting away.
"This one's mine," Bucky replied in the matter-of-fact tone, pulling out his wallet to slip the photo inside before shoving it back in his pocket.
Pursing your lips in an annoyed little pout, you asked "Don't I even get to see it?"
"Not a chance, sweetheart," he shook his head slightly, mischief in his smirk. "M'reservin it, case I need it for blackmail one day."
"What the hell could you possibly blackmail me for," you cried out, both astonished and amused at his reasoning, though you took a moment to carefully fold the photos at the breaks to fit into your pocket.
Bucky shrugged before entwining his metal fingers with yours and guiding you back to the main thoroughfare. "Dunno. I'll figure somethin out."
"You're a shit, you know that," you growled with a smile, nudging your elbow into his side.
"Hey now," he chided and wagged his finger at you. "Watch your fuckin mouth."
"Ah, fuck that noise," you waved him off while side stepping someone who had slowed in the path. This earned you a bark of low laughter from Bucky.
The two of you moseyed around a while, just to see what there was to see. A local band was playing and drew a small crowd. Not really your sort of music, but you paused long enough to let Bucky decide if he might like it or not. He wasn't hooked, so you moved on. Neither of you were very interested in the Hall of Mirrors or the Glass Maze. You shared a look of mutual understanding and kept walking. Eventually, you found your way around to a small row of carnival games. There weren't a lot of them, being a small festival and all, but there were still people watching and participating in chance and skill games. Big stuffed animal prizes hung in the booths to draw people in and small little consolation toys were tucked away behind the counters.
Bucky slowed to a stop in front of the Milk Bottles game, familiar, but calculating look on his face as he watched the person at the counter play a round. A pyramid of six milk bottles stood on a pedestal and it was your job to knock them all completely off said pedestal with only three softballs in order to win one of the grand prizes. The person at the counter did not accomplish this, instead only knocking four of the thick bottles to the table underneath. It still earned them a consolation prize though, a little souvenir cup, which they immediately handed off to the excited little kid beside them before both scampered off to enjoy the rest of their night. When the way was cleared, Bucky shot you a grin before leading you toward the game.
"Oh, gonna try your hand at it, huh," you asked, joking brightly when he pulled some money out to play.
As the attendant handed over the softballs, Bucky shook his head with a dour expression before cracking a knowing smile. "I'm gonna win ya somethin."
"Awful sure of yourself there, Buck," was your chuckled reply, the two of you retreating to the designated throw line.
"Yes I am," he preened a bit with his chin up. Handing two of the projectiles over to you to hold, he tossed the one in his hand a few times. It seemed like he was gauging the weight of it. "Could win ya somethin from all of em, if ya like."
"Let's just stick with the one. Wouldn't know what to do with all those stuffed animals," you played along. Then you added in a low voice, so only he could hear, "Cocky bastard."
"Ooh, honey, you don't know the half of it," Bucky cooed back just as low, suggestive, leaning in close. With a scoff both scandalized and entertained, you hip checked him and he let himself be moved half a step to the side. He pushed back gently, just enough to clear you out of the way. Having fun. And your heart fluttered at that and the wide grin on his face. "You just thinka what stuffed animal ya want, alright, sweetheart?"
Shaking your head with an exasperated sigh, you backed up a couple paces to give him plenty of room. Bucky turned a small grin on you and winked before winding up and letting the softball fly. Something, you weren't sure what, but something in the motion told you he hadn't used the full measure of his strength for the throw. Still, it hit square in the middle of the makeshift pyramid and all but one of the bottles toppled, though only three fell off the pedestal and onto the table below. With two chances left, Bucky didn't seem too concerned at the moment when you handed him another softball. He tossed again, getting a feel for it, before launching it. This one knocked the standing milk bottle completely off the pedestal, but only succeeded in pushing the other two a little closer to the edge.
Now, Bucky seemed a bit frustrated. Not angry, not verging on anything nearly like… you pushed that thought from your mind. But he was frustrated, you could see it in the slant of his brow and the working of his jaw, ignoring the coaxing of the booth attendant. He gave the remaining bottles a long look, as though he could scare them into submission. When he pulled his arm back to throw the last softball, you knew he was going to put some force behind it. On instinct, you stepped in close to him once the ball left his hand to watch it. A second later, it plowed through the two remaining bottles, knocking them to the table as intended. That was immediately followed by a loud thud and crack as the softball struck the back of the booth and splintered the wood there, leaving behind a decent dent.
"Shit," Bucky breathed out, eyes wide in absolute surprise. It was obvious he hadn't expected something quite like that to happen.
"Shiiit," the attendant echoed, with much more feeling, and his face was somewhere between astonished and fearful.
You practically exploded with laughter, the whole scene too hilarious. The looks on both their faces, the sound of them both. Especially Bucky. You just couldn't hold it back. It threatened to double you over. With no other thought than to stifle your wild peals of giggling, you gripped Bucky's arm and turned to bury your face in his shoulder, free hand curling into the front of his shirt for purchase. The fabric muffled your noise as you tried catching your breath against him. It finally started to subside, and nearly stopped abruptly, when you felt almost more than heard a deep, answering rumble vibrate through Bucky's chest and over your skin. Then his arms were snaking around you, right across the small of your back and his left hand pressed firm between your shoulder blades to keep you tucked in close. And as if you weren't having enough trouble before, the feel of his low, breathy chuckle warm near your ear made it damn near impossible to fill your lungs. Made you feel a little light headed.
Swallowing around a dry throat, you forced yourself to calm down, and not just from the laughter. It was only a hug, friendly, innocuous. You twisted your head to look up at his face and found Bucky grinning at you, thoroughly amused, with the barest hint of red at his cheeks. No doubt he was still a little embarrassed at the bit of damage he accidentally caused. When you pulled back to face him better, his grip loosened, but didn't let go. Instead, he anchored both hands at your lower back and used the tip of his tongue to drag his lower lip between his teeth, scrunching his nose and eyes at you.
"C'mon, beautiful," he snickered lightly. He began walking forward, forcing you to shuffle backwards a few steps, eliciting a surprised little squawk from you, until he finally let you go so you could turn around. "Gotta pick out the prize ya want."
"You won, it's your prize," you argued with him over your shoulder, his pace keeping him close and his left hand just barely pressed to the small of your back as he guided you toward the booth.
"Nuh-uh." Bucky shook his head vehemently, though the smirk never left. "You deserve a prize just for puttin up with me. Now, pick somethin."
"Whatever," you sighed with a roll of your eyes. After a quick glance at all the prizes offered, unfettered by the attendant who was still scratching his head over by the dent in the back wall, one of them finally caught your attention and you gave Bucky a triumphant, smug smile. "Fine. I'd like that huge polar bear."
From the suspicious look he leveled your way, you could tell he was onto you. The choice was meant to be funny, maybe a little irreverent, and you were prepared to change your mind if you had even the slightest inkling that the connection upset him. In truth, you weren't exactly sure what reaction to expect. What you got was that soft expression, almost edging on bashful as he looked away with a laughing snort. "As you wish."
Rapping his knuckles gently on the counter to draw the worker's attention, Bucky called out "'Scuse me. Uh… sorry 'bout the wall."
"No, no. That's alright. Got a hell of an arm on you" the man replied with a distracted smile, sounding far from alright. It took him a moment to actually look at both of you and his eyes stuck mostly to you. "Congrats though. You can choose one of the grand prizes."
Bucky gave a gruff, noncommittal hum before continuing casually. "The lady here'd like that polar bear, if you don't mind."
"Oh yeah, sure. Of course," the man babbled a little as he moved to pull the polar bear from the hangers. When he brought it over, you realized it was even larger than you'd originally thought, as big as your torso with floppy arms and legs and a black nose with glossy button eyes. "Here you go, ma'am. One polar bear."
"Thanks," you smiled, grabbing the stuffed animal and clutching it to your chest. You almost felt dwarfed by it. After a quick glance to Bucky, a somewhat fond expression on his face, you poked your chin out over the shoulder of the bear to comment to the attendant "I've recently developed an affinity for wintery things."
The man was clearly confused, but managed a polite smile and nod as you turned from the counter. And that was just as well, the remark hadn't really been meant for him anyway. A second later, you heard Bucky throw the attendant a half-assed thanks before he quickly caught up with you. There was a grin on his face as he fell in step beside you, looking a bit proud of himself. When his gaze turned down to you, you offered a mocking mirror of his earlier expression, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth and scrunching your face at him playfully. He chuckled under his breath before slipping his hand in yours.
It was starting to get late and little remained at the festival you and Bucky cared to check out. Between falling temperatures and the cumbersome ordeal of lugging a large stuffed animal around, the two of you decided it was as good a time as any to head home. Though, not before stopping to grab another couple orders of fried Oreos on the way out, per Bucky's insistence. There was a remote starter on the borrowed car that Bucky had figured out, which meant it was already toasty warm inside. After popping the bear in the back, you sighed in sheer delight when you were finally settled into the passenger seat.
The drive home was fairly quiet; that comfortable, content quiet that comes with the winding down of a good day. You put on some more music and fiddled with all the buttons to see what they did while Bucky half-begged you not to press any buttons that looked like bombs, missiles, or ejector seats. There didn't seem to be anything of the sort, though you doubted it would have surprised you much if it had, considering where the car came from. By the time he was pulling in the driveway, you already had your keys pulled out and in your hand to make a quick transition from warm car to warm house.
"Think you could maybe grab the bear so I can run inside fast, please" you asked, already undoing your seatbelt and flashing a cheesy, begging grin as he pulled up to the house.
"I guess," he replied with an exaggerated, put-upon sigh before smirking at you and grabbing one of the fried Oreos to pop into his mouth.
When he got out of the car to do as you'd requested, you reached for the paper baskets, intent on bringing them inside for him to finish. But when you looked down, you realized there was only one left. Technically, you'd eaten your half and this one was supposed to be Bucky's, but you remembered him eating your last one earlier in the evening and a devious smirk came to your face. Picking up the the powdered sugar covered morsel, you hopped out of the car and looked at him across the roof as he reached into the backseat for the bear.
"Well, look what we have here," you said in teasing tone, holding up the fried Oreo so he could see it. "Last one. Wonder who gets this."
Bucky eyed you for a moment, suspicious again, curious. With the bear in hand, he closed the door and ventured "That one's mine and you know it."
"Uh-huh," you nodded, shutting your own door and backing up a couple paces toward the porch. "But, the way I remember it, you ate my last one when we first got there. So, eating this one would make us even."
"That so?" Bucky's eyebrow raised and there was something almost predatory about the sly expression that grew on his face, something a little feral in his smile as he leaned his elbow on the roof of the car to point at you. "Sweetheart, you eat that and you will be in a world of trouble."
Originally, you'd only meant to make a light-hearted point, but the plans suddenly shifted with the way he looked at you. You slowly eased back a few more steps, his gray eyes seeming almost on fire with glee as he watched you, and said defiantly "Tough talk coming from a guy who's carrying a teddy bear."
His hand slammed down hard on the top of the car; the loud, resounding thud causing you to jump slightly with a surprised little squeak. There was no malice in the action or the hungry grin on his face, but before he could make a move to round the car, you were already turned on a heel, sprinting toward the house. A wild, excited laugh bubbled up from your chest as you crossed the path and hit the stairs, childishly taking them with the assistance of the sides of your fists, one clutching keys and the other trying to keep from crushing the coveted treat. Bucky could have easily overtaken you by this point, so when you reached the porch without being nabbed, hurriedly trying to unlock the door with your whole body shaking in amused anticipation, wrecking your fine motor skills as your fingers jingled the keys brightly, you looked over your shoulder to check. He hadn't been chasing you so much as stalking, deliberate, confident strides eating up the distance, but leaving him still in the yard with one hand gripping the polar bear by the scruff of the neck. When you made eye contact, he paused for just a heartbeat with a wolfish stare before darting forward. This renewed your struggle with the lock and your hysterical giggling.
Finally, you managed to get the door open and you burst inside. This startled the cat from the back of the couch to send her bolting down the hallway. The door was left wide open as you turned to face it, backing up a few steps with a grin to toss your keys on the table, skin buzzing and lungs trying to catch your breath despite your laughter and exertion. Through the screen, you could just see the outline of Bucky taking the steps two at a time in pursuit. An idea flashed through your mind, not well-thought out, but seemed funny in the moment, and as soon as Bucky was through the storm door, you started moving your jaw, pretending to chew as you tucked the food into your palm.
"Sorry, Buck," you muffled out around an imaginary mouthful, desperate to rein yourself in. "So good. Too bad that was the last one."
"I ain't buyin that for one second, doll." Bucky's voice was practically a growl, playful, but deep, as he kicked the front door closed behind him and tossed the bear over the back of the couch. You could see his muscles winding up as he prowled forward slowly. "Now, hand it over before I come over there and take it."
With a wide grin, you barely had time to turn in an attempt to flee before Bucky pounced. He moved lightning fast, left arm hooking around your waist to haul you back against him before you could get too far, making you cry out in giddy surprise. You could hear his deep, warm chuckle as you laughed and wiggled and twisted this way and that to keep the prize just out of his reach every time he grabbed for it. After a few moments, a low, mischievous growl rumbled through his chest as he repositioned his grip lower on you. You let out an undignified squeal when he hoisted you off the ground with his arm around your hips, feet dangling and kicking feebly off the ground with your ass resting high against his chest.
"Put me down, asshole" you shrieked, trying to break free to no avail. Even if you weren't laughing or your heart racing after the thrill of the chase, Bucky was too strong and he had a tight hold on you.
"C'mon, sugar," Bucky coaxed in a honeyed voice while still failing to reach your hand with the way you held it above you. "Gimme the cookie and I put ya back on solid ground."
"This cookie? You want this cookie," you asked with rebellious edge to your voice, momentarily abating the twinge of nervousness from being in the air. "Oh, I'll give ya this cookie."
You had every intention of smashing the thing in his too-handsome face, in that smugly curved mouth of his, just out of delightful spite. Obviously, he must have realized this because as soon as your arm lowered to his reach, he caught your wrist, firm and gentle, and guided your hand smoothly toward his lips. Opening his mouth wide, he clamped down around the Oreo and your fingers alike, not enough to hurt, but enough to feel the quick scrape of his teeth against your skin there as he pulled the morsel from you.
"Eeew," you huffed in exaggerated disgust as you pitched forward to wipe your fingers dry on his shirt.
"Quit squirmin or I might drop ya," Bucky warned through his quickly chewed mouthful, though he still seemed to have just as good a grip on you as before.
"Don't you-" But you were cut off by your own gasp when Bucky gave you an easy twisting bounce into the air. The fluid motion had you facing him when he caught you in both arms and you let out a nervous, exhilarated laugh when he smiled proudly and licked the remnants of powdered sugar from his lips before lowering you to your feet. Your legs were like jelly from all the excitement, so you fisted your hand in his shirt to steady yourself a moment. Bucky didn't seem to mind one bit, keeping his left arm anchored at your back when you gave the slightest indication of wobbliness. When you looked up to give him an appreciative smile, gray eyes were scouring your features and he took a wavering breath.
Then, Bucky's lips were on yours, warm and plush and inviting. Heart thundering in your chest, your eyes fluttered shut to savor the sweet sensation and you tilted your head, noses brushing close, to better mold your mouths together. There was a gentle whirring noise, muffled by fabric as Bucky pulled you flush to his body. And when his fingers slid into your hair, a soft sound escaped your aching lungs. You felt him shudder against you before the tip of his tongue darted out across your lower lip, teeth gently nipping and sucking at the tender skin there, like he was begging for more. A tendril of heat coiled low in your stomach and you pressed impossibly closer.
It was just about everything you imagined kissing Bucky would be like. Except... you weren't exactly sure when you had started anticipating it. When had your fairly altruistic desire to help someone in need suddenly become something much more selfish? Especially since you knew he wasn't meant to stay with you in the middle of nowhere. And by what strange turn of events had Bucky decided he wanted to kiss you? Perhaps it was just his good mood and the familiar setting of a fair, things that brought out the old charmer in him, coupled with your proximity. He just felt like kissing someone and you were there. If that was the case...
"Bucky," you panted gently, voice weaker than you intended, as your thoughts broke you from the kiss. Undeterred or misinterpreting, Bucky gave a deep hum of acknowledgment before his lips slid like silk down your chin and over your jawline. You began to crane your neck on instinct, but immediately shook your head to snap out of it. Flattening your palms on his chest, you gave a gentle push. "Bucky."
"What is it, sweetheart, hmm," he purred low and breathless, obviously detecting something off in your voice. He pulled back a little, kiss-swollen lips still close enough to share the same searing hot breaths, but you could see his eyes grown dark, pupils wide. "What is it?"
From the content slackness of his face, you could tell he had been lost in the act before you spoke. A part of you just wanted to delve right back into it, ignore the voice in your head that was reminding you of reality. But you couldn't, so you took a deep breath and pulled further away from him, saying as evenly as you could "We've gotta stop."
"What's wrong?" Bucky's voice was more solid now, his brow furrowed in concern. You felt his grip on you loosen even as his hand slid from your hair. "I do somethin wrong?"
"No, Bucky. No. It's just..." You broke away from his embrace, taking a couple steps back. If you stayed too close to him, you might have lost your resolve. "We... We can't do this. It's not right."
"What do you mean? I thought you wanted..." The confusion that flooded his face tore at your insides.
"That's the problem," you explained, jamming your fingers through your hair. And damn if a part of you didn't already miss his there, but you bit that back. "I did want, and I shouldn't have. I'm still your caretaker, Bucky. I'm still in charge of you, and it's wrong of me."
Bucky winced then, and you weren't sure you could have gotten the same pained reaction if you had slapped him. You watched his Adam's apple bob before he licked his lips, eyes not meeting yours. "I thought we were past that."
"You have been doing so well, Bucky," you sighed, feeling like you weren't making your point well enough. You were fucking things up, fucking them up like you always do, but at least this time it was you trying to do something right. "Honestly, I don't understand why you keep coming back. But as it stands, you are still under my care. That makes a power imbalance. Doing this is me taking advantage of you in a vulnerable state."
"You think I can't decide for myself how I feel about something or someone," he asked in a low tone as his glowering gaze found yours again.
"I think your judgment is clouded in this situation." You could see the tension dancing in his features and there was a heavy stone in your belly making you feel sick as you continued clinically. "I think you were having a fun time and got swept up in the familiarity, the nostalgia of the festival. Might've brought up some old traits and you kissed me because I was here to kiss. Because I've been the only other person you've had extensive contact with in several months, outside of a handful of times you've been around others. That's why you need to be out in the real world, Bucky. You need to interact with more people and settle into this new century..."
"Oh, that's real rich comin from you, sweetheart," Bucky spat bitterly. The venom in the familiar pet name stung you more than you ever thought it could. "Tellin me I need to be out in the real world."
Bile burned in the back of your throat as you asked hotly, defensive, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"How long have you been holing yourself up in this house, huh? Hell, I leave this place more than you and I'm the one who's supposed to have a problem," he growled in reply, tone indignant, fine muscles twitching as the animosity that must have been growing inside him crested and flowed out in waves. "You wanna talk about takin care of people, like that's all you're meant for, but the moment, the very moment someone comes along and decides they wanna take care of you too, you push them away."
"I don't need you to take care of me, Bucky," you shouted back, your own temper flaring, something in his words hitting a raw nerve. "I was doing just fine on my own before you showed up and I will do just fine on my own after you're gone."
Your outburst seemed to blow some of the ire out of him, until he was standing straight and rigid, though there was still a guarded look to his face and his voice was gravel. "Do you want me to leave?"
"You have to at some point," you answered, tone too flat in your ears as you tried to cover up the pain. It hurt to say it out loud, somehow made it even more real. "You belong out there in the world, Bucky. Saving it, protecting your friend. That is where you find whatever atonement you think you need. Not stuck here."
Bucky didn't seem to have a comeback for that at the moment. You watched his jaw work behind lips pulled thin, eyes hard and deliberately avoiding yours. The sight ate at you, too much like when he'd first stepped foot in your house. Unable to bear it and the idea that you'd caused it with your less-than-tactful approach at the truth, before you beat a hasty cowardly retreat to your bedroom, you said as gentle as you could "It's getting late. You should probably try to get some sleep. It's been a long day."
Somehow, you managed to sleep a little that night. Tossing and turning and listening for even the slightest of sounds from Bucky had made it seem impossible. But you distinctly remember being awake when the windows were dark, worrying and wanting to go talk to him, and the next moment you opened your eyes to find sunlight filtering into your room. Sleep brought with it some clarity on the matter, and while it didn't eliminate the heavy burdened feeling in your chest, it did manage to lighten the load and give you a more solid understanding of what was going on inside your head. Obviously, you didn't handle things well the night before, but hopefully with time and a chance to review, you and Bucky could sit down and have a reasonable conversation about things. Discuss possible shared feelings and how to approach them together. Of course, you felt it was all going to start with your admittedly awkward apology.
Throwing the covers back to get on your feet, you felt a twinge of nervousness at the prospect of the first encounter. But you were the one who'd caused the issue, you could certainly take your lumps in dealing with it. Besides, it would be worth it to set things right between the two of you. Stepping into the hall found Bucky's bedroom door standing open. It wasn't too uncommon an occurrence lately, usually the cat poking her way in if he didn't pull the door to. You decided to peek in anyway, rapping your knuckles on the door to sound your entry. He wasn't there, just the bed neatly made and the newest addition of furniture; your sister's table, now his, finished and standing polished in the corner by a window. Though it was somewhat odd to see his dress shirts folded neatly on the table.
It was late morning from what you could gather without stopping to read a clock. Late enough Bucky should have been back from his run by then. You went to the kitchen to find the coffeepot still cold and empty unlike most mornings and realized you were starting to get a similar feeling in your gut. There was no sign of Bucky in the backyard doing his physical training when you looked out the kitchen window. The pit in your stomach grew larger as you rushed through the living room for the front windows. Something was off. Something was wrong. Potato was staring outside, but soon dashed from the window sill at your wild approach.
The sleek black car was gone from the driveway and suddenly your mind went frantic with worry. It wasn't the first time you'd discovered a car missing. Your heart clenched hard as the image of Bucky from the night before, looking so wounded, flashed through your memory. That was followed by the photos on the officer's desk in the station when the chief had called you in. Blood and a shattered car window. You couldn't breathe, panic washing over you like a tidal wave. The only thoughts in your head were to go get dressed, grab your keys, try to find him. There hadn't been a call or a knock on your door. Not yet. Maybe there was still time. Find him before it might be too late. You managed to turn in your distraught stupor, intent on obeying the screaming voice in your brain. But halfway back through the living room, you noticed the stuffed polar bear sitting up on the arm chair with something pinned to the front of it.
You approached cautiously, as if it might come alive and bite you if you moved too quickly, though the added stress of the situation made every step feel like wading through molasses. Things were moving too slow when you needed them to move faster. It was a folded piece of paper attached to the bear's chest via safety pin, your name written on the outside in a unfamiliar, flowing script, though it didn't take a genius to figure that one out. Your hands trembled as you worked to undo the pin, nearly sticking yourself in the finger twice. Once you'd finally managed it, a part of you didn't want to open it, because you were positive what it was. Yet, you knew you needed to, if for no other reason than Bucky obviously wanted you to. Steeling yourself, you unfolded the paper and took a moment to decipher the handwriting.
"I know what you're thinking. Don't. I'm still alive and well... or as well as a fuck up like me can be. I doubt you'll ever believe me, but you didn't fail your sister. If anything, she failed you by giving up. And you sure as hell didn't fail me, doll.
I left to go stay with Steve and The Avengers. Called ahead so they'd know I was coming. I'm sure Sam will expect a call from you to verify whenever you get this note. Just as I'm sure I'll be receiving several friendly lectures in the near future.
I'd tell you to take care of yourself, but we both know you will.
Take care of yourself. Please, sweetheart.
Bucky"
As you read the note, you sobbed in a mixture of relief and sadness. It was short, but you still had to blink away tears a few times to get all the way through it. And you read it three more times just to let things sink in. There was no reason to doubt he was still alive, like he said. Still, you'd definitely be texting Sam as soon as you could bring yourself to get on your feet and go find the cell phone in your bedroom. For the time being, all you could do was clutch the polar bear to your chest as you curled into a ball on the couch and let yourself cry in the silence of your empty house.
