You and Bucky had been working on the cabins for a week, doing so in almost complete but comfortable silence. At the end of the week you had found Bucky had returned the pile of books you had left him, neatly stacked on the floor in front of your bedroom door. The previous night you had heard a laugh in the middle of the night, you heard it right when you were falling asleep and brushed it off as a dream. Now you wondered if it had been Bucky. The idea made you smile. When you were in the process of returning the books to your shelf, you found a note sticking out of one of the books.

Thanks for the books. I already read the Hobbit back in 1937. Do you have more?

Bucky

You stared at the surprisingly neat handwriting for a moment, allowing your fingers to trace the letters. You felt a smile creep on your lips as you perused your shelves for worthy successors. You settled on The Lord of the Rings, guessing Bucky would like to know how the story continued. Your fingers lingered for a moment on your favourite book of all time. The cover of the book was well-worn, the pages were sprawled with notes and tabs. You didn't quite feel comfortable yet to share that part of you. You settles for The Silence of the Girls and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

After three days Bucky had started making attempts at casual conversation during the lunchbreaks you guys took, sitting on top of the roof of the cabin with your legs dangling off the edge. You could tell he wasn't used to casual social interaction as being an enhanced mind-controlled super soldier probably didn't allow him much time to chat about the weather. His attempts were often awkward, rushed and were either overly polite or crude and too straight to the point. His latest question was as awkwardly formulated as the others and made you smile at the clumsiness of it all.

"So- why did you father name you after a legume?" Bucky uttered bluntly before biting into his sandwich. You laughed loudly at the sudden question and tried to tone down your reaction as you saw the confused look on Bucky's face, wondering if he had somehow offended you. Guilt crept into his eyes and you could tell an apology was forthcoming. You stopped him.

"It's a nickname," you chuckled, "—he's called me that ever since I was born." He seemed to contemplate that fact for a moment, the frown on his face softening as he took another bite of his sandwich.

"My turn," you started, deciding his current display of openness should be exploited.

"Turn? Are we playing a game?" he scoffed. He reminded you of your grumpy grandfather when he had first tried using a smartphone.

"Yes. And it's my turn," you grinned as you pursed your lips together, thinking about which question to ask. You saw Bucky looking at you, the smallest of smirks on his lips as he studied your troubled face. His inquisitive eyes were not as guarded as they had been when you met him for the first time, and right now they were making you feel like he was figuring you out. Like you were a puzzle he wanted to solve. You felt your cheeks flush and quickly looked away, rolling your lips together nervously.

"Alright. Why did you join the army when you were younger?" you asked. You had thought about it for a while now, thinking about your brother who was half a world away, repairing M1 Abrams tanks in a deadly warzone. To you, he was still the geeky twenty-five year old who would call in sick for school and sneak off to sci-fi-conventions in the city. You wondered what prompted young men and women to want to do submit themselves to something like that.

"Well— Back then I was desperate to prove myself. Also I was way too cocky," he started. You chuckled softly at his comment, you had somewhat expected the star-spangled-fight-for-your-country reply. "It wasn't until I was in way too deep that I realized what it truly meant to be a soldier. When I started, it had been all fun and games. My head was in the clouds and my mind on the ladies until I was finally deployed. That changed everything."

You wondered if Carter felt that way right now and wondered whether he missed the faded Star Wars sheets Bucky now slept under. It must be so lonely. It was difficult to imagine Bucky as the young over-eager young man he claimed to have been.

"I didn't realize what I was doing until your grandfather pulled my head out of my arse and told me to make something of myself," he huffed. You laughed, that did sound like something your grandfather would say. "You know he once caught me and the boys betting our cigarettes on who could spit the furthest? It was disgusting really. But there he showed up out of the blue, in his lieutenant suit and all, and spits all the way across the room," Bucky laughed. "He took all of our cigarettes that night even though he didn't smoke."

You laughed, imagining your grandfather carrying the stash of cigarettes with that classic smug smile he had so often worn. The fact that a man you had never met was able to relay stories to you which seemed so familiar, brought a sad smile to your lips. Your grandfather hadn't felt so real in years. The silence that followed seemed heavy as the memories of him lingered between you and Bucky, like a heavy curtain of time, differences and insecurities which kept you from understanding him.

"My turn," Bucky started, lifting the heavy feeling from your chest, "What's your favourite colour?"

You frowned at the seemingly meaningless question. But Bucky's seemed genuinely curious and the question didn't seemed to be phrased out of a lack of inspiration. Frankly, you were happy he was talking at all.

"Golden, or maybe black," you concluded.

"Is that even a colour?" Bucky huffed as his lips curled up in a way you had only seen on the picture in your father's office. He felt intrigued by the unconventionality of you. To him, you were like an entirely new being- the polar opposite of the girls he had known before he had become the Winter Soldier. He felt this deep uncontrollable need to figure you out, because I he was able to do so- maybe he could figure himself out too.

"Yep. Gold isn't a colour, but golden is," you smiled triumphantly. You liked the small smile on his lips and tried to think a of a question that would keep it there. But before you could do so, you found yourself interrupted by the honking of your dad's jeep.

"Let's go bean!"

You had completely forgotten you had promised your father to accompany him to town. He had vegetables to deliver and you had some shopping to do. You felt sad having to end your conversation with Bucky, but knew you couldn't bail on your father. So, you leaned forward, flung yourself off the roof and landed nimbly on your feet.

"Do you need anything from town?" you asked, looking up at Bucky whose eyes were focussed on yours, the remnant of a smile playing on his lips. The was he hunkered over to be able to look down at you made his shoulders look all the more wide and caused his dog tags to drop out of the confines of his shirt.

"Maybe some razors? I could use a clean shaven face I think," he chuckled as he scratched his slowly developing beard with his fingers.

Oh boy did you disagree. You thought the scruffy stubbles on his jawline brought out his eyes and aided greatly in making him look like the mysterious grumpy man he pretended to be most hours of the day. It made it all the more rewarding when he did smile.

"No can do. I like your beard," you countered, feeling emboldened by the ease of your recent conversation with him. Bucky cocked up an eyebrow and stared back at you causing you to immediately regret your overconfidence.

"Alright doll. No razors," Bucky said in a cocky low voice that made a flush creep up on your cheeks. You returned him a quick nervous smile as you quickly turned around and wondered if you had accidentally put crack cocaine into your tea this morning instead of sugar. You quickly stalked towards your father who was impatiently waiting for you in the front seat of the jeep. You hoped your father wouldn't notice the flustered look on your face. Before you could get in, you heard Bucky calling after you.

"But bring me some plums!"

When you and your father returned from town later that day, you found Bucky had completed the last cabin roof and had spent all afternoon cleaning up the collateral damage you had left from stripping the final logs the day before. You felt immensely proud as you saw all of your plans slowly starting to come into fruition.

That night, your father insisted he open one of the prized whiskey bottles to celebrate the occasion. Even Bucky gave in to your mother's pleas to join the family out on the porch, instead of hiding out in his room for the entire night. As if the finishing of the cabins had been a starting shot for fall to come rushing in, you found heavy rain beating down on the porch roof. You had always enjoyed the sound and smiled as you observed Bucky sitting in silence, staring into nothingness with the sulky expression that had returned to his face. He had remained just as quiet around your family since the day he had entered your house, the only change being the occasional polite smile to your mother as she set food on the table or a firm handshake with your father. Neither of you seemed to feel like telling anyone about your conversations.

Your sister was seated between your mother's legs, wearing a suspicious amount of make-up which likely meant she was planning on sneaking out of the house that night after your mother would finish braiding her hair. You father poured the whiskey. You accepted the glass from his hand, remembering the first time your father snuck you a glass on your sixteenth birthday. Neither of you had told your mother.

"Down the hatch," you and your father chanted in unison before shooting the entire glass of whiskey and allowing the oaky liquid to burn pleasantly in your throat. You found Bucky gaping at you in confusion, wondering how a girl just chucked a glass of hard liquor like a well-seasoned alcoholic. You didn't realize till that moment you and your family must look like a real set of hillbillies to a man like him.

"Down the hatch," Bucky repeated, a small smirk playing on his lips as he shook his head in disbelief and chucked his glass of whiskey. Your parents and Harper looked up immediately at the words that had just rolled from his lips, surprised by the fact he spoke at all.

"Wow- slow down cowboy," your sister joked, earning herself a tug on her braid as your mother was in the process of tying it up. You laughed and smiled at Bucky, who had quickly restored his face to his usual sulky stare. You didn't notice how when your eyes left his to look at your father who was pouring another whiskey, Bucky's didn't leave yours for a long time.

It took two more whiskeys and the cold night's air settling in before your sister announced she was going to bed. Your parents took this as their cue to hit the hay and started gathering their stuff before heading inside. You remained seated, causing your mother to look up- you never stayed out after the rest headed inside. You had noticed Bucky hadn't moved an inch and didn't want to leave the sight of him and the way the rain sounded on the porch roof. Your mother watched you for a short moment and let it go.

"Don't stay up too late, we'll start on floors for the cabins first thing in the morning," your mother said as she kissed you on your forehead and headed inside.

"Sarge-" your father acknowledged, followed by a "night little bean," for you as he tousled your hair before heading inside and closing the door behind him. Once again, you flustered at the use of the nickname in front of Bucky. He seemed to notice as he was watching you with a small smirk hidden in the corner of his mouth.

"Shut it Barnes," you murmured and with a chuckle he obeyed.

Suddenly you found the silence to be incredibly loud, only hearing raindrops falling on the roof in a steady rhythm that calmed you to the core. Bucky still sat on his stool, his boots leaning on the fencing that surrounded the porch. You didn't know for how long you sat there with Bucky, listening to the rain fall and stealing quick glances at one another.

The silence was broken by the sound of a window opening. You smirked somewhat as you heard the soles of Harper's shoes squeaking on the metal rain pipe as she slid down. The confused look on Bucky's face only enhanced the smirk on your face. Harper appeared from around the corner, wearing significantly less clothes then half an hour ago, clumsily carrying a backpack you knew was filled with items your parents still believed to be in their liquor cabinet.

Your eyes met Harper's and you silently smirked at her before you pointed at your phone, asking the silent question whether her phone was charged. She had called you on occasions to pick her up if she found herself too tipsy to walk home. Your younger sister gave a thumbs up before disappearing through the hedge to head for town. Bucky looked back at you.

"You just- let her go?" he asked, his face dumbstruck.

"Well- She's still going to do dumb shit when I try to stop her, so why bother? This way- at least she'll call me if she fucks up," you said as you shrugged your shoulders. Bucky pondered that for a moment and eventually seemed to agree with your assessment.

"Does your father know he raised two rebels?" he asked a lopsided smile on his face.

"Well- she did come in first place at the Chokecherry Festival spitting contest last year as the only female contestant," you chuckle.

"What in the hillbilly hell-" Bucky started before you burst out laughing.

"Choke cherries, they grow all around the mountainside here," you explained, feeling certain Bucky must have spotted some during his long hours of hauling logs out of the forest.

"Right. And you have a competition in- spitting the cherries as far as possible?" he guessed. The confusion on his face cast a dark shade over his eyes. You kind of liked it.

"Well yeah. But she only won because my father and I already won in previous years. It's sort of an initiation ceremony to become a true member of our clan," you smirked.

Bucky laughed. Truly laughed. The white of his teeth was exposed and his eyes seemed to light up. You felt your lips curl up too, infected by his laughter. You wondered how long ago it had been when he had laughed like that.

"You have an amazing family," he whispered softly, the smile on his lips falling right after he said it. You swallowed, knowing it had been a very long time since he had seen his. You wondered how lonely life would be if everyone you have ever known and loved were dead.

"I'm luckier than most," you said softly, "I guess living in a small town dump like this also really helps staying connected with people you know." You felt there wasn't really a right way to respond to his comment, so silence once again reigned as you played around with the empty whiskey glass in your hands.

"Have you always wanted to stay here? Take over the ranch I mean?" he suddenly asked. You stared at him for a moment, pondering the question. Realizing this was most likely the first time Bucky had spent so much time in a small town like this. It must feel so tiny and insignificant to him. But you kind of liked that your world was so small. It made life easier to control, to enjoy the smell of woods and the quiet all around you.

"For as long as I can remember yeah. I like the wildness of nature here. It's rough and calming at the same time, it all makes sense here. Also I love how hands-on the job is, I like fixing things," you smiled, looking at the broken man before you. Wondering if he knew.

"Though my grandfather wanted me to become a dancer. We used to dance to his old records, right here," you smiled to yourself, thinking of the loopy smile he would wear and which you had committed to memory. "It was one of thew few things he would have memories of. Sometimes he forgot my name, where he was or that the war was over. But the dancing- he would never forget. He died five years ago, I was twenty-two," you said with a watery smile. You had buried some of these memories in a safe space, but being so close to someone so dear to your grandfather, somehow brought the memories back. Realizing how awkward your little talk must feel to Bucky who had lost so many more people in his life, you quickly concluded with an unconvincing smile, "-but no one dances like that anymore."

"I'm sorry," Bucky offered softly. You tried to smile in thanks. "And just so you know, I still dance like that," Bucky breathed with a small smile. This time your laugh did reach your eyes as you thought about the awkwardness of Bucky in a club, dancing like he was still in the 50s. Bucky was wearing a charming smirk that was disarming and new. You had no doubt he had worn that smile to many an occasion in his past. Bucky was staring back at you, the blue of his eyes obscured by the low porch lighting and by some of the dark whisps of hair that hung playfully around his face.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky was actively wondering how a girl could be so graceful and ladylike, while also being able to name all of the standard items in a toolbox, ride a tractor and shoot whiskey straight. He certainly hadn't known girls like that back in the day. And as he watched you and was attempting to find a name for the colour of your eyes, he suddenly realized that his persisting need to figure you out wasn't based on him wanting to figure himself out- but was because of the way you had smiled at him the first day he met you. Bucky simply couldn't understand how you could smile at someone like that, someone like him who had done unspeakable things that would have most people look away repulsively.

"You uh- you've never asked me about the bombing," he croaked, his voice coated in shame.

Your eyes shot up to look at Bucky's slightly troubled face. His fingers grasped the empty glass in his hand so tightly, you were afraid it might break.

"Why would I? You didn't do it," you said, determination oozing from your voice. He simply stared at you for a long while, as if he was trying to detect a lie hidden somewhere in your voice.

"No, I didn't," he concluded simply. You smiled softly. "But there are things I have done, things that would shake you to your core if you knew," he whispered as he averted his eyes away from you.. You didn't want to know, didn't want to think about the things he was talking about.

"That wasn't really you. You didn't have a choice," you retorted, your eyes staring at his tortured face.

"I might not have carried out the sentence, but I was still the one who pulled the trigger," he said bitterly, his jaw clenched in anger. "I will always be a danger to society, a weapon to be used."

"Not to me you're not," you whispered. "Not unless staring someone to death counts as a weapon," you added, wanting to lift his spirits. You managed to extract a small chuckle from the serious man sitting across from you. Bucky didn't doubt your sincerity as you spoke, but couldn't admit to himself that you might be right.

"To me you're just Bucky," you added with a comforting smile. He finally dared to look back into your eyes, once again feeling the incessant need to know you more.

"So- bean," he started in a voice almost like a whisper as he looked at you, "-what's your real name?" It felt like a weirdly intimate question as barely anyone called you by your actual name. But you instantly felt you wanted him to know it. To hear how your name would sound on his lips. So you whispered your name back to him.

He repeated your name slowly, like he was tasting something new and was trying to figure out whether he liked the taste. You liked the way your name sounded coming from his lips and instantly wished you could hear it again. Bucky's lips formed into a small smile which let you know he had enjoyed the taste of your name on his lips.

And as Bucky wished you a good night and retreated back inside the house, he brushed the foolish smile off his face- wondering if he had doomed himself to wanting and longing for something which he didn't deserve. Because after all the things he had done, how could he be worthy of someone like you?