hello and welcome to another fic that, two months ago, i would never have seen myself writing! and then sarahmay grabbed me by the hair and wouldn't let go until this story was born (#noregrets). but as you can tell, this fic is not solely about sarahmay (though it's honestly 55:45 in their favor) - how could i not write some sambucky, too? one thing i explore in this story is my demiromantic!sam headcanon, and i try to do so in the sense that "how do you put words to a feeling, to a natural state of being, that most people will never have the specific term for?" it was an interesting challenge for me, and while i may not have hit every mark, i found it to be a cathartic exploration nonetheless.

but y'all are not here to read my a/n, lmao. so: i hope you enjoy this first chapter! i will be updating every friday, with one exception that i'll let y'all know about when we reach that point. ALSO. shoutout to ambivalentmarvel/ambivalentangst for putting up with my griping as i wrote this fic, lmao, and for being the most wonderful person in general xoxo

thank you for giving this fic a shot, and i hope by the end of it i will have successfully convinced all of you to board the sarahmay ship with me! :D

xXx

Everything that could have gone wrong, had gone wrong.

Sarah was supposed to be on a flight back to Louisiana. Her trip to New York for Sam's Captain America-related event should have lasted three days—arrive Friday evening, gala Saturday night, be back home by Sunday afternoon. But since the universe loathed Sarah with a not-so-hidden passion, an influx of unexpected storms had delayed her flight until Sunday afternoon, and that meant the earliest she'd get home was late Sunday night. Or worse, Monday morning.

Thankfully, Mrs. Mayeux had been available to stay another day with the boys, and the hotel had graciously extended Sarah's visit without extra charge. Sarah had a feeling her brother had interfered to make it so, but—well, she couldn't complain this time around. It wasn't always so bad being the sister to Captain America.

That said, it was still more often both aggravating and nerve-wracking to be related to Mr. Stars and Stripes, because those small victories Sam managed to achieve on her behalf had immediately been tempered by an alien or supervillain or whatever attack on the city. After all, New York had some invisible homing device that attracted every sort of malicious weirdo to pay it a visit!

And now Sam was in the hospital as a result of said attack. Fan-freaking-tastic.

"It's really not that bad," Bucky tried to reassure her. His voice crackled with static through the phone, and somehow he managed to sound both certain and uncertain at the same time. Sarah did not understand how her brother maintained his sanity, having to listen to this man almost every day. "The doctor says he can be released tomorrow. You don't need to come all this way—"

Sarah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Men. "I'm already almost there, Bucky. Against my will, I'm still stuck in town, so yeah, I'm gonna make sure my darling brother is okay."

Bucky chuckled. "Sam said you'd say that."

"Oh he did, did he?" Sarah glanced out the right window of the taxi, noting the driver was coming up to the hospital entrance. "Well, tell him any further commentary he feels the need to share about just how predictable I am can be said to my face. I'm pulling up now."

"Will do, ma'am."

Sarah sighed again, thanking Bucky for keeping her posted. She hung up and slid her phone into the pocket of her blazer before paying the driver, shaking her head as she stepped out into the hospital's parking lot.

Lord, her brother was such an idiot.

Not for getting hurt. Sarah had more or less come to terms with the fact that increased injuries were inevitable now that Sam was Captain America, even more so than when he'd been Falcon. Which, to be fair, was a truth she didn't like dwelling on.

No, Sam was an idiot for letting Bucky be the one to call and try to reassure her, because Bucky Barnes had to be the only person in the whole damn world who was more of a mother hen to Sam than her.

On the one hand, Sarah did not doubt for a second that Sam would indeed be released from the hospital in safe condition tomorrow. The doctors knew what they were talking about, and not to mention Sarah had kept a close eye on news coverage of the attack. No major casualties—a good, no, a great sign.

But hearing the update on Sam's condition from Bucky, who made worrying about Sam all but a goddamn profession?

Oh yeah. That was a tremendous confidence-booster.

Sarah massaged her temples as she approached the front desk. God, she knew she looked embarrassingly out of place in the yellow pantsuit she hadn't had time to change out of. The conclusion of the gala had lined up a little too perfectly with the beginning of the attack, in Sarah's opinion, but looking into that coincidence was not and would never be her responsibility.

Several pairs of eyes followed Sarah up to the desk. Expected, yes, but still. Did New Yorkers ever stop staring?

"Hi," Sarah said to the receptionist, who looked almost as weary as she sounded. "Can you direct me to the room Sam Wilson is in?"

The receptionist gave her a small smile. "You must be his sister."

"Yes ma'am. Sarah Wilson."

"Got it. Mr. Barnes said you'd be coming." The receptionist chuckled. "He also said the family resemblance would be clear."

Sarah cracked a smile at that, too. "So people tell us."

The receptionist typed something on her computer, scrolling down a few clicks before nodding. "Okay. Mr. Wilson is in room—"

She was interrupted by a petite woman in sapphire blue scrubs rushing up to the desk, brown hair pulled up into a messy bun and anxious creases decorating her forehead. "I received a call from this hospital about Peter Parker," she exclaimed frantically, shoving stray hairs out her face, "and they told me he'd been injured in the attack tonight and was taken here afterwards but I haven't heard anything new since then and I need to know if he's okay or if I should be—"

"Miss, take a deep breath," the receptionist said, standing up to address the woman. Sarah had a feeling she was all too familiar with calming panicked individuals. "I want to help you, but I can't do that unless we're on the same page. What did you say the patient's name was again?"

The nurse—or so Sarah had concluded based on the scrubs—did as instructed, slowly inhaling and exhaling. Stiffness eased from her shoulders, though her posture still remained largely tense. "Sorry, sorry. His name is Peter Parker. I'm his aunt and—and his legal guardian, May Parker."

The receptionist nodded, sitting back down. "Thank you. I'll search for him in the system."

Sarah had initially taken a wary step back from the distressed woman, but her discomfort had eased now that the anxiety in the room was lessening from boiling over to a mere simmer. The nurse looked about Sarah's age, possibly a little older, but was at least half a foot shorter than her.

"I'm sure your nephew is okay," Sarah said after a pause, the attempt at comfort slipping from her lips before she realized what she was doing. "I kept an eye on the news—no significant casualties. Captain America and his partner got there in time to evacuate the crowds."

The woman—May, she'd said to the receptionist?—blinked in confusion before she understood Sarah was addressing her. "Oh. Oh!" She gave Sarah a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, that's a relief to hear." She paused, biting her bottom lip before asking, "Um—did you happen to see anything about Spider-Man on the news? With the attack?"

Sarah frowned. Sam had mentioned Spider-Man to her a few times before, mostly to complain about how the kid talked too much in the field, but also to praise his natural talent as a hero, too. Spider-Man was… the late Tony Stark's pseudo-protégé, if memory served? "I don't remember hearing his name," she said apologetically. "I'm sorry."

The woman shook her head. "No, it's fine!" She pursed her lips, and Sarah half-expected her to say more, but the conversation halted there.

"Huh." The receptionist tapped the spacebar twice on her keyboard. "Would you look at that?" She glanced up, her gaze flickering from Sarah to the nurse—May, Sarah chastised herself, the woman had a name. "Mr. Parker and Mr. Wilson are in the same room. 304. One of our private wings."

Sarah blinked. "Really?"

May did not appear surprised, for some reason, though concern still permeated her—admittedly very pretty, Sarah was starting to notice—features. "Are they okay? Can we go up and see them?"

Sarah's stomach did a strange flip at the woman's use of 'we.' Strange, but… nice. Had she somehow stumbled upon a genuinely kind New Yorker before the end of her trip? Who would've thought?

The receptionist nodded. "Yes, you can. Mr. Parker sustained only superficial injuries and was brought in with Mr. Wilson as a precaution. He can leave whenever you wish to sign him out, Ms. Parker—the bill is already taken care of. As for Mr. Wilson himself…" She scrolled down further on her computer before returning her attention to Sarah. "Mild injuries. Nothing worse than a few bruised bones, but they're going to want to keep him overnight to be safe. Again, though, both patients are conscious and capable of receiving visitors."

Sarah's shoulders sagged with relief. Maybe she'd needed more reassurance of her brother's well-being than she'd been willing to admit to herself. Seriously, though—Bucky was a plain unconvincing speaker when it came to Sam, even when he was telling the truth.

May had a similar reaction to Sarah's, remnants of acute tension at last dissipating from her upper body as a hand drifted to rest over her heart. "Oh, thank God."

The receptionist pointed at a hall to their left. "There's a stairwell before the inside corridor. Third floor is where you'll find them."

Sarah nodded her thanks. As she headed in the gestured direction, she found herself nearly falling into step with May, who was a few paces ahead of her. Sarah couldn't say she knew why. Maybe it was the exhaustion gnawing deep in her bones that this nurse seemed to understand in an intimate way, more than anyone Sarah had ever met before. Maybe it was the charm this woman possessed despite the panic with which she'd entered the hospital. Maybe… there was no reason at all.

And maybe that was reason enough.

"I'm so sorry I interrupted you at the desk like that," May said, holding the door to the stairwell open for Sarah. "I just—I was just so caught up in my imagination about what awful things might have happened to Peter that I didn't even think about—"

Sarah smiled at her. "You don't need to apologize. If I hadn't been given a heads-up from Bucky before I arrived that Sam was doing okay"—no matter how unconvincing said heads-up had been—"I know I would have acted exactly the same."

May returned her smile with one almost… bashful. "Still. I can't imagine I made a terrific first impression."

Sarah chuckled. "I've made worse." She paused at the second floor, offering May her left hand to shake. "My name's Sarah. The fool I'm here to check on is my brother, Sam."

May accepted Sarah's hand, and Sarah made a mental note—for no reason whatsoever—that there wasn't a diamond on May's ring finger. "I'm May, but you probably caught that at the front desk already." She released Sarah's hand, and they continued up the stairs to the third floor. The silence between them didn't last long, however, as May soon asked, "So… Can I assume you mean Sam Wilson is your brother? As in Captain America?"

"Oh yes, that would be him." Sarah gestured down to her formal attire, which she still felt made her stick out like a sore thumb. May's scrubs, on the other hand, allowed her to all but blend in. "As you can see, I came straight here from his fancy event. Can't catch a break with superheroes in the family."

May chuckled. "Tell me about it."

Sarah expected her to elaborate, but chose not to press when May remained silent. Her mother had raised her with manners, for one, and not to mention she and May had only just met. But more than that… Sarah understood far too well the need for secret identities. She oftentimes wondered if it was for better or for worse that Sam's position as Captain America was public knowledge.

"You look beautiful," May offered as further conversation, giving Sarah another shy smile as they at last reached the third floor. "I mean, I know that's not exactly consolation for the hell of a night I'm sure you've had so far, but—"

Sarah couldn't help but laugh at May's flustered rambling. It was sweet, really. "Thank you. That's very kind. And"—she winked at May, surprised at how natural the action came to her—"don't worry, your flattery did make my night better."

May's face was dusted with a pretty shade of pink, but her smile only widened at Sarah's reply. "Mission accomplished, then."

Sarah smiled, too, and she found herself silently wondering—hoping, even—if perhaps the series of unfortunate events that had landed her in a New York hospital while the clock neared midnight was… well, a blessing in a very, very strange disguise. Because truth be told, meeting May Parker certainly seemed to be making all this superhero bullshit worth it.

xXx

"Buck, could you stop with the staring?" Sam grumbled, shifting so he was properly braced against the raised back of his hospital bed. He despised the half-sitting up, half-lying down position the doctors had left him in. "I've barely got a scratch on me, and you glaring at the few bandages I do have isn't going to make what's beneath them heal any faster."

The scowl already creasing Bucky's face deepened, and Sam bit back a sigh. Ridiculous, melodramatic, unnecessary—and so very Bucky.

"I find his staring hilarious, personally," Peter piped up from the other bed—he was allowed to sit up like a normal person, Sam noted with envy—giving both men a wide grin. "Mr. Barnes, you shouldn't stop on Mr. Wilson's account."

"Shut up, Parker," Sam groused, no real venom in his tone. "What happened to your generosity and gratitude because we saved your ass?" He paused. "Also, how many times do I have to tell you that you can call me Sam?"

Peter rolled his eyes, an action that didn't match the delighted grin still stretched across his lips. "You know you only 'saved' me for appearances' sake. If I'd had my suit, I could have easily—"

"I don't dwell on 'ifs,'" Sam interrupted with a chuckle. Man, this kid. "Besides, you should be more respectful to your elders when they help you." He jerked his head towards Bucky as he spoke, but much to his disappointment, Bucky didn't take the bait. Instead, his friend crossed his arms over his chest.

"You might not dwell on 'ifs,'" Bucky snapped, his death stare intensifying to a flat-out icy look, "but one of us has to."

Sam blinked. "What?"

"You should have waited for backup, Sam! I was two minutes away from the scene. If you hadn't jumped in right away, you wouldn't have gotten hurt at all—"

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Buck, we've been over this already." In front of Peter, for that matter. The kid really didn't need to see them argue twice over the same subject in one night. "I had no choice but to start evacuating the crowd immediately, or else we wouldn't have been able to prevent any casualties. I think me walking away with a couple bruises while almost no one else got hurt vastly outweighs—"

Bucky stood with such force that the plastic hospital chair he'd been sitting in scraped the tile floor with an unholy screech. The sound was aggressive enough to make Peter wince, even from the other side of the room. The fiery action didn't match the cold expression on Bucky's face, however. "You don't need to carelessly put yourself in danger."

"It was not careless and you know it."

"Sam, can you for once think about—"

"Are we interrupting something, gentlemen?"

Both Sam and Bucky jumped at the new voice, and Sam noticed out of his peripheral vision how Peter's shoulders visibly slumped in relief at their spat being cut off. Dammit. He'd have to apologize to the kid later. For the both of them, since odds were that Bucky wouldn't think to do it. Stubborn asshole.

"Hi, Sarah," Bucky muttered, shoving his fists into his pockets as his body seemed to cave in on itself several inches. "Are you here to take your turn lecturing your fucking idiot of a brother?"

"Watch the language," Sam warned, shooting Bucky a look. The quality of their influence on Peter had already reached an all time low in the past ten minutes alone—no need to drop the level further.

Peter chuckled. "It's fine, Mr. Wilson. Tony never managed to hold his tongue around me, either, though not for a lack of tr—oomph!"

A woman in deep blue scrubs had run up to crush Peter in a hug, effectively cutting off any further commentary he'd been in the midst of offering.

Right—Sarah had said 'we' when she'd entered the room, hadn't she?

"I'm fine, May!" Sam heard Peter protest, his voice muffled by the woman's shoulder, and Sam realized she had to be Peter's aunt. He'd only met May Parker once before, and unfortunately hadn't been able to speak with her for longer than five minutes before some bigwig had dragged him away. "I just have a few scratches, and they're practically healed already."

Sam watched with fond amusement as May fussed over her nephew—Sarah was the same way with Cass and AJ—before shifting his attention to his sister herself as she approached the left side of his bed. "I hope Bucky told you that you didn't have to come," he said, earning himself an eye roll from Sarah.

"Don't play stupid, Sam. You're my brother, of course I'm gonna come check on you. Besides." Sarah jutted her thumb behind her towards a Bucky Barnes who now had his arms crossed and was busy redirecting his moody glare to the floor. "Even though I knew Bucky wasn't lying that you were fine, he is the least convincing truth-teller you'll ever meet. I wanted to be sure."

Sam grinned at Sarah, tactfully choosing to avoid acknowledgement of her comments about Bucky. "Aww, you really do care about me."

Sarah sighed, shaking her head. "Unfortunately." Her gaze flickered down to the bandages wrapped around his left arm. "You sure you're okay?"

Sam reached over the white guardrail of his bed to give her hand a quick squeeze, ignoring the dull ache the motion produced in his shoulder. "I'm good. Doctors said I'll be free to go tomorrow." He pointedly ignored Bucky's scoff, instead searching Sarah's expression for a sign that he'd succeeded in reassuring her. Because he would be fine—a few scratches across his body and one or two bruised ribs, neither being damage that wouldn't heal easily. Sam didn't want her losing any more sleep tonight over such minor injuries.

Sarah squeezed his hand in response before gently moving his arm back into his lap. "Alright, alright. I believe you." She turned around to face Bucky, and Sam bit back a laugh as Bucky's aggravated expression dissipated the second Sarah made eye contact with him. His sister would never let anyone, especially her friends, get away with disregarding basic niceties. Much less get away with it in public.

"As for you, Mr. Barnes…" Sarah pursed her lips before sighing again. "I don't know what y'all were just arguing about, but thank you for keeping an eye on Sam's sorry butt and for keeping me posted about his injuries while I was on my way here. I appreciate it."

The faintest hint of a smile flickered across Bucky's lips. "It's the least I can do."

"Yeah, well, Lord knows Sam needs all the help he can get."

Sam rolled his eyes. He was really not in the mood for his wonderful sister and his irritating coworker to gang up on him. "Hey now. Let's not." So before either of them could ask him to elaborate—and because Sam noticed that May had wrapped up her checking over Peter—he changed the subject. "Aren't there some introductions we need to make?"

Peter's eyes widened when Sam shot him what he hoped was a discreet but meaningful look, and Sam figured it was safe to conclude the kid had understood the unspoken message. "Right!" Peter exclaimed. "Uh—I'm Peter. Parker. And this is my aunt, May."

Sarah gave Peter a soft smile, one Sam recognized as the kind she typically reserved for Cass and AJ and occasionally the Thibodeaux twins down the street. "I'm Sarah, Sam's sister. It's nice to meet you, Peter. And"—she chuckled—"your aunt and I actually met on our way up here."

Sam did a double take. Was his sister… Was that tone of hers…?

No. No way. Sam was imagining things. A product of the couple painkillers he'd taken combined with all the extra hours he'd been awake today.

"I'd say we hit it off pretty well!" May said, returning Sarah's smile with a bright one of her own. "Which is a miracle, considering I ran into the hospital like a madwoman and nearly bulldozed her trying to get information about Peter."

Sam snorted at the description. "Hey, that's still not as bad as how Bucky and I met." He glanced at Bucky, who was still sulking with his back against the wall. "When are you getting me a new steering wheel, huh? Don't think I've forgotten."

Sam saw the corners of Bucky's lips twitch upward, and he smirked. It was about the little victories. And truth be told, Bucky had never been able to stay mad at him for long. At least not as of late, which Sam didn't fully understand but nonetheless greatly appreciated. He hated when they fought.

Sam vaguely heard Peter start to ask Sarah a question about May's dramatic entrance—his mind was still preoccupied with the small smile Bucky was trying and failing to fight down—but before the kid got more than a few words out, a nurse in dark green scrubs entered the room.

"I'm so sorry," they began, fidgeting with the clipboard in their hands while every so often glancing in awe at Sam, "I know most of you just arrived, but Mr. Wilson needs to rest and we're already well past the end of official visiting hours. The hospital only extended them because of the… unique circumstances of tonight, what with the attack and Mr. Wilson being"—the nurse swallowed, a nervous blush heating their cheeks—"being who he is."

Sarah nodded. "I understand. We'll be leaving soon."

Bucky frowned. "I'm not going anywhere."

The nurse paled. "Uh, Mr. Barnes—"

"I said I'm not leaving." Bucky returned to his seat in the plastic chair, sitting with enough force to make Peter wince again. This time it was from the resulting thud as the back of the chair slammed into the wall. "Someone has to keep an eye on him while he sleeps."

Sam waved his non-injured hand dismissively, knowing there was no use trying to convince Bucky otherwise. The one time Sam had successfully gotten him to leave, Bucky had ended up breaking back in.

At 2 AM.

So yeah, Sam refused to make that mistake twice. "Don't worry about him. I'll pay extra if there are any issues with him staying."

The nurse hesitated, but must have decided arguing wasn't worth it, as they turned to face May and Peter instead. "Ms. Parker, was it?" When May nodded, they said, "If you want to sign Mr. Parker out, the paperwork is at the front desk."

"Will do," May said. She ruffled her nephew's hair, and Sam bit back a chuckle at Peter's disgruntled expression. "Thank you for letting me know."

The nurse nodded, sparing one last awestruck glance at Sam before leaving the room.

Sarah sighed, squeezing Sam's non-injured shoulder. "Alright, bro. Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow before I catch my flight."

Sam nodded. "I'll check in with you either way. And tell the boys I'm doing fine when you call them, will you? Or when you see 'em, whatever happens first."

"Of course." Sarah's gaze flickered over to Bucky before she returned to meet Sam's eyes, a knowing smirk dancing on her lips. "So." Her voice dropped to an almost-whisper, low enough to verge on being entirely drowned out by May and Peter's chatter as Peter changed back into his street clothes behind a baby blue curtain. "Bucky doesn't want to leave your side, huh?"

Sam rolled his eyes. He was not having this conversation with her when the clock was a quarter of an hour away from striking midnight. "You're reading way too deeply into that."

"Oh, I'm sure I am."

Sam had a feeling his sister would have teased him more if she hadn't noticed May and Peter heading out, as she gave his hand a quick squeeze before saying a final goodbye and joining the aunt and nephew duo. And, unfortunately for Sam's desire to eavesdrop on whatever conversation that might have followed the group into the hall, Sarah closed the door behind them.

"Did Sarah seem like she was acting differently around May to you?" Sam asked Bucky, figuring a second opinion was the next best thing to listening in.

Bucky shrugged. "Not really."

Right. Tremendously helpful. Sam should've known a second opinion from James Buchanan Barnes in the matter of Sarah's flirtation—or lack thereof—with May Parker would be all but useless.

Then Bucky sighed, shifting in his seat so his hands fell to his lap. "I'm sorry I shouted at you," he muttered, not meeting Sam's eyes. "I know you were just trying to protect civilians. Stepping in as soon as you could was the right call."

Sam bit his tongue to hold back a snarky Of course it was. Bucky's apologies, though few and far between, were always genuine, and there was no reason for Sam to succumb to his previous irritation. He was too tired for it, anyways. "I appreciate that," he said with a nod. "And I know you were only being so snippy with me because you're a giant worrywart. It's sweet."

Bucky flushed. "Yeah, right. Not my fault you're a normal human."

"Most people on Earth are normal humans, Buck."

Bucky huffed. "Go to sleep."

Sam burst out laughing but decided to oblige, rolling over onto his non-injured arm to the best of his ability. "Yeah, yeah. Try to get some shut-eye for your cyborg brain, too. You need to charge up for tomorrow."

Bucky didn't comment on the tease. As expected. But when Sam woke up the next morning to the sound of Bucky's quiet snoring, he didn't comment on that, either. Such was how they rolled—in unspoken but perfect sync.

xXx

"You mentioned you have a flight to catch tomorrow?" May asked Sarah as she pressed the down button for the elevator. Sarah had watched with quiet amusement when May told her nephew seconds ago that no, he was not taking any stairs for at least a full 24 hours, it didn't matter how much he insisted he was the world's fastest healer. It reminded Sarah distinctly of fussing over AJ, who had inherited the younger sibling gene of being chaos incarnate.

"I do," Sarah replied before she could let too long of a silence pass in the conversation. "Back to Louisiana. It was supposed to be tomorrow morning, but all the storms delayed it."

May nodded, processing her words. "Have anyone waiting for you at home?"

Sarah stepped onto the elevator as the doors opened. "Yep. My two boys, Cass and AJ. Cass is 12, AJ is 9. My neighbor is looking after them right now." Sarah proceeded to squash any silent hopes she may have had about what, exactly, had sparked such a question from May, before those annoying hopes could take permanent residence in the back of her mind. There was no reason for Sarah to get ahead of herself.

"No partner?" May asked. She joined Sarah in the elevator, and maybe it was the crappy lighting, but Sarah could have sworn May's face was flushed with a faint pink. Sarah didn't miss the curious—and almost mischievous—manner with which Peter appeared to be observing their conversation, too.

"Not anymore." Sarah absentmindedly touched her left ring finger, where a golden wedding band had rested for almost 9 years. The last two of those had been a time when it hurt too much to take the ring off. "My husband passed away before the Blip. Stage 4 lung cancer. Took us completely off guard." A low chuckle escaped her lips. "Haven't dated but one or two people since then."

Before Sarah could chastise herself for being far too honest with this poor woman who had in no way asked for her life story, May nodded in sympathy.

"My husband passed a few years before the Blip as well. Not cancer, but…" May averted her gaze from Sarah's. "Well. You could say his death took us off guard, too."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Sarah gave May what she hoped was a sympathetic, comforting smile, and she noticed Peter had slipped his hand into his aunt's and given it a gentle squeeze. There was a pause afterwards, perhaps a moment of collective grief, before Peter proceeded to offer Sarah a small—but knowing—smirk.

"May hasn't dated many people in recent years, either."

His comment earned himself a scandalized look from May, and Sarah bit back a laugh at the distinct lack of regret written across Peter's face.

"Peter Parker, no one asked for your commentary—"

"It's true, you haven't! And Happy doesn't count. You said yourself that was a summer fling."

Sarah tilted her head. Happy? She felt like she'd heard that nickname before. Maybe someone Sam knew.

May sighed, shaking her head. This time, Sarah was all but certain of the reason why May's cheeks were dusted with a glaring scarlet. "Please ignore him. This is not the line of conversation I was heading towards." The elevator dinged, signifying their arrival on the first floor before the doors slid open.

May waited for all of them to step out before she continued. "I was just wondering if you'd have any time for sightseeing around the city before you were needed back home, but if you've got two young boys…" May chuckled, an amused smile tugging at her lips. "I can assume you don't?"

Sarah laughed, pausing just past the front desk as May signed the necessary papers for Peter to be released. "Well, Sam took me to Central Park yesterday. Does that count as sightseeing?"

"Only at the most superficial level," May teased, returning the paperwork and blue pen she'd used to fill the forms out over to the receptionist. "Next time you're in New York, how about letting Peter and I give you a personalized tour of Queens?"

On the one hand, Sarah had planned to never return to New York, so help her God. On the other… Dammit. Now she had incentive, real incentive to visit this overpopulated, exhausting state again.

"I'll keep that in mind next time Sam drags me out of Delacroix," Sarah replied, attempting to keep her tone casual but keenly aware her wide smile betrayed her excitement.

"What time is your flight tomorrow, Ms. Wilson?" Peter asked as they all began making their way to the hospital's exit.

Peter seemed like a sweet kid, in Sarah's opinion, one that loved his aunt to death. Though there was a weight behind his eyes that informed Sarah he'd experienced more than his fair share of grief, too. Sarah suspected there was something else hidden below the surface of Peter Parker that only a select few were privy to, though she hadn't a clue as to what that secret could be. Her perceptive nature combined with her natural curiosity had always been a gift and a curse, though she was in no way going to interrogate this poor boy for an answer.

"Undecided at the moment," Sarah said, pulling out her phone to check the information she'd received earlier from the airline, "but no earlier than 3, I'm told."

Peter's eyes lit up, and he glanced at his aunt. "Why don't you stop by our apartment for brunch tomorrow? Maybe not as exciting as a full tour of Queens, but it could still be fun!"

Sarah looked to May for confirmation as she put her phone away, and May laughed, throwing up her left hand in joking surrender. "Peter's said it out loud, which means he has his heart set on the idea already." She gave Sarah a warm smile. "I'd love to have you over for brunch, Ms. Wilson." Her eyes lit up in a manner so similar to her nephew's Sarah could've sworn her heart started melting at the sight. "Ooh, I can try to cook a Louisiana dish for you!"

"That's a bad idea," Peter immediately warned. "You'll burn it."

"Oh, please. You don't know that."

"I definitely know that, it always happens when you try to cook something new without having practiced it at least once before—"

Sarah laughed, taking that as her cue to intervene. "Firstly, yes, I would love to drop by for an early brunch before my flight. Secondly, no, you do not need to cook something from Louisiana." The offer was flattering, but Sarah could have a home-cooked Louisiana dish any day of the week once she was back in Delacroix. Not to mention she could count the number of white people she trusted to season their food properly on just one hand, and all of them were Cajun. "I'd even be okay with takeout if that's what's easiest for you. I don't want to be an inconvenience."

May waved a dismissive hand when Sarah suggested takeout at the same time as Peter nodded emphatically, and Sarah had to bite back further laughter. Most New Yorkers had been stuck-up at best and utter asses at worse to her all day, but these two? They were something special, all right.

After spending a few more minutes chatting about brunch possibilities, they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways upon leaving the hospital. It wasn't until Sarah reached her hotel that she realized—fuck.

She hadn't gotten May's address.

Ah, well. She could pester Sam for it tomorrow.

xXx

"Sarah wants to know May Parker's address."

Sam did a double take at Bucky's words. "I beg your pardon?"

Bucky held up Sam's phone—when the fuck had he grabbed that?—and gestured to the gray bubble notification in the middle of the screen. "She texted you. She wants to know, quote, 'May's address.' I assume she's referring to May Parker, since neither of us know any other Mays. Do you have it or not?"

Okay, the drawn-out, all but monosyllabic sentences were not necessary. Sam was sore and tired after his release from the hospital, not totally incompetent. "I mean, yeah, but—"

"Great. Tell me what it is and I'll answer her."

Sam tried to sit up on Bucky's couch, as Bucky had brought him to his sad little apartment for further recuperation after his discharge, but was promptly pushed back down by a vibranium hand. Gently, yes, but still with more force than Sam could resist in his current state. "Dammit, Buck, I'm not made of glass."

"You have weak bones."

"Fuck you, my bones are normal. Now give me my phone. I don't need you snooping around in my messages." Sam didn't understand how Bucky kept figuring out his passwords either, although—okay, yeah, that might've had something to do with the skills HYDRA had ingrained in him. So not totally Bucky's fault. Touché, Sam had played himself.

Bucky proceeded to scowl at Sam. Good. He deserved a verbal knock or two, treating Sam like he'd break at any moment. The hospital had allowed him to leave for a reason, that reason being the fact he was healed.

Healed enough, at least.

Sam attempted to suppress a grimace as he at last succeeded in sitting upright and yanking his cell from Bucky's hand—ouch, okay, maybe his ribs and his left arm weren't ready for such vigorous motion. But that didn't mean Bucky needed to treat him like a helpless child.

Sarah Wilson: Do you have May's address?

Sam Wilson: maybe. why?

Sarah Wilson: She invited me to early brunch at her place before my flight today, but we were both so tired last night that neither of us thought to exchange contact information

Brunch at May's, huh? Sam vaguely contemplated texting Peter and asking him to keep an eye on his sister, but soon decided that a) such a request was a gross invasion of Sarah's privacy, b) Sarah was more than capable of making her own decisions, and c) Peter Parker would, without a doubt, look away from anything that happened between the women solely to—jokingly—spite Sam. Too much like Stark, that kid could be.

Sam Wilson: yeah, give me a sec to get it

He copied and pasted the address from Peter's contact into the thread from his sister, because he definitely did not have it committed to memory beyond the fact that the street was located in Queens. The only address Sam had bothered to take real note of—besides his own and the new, still-in-construction Avengers compound—was Bucky's, and that was because… well.

It was Bucky.

Sarah Wilson: thanks! I'll text you before my flight leaves and when I touch down, okay?

Sam chuckled. Exactly what he'd been about to request of her.

Sam Wilson: alright. Have fun with your new friend

Sam Wilson: and be safe

Sarah Wilson: 'be safe' please. Who's the one that just got out the hospital?

Sam Wilson: point taken

Sam Wilson: but be safe anyways

Sarah Wilson: yeah, yeah. I will. Love you

Sam Wilson: love you too

When Sarah said nothing further, Sam tossed his phone aside, noting with suppressed amusement that Bucky immediately grabbed it off the couch and plugged it in on the edge of the counter. Some of Bucky's mother hen tendencies could be a tad overbearing, in Sam's opinion—like not letting him move off the damn couch, for Christ's sake—but he couldn't deny that sometimes, sometimes, he appreciated Bucky's care.

Still.

"So is your plan really to keep my ass glued to your couch all day until you deem me healthy enough to move on my own?" Sam asked. He pushed himself fully into an upright sitting position as Bucky's back was turned, ignoring the eye roll he received once Bucky was facing him again.

"Someone has to look out for you," ended up being Bucky's grumbled response, and Sam ignored the heat that rose to his face as a result. 'Look out for him'—apparently one of Bucky's only hobbies. Before Sam could protest further, however, Bucky lowered himself into the space beside him on the couch, offering Sam a steaming mug of…

"It's lavender tea. With honey," Bucky explained, and Sam accepted the drink. He hissed in pain as the hot ceramic skimmed his palm, quickly switching his grip to the handle as Bucky rolled his eyes a second time. He didn't comment on Sam's clumsy mistake, though, instead adding, "It's good for stress relief. Has a lot of calming properties."

Sam raised an eyebrow, carefully blowing on the steaming drink. "You think I need stress relief?"

Bucky huffed, nose wrinkling with uncertainty. "This feels like a trap."

Sam snickered, probably more pleased with himself than he had a right to be. "Oh yeah, it definitely is. Good call not answering." He took a sip of the tea, only slightly scalding his tongue. The flavor was indeed soothing, as Bucky had promised. "Thanks." Sam paused, then added, "But only for the tea. Not for your overbearing nature."

Bucky snorted, shaking his head. "Someone's ungrateful." He grabbed the remote before turning on the TV, carelessly flipping through channels. And though he was clearly trying—or maybe just pretending—to stay focused on the square screen, Sam didn't miss how Bucky's gaze kept flickering back over him. It would have been cute, really, if it weren't for the fact that Sam was barely a level below perfectly fine and didn't need quite so much special treatment.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." Sam ignored Bucky's response of an embarrassed sputter as he placed the mug of tea down on the small table beside the sofa, a table that had been purchased a mere week ago at Sam's own insistence. Even if Bucky barely stayed at his apartment, the space still needed to be liveable. "And I told you, man. I feel fine. I could be back in the field today if they needed me."

"No." Bucky placed the remote down, leaving the TV on old Monk reruns. Sam remembered watching the show back in college and loving Sharona's rapport with Monk. He'd been heartbroken when her actress left the show. "You need rest. At least for the remainder of the weekend."

Sam smirked. "Aw, don't tell me you care about my well-being."

Bucky gave him a dubious look. "Don't push your luck." The doorbell rang—Sam hadn't known Bucky was having guests over?—and he stood, dusting off the front of his pants. "I'm just making sure you're in tip top shape to return to Louisiana in a couple weeks, since your sister will have my head if you aren't. Also, AJ and Cass would be plain disappointed. I know neither of us want that."

According to Sam's quick analysis of Bucky's response, Bucky had avoided outright denial that he cared about Sam. Because truth be told, Sam knew Bucky did care about him, in his own way. He just wanted Bucky to admit so out loud—no success yet. But it was only a matter of time.

"I ordered takeout," Bucky said as he returned to the living room from the door, a plastic bag hanging from each arm. "Thai. From that place Parker suggested."

Sam laughed. "Oh my God, you made them deliver all the way from Queens? Isn't there a Thai restaurant literally two blocks from your apartment?"

Bucky shrugged, repositioning Sam's pillows—Sam's heart definitely did not flutter when Bucky's right hand brushed the back of his neck, because that would be weird—before offering him a styrofoam container and a plastic fork. "Don't worry. You tipped them well."

A beat passed before Sam processed Bucky's words.

"Oh, screw you—"

Bucky burst out laughing, a sound that had become ever more common for him in recent weeks. Maybe months, even. Sam couldn't say he minded the change. He did mind, however, that this particular bout of laughter was at his expense.

"I'm just messing with you, Samuel." A pause. "Or am I?"

Sam pointed his fork at Bucky, accompanying the gesture with as threatening of a glare as he could muster. "You are so lucky I believe in the practice of obscenely generous tipping."

"I know, it's one of your most charming qualities."

"Oh, you think I'm charming?"

"Don't put words in my mouth. That specific quality of yours is charming. You?" It was Bucky's turn to point a plastic fork at Sam. "Are an annoying ass."

Sam rolled his eyes. Hell, he should've said 'no take-backsies,' if only because Bucky would sputter about him being five years old inside. "Takes one to know one, Buck."

Bucky's response was to blast the volume on the TV, and Sam hid his laughter by taking the first bite of his food. Shrimp spring rolls—his favorite.

Huh. Seemed like Bucky hadn't felt the need to ask what Sam wanted before placing the order, which was… touching. That Bucky already knew his comfort food.

It made Sam's heart flutter exactly as it had earlier, in that same borderline-nervous fashion he didn't want to think too hard about.

Sam settled further into the couch, moving close enough to Bucky where their shoulders would touch if either of them shifted an inch. Sam would deny that was his intent if asked, of course. But for now?

Yeah, yeah. He'd admit it. Sam was more than content with letting Bucky take care of him. Which, no matter what happened, Bucky could never be allowed to know.

At least for now.

xXx

Sarah stepped up to the door of May Parker's apartment and was immediately met with the acrid smell of smoke. Faint, maybe, but nonetheless identifiable. It seemed May had not heeded her nephew's warning about trying to perfect an unfamiliar meal first go, one with Louisiana origins or otherwise.

The thought made Sarah smile, a mixture of touched and amused, that May would go to such lengths solely for her visit.

When Sarah knocked on the door, it was Peter who opened it. "I already ordered takeout," he said before Sarah could get a word out. His nose was red with an odd mark across it, as if he'd been using a clothespin to pinch it shut. "Right now we're wafting the last of the smoke smell out the window. I hope Chinese is okay?"

"I—yes, Chinese is fine," Sarah said with a chuckle as she entered the apartment. The smell of burned food intensified, but not so much as to be unbearable. Sarah was certain her own nose would be adjusted in five minutes, if not less. "Do I want to know what your aunt tried to cook for me?"

"Probably not," May answered on behalf of Peter, stepping out of the kitchen to give Sarah an apologetic smile. Sarah pretended not to stare at May's fitted amber tank top and bare, freckled shoulders—attire very different from the loose hospital scrubs she'd seen May dressed in the night before. The gold wire-framed glasses were new, too.

New and almost unfairly cute.

"I swear I'm not a terrible cook! But"—May shook her head, amused—"I really should have known better than to try a new recipe and expect to nail it first go." When Peter shot her an exasperated look, she added, "And I should also listen to Peter more often, huh?"

"Yes! Yes, you should!" Peter said, throwing his hands in the air and snapping Sarah out of her May-induced reverse. The amused smirk on Peter's lips made it clear to Sarah he was only teasing his aunt—mostly, at least. "People always say Italians are supposed to be good at cooking on the spot, but I call bullshit."

"What?" May said, skeptical. "That's not a thing."

"Yes it is!" Peter frowned. "Isn't it?"

May was Italian? Sarah made a mental note to learn an Italian recipe or two for… no reason at all. "I'm flattered by the effort," she said after a pause, offering May a small smile, "but next time, you really don't need to go to all this trouble."

May laughed, tilting her head backward as a hand came to rest over her heart. "Oh, thank God you're willing to let there be a next time. I was worried the charred remains in my oven would scare you off."

A sound akin to pff actually escaped Sarah's lips, and she had to do a double take about how old she was—3, or 43? Get it together, Sarah. "Don't worry. My brother is Captain America. That means it's gonna take a lot more than some burnt food to scare me away."

May winked at her. "Ah. So I take it you'll be sticking around for a while, then?"

Sarah's grin widened. She regretfully considered herself pretty rusty at flirting, especially thinking back to the shy demeanor with which she'd first interacted with Bucky, but around May? Man, Sarah couldn't remember the last time she'd fallen so easily into—well, fallen into at least a friendly dynamic with someone. Fingers crossed they'd continue to toe the line. "I plan to stay as long as you'll have me."

"I would so do a victory dance if I wasn't a terrible dancer," May remarked, eyes glittering with mirth as a brilliant smile stretched across her lips. She turned to face her nephew. "Peter, you said you got takeout? When did you place the order?"

Peter gave her an embarrassed grin. "Uh… about five minutes after you started cooking."

Ouch. Sarah bit back a grimace.

May shrugged it off. "Fair enough. Given the disaster that followed, I can't blame you. When is it supposed to get here?"

"They said it'd take about thirty minutes to make, but the restaurant is only five minutes from here, so…" Peter glanced at his watch. Sarah noticed an SI logo on the side. "It should be almost ready. I was actually planning to pick it up so we'd avoid the delivery fee"

"I love when you read my mind." May grabbed her purse off a small table, fishing around for her wallet before giving Peter two twenties. "Tell them to keep the change."

Sarah instinctively reached for her own money. "Let me cover my part of the meal—"

"Nope!" both Parkers interrupted simultaneously, which was hilarious, if also a tad unnerving.

"You're our guest," May said, taking Peter by the shoulders and steering him towards the door. "That means we are treating you, no ifs, ands, or buts." She kissed her nephew on the forehead, and Peter waved at both of them before disappearing out the apartment, pulling the door shut behind him. "Besides," May continued, "if I was visiting you in Louisiana, there's no way you'd let me get away with paying for my own meal, now would you?"

Sarah tilted her head. A fair assessment, but— "Well, we call that Southern hospitality. Other New Yorkers I've met the past few days have not been so…" Okay, amazing was probably too strong a word for only their second interaction. "Generous," Sarah went with instead. "They haven't been quite so generous as you two."

"You mean at that gala thing you mentioned last night?" May sat down on her couch, gesturing for Sarah to join her, which Sarah did without a second's hesitation. "The Avengers event, or whatever it was you said Sam dragged you to."

There was an odd note to her tone, a level almost too calm, and it once again made Sarah suspect May knew more about said event than she was letting on. But as per before, Sarah was not one to unduly pry. Unless it was into Sam's life, of course, which was her legal obligation as his sister.

"Yep," Sarah said, placing her purse on the small coffee table to her right. "No one was rude, you know, but they were just…" She hummed, shrugging. "Stiff, I guess." Back in Delacroix, hell, usually even in bigger cities like New Orleans and Baton Rouge, there was a level of familiarity that most people used with one another. A certain warmth.

The gala? Had been ice cold.

"I can tell you why," May said, tapping the side of her nose twice. It was a more endearing action than it had any right to be. "Because they are all rich sons of bitches."

Sarah snorted at that. "You might have a point there."

"Thank you! I try my best." May pushed her hair behind her ear, and Sarah noticed for the first time how straight brown locks now cascaded down May's back and shoulders. It seemed May's hair was far longer than last night's messy updo had betrayed it to be. "But seriously. I'm not saying New Yorkers are the nicest people in the world, because a lot of us do operate on some level of asshole-ry, but don't let the ones you talked with last night get to you. They're outliers. Worst of the worst. They shouldn't matter."

May was correct—those uptight folks did not matter to Sarah. In fact, there was only one New Yorker whose opinion Sarah could say mattered to her now, and their name was not Bucky Barnes, bless his heart.

"Well, I'm glad I got to end that disaster of a night by meeting you and Peter," Sarah said with a smile, "even if it was at a hospital, of all places." She snapped her fingers. "Oh! Speaking of last night…" Sarah grabbed her purse off the table, pulling her phone out. "We never remembered to exchange numbers." An embarrassed flush rose in her cheeks. "Don't laugh, but I actually texted Sam this morning to get your address."

May's eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with both hands. "Oh my God, I did not forget. I did not." She paused, wincing. "Did I?" When Sarah laughed, May shook her head. "This is so embarrassing. I am so sorry."

Sarah laughed again, somehow resisting the urge to reach over and give May's knee a quick squeeze—they weren't that close yet, were they? "No, you're fine. It was almost midnight and you'd clearly just jumped off a shift to pick Peter up from the hospital. I understand."

Sarah then signed into her phone, pulling up her contacts. "That said…" She gave May a soft smile, offering her the device. "Do you mind giving me your number now? I'd like to keep in touch when I'm back in Delacroix."

May returned her smile as she accepted Sarah's phone, though her face was still dusted with a pink tint of embarrassment. Sarah didn't mind, though. She found the reaction rather sweet.

"Yes, yes. Of course you can." May typed her information in before returning the phone to Sarah, and Sarah shot her a quick text—this is Sarah Wilson :)—so May would have her number, too.

"If I'm being totally honest," May admitted after a pause, once Sarah had returned her phone to a pocket inside her purse, "I keep trying to make myself forget you're flying back to Louisiana today. Like, trick my brain into thinking I'll have a week to really get to know you."

Sarah ignored how her heart skipped a beat at May's words. "Well, to reciprocate your honesty," she said teasingly, "I didn't think I'd ever want to voluntarily visit New York again. But now?" She chuckled. "I can't stop going over how I should set aside vacation funds for next summer. Bring my boys with me, too."

May's eyes widened, as if a light bulb had gone off in her mind, but the way she pressed her lips together suggested she planned to keep whatever idea she'd had to herself for the time being. "I mean, maybe I'm biased, but I think that's a great idea." There was a teasing lilt to May's voice that made an elated smile curve at Sarah's lips. "I'll even offer up my apartment as an expense-free room and board for the three of you. I'm sure we can find a way to make everyone fit."

"And I hope you know that offer extends to you and Peter as well," Sarah immediately said. "If y'all ever find yourselves in Louisiana…" She shrugged, grinning at May. "Let me know. I have a guest room I can fix up at the drop of a hat." And should Bucky happen to be there at the same time?

Well. It wasn't as if he was unfamiliar with their couch.

"Mm, I hope you don't regret inviting us over. If we come down, we might never leave."

Sounded like she was threatening Sarah with a good time. "Guess I won't know until it happens, will I?"

May laughed. "True enough!"

For a moment, Sarah could only stare at May, absentmindedly wondering how it was possible for the human equivalent of sunshine to exist. Sam would tell her—cynical bastard that he was—to be careful, because if she stayed too close for too long, she'd get burned. 'Icarus flying too close to the sun' and whatnot. But for May?

The risk seemed worth it.

"You still look absolutely beautiful, by the way," May offered, breaking the brief silence between them. Her flattery sent blood to the tips of Sarah's ears. "But—more comfortable. Than you did last night, I mean." She chuckled. " 'Relaxed' is probably the word I'm looking for." A shy smile tugged at May's lips. "It's a good look on you."

Sarah had spent more minutes than she cared to admit agonizing over her outfit this morning while packing her suitcase at the same time, eventually landing on a simple floral blouse and jeans. But with that one compliment, all that agony now seemed worth it.

"Thank you," Sarah said, finding herself unable to resist returning May's smile with a perhaps equally shy one of her own. "You look lovely, too. And much less stressed than you did last night." Ergh—Sarah hoped that didn't come across as a backhanded compliment. It seemed she couldn't beat back her rustiness at casual flirting forever.

May laughed, fluffing her hair at the back of her head. "I guess you could say I let my hair down in more ways than one, yeah?"

Sarah grinned at her and started to comment on just how gorgeous May looked with her hair down, but their conversation was interrupted by Peter's return.

"Food's here, everybody!" he cheered, somehow carrying a gigantic brown paper bag with only one hand. "Let's eat!"

May laughed again, this time in response to her nephew's eagerness, and Sarah couldn't stop herself from joining in. Maybe she needed to be concerned about how contagious their Parker charm seemed to be, but—well, Sam was bound to do enough worrying for the both of them. So for now?

Sarah was simply determined to stretch out her final hours in New York for as long as possible.

xXx

feel free to yell about sarahmay and sambucky with me on tumblr starkravinghazelnoots :) (and also the mcu spidey squad, the other marvel thing im obsessed with at the moment lmao)