in the first section of this chapter, some dancing occurs to a song called "Comment Ca Va" by Queen Ida. if you're an auditory person, you might be interested in playing the song in the background while you read! there's of course no pressure and any relevant lyrics are in the fic (note: this is not a songfic, lmao).

i can't believe there's only one chapter after this one… you know what that means: today we're getting the italicized 'oh' ;) i hope you enjoy!

xXx

Sarah couldn't remember the last time she'd been so relaxed on a trip to town. There was typically some sense of urgency accompanying her travels—picking up groceries, driving around the boys, taking her idiot brother and his idiot partner to the local hospital.

But not tonight. No, tonight had just been her and May, and if May was the sun, then Sarah was the Earth, revolving only around her.

May—with Peter's help, Sarah presumed—had decided on a floral romper with pink accents and a pair of sandals for their date. The lightweight fabric and open shoes made the outfit perfect for the warm Louisiana evening, and not to mention the pattern was gorgeous against her skin. Funnily enough, Sarah had chosen a floral sundress with purple accents for their night out, and while they didn't exactly match, it was enough of a coincidence where they'd laughed and had Peter take a half dozen pictures of them before even leaving the house.

Dinner had been similarly… easy. Yeah, "easy" was the best way to describe it. Because around May, Sarah didn't have to pretend or put on airs or withhold—well, anything, really. After being seated at Crave, they'd looked over their menus before separately deciding on the same meal. They'd laughed about that, too, before agreeing to split a plate since the servings were so large. Cajun Edamame as a starter, SushiRitto as the main meal.

Sharing food, in Sarah's opinion, was one of the most romantic things in the world. Meals were intimate in themselves because of the inherent sense of connection they fostered, especially the preparation process—second date material, perhaps? And given how May allowed their hands to brush time after time whenever they reached for a bite, well, Sarah was inclined to think May not only understood but was taking advantage of such casual intimacy.

They'd each ordered a glass of wine, too, promising to walk around town first before driving home to be on the safe side. Their waiter had even given them a free dessert—right before asking for May's number. May had been beyond embarrassed, trying to explain she and Sarah were on a date without saying they were on a date, while Sarah found the entire situation hilarious.

I am so sorry, May had mouthed when the waiter turned his back to check on something, and Sarah had simply winked at her. If anything, the waiter's interest in May only boosted Sarah's mood, because—well, he wasn't the lucky one on a date with Delacroix's most beautiful visitor, now was he? Not to mention the free dessert had been delicious. Thus, all was well that ended well, and Sarah had told May as much.

Now they were walking down the streets of Delacroix as they'd both vowed to do, trying to prolong what Sarah would probably mark down as one of the best dates in her life. Though her hometown was small, it was lively enough on a Saturday night where the streets were well-lit and chatter from other restaurants and raised homes poured out onto the street, keeping the atmosphere lighthearted around them.

Sarah wanted to hold May's hand as they walked. Truth be told, she wasn't sure what stopped her from reaching down to do so.

"I really don't want this night to end," May said mournfully, and Sarah nodded in silent agreement. "I mean, the last time I had such a good time with someone was…" She blew air out her lips, shaking her head. "With Ben, I guess."

Sarah's heart skipped a beat at the comparison. She knew May had dated a few people between Ben and herself—including Harold 'Happy' Hogan, apparently, as Peter had one day explained to her with great embarrassment—but to hear that she, Sarah Wilson, was near the same level as May's beloved husband?

"Thank you," Sarah whispered, a raw honesty to her tone. Blood rushed to the tips of her ears at just how honest she sounded, but she cleared her throat and held her ground. "That means a lot, knowing how important Ben was—is to you."

May smiled at Sarah, her expression gentle but tinged with quiet sadness. "Yeah. I know I don't have to explain to you what it's like to"—she sighed, raising her hands to perform slow but not quite bitter finger quotes—"'move on.'"

Sarah nodded, her pace slowing. May followed suit until they both came to a stop on the crack-ridden concrete sidewalk. "You never really do," she admitted, "but…" Sarah hesitated, then pushed her anxiety to the back of her mind as she laced her fingers through May's. The gentle squeeze May gave her in response reassured Sarah that all was still well.

"But?"

Sarah was pretty sure she wanted to kiss May. Wow. It had been such a long time since—well, regardless, she refrained. "But there are people who make it easier," she finished, and May smiled up at her.

"That there are." They began walking again, this time matching each other's slow stride. Their fingers remained intertwined.

Sarah hummed in contentment, a nostalgic smile pulling at her lips. "You know, in some ways, you remind me of my husband."

"Really?" May's tone was curious but lacked any semblance of pressure. Only share if you want to, May silently seemed to say, and Sarah appreciated that.

"Yep," she confirmed. "Always overthinking the little things, like"—Sarah winked at her—"what outfit to wear on a date."

May flushed, still one of Sarah's favorite expressions to see on her. "Okay, yeah, I deserved that one."

"You're both stubborn as hell, too," Sarah continued after a pause, "always trying so damn hard to see the good in people." For May, Sarah knew it was an all but natural part of being an ER nurse—she often saw people at their lowest, at their wits' end, and thus did everything in her power to pull them back from the brink. She showed them that life, their life, was worth living.

For Sarah… Well, having May by her side in any way, shape, or form made Sarah want to live her life to the fullest that much more.

"Wow." May's voice was thick, and Sarah noticed her rub her eyes beneath her glasses with her free hand. "Shit, sorry. I really didn't plan to cry during our date and kill the mood."

Sarah laughed. "No, that's on me. Maybe a romantic rendez-vous wasn't the best time for me to reminisce about what you have in common with my late husband." This time, she was the one to squeeze May's hand. Sarah hesitated before adding, "I don't want you to think you're a carbon copy of him, though. You're very much your own person."

And Sarah liked those differences. May had a hotter temper—albeit well-controlled—than Sarah's easygoing husband had ever had, and May had a much cornier sense of humor, too. She could also be a menace in the kitchen if she was unprepared for a recipe, while Sarah's husband had been an utter gift even if he'd never heard of the dish before.

She and May could work on that last one together, at least.

"No, no, I understand what you mean," May said. A bittersweet, almost nostalgic smile curved the corners of her lips upward. "I think… I think people always look for similar types of love, you know? You find something good and you hold it close as long as you can. Maybe you lose it, and that's hard, but after a while…" Her smile strengthened, just a little. "You're able to start looking for those pieces all over again."

Yes, Sarah realized. That was more than true. What she'd lost in her husband, Sarah had gradually found in others. Found in her boys, found in Sam, found in May—hell, even found in the century-old ex-assassin that liked to crash on her couch and not-so-discreetly pine after her brother.

"And you remind me of Ben in some ways, too," May continued. "God, especially the way you try to take care of anyone and everyone, and the way you look after your boys." She slowed to a stop a second time, and because their hands were still locked together, Sarah ended up pausing beside her. "I—I like you, Sarah. A lot. And… And whatever we decide to do together, whether we're friends or more, you have to promise you'll let others—let me—take care of you. Okay?"

May stared up at her, those deep brown eyes glimmering with such earnest affection and adoration and—God, Sarah's heart would not stop racing, it was all she could do to swallow her nerves and force out a soft whisper of, "Okay."

May's smile widened. Sarah wanted to kiss her, wanted to kiss her so badly, Lord, it was like being a teenager all over again.

May looked as if she wanted to say more—or maybe do more, as her own gaze flickered down to Sarah's burgundy-tinted lips—but her attention was dragged away by upbeat music that began pouring out the small restaurant they currently stood outside of.

"That's Queen Ida," Sarah said, answering May's unasked question. "R&B and Cajun legend. The song is 'Comment Ca Va.'"

May laughed. "Well, that would explain the French I'm hearing but not understanding."

Sarah laughed, too. "It's a love song. About a couple who fell in love in Paris, even without speaking the other's language."

May placed her free hand over her heart, mock-swooning with a dramatic sigh. "Oh, how romantic! A love that transcends all language barriers!" She winked at Sarah. "Reminds me of us—a date transcending all physical barriers. A thousand miles from Queens to Delacroix, and not to mention all the boys in our lives."

A sound escaped Sarah's lips that sounded far too much like a literal ha! for her liking, but May didn't seem to care, as she took both of Sarah's hands in her own before pulling her out onto the empty street. Even standing extra yards away from the restaurant, Queen Ida's vocals and accordion were still plenty loud enough to be heard from the numerous speakers inside.

"Come on!" May said, beaming. "Dance with me!"

"In the street?" Sarah sputtered, figuring it was only appropriate to put up a modicum of resistance. She didn't pull away from May, though. "Ms. Parker. I thought you knew how to treat a lady."

May all but doubled over laughing, the space between the two lessening further. "Well, truth be told, I'm a terrible dancer," she said, still snickering, "but I do know how to have fun when I poorly imitate the art of dance. That counts as treating a lady right, doesn't it?"

Even if it hadn't, Sarah knew she would have agreed all the same. "I'll be the judge of that," she teased instead, then allowed May to take the lead.

And we were dancing on the music, and he was waiting for a chance

May pulled Sarah towards her, keeping their hands locked together as she guided them through what wasn't much more than aimless bouncing, their movements barely on beat with the music.

Sarah loved every second of it.

"Aw, you should've worn your hair back!" she said to May, whose hair was flying every which way with each skip and spin they took.

I did not understand him when he said in French

"You know you love when I wear it down," was May's playful response, a comment which Sarah could neither confirm nor deny the validity of. "Now loosen up a bit! I can tell you're still tense."

It was true—as thrilling as dancing like there was no tomorrow in the middle of the road was, they were still dancing smack in the middle of the road. Unlikely as it was, a car could come roaring down on them at any moment, an experience Sarah wanted neither of them to be subjected to.

She forced herself to take a deep breath, though, relaxing her shoulders. She was with May. She was dancing with May, having the time of her life. Adrenaline rushed through her veins like she was back in college again and making similarly questionable decisions.

Sarah smiled at May, perhaps the easiest one to grace her lips all evening. Which was saying something, because Sarah had been smiling near-nonstop the second she'd first seen May step into the kitchen, all dressed up for their night out painting the town. "Alright, little miss. Try not to step on my toes."

The song whirled through the French chorus, and May chose that moment to release Sarah's right hand and spin her around. The movement was clumsy, maybe, a little awkward given their distinct difference in height, but Sarah simply ducked her head and went through the motion as best she could, laughter falling freely from her lips.

Fell in love in Paris

This was love, Sarah realized as May's laughter merged so easily with her own. The form? Well, Sarah wasn't quite sure yet. Or maybe she was just afraid to be sure. But it was love, it was opportunity, it was about her and May and nothing and no one else.

Sarah had fallen for May in Delacroix, though, not the City of Lights. Or had she fallen way back when in Queens?

I didn't know what to do

"I don't know many more moves!" May exclaimed, pulling Sarah back towards her and restarting their little side-to-side swing. "Want to take a turn at the wheel before I trip us up?"

Walking with my guy

Sarah laughed. "Yeah, I'll walk you through a bit!" Their pace slowed as May allowed Sarah to take the lead, coincidentally matching the beat of the music with more accuracy. Sarah guided their hands to a more traditional position—one of hers on May's hip, one of May's on her shoulder, and their other hands clasped together out at their side. Sarah's height and May's lack thereof made the reach a tad awkward, but not so much either of them were willing to stop.

To a rendez-vous for two

Sarah had always loved couples' dances, ever since she was a child and she and Sam had watched their grandparents sway to the old record player evening after evening. She and her own husband had danced to the radio on more late nights than she could count, too. There was—There was just something indescribable about how two people could move together in a way that made them one. Dancing created a connection between partners that, in Sarah's opinion, was surpassed by little else.

He was afraid to hold my hand

"Would you believe me if I told you every neuron in my brain tried to short-circuit from panic when I first pulled you onto the street?" May asked as Sarah led them through a simple box step. "I was afraid you'd think I was crazy. Or worse, think I was sane."

He didn't know what to say

"Well, I do think you're a little crazy," Sarah said, eyes glittering with mirth, "but I find that quality of yours endearing, don't worry." She pulled May closer to her, lessening the already few inches of space between them. "If anything, I just didn't know what to say."

Drinking wine by evening

"You mean the wine didn't loosen your tongue?" May teased. "For shame!"

In a small café

"We could always go back to the restaurant for more," Sarah said innocently, slowing their dance until seconds, minutes, years dragged between each sway they took, the rhythm of the music once again abandoned—albeit this time in the opposite fashion. "But that would mean the end of our dance."

"Mm." May shook her head, and this time she was one to move further towards Sarah, releasing Sarah's hand to place her own on Sarah's other shoulder. She slid her hands up, locking them comfortably behind Sarah's neck. May's gaze lingered on Sarah's lips before meeting Sarah's eyes, and Sarah's breath hitched.

"No," May murmured, "I think I'd rather stay here."

He asked me if I'd kiss him

Any closer and May would be able to feel her heart beating through her chest, Sarah was damn sure. Of course, would sacrificing her dignity be so bad if it meant she and May could hold each other?

The summer air was warm and heavy around them, even at the later hour, but there was enough of a breeze stirring through the streets to make the humidity bearable. May's hair fluttered around her shoulders, lips still tinted with pink gloss despite the meal they'd shared earlier. Sarah wondered how that pink would mix with the red on her own lips—perhaps making fuchsia? Or maybe a deep rose?

"Comment Va Ca" was still floating out from the restaurant to their side, accompanied by friendly chatter from all directions as the stars glittered above them. It was the kind of moment Sarah knew was impossible to get in a big city, and she hoped May was as enamored by the atmosphere as she was.

She hoped May was as enamored by her as she was by May, too.

Sarah wanted to kiss her. And this… this was the perfect moment, wasn't it? All it would take was for them to lean in at the same time, eyelids fluttering shut, and—

He didn't ask anymore

A car horn blared, and both Sarah and May jumped, somehow finding their composure in enough time to dart to the sidewalk as a Mustang raced way too quickly down the street they'd been occupying.

"What an asshole!" May exclaimed. Sarah noticed May's hands were shaking—maybe anxiety, maybe lingering adrenaline—and she seized the moment to take one in her own again, as the oncoming car had forced them apart with haste.

Sarah gave May's hand a reassuring squeeze before a brief laugh escaped her lips. "To be fair, we were the ones in the middle of the road."

May opened her mouth to protest, but instead of speaking, her expression shifted to an embarrassed grin. "Okay, true. They still shouldn't have been speeding, though."

Either way, the perfect moment had been shattered with the blast of a car horn. Go figure. But… Well, Sarah was okay with that. May was still with her, holding her hand, and—and they would have more perfect moments to come.

Sarah was sure of it.

"Well, what do you say we head back home now?" she asked, squeezing May's hand a second time. "No doubt that sobered us up, and it's getting kind of late, anyways."

May nodded with a slow exhale. "Yeah. My resting heart rate is still trying to recover."

Sarah laughed. They began heading down the sidewalk towards the small lot where Sarah had parked her car, but hadn't made it more than a few yards forward when May paused.

"Wait, what's the chorus of the song?" she asked as the music from the adjacent restaurant neared its end. "I mean, the English translation. If you know it."

A nostalgic smile tugged at Sarah's lips. She definitely knew it—Queen Ida had been a favorite of hers and her father's for as long as she could remember.

"'Comment ca va,'" she began, echoing the lyrics, "how's it going. 'Comme ci, comme ci, comme ci, comme ça,' like this, like this, like this, like that. 'Tu ne comprends rien à l'amour,' you don't understand anything about love. And 'restez la nuit, restez toujours…'" Sarah bit her bottom lip, gaze slowly falling to meet May's. "Means stay the night, stay… stay always?"

There was a pause, a lilt to her final words that Sarah had not intended but couldn't quite bring herself to regret.

Within the lyrics was a request.

Stay?

"You know, I've been thinking about something for a couple days," May mused after a pause. She smiled at Sarah. "If you're okay with it, I'd like to reschedule me and Peter's flight. Stay in Delacroix for an extra day."

Sarah's heart fluttered. "Would you?"

"For you?" May stood on her tiptoes, pressing a chaste kiss to Sarah's cheek. "I might even stay forever."

And Sarah knew, without a doubt, that she'd let her.

xXx

Sam had been well aware his sister would be tired when she and May returned from their date, and as such he'd taken great care to ensure the boys—Peter Parker included—were worn out and in bed by the time they returned. Sam would admit, however, that Bucky's assistance had made that task much, much easier. Two kids and a genetically-enhanced teenage superhero?

Yeah, Sam didn't even want to think about trying to corral them on his own.

Bucky had been generous enough to take the brunt of everyone's energy by playing soccer with the three boys in the front yard while Sam cleaned up the kitchen after dinner. Well, it was either tremendous generosity or Bucky had plain underestimated the sheer amount of energy the trio possessed. No matter which, Bucky had all but collapsed onto the living room couch when Sam started ushering everyone to bed. 'Everyone' meaning Cass and AJ had their mandatory bedtime, and Peter was a softie who didn't want the boys to feel like he was staying up without them and thus went to his room, too.

Peter really was a sweet kid, reluctant as Sam might be to admit that to Peter's face. May had every right and more to be so proud of him.

"I thought supersoldiers couldn't get tired," Sam had teased as Bucky lay face down on the couch, dead to the world. "Knock-off HYDRA serum ain't doing it for you?"

Bucky apparently had enough strength left in his body to flip Sam off, earning a snicker from Sam. "As my therapist would say, Samuel, my 'social battery' is dead. It needs to recharge." And with that, he'd rolled onto his back and at the very least pretended to fall asleep.

Sam had chosen to let him be either way, still shaking his head in amusement.

He ended up staying awake long enough to greet Sarah and May when they returned, not commenting directly on their interlocked hands but giving them a knowing smirk. Sam reassured his sister that the evening had gone smoothly and that both boys were already in bed, which earned him a grateful smile and quick hug. With that, Sarah and May also headed to bed—separate bedrooms, he noted.

If Sam was honest, he'd wanted to ask Sarah how the date had gone, albeit maybe not in front of May. He was curious about the details, he wouldn't lie. But really—Sarah's expression had given it all away. 'Over the moon' was the only term that could be considered applicable. Maybe there was a hint of disappointment behind his sister's eyes, but clearly it wasn't so devastating as to detract from the wonderful night she'd evidently had.

It was Sam's favorite look to see on his sister. Unmitigated, all-encompassing happiness.

So he'd let Sarah go to bed without complaint, knowing he could pester her about the nitty gritty in the morning.

Sam followed suit not long after the ladies, praying when his head hit the pillow that his sleep would come easy and be dreamless. Maybe it was the damn prayer that jinxed it, though, as Sam woke with a heaving gasp and sweat dripping down his forehead at least two hours before the crack of dawn.

Riley.

Third night in a row, fourth night that week.

Sam shoved his sheets aside. The heat was suffocating despite his comforter having long since fallen off the bed, shit, he'd probably been tossing and turning up a storm in his sleep. He forced himself to breathe evenly, establishing a steady pace of oxygen entering and exiting his lungs.

As a VA counselor, Sam knew better than most that it was not unusual for nightmares to recur. He knew they came in sets for some people, himself being one. He knew nightmares were often a reaction to events in his waking hours. He knew they were temporary, too, that the fragments of glass coursing through his veins and stabbing at his heart was just a physiological reaction to his psychological and emotional trauma.

Sam knew all these things, but the ten-ton weight on his chest refused to budge.

He needed to—He needed to move. Needed to go on a jog, take a run, get out of his house. If Sam sprinted until his lungs were on fire, then maybe that burn would distract him from the sickening crunch of Riley's body slamming into the desert ground, the echo of bones shattering on loop in his mind like a broken record.

The process of changing out of his pajamas and into a tank top and shorts helped calm him. Trying to tie his damn tennis shoes in pitch black served as further distraction from his nightmare, too, if only because he kept fucking up and starting over. But there was still nervous energy brimming beneath his skin as he crept upfront, and Sam was willing to run himself half to death if it meant—

Ugh, God. Admitting as much to himself?

Yeah. Really wasn't one of his better nights.

Sam's hand was slowly wrapping around the metal handle of the kitchen door that led out the house when the sound of a person clearing their throat made him jump and release a string of muttered curses.

"Going somewhere?"

Sam sighed, begrudgingly turning to face Bucky and hoping he didn't look guilty as a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "Not exactly."

Bucky raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "You're not in your pajamas anymore."

"I'm not," Sam agreed. "But I'm also not 'going somewhere,' either." He was going… anywhere, really. Out and about. Just—away.

Sam hesitated, then asked, "Did I wake you up?"

"No," Bucky said, and Sam's gaze narrowed as he met Bucky's eyes and tried to determine if his friend was lying. Just as he'd concluded that Bucky was indeed being truthful— "I was already awake when I heard you get up."

Sam opened his mouth instinctively to ask if it was a nightmare, but Bucky beat him to the punch.

"No dreams. Just had to use the bathroom." Bucky bit his lip, as if questioning what to say next or how he should say it, but soon continued despite his apparent doubt. "I… heard you, though. Your nightmare."

Sam grimaced. Fuck. "Was I shouting?"

Bucky shook his head, tapping his right earlobe. "Nah. Superhearing. Heard you gasp when you woke up and when you did your breathing exercises afterwards."

Some of the tension in Sam's shoulders eased, as he was relieved to know he hadn't been screaming in his sleep. It had been known to happen—not likely, but still not impossible—and he always felt awful waking up Sarah or the boys. Now there was the risk of waking up May and Peter, too, for the little while longer they were in town.

"I heard you last night, too," Bucky admitted, and Sam winced. "That makes this at least the second night in a row." His eyes bored into Sam even as Sam did his damned best to avoid Bucky's steely gaze. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

No, Sam did not want to talk about it. Sam wanted to forget about it, wanted to remember every minute detail of it, wanted to run himself into the ground, wanted to lose anything and everything if it meant getting Riley back

None of which were possible options, much less were any of those options healthy for him.

"The last thing I want to do is talk about it," Sam answered honestly, "but…" God, his body ached, weariness from three restless nights truly seeping in. He grabbed the door frame to steady himself as he wobbled on his feet, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand. "Fuck. No, I don't want to. But I'm really starting to think I might need to."

Bucky gave him a half-smile at that, though concern still permeated his features. "I knew your single brain cell would figure it out eventually."

Sam barked a laugh. "Wow, you're the worst." But when Bucky gently wrapped a vibranium hand around his forearm and led him to sit on the couch, Sam wasn't complaining.

"Do you want me to… make tea?" Bucky offered. "Coffee? Something hot?"

Sam shook his head, waving a dismissive hand. "Nah, nah. I'm good. I just…" He exhaled slowly. "Give me a sec to collect my thoughts." His heart had finally stopped racing, but his mind was yet to slow from overdrive.

Bucky nodded, lowering himself onto the couch beside Sam. Sam wasn't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed by the several inches of space Bucky left between them.

The nightmares were about Riley's death, each and every time. Without fail. The events of the dreams were no different than what had plagued his sleep regarding Riley in the past, and yet something, something about them… pierced more deeply. Less and less often did Sam wake from nightmares with an inability to breathe, and yet for the past three nights in a row, his lungs had been filled with cement whenever he tried to take that first inhale.

"Something's gotta be wrong with me," Sam finally said, resting his elbows on his thighs. "It's not—It shouldn't be this bad."

Bucky tilted his head, a disapproving frown creeping onto his lips. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Everyone has rough patches."

Sam almost laughed. 'Almost' being the key word, because laughter seemed like a hell of an inappropriate reaction when Bucky was trying his best to be supportive. "No, no, I don't mean it like that." He pursed his lips before grimacing. "Don't know what I do mean, though."

Bucky nodded. Sam wasn't sure Bucky really understood, but he appreciated the acknowledgement nonetheless.

"They've all been about Riley. Falling," Sam continued after a pause. His mouth had gone dry, no surprise there. "Although you probably didn't need me to tell you that." He sighed again, massaging his right temple. "I don't know, man. Something's wrong. Not in the dream, but…"

"Whatever triggered them, you think?" Bucky asked, and Sam nodded.

"Yeah. Probably. But"—he shrugged helplessly—"nothing about my life has really changed. No unusually stressful missions, haven't met anybody new, haven't seen anything weird."

For all intents and purposes, Captain America had been grounded the past week while SHIELD searched for further information regarding an anonymous tip Sharon had received. Sam's life had been blissfully quiet and borderline normal. Not that he was complaining—God, Sam would never complain about a few extra days' R & R—but it did mean Sam didn't have a damn clue what the new factor behind his lack of sleep was.

"Well, the Parkers are here now," Bucky offered after a pause. "You think that could be it?"

Sam snorted, his mind immediately latching onto the amusing implication that Peter Parker's rambunctious nature could be the source of his stress. "Nah, I doubt it."

Bucky didn't respond, and Sam glanced over to see that his friend was very purposefully not meeting his eyes—okay, clearly there was something Bucky wasn't saying. Maybe for fear of angering… no, more likely for fear of hurting him.

"Hey." Sam placed a hand on Bucky's knee. "I can literally see the gears turning in your head. If you think you know the hell's going on with me, I'm all ears. I won't get mad, even if your theory's bullshit."

Bucky snorted, amused, before sighing. "Okay. I just…" He chewed his bottom lip. "If you're dreaming about Riley… don't you think it could have something to do with Sarah and May?"

Sam blinked. He was pretty sure his heart stopped beating for at least ten seconds if not more before it finally fired back up again and a sharp breath escaped his lips.

Bucky winced at Sam's stuttered reaction. "Sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No, no," Sam cut him off, shaking his head. "No, I think…" He inhaled, exhaled, took a slow breath. "I think you might be onto something there." Because it made sense, didn't it? Sarah finding a new love, Sam remembering the love he'd lost.

The subconscious, huh? Man, he couldn't catch a break.

Bucky hesitated a second time, and Sam gave him as much of a wry smile as he could muster. "Spit it out, Bucky. Obviously you've been putting more thought into my mental well-being than I have." Sam's heart tightened in his chest at the implication, and yet not… not uncomfortably so, oddly enough.

Bucky opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish before he finally managed to speak. "Can I walk you through a hypothetical?"

Any remaining ice was now broken, and Sam snorted, a reaction which earned a wide grin from Bucky. "Sure, Buck. Walk me through a hypothetical."

Bucky chuckled. "Thanks." He tapped his vibranium fingers on his thigh. "Your sister is, hypothetically, about to enter a relationship with someone. They have hypothetically moved a little fast, or at least faster than your own personal experience."

That was the understatement of the century. But Sam was starting to think he was an outlier in the average rate of relationship development. That said, he hadn't been so stressed about said matter ever since May had talked with him. "Go on."

"And—hypothetically—you can't help but notice how much your sister cares for this person, which hypothetically might make you think about the strength of their possible relationship. Because you've…" Bucky trailed off for a moment, and Sam fought the urge to take Bucky's hand in his own, because what? Where the hell had that desire come from?

"Because you've lost someone that you loved as much as you think they might love each other," Bucky continued, speaking with greater firmness, "and you're worried. You don't want that to happen to them, too. Hence the nightmares."

There was a long pause after he finished, broken by Sam's low whistle. "Clearly your new therapist is a miracle worker."

Bucky laughed. "Yeah, well, I've had a lot of practice with her breaking down my own dreams."

Fair enough. Sam knew Bucky was no stranger to nightmares.

And Bucky's interpretation of Sam's recurring dreams had merit, too, at least in Sam's opinion. Hell, Sam would go so far as to say that yes, it was accurate. But something in him whispered that it was also…

Incomplete. There was a missing piece. Because Sarah had already lost a love like Sam had, and it didn't feel right to claim all of the distress signals his subconscious was producing could be attributed to that. And he said as much to Bucky, who nodded.

"I wouldn't doubt it. There's only so much of a hypothetical I can build without being inside your head."

Sam snorted. "And that would be torture."

"For me, yeah."

Sam laughed freely that time, reaching over to knock Bucky's shoulder. "Alright, asshole." Then he sighed, offering Bucky a grateful smile. "Thanks, though. For listening. And helping." For just… being there. With him.

Sam wished he'd had the energy—the courage—to admit that aloud.

Huh. Sarah had… had gained a new love, after having lost one before. If Sam's nightmares were possibly in—were in some kind of empathy, could he, too, have gained…

No. It was impossible. There was no one like that in his life, no May to his Sarah, no one who'd been by his side long enough that Sam could profess to truly knowing them how he'd known Riley. No one except—

Bucky flashed Sam an awkward, almost shy smile in return, jerking Sam from his thoughts before they could spiral any further. "Did I really help?"

Sam shrugged, pushing his borderline crisis to the back of his mind. "You gave me a starting point. Began with the corners, built the framework. I'll put together the rest of the puzzle on my own." He started to get up off the couch, but was stopped by Bucky throwing an arm over his chest before he'd moved more than an inch upward. "What? You have another hypothetical for me?"

"No. Where are you going?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Uh… Back to bed?" Since he no longer desired to run himself into the ground, he figured it was at least worth a shot trying to get a couple more hours of dreamless sleep—no nightmares, no thinking about what he'd barely managed to push aside seconds earlier—before he'd have to face the day. Lord knew his body needed it.

Bucky's face was dusted with pink. "Do you…" He swallowed hard. "Want a hug? Before you go?"

Sam stared at him, unsure whether he should be gaping or laughing. "A hug?" He paused. "From you?" Not that he and Bucky hadn't shared hugs before, but this was… different, somehow. The way Sam's heart had leapt into his throat at the offer.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "No, from my imaginary friend."

"Aw, you never told me you had an imaginary friend. What's their name?"

Bucky shot him an unamused look, and Sam bit back a chuckle. "I'm serious, Sam," Bucky said. "My therapist insists hugs can help lower stress, and I can see from here that your shoulders are still stiff as a board, so…" Bucky's confidence wavered near the end, his voice disappearing into an unintelligible whisper.

Not that exact words mattered, anyways. Sam understood the sentiment. And as tempting as it was to tease Bucky, as easy as it would feel to put on his typical facade of collectedness, as safe as it would be to fall back into their typical rapport of toeing the edge of true vulnerability before backing away…

"Yeah," Sam said, voice maybe frailer than he wanted to acknowledge. "Yeah, I'd like a hug."

Bucky's own shoulders dropped with relief, and seconds later he was wrapping his arms around Sam, gently pulling him into his body.

Sam exhaled a shuddering breath at the warm, enveloping touch, embracing Bucky around the middle and dropping his head onto Bucky's shoulder.

In the morning, he'd have to think, really and truly think about what might be the cause of his nightmares. In the morning, he'd have to think long and hard about the ache of losing Riley. And in the morning, he'd have to think about why Bucky's hug eased that ache more than anyone else's touch ever had.

But for now?

Sam could simply be.

xXx

"What are the odds both of us would have delayed flights during our visits to each other's state?" May mused, shaking her head before taking a sip of her sweet tea. She hummed in blissful contentment. "God, I cannot believe I ever thought the iced tea I got in Queens was good!"

Sarah laughed. "Y'all New Yorkers"—well, Northerners in general, bless their hearts—"never did know how to make sweet tea right." She winked at May, tapping the rim of her glass. "It's all about dissolving the sugar when you're boiling the water." Rather than mixing it in after the fact, that was. Lemonade tasted better made the same way, too.

"Well, I'm delighted to know this now. My coworkers will never be safe from good sweet tea again."

Sarah should have known May was the kind of person to bring treats to work for her fellow ER employees. The knowledge made Sarah's heart flutter more than it already did around May, and that was saying a lot.

"But seriously," May said, a laugh edging into her voice, "I can't believe you got stuck in New York an extra day because of the weather, and now Peter and I are here for an extra day because of an airline screwup. I mean, yeah, we were planning to stay an extra day anyways, but still. There's gotta be an irony to this, right?"

Sarah hummed, tilting her head. Was there? She'd studied literature for years, she ought to know. "Could be situational irony," she decided, only distantly aware she was speaking aloud. "Our expectations for the outcomes of our trips—leaving on time—were subverted by unexpected delays." She paused. "Together, though?" Sarah frowned, absentmindedly tapping her glass. The ice clattered inside. "If nothing else, it's a fun coincidence."

Sarah realized May was staring at her, impressed and even awestruck, a combination that made Sarah's stomach flip and heat rush to her cheeks. "Sorry, sorry," she said, averting her gaze. Sarah wasn't sure why she was so embarrassed—this was May, after all. "Never thought I'd discuss irony outside of an academic context, but"—she laughed, and the sound was a little awkward, sure, but it earned a beautiful smile from May all the same—"here I am!"

"No, don't apologize!" May exclaimed, her smile blossoming into a full grin. "I was always shit at literature, so you're kind of blowing my mind here."

Sarah returned May's smile with a shyer one of her own. Not many people outside of Delacroix were impressed with her degree, and though her parents had been supportive until the day they'd died, she knew they'd been worried about how she was planning to make money, too. Fortunately, Sarah was as good at running a business as she was at literary analysis. "If Peter ever needs help writing a paper, you know I'm only a phone call away."

May laughed. "I don't think you realize how much I'm going to take you up on that."

Sarah had a feeling she did, and that was precisely why she'd offered. She was allowed to be so selfish every so often, no? At least once in a blue moon. It was only fair.

"Even if it's not exactly ironic that we both had delayed flights," Sarah continued after a pause, glancing at May, "I don't think it's an overstatement to conclude that the universe clearly wants us to spend more time together."

May laughed again, raising her glass for Sarah to tap. "Hear, hear!"

Sarah took the cue—clink—and enjoyed a long, cool sip of her iced tea after pulling back. The lake breeze caressed their faces while the Paul & Darlene rocked gently beneath them, the sun still hovering above the horizon. All in all, it was one of those moments Sarah wished she could capture in a mason jar like a firefly—hold it close, admire the beauty, and eventually set it free. Because nothing could last forever, Sarah knew that.

But she'd be damned if she didn't try to stretch minutes into hours.

"Have you enjoyed your trip?" Sarah found herself asking, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen. Her voice was almost too quiet to be heard over the rolling of the lake around them.

"I think saying I 'enjoyed' it would be an understatement," May said, amused, and Sarah grinned at her. "I love Queens, and it's always going to be my home, but this?" She gestured to the water and the docks and the not-yet-setting sun. "This is the most peaceful place I have ever been."

'Peaceful' was a common sentiment regarding Delacroix, one Sarah was inclined to agree with. There was a certain stillness to her hometown that she sometimes worried she took for granted.

There was also a smothering weight to the Louisiana air during July that reminded Sarah she definitely took the lake's breezes for granted, common as they were in the summer.

"Bucky said that, too," Sarah commented after a pause. "That Delacroix was the most peaceful place he'd ever visited." He'd technically affirmed Wakanda above it, but Sarah wasn't sure how much May knew about Bucky's experiences in Wakanda, so better safe than sorry to avoid bringing the country up.

May chuckled. "I'm sure Sam appreciated that."

Sarah raised an eyebrow at her, trying and failing to fight an amused smile off her lips. "Yeah? What do you mean?"

May tapped her left index finger over her lips, eyes glittering with mischief like sunlight in the lake. "Are we about to gossip like teenage girls at a sleepover, Ms. Wilson?"

Sarah laughed. "Please, Ms. Parker. We're about to gossip like adult women at book club." She'd always wanted to join a book club—now that Cass was old enough to watch AJ for a few hours without them killing each other, maybe she could. "So you've noticed how they are, too."

"You mean the way everybody knows they're in love except for them? It has been downright painful to watch, Sarah! I don't know how you put up with it every day."

God, what was Sarah going to do when May had to leave? "Hell, I don't know how I put up with it, either." She shook her head. "If their nonsense goes on any longer, I might have to handcuff them together and not give 'em the key until they just talk to each other."

May's nose scrunched up in a way that had no right to be so adorable, her glasses rising with the motion. "They're men. Superheroes, for that matter. Do they even know how to communicate?"

Sarah chuckled. "My brother ought to know how. He was a peer counselor for fellow veterans for years." Of course, in all fairness to Sam, how often did love lives come up in those sessions? Probably not the most uncommon subject, but Sarah doubted it was on the table every day.

"Well, I wish them and you luck," May declared, draining the rest of her sweet tea. "They obviously make each other happy, so I just hope they don't drive you crazy realizing that." She paused. "Or after the fact, either."

Sarah laughed hard at May's additional comment, shoulders shaking. "Wow. Thanks, honey." She finished the rest of her tea, too, but as she went down to place the glass on the floor beside her chair, her hand scraped against something sharp—a metal edge, maybe, that had gone unaccounted for during Sam and Bucky's repairs. Hell if Sarah knew.

"Fuck," she hissed, pulling her hand up to examine the injury. A skinny cut, not too deep, running up the side of her left thumb. Hurt like a bitch, though, and the flecks of rust both along and within it were not a pretty sight.

"You okay?" May asked, worried, immediately leaving her own chair to survey the scratch. The firm yet gentle care with which she knelt down and took Sarah's hand in hers made Sarah's heart skip a beat. Right, May was a nurse. Not that Sarah had ever forgotten May's job or her skill at it, but—

Well, now Sarah understood May's gift in a way she suspected only a patient could. And she wasn't going to lie: May's assertiveness—firm but tender—as she went through the motions was undeniably attractive.

"Do you have a first aid kit on the boat," May asked after a pause, looking up at Sarah with a furrowed brow. God, how did May manage to make concern such an endearing expression? "I doubt it'll cause tetanus, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."

Sarah decided very quickly that she, too, would rather be safe than sorry. She liked being ambidextrous—it'd be a shame to ruin a hand. "Yeah, it's inside." She stood, guiding May to the closest door that took them into the interior of the boat. May gently held her injured hand the whole while, only releasing it to accept the first aid kit after Sarah removed the white and red container from the top shelf and handed it over.

"Perfect, thank you." May snapped the case open, removing antiseptic wipes, a tube of ointment, and a band-aid. "Just a heads up, but this is probably going to sting."

She wasn't lying—it did sting, and Sarah might have done more than wince if she hadn't been so distracted watching May dress the wound. Her slender yet callused fingers worked nimbly to wipe and soothe the cut, her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth a fraction of an inch as she focused so diligently on her task. The short fringes of May's hair at the front of her head fell forward, uncontained by the loose braid that held back the rest of her long hair.

Sarah wasn't sure she had any right to find May so beautiful, but the fact of the matter was that she did, and it took every ounce of willpower in her body not to tilt May's chin up and press a chaste kiss to her lips then and there.

"There we go," May said brightly, smoothing the band-aid over the scratch. "Should be good as new in a few days. Just make sure to keep it clean, use some more antiseptic if you need it, all that jazz."

A smile inched onto Sarah's lips as she let her now-bandaged hand fall to her side. "Thank you, Nurse Parker. How much do I owe you for the treatment?"

May laughed. "Don't worry. I never charge for house calls from my favorite patients."

"Mm, I think there's a half dozen doctor-patient violations in that sentence alone. You could get in serious trouble."

May shrugged, still grinning. "Maybe. For you, though?" She winked at Sarah. "The risk is more than worth it."

And if that didn't make Sarah swoon like May Parker was the first sweetheart she'd ever had. In a sense, Sarah supposed May was—her first sweetheart in so long, at least.

Or maybe, even, something more.

Sarah's injured hand unwittingly came to rest on May's waist, but before she could panic at her own forwardness, May slipped her left hand into Sarah's open one.

Oh.

Was this—were they about to—?

The moment was shattered by a loud quacking from Sarah's back pocket, and she sighed in exasperation as she had to release May's waist to grab her phone. "It's our landline," she explained at May's quizzical look. "The boys set it as a duck ringtone."

Sarah answered the call with mild exasperation, though she was unable to stop herself from smiling as May snickered at her explanation. "Yes?"

"Momma, when are you coming inside?" Ah, AJ was the one calling. Made sense—Cass had just gotten his first phone, since he'd be staying after school more often starting next year, and he still hadn't finished riding that high. "It's my turn to use the Playstation, but Cass won't share."

"I thought we had two controllers for a reason, baby."

"It's a single-player game!"

Of course it was.

Sarah sighed. "Alright, I'm coming inside now. And do not harass your brother—I will decide who does what with the game. Understand?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. See you in a minute." She hung up, giving May an apologetic smile. "I think our relaxing evening on the boat has just been cut short."

May shrugged. "Don't worry about it. We've got an extra day, remember?"

Warmth flooded Sarah's chest, and she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah we do."

Despite it being far from the truth, Sarah could just about convince herself she and May had all the time in the world, and it was just a matter of deciding what, exactly, they were going to do with it. Either way—

They'd do everything with each other.

xXx

Sam watched with amusement as Cass slid into the chair across from him at the kitchen table and heaved a dramatic sigh. "Alright, Cass," he said. "What did your brother do now?"

Cass rolled his eyes. "AJ tattled and told Mom it was his turn to use the Playstation. He didn't even let me finish the level I was on!"

Sam nodded, folding his Advocate newspaper and placing it down to his left. He noticed in his peripheral vision that Peter had paused in flipping through his Academic Decathlon flashcards to observe the conversation at hand, too. "Okay. Was it AJ's turn, though?"

Cass pouted, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Yeah, but—"

"Did the level save where you were at?"

"It's supposed to save automatically, but I didn't have a chance to—"

"Let me ask you something. You're upset because it feels like you left a task unfinished, right?" Sam could understand, if that was the case. While Bucky was more of a stickler for outlined plans than him, Sam always itched for a sense of completion after tasks. It had been great for his productivity while he was still in school, but now it was more of an irritant, as leads in the field were often hard to pin down and up to weeks could pass in-between. Sam had thus developed numerous strategies to deal with his frustration of leaving tasks unfinished—strategies he now hoped would be of help to his nephew.

Cass crossed his arms over his chest, brow furrowed in anger Sam knew wasn't directed at him. "Maybe," he huffed. "I guess so."

"Then why don't you use the time until your next turn to work on something else you started but didn't have a chance to finish?" Sam offered. That was the default option he turned to. "Before you know it, AJ will be done and you'll be up again."

Cass's pout intensified. "But there isn't anything else I have to do."

This time, Peter was the one to pipe in with a suggestion. "Come on, I know that's not true," he teased, smiling at Cass. "What about that book I gave you? Didn't you start reading it last night?"

Cass hesitated, but a light slowly dawned in his eyes. "Right." He gave Peter a wide smile before jumping off his seat. "Right! Yeah!" With that, he darted into the back of the house, presumably to tear apart his and AJ's shared bedroom searching for a book Sam could say with near-certainty was just lost under his covers.

"Nice work," Sam said with an appreciative nod to Peter. "What book did you give him?"

"It's about the Haitian Revolution. MJ wanted me to read it."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Your girlfriend wanted you to read the book, so logically you're pawning it off on my 12-year-old nephew?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "No, I finished it on the flight here. Cass saw it in my luggage yesterday and I told him he could read it if he wanted." He paused, an anxious frown pulling at the corners of his lips. "Wait, was that okay? The content isn't all kid-friendly, I probably should have asked Ms. Sarah if—"

Sam waved his hand dismissively. "You're fine, Cass is turning 13 soon. He's old enough to read that kind of stuff now." And Sarah would be delighted to hear it, too—revolutionary literature had always been one of her favorite genres. Although this book was more about a revolution than it was a product of a revolutionary period… Still. Sam was sure she'd approve.

Peter's shoulders dropped with relief. "Oh. Okay, cool."

Sam bit back a chuckle at Peter's reaction. For all his sass when in costume, Peter was just a teenager who cared too much about helping others, determined to do so in whatever way possible.

Maybe Sam understood that.

"You ready to be heading back to New York soon?" he found himself asking Peter after a beat had passed.

Peter grinned at him. "Why? Trying to get rid of me?"

"Oh, you know it." Sam picked up his newspaper again, flipping to the games section so he could work on the puzzles he'd been about to start before Cass had temporarily joined them at the table. "Seriously, though. I'm sure you're excited to get back to"—he glanced behind him for eavesdroppers—"swinging through Queens?"

Peter snorted at the description, earning a self-satisfied smirk from Sam. "Yeah, I am," he agreed, shuffling his Decathlon cards. "I know I left my city in good hands, but…" He shrugged. "It's always more reassuring to be there myself."

Sam was tempted to ask who those 'good hands' belonged to, exactly, but there was an unusual note to Peter's tone that made him suspect Peter wouldn't say. Sam could respect the secrecy, though—Peter wasn't the only superhero around who kept his identity under wraps.

"Have you enjoyed your trip, at least?" Sam asked instead of prying further.

Peter flipped over a flashcard, muttering something under his breath before pushing the whole stack aside. "Well, I think Louisiana has some of the best food I've ever eaten," he said after a pause, earning a chuckle from Sam. "I don't know how I'll ever be able to tolerate cafeteria lunch again."

Sam grimaced. Ah, cafeteria food—the lack of quality was something most if not all US schools had in common. "Have fun with that. If you remind me, I can bring you a meal or two whenever I fly to New York for business."

Peter smirked. "Oh, don't tell me you've grown to care about my well-being, Mr. Wilson."

"Let's call it misguided pity."

That got a laugh out of Peter. "Wow. Perfect, thank you."

Sam stood to grab a pencil from the kitchen counter so he could try his hand at the newspaper's sudoku before returning to his seat. "Hey, food is food." He'd all but cried tears of joy when Sarah had sent him her first care package during his initial tour in Afghanistan. Riley had actually cried when Sam offered to share with him.

Peter nodded in agreement. "Beyond the food, though," he continued, leaning back in his seat and lifting his arms over his head to crack his upper back, "it's just been great seeing May so happy."

Sam froze with only one number written in the sudoku squares. He could feel Peter's gaze on him, as if the kid was waiting for a specific response and would judge Sam based on the quality of his commentary. "With Sarah, you mean," Sam said, tapping the eraser of his pencil against the table.

Peter shrugged airily, his expression giving nothing away. Probably something he'd picked up from Stark, seeing as May was about as open a book as a person could get.

"It's been great seeing Sarah so happy, too," Sam admitted after a pause. "With May." He gave Peter a small smile. "They're good for each other, don't you think?"

Peter's face broke into a wide grin, and Sam had a feeling he'd passed the kid's unspoken assessment. "Aren't they? I heard May singing in the shower yesterday. Singing! She hasn't done that in ages!"

Sam chuckled, placing his pencil down beside his forgotten sudoku—he could always work on it later. "Kid, Sarah was humming when she made breakfast this morning. And my sister is not the kind of person who hums."

Peter wiggled his eyebrows, beaming. "She is now! That's L-O-V-E for you!"

Sam's heart skipped a beat at the mention of love, but the tension that had followed the word for the past several weeks never came. Because Peter was right. It was love. And besides, Sam loved his sister, which meant if she loved May?

Her word was good enough for him. Maybe he didn't understand the road Sarah was taking or the speed she was travelling, but Sam didn't have to understand to know his sister would be just fine.

"It's been kind of wild," Peter continued, "seeing them with each other all the freaking time, but like—a good kind of wild, you know?"

Sam nodded, laughing. Oh, he knew. They weren't quite glued at the hip yet, but Sarah and May certainly thrived in each other's presence. A way incomparable to how they were around most others.

Peter sighed, a frown pulling at his lips as he leaned forward to rest both elbows on the table. He dropped his chin on his hands. "The worst part about leaving is that I know May won't be as happy as she is now. She loves Queens, but… Queens doesn't have Ms. Sarah."

Sam's own chest rose and fell with a sigh, the fingers of his right hand drumming the table. He'd realized the inverse applied to Sarah, too, and as much as it pained him to say— "Unfortunately, there isn't much we can do besides make sure they have time to text and call each other as often as possible."

Even his status as Captain America could only take Sam so far in flying Sarah to New York or May to Louisiana. More than that, though, he knew there were only so many days in a row Sarah was comfortable leaving AJ and Cass in the hands of himself, Bucky, or a neighbor. May was probably the same with Peter.

"Yeah, I know," Peter said glumly. "Still sucks."

That it did.

"Well, let's not drown in our sorrows yet," Sam continued after a pause, offering Peter what he hoped was a comforting smile. "You guys still have another day and a half down here—no reason to throw away the milk before it's spoiled." After all, Sarah and May deserved to make the most of their remaining time in the same place without him and Peter dragging the mood down.

Peter nodded, and a beat passed before he said, "On the subject of happy couples"—that definitely should have been a red flag for Sam, because they really had not been on the subject of 'happy couples'—"when are you and Mr. Barnes going to get your shi—uh, I mean, get your stuff together and make things official?"

Sam would have laughed at Peter's stumbled attempt to censor himself had the question not been so completely and utterly ridiculous. "Me and Bucky?" he said, raising an eyebrow and pretending his heart wasn't about to beat out of his chest. "You're kidding, right?"

"Come on, Mr. Wilson."

"I've told you 'Sam' is fine."

"No thanks, it wouldn't feel right. Yet." He shook his head. "Anyways—I'm not kidding. Mr. Barnes is the same way around you that May is with Ms. Sarah, and vice versa."

'Ms. Sarah'—oh, wow, his sister was on an almost first name basis already? Go figure. "Bucky and I are just friends," Sam said. Hell, two years ago that would have been an outrageous admission in itself. "Also, why am I getting love advice from a teenager?"

"Because this teenager has an amazing girlfriend while you are still sad and single," Peter pointed out, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Lots of people are happy and single, Parker."

Peter tilted his head. "True. I don't want to disrespect any individual's experiences. But." He gave Sam a dubious look. "You can't tell me you haven't noticed commonalities between you and Mr. Barnes, and May and Ms. Sarah."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Really? Like what?"

Peter began ticking items off on his fingers. "You're always in each other's personal space, just like May and Ms. Sarah sit extra close on the couch. Mr. Barnes is always looking out for you—"

"—because we're partners, Peter, we gotta have each other's six—"

"—no, I mean in the domestic sphere. You know how yesterday May prepped a hot water bottle because she knew Ms. Sarah's back was hurting?"

Sam blinked. "Yes?"

"Not one hour earlier, Mr. Barnes made you a cup of lemon ginger tea for after your workout because it relieves muscle soreness."

"Peter, that's called a coincidence—"

Peter plowed on as if Sam had never spoken. "Also, Mr. Barnes knows all your favorite things, and you know all of his. Food, music, TV shows—"

"—because Bucky and I live together nine-tenths of the time! It's only logical we're going to learn a thing or two about each other's interests—"

"—Mr. Wilson, the fact that you live together 'nine-tenths of the time' is not the trump card you think it is."

Sam opened and closed his mouth, because goddamn, he did not have a comeback for that one.

Peter's expression shifted to one of sympathy. "Just think about it, Mr. Wilson. You and Mr. Barnes go out of your way to make each other happy." He snapped his fingers. "Oh, okay! You know how Ms. Sarah surprised May with a CD of May's favorite singer?"

Sam stared at him warily. "Yes… Why?"

"Well, I accidentally overheard Ms. Sarah explaining to Mr. Barnes that the CD had actually been pretty hard for her to get her hands on, but since it was for May, the trouble had been worth it." He gave Sam a knowing look. "You can't tell me there hasn't been a time Mr. Barnes hasn't inconvenienced himself if it meant surprising you with something you liked, or vice versa."

Sam shook his head, not at all wanting to contemplate Peter's question, perhaps for fear of what knowledge it would reinforce. "Look, kid, I appreciate your concern about Bucky and I's relationship"—if anything, 'concern' seemed too tame a term to describe Peter's investment—"but there is nothing like that between us, okay?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "There's only nothing 'like that' because you haven't asked for more."

Sam blinked, stunned by Peter for the umpteenth time in what could only be the past five minutes. "Excuse me?"

"Well, there's no way Mr. Barnes is going to make the first move."

The dryness to Peter's tone would have been nothing short of hysterical had they been speaking about anything or anyone else. "Peter, Bucky is not interested in m—"

"I'm not interested in what?"

Sam immediately snapped his mouth shut, jaw clacking almost painfully with the motion. He winced, massaging the left side of his face. Dear God, he hoped Bucky hadn't overheard much—any—of his and Peter's conversation. "Don't worry about it."

Peter smirked at him, an expression Sam pointedly ignored. Bucky observed them with mild suspicion before shrugging and placing a stack of styrofoam containers on the table. "I picked up dinner while I was out, that way Sarah wouldn't have to cook tonight. Greek is okay, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, Greek is perfect," Sam said. He stood, grabbing his newspaper and pencil from the table as he did so. "I'll get the boys and tell them to wash up. Peter, can you track down May and Sarah?"

Peter gave him a two-finger salute before disappearing out of the kitchen, and Sam could only roll his eyes in response. Teenagers.

"I also got you this," Bucky continued, not quite meeting Sam's gaze as he handed him a white and Smoothie King cup. "Citrus blend."

Sam's favorite. Which Bucky knew… without having to ask. Not a big deal.

Sam blinked, slowly—uncertainly—accepting the smoothie. "Thank you?"

An amused smile formed on Bucky's lips. "Why do you sound so surprised? It was on my way back."

"No, I don't"—Sam shook his head—"I just wasn't expecting it, that's all."

Bucky's smile grew a little bit wider. "Good. I like surprising you."

Sam's heart thudded in his chest.

Oh.

Oh.

Smoothie King, as it happened, was nowhere near the one Greek restaurant located in Delacroix.

Fucking hell. Peter Parker was the last person Sam wanted to hear 'I told you so' from.

xXx

sarah, upon realizing how head over heels she is for may: i am on cloud 9

sam, upon realizing how head over heels he is for bucky: oh for fuck's sake

i love them equally aksdjasjs anyways, i hope to see y'all next week for the final chapter! as always, my tumblr is starkravinghazelnoots if you're bored and want to join me in screaming about sarahmay and sambucky. also, i am thinking about one day - probably not soon, alas - writing some deleted scenes from this story, such as the events peter describes to sam in the final section of this chapter. is that something y'all would be interested in?