It was a quiet morning on the 36th floor of Stark Tower, silent aside from the occasional clatter of forks against plates and the random sounds of a game playing from within David's hands. The boy sat at a table with four others, including his mother, who was already exhausted after making a veritable buffet of French toast for her new... roommates?

Seriously, making breakfast for genetically engineered soldiers was no small task. And Sam wasn't much better.

She ate her own food quietly, glancing at David's untouched plate - of course - and then at Bucky, who sat on her other side, inhaling his food. Steve had charmingly offered his compliments through his first mouthful, and after that, aside from a few words here and there, it had been a mostly silent affair. She assumed that this, her second morning at the tower, was how most of mornings would be. Definitely a change from her usual semi-solitary mornings, but not a bad change.

"Tell you what," Sam said, eating the last bite on his plate before looking across the table to her, "it sucks that you came here under these circumstances, but damn, it's good to have a woman's cooking." Then he glanced at Steve and added, "No offense to your omelets, Cap."

Steve shrugged him off, nodding his agreement, and Summer's coffee-awakened brain detected a grand opportunity to mess with the two men. She straightened her features to appear annoyed and replied to Sam, "What, so cooking is a woman's thing? You can't learn how to make French toast because you're a guy? Really? Or do you just think that a woman's place is in the kitchen?"

Sam's cheerful expression faltered, and Steve swallowed a large mouthful of food as slight horror suddenly dawned on his face. Even Bucky looked surprised, looking at her curiously as she forced herself to keep from bursting out laughing.

Sam finally replied, "I didn't mean it like that... I'm..."

She couldn't take it anymore. She cracked a grin and started laughing. "I am so messing with you. But the look on both your faces was priceless," she said, gesturing to Steve and Sam, who were both chuckling in relief.

As she laughed, she glanced at Bucky and felt an unexpected warmth at the small, appreciative grin that he wore on his face he lifted his coffee cup to his lips. Before she could make goo-goo eyes at him too long, Sam remarked, "Thanks for freaking me out at eight in the morning. Haven't even had half my coffee yet."

"You're welcome," she grinned, raising her cup in a mock toast.

"Hey," Steve shrugged, "at least you didn't call her a dame and ask her questions about fondue." When every adult at the table grew visibly confused, he shrugged again. "Long story."

Then a moment passed, and the previously very silent Bucky looked up from staring slightly intensely at his plate and repeated, "Fondue?"

Summer then looked to Steve, who looked like he was about to wave the question away before his expression suddenly turned slightly serious. "Do you remember that? You weren't there but I told you about it."

Bucky stared for another few seconds and then asked, "Does it have to do with the girl?"

Summer watched Steve's eyes take on a fleeting sadness as he nodded. "Peggy, yeah."

Sam turned curious eyes on Steve and asked, "Did you ask her out for fondue or something?"

"No," Steve sighed. "Howard Stark asked her if she wanted a 'late night fondue' and I thought that meant..." he gestured vaguely with his hand, aware of the little ears at the table.

Summer choked on the coffee she was sipping and tried to cover up her giggles with a cough. Sam laughed outright, and Steve rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know, it's hilarious. And of course you would remember that, of all things, Bucky."

Bucky shrugged. "I think I laughed and said you were an idiot."

"Yep."

Sam raised an eyebrow and said, "Well, at least you finally got to have some fondue, seventy years later."

Now she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She glanced at Bucky, who then glanced at her, and there was something subtle in his eyes that made her look away with a slight blush. She could totally go for some fondue of her own.

But instead of dwelling on the finer points of liquid cheese and the almost adorable embarrassment on Steve's face, she checked her phone that laid in front of her and frowned a little. She hadn't heard from her brother since the day before, and that was very odd for him. She still hadn't told him about the house getting blown up or her current whereabouts, having occupied herself the day before with shopping and trying to make her new room semi-comfortable for David, but she knew she had to do it today. He needed to know, and she needed to stop putting it off.

So, she decided, she was officially not going to put it off anymore.

Later.

Maybe after lunch.

Once the fondue talk had run its course and all the plates were empty - minus David's, though he did eventually take a solitary bite - she started gathering them all up out of habit and taking them to the sink. The kitchen was so incredibly modern compared to what she was used to, and the single most attractive thing about it was the dishwasher. She'd never had one before, and the appliance inspired almost as much lust in her as the man who had brought her to the tower. Almost.

But as she went to rinse off the plates in the sink, they were suddenly snatched out of her hand, and she looked up to find Bucky as the culprit. He gave her a look like she should know the routine by now, and she smiled and shifted to the side as he flipped on the water.

She almost asked if he knew how to load a dishwasher, but she decided to keep the question to herself and lingered, leaning against the counter and wondering how someone who hadn't been allowed to be human for decades could be as amazing as he was.

The day before, he had relented from his initial protests and tagged along in disguise as she bought the essentials for herself and David - mostly clothes and other essentials, and some of the toys that David had lost in the explosion. After enduring that, she had used him to rearrange her room and move a smaller bed into it for David until he felt secure enough to sleep in a room of his own again. Bucky had carried the mattress in from an empty room like it weighed little more than a Dorito, and he hadn't complained when she made him move the furniture around multiple times when nothing felt right.

But, most importantly, he had stayed with her through her first night at the tower, and everything seemed a lot less intimidating and frightening when he was there to fall asleep on. He was gone when she woke up, but she'd expected that.

And now he was cleaning up for her after she had cooked, a habit of his, and she found that she simply could not get used to such treatment. It was far too opposite of what she'd had in the past. Surely he would just get comfortable after awhile and it would stop. Nobody was that perfect. Right?

"So, you knew all about fondue back in the day," she observed casually, her back to the counter as he dropped the plates into the empty dishwasher. Apparently he did know how to use it.

He gave her an indistinct look. "That's what he tells me."

"You've gotta remember some of it," she pressed. "I know I've asked before, but..."

"Why do you want to know?" he asked, genuinely puzzled, closing the dishwasher door.

"I don't know. Curious, I guess," she shrugged. "I've seen your pictures from back then. I'm sure you got plenty of... fondue."

She decided then that she may forever use that word as code whenever David was around. Bucky responded by turning off the tap and turning towards her. "I don't remember eating cheese and bread."

She rolled her eyes but smiled at him anyway, wishing he'd come a bit closer. She knew he probably wouldn't, though, because if there were others around, she'd noticed long ago, he kept his affections to himself. She was also getting the feeling that recent events had led to him backing off a bit physically, but she needed more than a day to determine that one.

"So, any plans today?" she asked, changing the subject.

He shrugged. "No."

"Me either," she sighed. "Aside from making stupid phone calls. I really need to call my brother."

Something flickered across his face at her words, but she thought she'd imagined it. She was wondering exactly what to do with the day when JARVIS piped up and made her nearly jump.

"Ms. McAdams, there is a bit of a scuffle taking place on the first floor between the staff and a Mr. Paul McAdams."

She blinked and then furrowed her brows, the words making no sense at first. "What?"

"A man claiming to be your brother is refusing to leave the building until he sees you."

Her eyes widened and she felt her jaw drop as her brain struggled to comprehend this latest bit of information. There were so many reasons why what the AI said was impossible that she almost laughed, but instead she stuttered, "Uh... wh-... um... but..."

"Might I suggest you head down to the first floor before security removes him from the premises?"

"Yeah," she answered the ceiling, "Okay.

Now it was time to panic.

"How did he know I'm here?" she asked nobody in particular, completely missing the slightly guilty look on Bucky's face. Then she looked up at him and asked, "Can you watch David?"

There was a flash of panic in his eyes but she didn't give him a chance to say no before she rushed off towards the elevator, mind suddenly working a mile a minute, thinking that it had to be a mistake. It just had to be. Unless Paul was secretly a super spy and had tracked her cell phone location, there was no way he could know where she was. She'd barely been there more than a day!

But, after she descended the many floors down to the first and then stepped into a small sea of mostly suit-clad other bodies, she was soon faced with the bizarre truth of the matter.

"I am not a stalker! Or a terrorist! Check my shoes, there's no bombs in there!"

Near the front doors, past the gigantic front desk, was her redheaded brother, being manhandled by three security guards and yelled at by a slightly overweight guy in a suit.

"I've never even heard of the girl you're saying lives here, and I run the security for the whole building," the guy in the suit replied.

She hurried forward and waved her arms around slightly stupidly. "That's me! He's okay! That's my brother."

The struggle momentarily ceased, and Paul looked at Summer with a mix of relief and something that gave her the impression that he wanted to kill her. The man in the suit turned his confused gaze to her and asked, "And who the hell are you?"

"I'm - uh... I'm on the thirty sixth floor," she said, hoping he'd know what that meant since he claimed to be head of security.

"Since when?"

She glanced nervously at Paul and muttered, "... Two nights ago."

"And who brought you there?"

"I did," came a distinct voice, and Summer cringed again and watched Paul's eyes widen exponentially as Steve marched up to the scene. "Is there a problem here?"

Suit-guy's demeanor instantly changed, and the security guys finally let go of Paul. "No, not all. Just trying to do my job and keep this building safe, which would be easier to do if someone kept me updated on who's living in it."

"Sorry, Mister... Happy," Steve frowned a little as he said the odd name. "She's with us. I'll take it from here."

The guy with the weird name threw his hands up, muttering something about his job and how he was going to lodge a major complaint with Stark later, but all Summer could focus on was the way that Paul was staring at Steve. His face told her that he hadn't quite fully grasped her association with the world's first superhero until that moment, and she prayed that he wouldn't freak out.

Yeah right. He was gonna lose it, just probably not over Steve. It was unavoidable.

Steve turned and smiled and Paul and held out his hand. "Steve Rogers."

"... Paul," he replied, shaking his hand a bit awkwardly. "This is already the weirdest day of my life."

Summer couldn't take it anymore. "Why are you here? How did you find me?"

Handshake over, Paul whipped his phone out of his pocket and waved it. "I got a weird text from a weird number saying something bad happened and you needed me and that this was where I could find you."

Her eyes widened and she snatched the phone from his hand, quickly and correctly guessing his passcode - "Expelliarmus", how predictable - and pulled up his text messages. One look at the text in question and she closed her eyes briefly and muttered, "Bucky..."

"Bucky?" Paul repeated. "Who's that? Is that the secret boyfriend? What kind of name is that?"

As she handed his phone back, Steve looked back and forth between them for a moment before saying, "Look... obviously, the two of you have a lot to talk about, so why don't we go upstairs and you can sit and... catch up."

And have a meltdown of epic proportions. Summer nodded and then she and Paul were following Captain America to the elevators. Her mind raced with the realization that she was going to have to pretty much spill everything, and before she could start panicking again, she heard Paul ask, "Where's David?"

"Upstairs. With... someone."

"Why are you in New York? And here?"

"It's a long story, okay, just... give me a few minutes to get my head together," she muttered, stepping into the elevator after Steve and genuinely trying to do so.

Then the three of them stood there silently as the elevator smoothly came to life. Summer stared at the upwards-moving floor numbers, trying to ignore the awkwardness in the air, only to have her highly uncalm thoughts interrupted by Paul asking, "Seriously, what kind of name is Bucky? Is it that one guy from American Idol like six years ago?"

She sighed. "Think more sixth grade history."

"Sixth grade... huh?"

She sighed again. "Just stop talking."

"Hey, don't get testy with me, kid. You haven't even given me a hug yet."

She sighed for a third time, nearly deprived of oxygen at this point, and asked, "How did you even get here so fast?"

"I told the hospital it was a family emergency and Sarah got her mom to come and stay with her while I caught a flight here," he explained.

"Just like that? You just pick up and come here?"

"Uh, yeah," he replied like she shouldn't even ask such a stupid question "So are you gonna tell me what bad thing happened and why I got that text?"

The elevator doors opened, saving Steve from being stuck with the two bickering siblings but condemning Summer to her inescapable fate as they stepped off and into the common living area that awaited them. She hoped that Bucky would have gone to his room, so that she could break the news to Paul easily - well, easily-ish - but apparently nothing that day was going to be easy.

Bucky was sitting on one of the couches across the room, David sitting next to him, and by the looks of it, they were playing something on his tablet together. Ordinarily, this sight would have made her feel warm and goofy, but the problem was that Bucky was wearing a t-shirt and his arm was slung over the back of the couch, shining rather brightly under the rays of sun shining in through the giant picture windows behind him.

One look and Paul skidded to a halt mid-step. Bucky looked up, first at Summer and then at the stranger at her side, and she looked nervously between the two of them, utterly useless for a moment.

Paul's vision was zeroed in with laser precision on the metal limb, and he did not appear to be breathing. He simply just stared ahead while the puzzle pieces surely fell in place in his head, and Summer poked him in the shoulder. "Um... Paul..."

"That's... that's... your... guy."

Summer glanced at Bucky, who had moved his arm as if it wasn't way too late for that, and then looked back to Paul, who was suddenly even paler than usual. "Yeah."

"You're dating... the... you're..."

"Paul..."

"He's... oh God..."

"Paul, sit down and breathe."

"But... Winter... S-"

She physically grabbed him by his shoulders and made him sit down in a chair as his breathing started to become shallow. "Paul, calm down. I can explain."

He laughed, and it sounded a bit crazed. "He shot JFK! Summer - he. Killed. A president."

"He killed a lot of people," she replied, a little bit disturbed by how easily she spoke those words, but she quickly shook it off. "But he was brainwashed. He's not a bad guy. He's a good guy. Remember reading about Captain America and the Howling Commandos in history class? Remember the one in the blue coat?"

Paul didn't hear her, too busy still staring at Bucky, who was watching the scene without a trace of amusement and looked very blank. This was in contrast to Sam, who had taken to standing next to Steve and watching like he was witnessing a bad but hilarious reality show take place live.

"But... but..."

"Paul," Summer sighed, "you're hyperventilating."

"Because Winter Soldier!" he exclaimed, pointing wildly. Summer cringed a little and then started searching around the room for a paper bag.

To her surprise, she actually found one, and immediately handed it to Paul. "Calm down before you pass out."

As Paul breathed in and out of the bag, Summer glanced at Bucky apologetically before remembering that he was the reason why Paul was here at all. She was still reeling a bit from the text she had read, and it shocked her to know that Bucky had thought of her and her feelings to the point of sneakily asking her brother to come here. If the timing wasn't so terribly inconvenient and if Paul wasn't mid-breakdown, she might have flung herself at him and given him a grateful hug.

After breathing in and out of the bag a few times, Paul lowered it and asked, "How did you even meet him? How - what - why?!"

"... I found him outside the house passed out and hurt. I helped him out."

Paul laughed again. "That doesn't explain all this!"

"You asked how I met him - that's how," she replied.

Then Paul looked over at the couch again and half-whispered, "He's sitting there with my nephew, Summer, he's sitting there with your kid like that's normal -"

"It is," she said quietly. "He's... good with David. Can you just be quiet long enough for me to explain? And if you know who he is, then you've read about him, so you obviously you must know that he's not an evil psycho."

"I don't know if that makes me feel any better," Paul muttered, raising the bag to breathe in and out of it some more. Then he dropped it and half-wailed, "I've been joking about axe murderers and Loki this whole time, but it was actually a half-cyborg assassin who's like a hundred years old."

"Who is also sitting right over there, and you're talking about him like he's not even in the room," she pointed out, though Bucky's expression never wavered from its blankness.

"Because I'm freaking out!" Paul exclaimed before groaning and tossing the bag over his shoulder.

"Well, stop freaking out! I know it's a shock and I probably should have told you a long time ago, but I knew you'd react like this and I was afraid you'd call the FBI or something."

"Why, because you're in love with an assassin wanted by the FBI?"

She faltered a little at that, glancing again at Bucky, who was now looking at her. She cleared her throat and said, "Look, I don't expect you to understand all this right away - I know it's a lot - but he's not what you think. He hasn't hurt me or David once. He's actually saved our lives twice."

That got Paul's attention. "Wait. What's the bad thing that happened?"

Her heart dropped a little bit. She'd been so focused on Paul's shock at her being involved with the admittedly extremely terrifying Winter Soldier that she'd almost forgotten that she had another bomb to drop on him. Quite nearly literally.

"Yeah, about that..."

Paul's expression shifted from confused and slightly scared to entirely scared. "Summer..."

She decided to just rip the bandaid. "My house - Grandma's house - it's gone."

He stared at her uncomprehendingly. "What?"

"It... blew up."

Behind her, Sam and Steve both slunk away to give them a bit of privacy for this part of the conversation. She stared at Paul as the reality of what she'd just said slowly dawned on him.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

"Uh..."

"Dammit, Summer, why?"

She paused at the unexpected snap and answered, "HYDRA... they were trying to kill him," she said, gesturing to Bucky.

And that was when he starting hyperventilating again.

"Paul, come on, breathe."

"You both... almost... oh my God..."

"We're fine. He saved us."

"But you - he - the whole place is gone?"

She nodded. "You're gonna pass out."

He held up his hands, muttering, "No, no, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm... you said he saved you twice."

She hesitated. "The first time was when he first stayed with me. There was a couple agents who found him and..."

"How could you not tell me all this?"

Her chest tightened at the sheer dismay and shock in her brother's voice. "I know, I just... I was trying to protect him and I didn't want you to freak out."

"I think I'm having a heart attack. I mean it. I don't feel right. Oh my God. Wait, so is this where you're living now?"

She nodded. "It's safest. I mean, I'm living in the same building as Captain America and Iron Man."

Paul nodded absently, laughing a little crazily again, then furrowing his brows as he grabbed one of his own wrists and starting counting his pulse. "I can't tell if I'm panicking or having a coronary episode. I'm a doctor. I should know this."

"You're panicking," she replied. After a moment of counting, Paul gave up and half-slumped in the chair, running a shaky hand through his hair, and Summer looked around the room briefly before plastering a nervous smile on her face and saying, "Soo... Bucky, this is my brother, Paul, and and Paul, this is my... boyfriend... Bucky."

Paul merely looked at her wearily, and Bucky's poker face didn't budge. With a groan, she grabbed her brother by his shoulder and dragged him up to his feet, then started leading him to her room.

"You're - hey - you're just gonna leave David with him?" Paul hissed as they entered the hallway, taking wide-eyed glances over his shoulder.

"It's fine," she muttered, though she could finally distinctly understand how very mad she must seem. It didn't matter though - she just needed to make Paul understand.

Once inside her room, she shut the door and then turned around to face Paul as he stood near the door and didn't budge. She stared at him for a minute before sighing and saying, "I'm sorry. I am."

Paul shook his head. "I... I'm not even mad, I'm just... confused. And extremely worried. Are you like a target now?"

"... Kinda," she cringed. "I mean, not really. But I'm a way to get to him."

"But why do they want him dead when he did all their dirty work?"

She gave him a look and replied, "Think about what you just asked."

"Okay, whatever," he shrugged, "but the house... the whole house? Did anything make it?"

She shook her head. "Just me and David. And my phone and his blanket."

"And you're gonna stay with this guy after this?" Paul asked incredulously. "I mean, this is horrible! And it wouldn't have happened if -"

She held up her hand and interrupted him. "Paul, seriously, I know you're saying that because you love me and I know how insane I must seem, but you don't know what you're talking about."

"And how is that my fault?"

"Because I knew this is what you'd do when I told you!" she replied, a bit exasperated. Then she let out a frustrated moan and wandered over to her bed, sitting on the edge of it and only speaking after Paul had perched next to her. "You wanted me to find a guy who treated me well, right? Who wouldn't take advantage of me, would respect me, understand what it means to have a special needs kid?"

"Yeah, but -"

"That's him," she said, her eyes pleading with his to understand. "It's super weird, I know, but it's true. He's the opposite of Mark."

"He's a killer."

"He's a victim. And if you blame him for what he did then you may as well blame me for being raped."

"Whoa, I never said that."

"I'm just saying, it's the same thing," she said. She then watched Paul sigh and look down at his feet, looking like he was trying hard to understand it all.

"How long have you been with him?"

"Well... it's been about six months since I met him, but we had our first date three months ago, so..."

Paul eyed her slightly suspiciously. "And it's serious."

"Pretty much."

"More than anything I've ever hoped for in my life, I hope you're being safe."

She rolled her eyes. "Duh. And we haven't even done that yet, so calm down."

He breathed a visible sigh of relief. "Good. You should keep waiting. A long time. Until you're married. Please don't marry him. Are you in love with him?"

"Oh my God, calm down," she said with slightly wide eyes.

"Well!" Paul shrugged. "You must be if your house getting blown up and almost dying hasn't knocked some sense into you."

Summer groaned and then thought for a moment before replying, "I don't know. How would I? It's not like I would know if I was."

"I can't believe you trust him with your kid. You don't trust anyone with him. And David sitting next to him like that... he barely sits next to me when I see him."

She shrugged. "He's seen Bucky a lot these last few months. He thinks the metal arm is the coolest thing ever."

Then there was silence for awhile. Summer stared at her hands, getting lost in her thoughts just before Paul spoke and drew her back.

"I can't believe the house is gone."

Hearing him say that brought a resurgence of emotions that she'd been trying to ignore since the house had blown up. Most of her best memories of that house involved Paul, from when they were little kids up until the teenage years came, before college and his career took him to California. She used to have pictures to remember those times with, but now she'd have to rely solely on memories that would consistently fade with time.

She hadn't realized that she was fighting tears until Paul pulled her into a hug.

"It's just stuff... I've got some pictures at my house. Some of Mom and Dad's stuff. Not everything's gone."

"I know... it was just... home."

"I know."

It was awhile before either of them spoke again. But eventually, Paul muttered, "I don't know how to be grateful to him for saving you guys when it's his fault it happened to begin with."

"He's not forcing me, Paul," she sighed. "Blame me if you need to blame someone. I do. I knew what I was getting into."

Paul sighed heavily and squished her closer. "I'll never know what to do with you. Seriously. Only you could get yourself into a situation like this."

"It's not my fault that he decided to pass out on my front lawn," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but it seems like a pretty big jump from that to serious relationship."

She pondered for a moment. "Not as big as you might think."

After a brief silence, he asked, "Doesn't it freak you out? The assassin thing?"

"Well, duh, I was terrified at first. I slept sitting up holding my gun for like a week. But he was even more scared than I was. He screamed in his sleep every night and could barely eat because they never gave him real food. He couldn't remember anything but what they made him do. It was horrible. It was pretty obvious by how confused he was and much he hated himself that he was no monster."

"... And in the middle of all that you, what, decided he was super dreamy anyway and took him out to dinner?"

"Well, I cooked him dinner," she replied. "And you can't deny that he's dreamy."

"That's irrelevant. Still terrifying."

She pulled away then and gave him a look. "Only because you don't know him."

"You know what's horrible?" he sighed. "I can't even threaten his life on Dad's behalf. There's no way I could beat him up. I probably couldn't even scratch him. This is horrible."

"Oh, that reminds me," she suddenly said, "Mark paid me a visit a few days ago." As Paul's eyes grew to the size of saucers, she grinned and added, "This story might make you like Bucky a little more."

"So... you invited her brother here."

Bucky glanced up at Steve, still planted on the couch next to a little boy who apparently liked his company quite a bit that day. "Yeah. Probably shouldn't have."

"No, I think it's great you did," Steve quickly said. "Though maybe next time you might want to... warn her. Or me, so we could have skipped the whole security thing."

"I figured he probably wouldn't have been cleared to come here," Bucky replied.

Steve raised his eyebrows and said, "Well... yeah, Stark probably won't be too happy when he finds out there's an unauthorized guest on this floor, but... I'm not gonna cry over that."

Then Steve grinned a little bit, and before Bucky could grin back, the sound of a door opening and footsteps lightly padding along the floor towards the couch caught his attention. Just as he glanced back, Summer appeared, hands on the back of the couch as she tapped David's shoulder and quietly told him to follow her into their room. As the boy got up and did as he was told, Bucky glanced up to meet her eyes just in time for her to give him a small smile and then lean down to place a soft little kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered just before pulling away, still wearing the smile as she turned and headed back the way she came.

He stared after her, hoping that was a good sign. Maybe his impulsive text hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

A moment later, the sound of more footsteps hit his ears, but this time they were a bit heavier, and they belonged to the floor's newest guest. Bucky looked up as Paul came to a stop near the couch, looking around awkwardly for a moment before shoving his hands in his pockets and appearing to search for something, possibly anything, to say.

"I'll give you two a minute," Steve chirped, smiling at both men before disappearing. Paul then took the seat that he vacated, looking up nervously and then back down, and the room was silent long enough to make even Bucky want to start squirming.

"Okay, so..." Paul finally started, taking a deep breath. "We, uh... got off on the wrong foot, I guess you could say." He paused again and Bucky furrowed his brows a bit. "I'm, uh... sorry? I probably should have been... more polite... since you're the one who... invited me here, so... yeah."

Having no clue what to say in large part due to not knowing this man at all, Bucky tried to think of a response but ended up just listening instead as Paul went on.

"But this is still really weird and I'm still confused how all of this happened to begin with. And I don't trust you. Which you shouldn't take personally, because I don't trust anybody, especially not with my little sister. Our dad's not here to threaten guys with a shotgun, so I've gotta do it. Which..." he gestured in dismay to Bucky, "I can't really do with you, but... I don't really care. I'll still kill you if you hurt her."

Of course, Paul couldn't kill him, but it was principal of the thing that mattered, and Bucky could understand that. In fact, listening to the still-twitchy brother talk about his sister in such a protective way brought a sense of familiarity, a twinge of something Bucky could relate to on a subconscious level. It took him a few minutes before he could connect the feeling to his own sister, whom he could barely remember. The feeling was a comfort, though - maybe it was one step closer to really remembering her.

"So..." Paul drummed his hands on his knees, and Bucky realized he'd been staring off towards the floor in thought. "Um... anyway. This is nice and awkward. I'll just... go now, since I've said what I needed to say." Then Paul started to stand, only to pause, look at Bucky curiously, and ask, "Did you really kill JFK?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Paul immediately cringed visibly and started muttering about being sorry and how he really didn't need an answer to that, but Bucky nodded anyway. "I don't remember it all that well, but..."

Paul then nodded, his look of mild terror from earlier returning just slightly to his eyes, and then he finally did stand up. "Okay. I'm gonna go find that paper bag again and... take a nap, maybe. I could really go for some Xanax right about now..."

As the other man started scouring the room in search of the bag, Bucky tried not to chuckle. There was very little physical resemblance between the two siblings - at first glance, it was hard to believe that they were related at all - but all one of them had to do was open their mouths and start stumbling over their sentences while hyperventilating, and it was suddenly very obvious that they were brother and sister.

Maybe he and his own sister had once been like that, similar and close, he thought as he lingered on the couch. Maybe someday he'd remember.

After a very long day of dealing with Paul's anxiety and David's unwillingness to do anything but stay glued to his tablet, and then cringing when Tony Stark made an appearance clarifying that he hadn't actually been serious about running an orphanage, Summer was beat. Exhausted mentally, not so much physically. Making David take a bath in an unfamiliar space had been a nightmare, and so was getting him settled into bed, but she had expected it. Down the hall, Paul had been asleep for two hours in one of the empty rooms, utterly spent after his rather eventful day (and painfully awkward dinner with the floor's inhabitants, though he was getting along with everyone fine).

Now that she finally had some time to herself, she thought about going to bed, but she wasn't particularly sleepy. There wasn't actually a whole lot to do in the tower, she'd noticed, at least for her. But that was why it was nice to have a very distracting and always-welcoming neighbor, whose room she decided to head towards.

The detour that she took to the kitchen was supposed to be a quick and innocent one, just to grab a soda out of the fridge. That was before her curiosity got the best of her.

After closing the door of the fridge, a shiny glint from a counter across the kitchen caught her eye. She'd vaguely noticed the tray full of various liquors in expensive glass containers the day before, but on a whim, she decided to walk towards them now to get a better look. It seemed incredibly cliche, she thought, the set-up of alcohol that probably cost more than most people spent on rent, and she had to wonder if Stark had such displays on every single floor of the tower just as an image thing.

Setting the soda down, she peered at the containers, guessing what was in each one. They all held dark liquors that ranged from light amber to dark, nearly black browns, and it only took her a minute to pluck the lid off of one and take a cautious whiff of whatever was inside.

She immediately wrinkled her nose and turned away - whatever was in there smelled more like an ingredient for a bomb than something meant for a human to ingest. Still, one by one, she smelled all the other ones, finding them less and less offensive as she went.

It was when she reached the last container, which held the lightest colored liquid, that she did a double take and had to sniff it again. It actually smelled good. Very good.

She looked around the empty room, quickly deciding to go ahead and pluck one of the empty glasses from the tray and try a sip. When was the last time she'd ever gotten to try the personal liquor supply of a world-famous billionaire? Never. And besides, if she hadn't earned the right for a drink or two after having her childhood home blown to bits by jerks who wanted her boyfriend dead, then that was just ridiculous.

Of course, the liquor being in a glass container and not the original bottle, she had no way of knowing the very high alcohol content of what she was about to try, and she didn't know how very quickly it would utterly smash her until it was too late.

And so, a short time later, already swaying slightly on her feet with only her third drink in hand, the girl with the very low tolerance for alcohol stumbled out of the kitchen and into the hallway, stopping ungracefully at Bucky's door. Before knocking, she looked down at herself and started clumsily undoing the top few buttons of her shirt, then fluffed her hair without realizing she was making it look disheveled and weird. Then she knocked on the door, leaning against the doorframe half out of necessity and half in an attempt to hopefully look alluring.

Then the door opened, and her lips stretched into a smile as she looked up through her lashes at the instantly confused man on the other side.

"Heyyy... Mister Barrnes..."

He took one look at the drink in her hand and the way that her shirt was half undone, not even needing to hear the way her words were already slurring before he half-grinned and pointed out, "You're drunk."

"Pfft," she scoffed, straightening up a bit and fighting the instant and overwhelming urge to lick his face. "I'm just buzzed." Then she took another drink from her glass, the burn not bothering her anymore, and then looked at Bucky pointedly before asking a lot more loudly than she realized, "Are you gonna let me in or what? Because, lemme tell you, I've had like three of these and all it takes is like one and I am like horny as f-"

Choking a little, Bucky grabbed her arm and shuffled her inside before turning back to the door, taking a deep, calming breath, and closed it.

She stood there in his room, still nursing her glass, staring at him with heavy-lidded eyes and hair that looked like she'd been brushing it the wrong way, and Bucky unconsciously chewed his lip in slight despair. He wasn't really in the mood for a test of his self-control, but he had a feeling that's where this was headed.

"This is really good," she said absently, lowering the glass and looking at it. "I have no clue what it is."

Half to just get the alcohol away from her, he stepped closer and snatched the glass from her hand and raised it to his own lips, knocking half of it back in one drink. He hadn't drank since a time he couldn't fully remember, but it tasted familiar enough for him to recognize what it was. "You're drinking whiskey." He licked his lips and then added, "The good kind."

"Hey, that's mine, don't drink it all," she protested as he made to finish the glass. She lunged ungracefully for it, but he raised it over both of their heads with a faint grin.

"You've had enough," he decided as she clawed at his arm in a vain attempt to bring it down.

"Oh come on! I deserve it!" she pouted, nearly climbing up him like a tree in her fervor to retrieve the drink. His left arm wrapped around her and held her against him, and at the touch her eyes left the unattainable glass and met his. The slight smirk didn't leave his face until she unexpectedly forgot all about the drink and grabbed his face, kissing him in a way that made him drop the glass to the floor without a second thought.

The thud of the glass hitting the carpet stole her attention, and she broke away to peer at what was left of her drink staining the white carpet and groaned. "Aw, now that's just a waste of perfectly good -"

He cut her off by kissing her again, almost laughing at her slight shriek of surprise. She tasted like the liquor he'd just spilled and something mildly sweet, like she'd been sipping coke between drinks, and he could instantly tell a difference in the way she was kissing him. It was braver, a little sloppier but not in a bad way, more in a way that gave him a glimpse of the desperation she was usually careful to at least partially hide from him. She wasn't trying to hold back or wow him with technique or skill; she was instead simply letting loose, and he liked it.

She was also making noises like he was doing a whole lot more than just holding her and kissing her. It wasn't helping the self control issue.

Adding to his doom, after a few moments, she seized him by the front of his shirt and started pushing him back, not stopping until he stumbled back on the foot of his bed. She was on his lap before he could blink, kissing him with her newfound fury and pressing herself to him so closely and tightly that it was almost hard to breathe.

His head was spinning by the time he felt her hands between them, doing something that he couldn't discern until he broke away long enough to take a breath and glance down. She was unbuttoning the rest of her shirt - or at least trying very hard to - and he grabbed her hand to stop her and breathed as she moved ravenous lips to his neck, "Stop, stop."

"Why?" she asked, coming up for air and using her other hand to try to pick up where the other left off.

"Because," he argued, taking both of her hands in his, "you're drunk and... it's not... right."

She let out a frustrated growl and let her head drop back in the process, momentarily distracting him with how her shirt tightened and parted slightly with the movement. "God, this sucks!"

He forced his eyes back up as she raised her head, and he realized that he hadn't heard what she said. "What?"

"This sucks!" she repeated. "Waiting sucks! Do you have any idea how much I just want you to throw me against a wall and just... destroy me?"

His eyes widened a little, mostly due to her terminology, and he sat there and watched mildly slack-jawed as she gripped his shoulders and continued wailing. "But then everything is stupid and we can't do that yet, because I'm stupid and your therapist is stupid and you're all... respectful and crap. And that's totally a good thing and I love that about you, but ugh, I am so... incredibly..."

"So am I," he managed to mutter, convinced that the combined effect that alcohol seemed to have on her of making her both extremely honest and extremely horny was kind of lethal.

"I mean I'm 25 and I've had sex once, and it was a nightmare, literally, and then you come popping up out of nowhere all tall and dark and intense and dripping sex everywhere like... bread crumbs..."

Bread crumbs?

As he furrowed his brows, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his jaw and murmured, "You smell good... even when you shouldn't smell good, you smell good... you're like... you're basically... a sex lollipop."

He laughed. He couldn't help it. She said it so seriously, but the minute he started laughing, she was laughing too, pulling away to watch the smile spread across his face. "What? It's true! And it's torture! Do you realize that all you have to do is kiss me for like five seconds and it's like -" she she held out her hands and made sounds meant to sound like, presumably, a waterfall. He suppressed a groan, reminding himself that she was drunk and throwing her on the floor and ravishing her wasn't right for some reason he was slowly forgetting.

"And then this!" She grabbed his metal hand, jarring him out of his thoughts. Her voice dropped down to a tortured lower tone and and she said, "You have no idea how hot this is to me. I'm pretty sure it's not even normal how hot I think it is. And the things I think."

She raised the hand to her face, putting the palm of it on her cheek and holding it there while his eyes widened with genuine surprise. "You... what?"

"It's super hot," she reiterated, nodding just to make sure he got it. He let his thumb run gently up and down near the corner of her mouth, feeling the tickling little sensation that those fingers had the capacity to feel, and then she turned slightly to press a kiss to the tip of the thumb. Then his mouth dropped slightly open and a jolt ran through his stomach when her lips parted and she drew his thumb into her mouth, sucking gently with closed eyes and flushed cheeks. He stared, breathing through his mouth and feeling his pulse quicken and heat blooming in his veins even with the decreased sensation in his metal limb.

The sight of her tongue flicking along his fingertip made him actually groan, out loud, and he suddenly realized the whirring sounds in his arm getting louder and louder the longer she... did what she was doing. Having no idea what the cause was, he ripped the hand away just in case it was gearing up to smash her face in.

Summer's eyes opened and she genuinely whimpered at the loss, grinning a little bit when she saw the heated look on his face. "I thought you'd like that."

He blinked a few times, trying to string a response together in his head, but then she was suddenly off his lap and on the floor, on her knees, pulling his apart and slipping between them while her hands worked clumsily at his belt. His jaw dropped - again - and he started protesting automatically.

"Summer, no, stop -"

"Please, I really want to -"

"But you're -"

"I don't care, and I'm not that drunk -"

"Summer..."

"But - sex lollipop - ahh!"

Her squeak was in response to being pulled up by her hair and then tossed - gently - on her back in the middle of the bed, then being held in place there by a very determined and equally frustrated Bucky. She gasped when she hit the bed and then smiled as she looked up at him, and a grin was on his own lips as his nose brushed hers and he murmured, "Stop."

"Take all my fun," she pouted, looking down at his lips and then back up, "you noble '40s gentleman sergeant war hero... guy."

"I'm not that noble."

She scoffed a little and brought her legs up around his hips, leveraging them down against hers and grinding up into them. He clenched his jaw and she smiled and did it again before he muttered, "You're teasing me."

"Me?" she asked innocently, still smiling. When he opened his mouth to retort, she leaned up and caught his bottom lip between her teeth. One of his fraying threads of self control snapped and he kissed her hard, almost angrily, his right hand moving down to grip her hip and pull her even closer while his other curled into a fist next to her head.

While he enjoyed her messier, noisier kisses and matched her desperation, her fingers pulled and yanked at his shirt impatiently. When he reluctantly broke away to let her tear it from his shoulders, he opened his eyes to find hers roaming shamelessly down his body. She bit her lip and giggled, "There's two of you."

Then she giggled again, and he sighed at his momentarily lapse of nearly forgetting how far gone she was.

"You know the only thing better than you?" she asked conspiratorially, like she was letting him in on a big secret. Then she grinned and said, "Two of you."

He might have rolled his eyes if she hadn't then caught him by surprise by rolling them over, suddenly on top of him as she kissed him and then started trying to unbutton her shirt again while plotting her next piece of scandalous writing out loud. "I wish that was possible because just imagine, one of you behind me saying things in my ear and doing whatever you want to me while another you's in front of me and I'm on my knees and -"

He gulped and his voice was a growl as he half-exclaimed, "If you don't stop I'm gonna forget why I shouldn't throw you against the wall like you want me to."

"Then I definitely won't stop," she grinned, at last successful with unbuttoning her shirt by some miracle. But before she could get it off, Bucky sat up and crushed her to him with a kiss that wiped the grin off of her face and brought back the breathy, uninhibited moans that had been torturing him since their first kiss of the night.

Once she had ceased her movements, he gently eased her back down to the bed, on her side while he faced her on his, he kissed her softly once more and murmured, "You'll thank me in the morning."

She closed her eyes and groaned. "Can't we just... screw around? It's nothing we haven't done before..."

Rather than point out that that's what they'd been doing already, he found that he could only stare at her slightly pouted lips for so long before he would give in.

He leaned in close, nearly on top of her again, kissing her lips before trailing across her jaw and down her neck, while his hand slowly peeled her shirt further apart and took its time traveling up and down her exposed skin. She hummed in appreciation, the light scratches of her nails on his scalp spurring him on as he trailed his mouth and hand lower.

His kisses had reached just past her belly button and his fingers were maneuvering open the buttons of her jeans when a soft, mildly grating sound caught his attention. He raised his head to find her snoring lightly, eyes closed and lips parted, instantly fast asleep.

He stared in disbelief for a moment before letting out a deep, frustrated sigh and flopping over on his back. He stared at the ceiling and suddenly regretted not letting her have her way when she'd been kneeling on the floor.

Eventually, he glanced over to her and her disheveled state. Then he sat up and leaned down, buttoning her shirt back up and moving some of the stray hair out of her face before drawing up his covers and pulling them over her peacefully sleeping form. Once she was sorted, he couldn't help but place one last light, barely-there kiss to her swollen lips before flopping back down and running his hand through his throughly messed up hair. What a way for the night to end.

Sex lollipop. He might have a questionable memory at best, but he'd never forget that one.

A/N: Sorry about the slight delay in getting this chapter out, I've been busy and honestly forgot for a couple of days :) hope everybody is having a good holiday break! One of the reviewers for the last chapter asked if I had experience with an autistic child, and yes, I do - my four year old is on the spectrum. She isn't nonverbal though, so I only draw somewhat on my experience to write David, as he is meant to be on the more severe side than her. So I try very hard to stay accurate to his particular case while also keeping in mind that every autistic kid (and kids in general of course lol) are unique and that gives me a bit of leeway. But anyway.

Thanks to you amazing readers and followers and reviewers, as always, you have my love :D hope you all have a happy new year, and I'll see you all next week! :D