Bucky gazed across the dark street toward a plain ranch-style home. One room on the front of the house was illuminated, but he couldn't see inside because the curtains were drawn. He could faintly make out silhouettes moving behind the curtains at times, but without being able to see clearly it was difficult to ascertain how many occupants there were. He could only distinguish between the figures based on an approximation of their different heights.
"You hear that?" Sam muttered from beside him.
"I don't hear anything," Bucky answered, eyes skimming quickly across the house, windows, yard, and then street for anything of note.
"Just wondering if you could hear wedding bells," the other man shrugged.
"The hell are you talking about?"
"Are you still dragging your feet on asking Harper to marry you?" Sam asked impatiently.
Bucky dropped the binoculars from his eyes, turning to shoot his partner an exasperated glare. "This is hardly the time for you to interrogate me about something that's none of your business."
"We can multi-task," shrugged Sam. "Since watching shadows is so riveting and we haven't been able to plant bugs yet."
The older soldier frowned, unable to come up with a good counterpoint. He settled on, "It's still none of your business."
"Man, how long are you gonna make that woman wait?"
"It's not like that," he sighed.
Sam scoffed in disbelief. "What's it like then?"
"She isn't waiting on pins and needles for me to propose. If she was really feeling impatient, she would ask me."
"Please tell me you aren't procrastinating until she gets fed up and proposes to you," Sam pleaded with a grim expression.
"No!" Bucky shot back heatedly. "I was just making a point. She isn't waiting desperately for a proposal. And it isn't the time for it."
"Why not? You've got your shit pretty well managed now, don't you?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Start talking sense, Buck."
The enhanced soldier was silent for a long moment. Finally, he answered, "We've experienced very little normalcy together. I want us to be together long enough that she knows I can actually promise her a future that's more good than bad."
"You think by now she really doesn't know what she can expect from being with you?"
"I'm sure she does," he allowed. "She knows me better than anyone. But all I've proven to her in our decade of history is that things will be good for a little while and then I'll leave her alone and hurt."
Silence enveloped the two men squatting by the window of their stakeout house. Both lifted their binoculars again, all pretense to avoid the awkward tension between them. The shadows in the window were hardly moving now, so there was little to use as a distraction.
Finally, Sam said, "I respect where you're coming from."
"Thanks," Bucky muttered.
"But don't wait too long. With who we are and all the crazy shit that's happened… tomorrow isn't guaranteed."
He laughed bitterly. "Trust me, I am very aware of that. And I'm not going to wait forever. I just want to do right by her and by us. Something I've never really been able to do before."
The other man shook his head and shot him a sympathetic look. "You've done the best you could, Buck."
With a nod, Bucky said, "I know that. But that doesn't change the fact that I lied to her about my identity for the first couple years I knew her, that I put her in the position of having to keep my secrets and shift her life around to see each other when I was a fugitive, or how screwed up I was last year when we were shutting down the Flag Smashers."
"No, it doesn't," agreed the other fighter.
They were silent for a long while, watching the house. The occupants didn't move until eventually one passed by the window and shortly after the light inside disappeared. The house was now totally dark, and the street was quiet. Not a passerby had been seen in hours.
"I did buy a ring," Bucky found himself confessing.
"Really?" Sam asked, surprise evident in his voice.
"Yeah, a few weeks ago. I showed one of her sisters – Jordan, the one you met – and she approved."
"So if it isn't time to propose, why buy a ring?"
Bucky shrugged one shoulder. "I told you I'm not going to wait forever. And I saw it and it felt like the right one."
Sam chuckled. "Well, I hope you can prove that you're husband material soon."
Harper woke from her light sleep when she felt a dip in the mattress. With a peaceful grin, she turned over and cuddled up to James as he slid beneath the comforter.
"Sorry to wake you, darlin'," he apologized gently.
He settled back into his pillows and coiled his arms around her. Harper tucked herself closer to him, head resting against his shoulder. A content sigh breathed from her nose. The smell of patchouli filled her senses and his skin was still warm from the shower. Harper gazed up into his face, admiring his dark lashes, the square angles of his jaw, and the shallow cleft in his chin. The latter feature was visible thanks to the distinct lack of facial hair obscuring it.
Heart fluttering, Harper lifted her hand to feather her fingers over his freshly shaved skin. The pads of her fingers skimmed down his smooth cheek. She luxuriated in the soft texture, cupping her palm on his cheek and sweeping her thumb back and forth along the strong line of his jaw. She dipped the pad of the digit in the divot in his chin that she adored before nuzzling her nose against his neck.
James chuckled lightly, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. With fondness evident in his voice, he murmured, "Or are you still asleep?"
Harper hummed and said, "I'm awake. No need to apologize, though. I'm quite happy."
She stroked her fingers along his cheek again for emphasis, drawing another laugh from the soldier. He commented, "I've never known a dame to get so much enjoyment from their guy shaving."
"Your skin is so soft!" she protested. "And you smell great. And you're super attractive."
He turned just enough to press a kiss to her palm. Harper continued, "You're also warm."
James pulled her tighter against him in response. Harper continued to idly feather her fingers across his chin, her movements equally loving and indolent. Her eyes had long since drifted closed when the brunet spoke up again, "Is this your way of convincing me to shave more often? Because it's working."
"I'm not doing anything," Harper muttered sleepily.
"You're being incredibly cute, cuddly, and extra touchy," James disagreed.
Harper, on the verge of sleep, couldn't muster a reply. She simply shifted her head on his shoulder so that she could pepper his neck with kisses. James buried his fingers in her hair, scratching softly at her scalp. The gentle attention, the warmth of his body, and his familiar scent coalesced, letting her drift to sleep in a bubble of comfort and safety.
Bucky milled around the apartment, torn between boredom and a deep aversion to doing the tasks that needed doing. He and Sam were waiting on some intel before shipping out on their next mission, so there was little to do outside of his usual obligations. And while he didn't mind taking on more of the household tasks given the overall distribution of labor between himself and Harper, it did get dull.
He worked his way mechanically through the dishes and cleaning the bathroom before procrastinating by following a new yoga tutorial on YouTube. With a few more sighs than was really acceptable, he then moved back into productivity by dusting around the apartment. Aslan watched him from his perch in the living room window, which inspired further procrastination. The brunet fed the old feline several treats and took some time to brush his fluffy coat.
As he was trying to fill up a bit more time with productivity, blue eyes glanced toward the dining room table which had turned into Harper's home office since they rarely ate there anyway. The brunette was honestly mostly neat and clean. There were little things that didn't quite mesh with his own cleanliness preferences, but it was hardly bothersome. He could proceed happily with his day despite finding espresso hair on the wall of the shower or stray cat toys on the floor or a few dirty dishes in the sink. But there was something about the relative chaos of their dining room table that irked him.
Resolving to talk to her about the space when she got home, he began to shift things around on the table so that her papers, files, and books were at least contained a bit better. As he did so, his eye was drawn to something tucked into one of the massive books. Hanging over the front cover was a silver cat charm. Hardly daring to hope, he carefully opened up the book.
Bucky's breath caught in his chest. Nestled between the pages was a thin metal rod and the silver cat was hanging from a curved hook. It really was the bookmark he had given her their first Christmas after meeting each other. It had been nearly ten years and she still had the small gift. He had been so nervous to give it to her; he knew it was an insignificant token of appreciation for her friendship and all of the kindness she had shown him. That she had kept it all these years and still used it had something coiling tightly in his chest.
With renewed motivation, Bucky quickly finished the light organizing of the table, checked that Aslan's bowls were full, grabbed his wallet, and then set out on a new mission. He bounded down the many stairs of their apartment building before taking off up the street.
The super soldier would never admit it to Harper, but he actually had really come to enjoy living in Boston. It had the same fast pace as New York, but was lively in a different way. He also liked all of the beautiful brick buildings, the combination of paved streets and cracked stone ones, and the buzz of voices and cars. He'd never change his loyalty to his home city and its teams, but in these modern times he was certainly happier here.
As he headed toward his destination, he exchanged nods and smiles with several people who were regulars in the neighborhood. Eventually, he ducked down a stone paved side street and found his way into a tiny florist's shop. Behind the counter was an old woman, the shop owner who Bucky had come to know.
"Oh, hello, James!" the woman greeted happily.
"Hello, Rosemary," he answered with a smile. "How are you this afternoon?"
"Good, good. Sarah is in the backroom putting together some bridal bouquets, so I'm looking forward to seeing the final products."
"That will be exciting," the brunet agreed with a nod.
The aged florist chuckled and then asked, "I take it you're here for something for your lovely lady?" When Bucky nodded, Rosemary continued, "Any special occasion? Are you celebrating something?"
"No, nothing like that. I just want to show her that I appreciate her."
"That's sweet," Rosemary grinned. "I just knew from the first time you came in here that you were a gentleman, James."
She ambled slowly from around the counter, beginning her usual circuit around the small showroom. Her fingers cupped her chin as she thought over the available options, muttering to herself as she went. Bucky enjoyed watching the eccentric woman's process. He had felt uncomfortable the first couple times she had done this, insisting she could put together the perfect arrangement for his needs. Harper had never been disappointed by the woman's selections and the blooms were always beautiful and long-lasting, so the soldier simply accepted her process now.
They spoke about how business had been while Rosemary carefully put together a bouquet. She plucked flowers she deemed suitable for the project as they talked, conversation moving to how he had been lately and asking for Harper's wellbeing. The florist didn't actually know Harper, but when Bucky had made several appearances in the shop, the woman had asked if he simply went on a lot of dates or if he had a wife. She told him she thought it sweet how devoted he was to Harper. Bucky enjoyed conversations with the old woman well enough. It was nice to be seen as a charming, doting boyfriend rather than as an Avenger or assassin. Like he had been seen before the War.
Finally, Rosemary presented him with a modestly sized bundle of pale purple, powder blue, and yellow-green hydrangeas. He was informed that they were a good communication of genuine thankfulness and honesty before he paid, thanked the florist for her help, and headed home.
It was a relatively normal night. James had gotten back from an assignment two days prior and had been recuperating and readjusting. With him settled back in and the week coming to a close, the couple had decided to go out to celebrate his return. It was nice to go on dates every so often.
Harper had donned the high waisted black jeans she had noticed he liked and paired it with a simple white tank and black bomber jacket. He had complimented her in his loving, doting way, but she knew she didn't compare. How could she when he was dressed in dark jeans, a black t-shirt that fit deliciously snug across his broad chest, and a black leather jacket that sat just right on his firm shoulders? The view over dinner was unbeatable.
After eating and drinking their fill, they had decided to simply walk around; the spring air was refreshing and the city at night was beautiful. But that was when their evening took a sour turn.
"So then is Jordan doing better with things?" James asked.
Harper sighed. "Well, I think it's a good step, albeit small. It was just one lunch. But she and Natalie were so close before… I don't know. I think Jordan wants that again but is still struggling to let herself forgive Natalie for everything that happened during the Blip."
"Any guys in her life that she's mentioned?"
"There is one she's actually been on a couple dates with."
"That's good. She was so torn up after what's-his-name."
Harper squeezed the fingers entwined with hers. "It would seem she took a brotherly pep talk to heart."
She looked up in time to catch the warm smile that softened his features. "Luckily. I was sorely out of practice."
"I'm sure my troublesome sisters will give you plenty of practice."
"Well, I hardly know Natalie."
"Jordan will be enough, so don't jinx it. Besides, I think-"
"Hey, is that…?"
"I think it is!"
"Sergeant Barnes!"
And suddenly they were swarmed by people vying for James's attention and taking photos on their cellphones. Harper froze, immediately overwhelmed and deeply uncomfortable. Her body was stiff, cold sweat springing up at her temples while her heart pounded and adrenaline flooded her system.
While her fight-flight-fear system kept her rooted firmly in place, thankfully James remained far more functional. His flesh hand left hers as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her against him. His metal hand rose, gently lowering her head and turning her toward his chest, effectively obscuring her face from the growing throng of interested civilians. With purposeful strides, the super soldier parted their way through the crowd, ignoring the questions, positive comments, hateful barbs, and flirtatious solicitations being tossed his way.
Harper felt like she was in a daze. She heard the jumble of voices getting further away and recognized that James had navigated them to a path toward home, but those were vague observations. Most of her attention was on the weight of his arm around her, the gentle pressure from his mechanical hand, and his scent in her nose.
They didn't speak, even as they arrived back at their building and made their way up to their apartment. James fumbled slightly unlocking the door, and Harper realized his hands were shaking. Her brows knit in concern. She had been so much in shock that she hadn't noticed his distress. Guilt weighed heavily in her chest.
Entering their home, Harper bee-lined for Aslan, scooping him up out of his window perch. She buried her face in his neck, earning a mewl of surprise from the aged feline. She cuddled his warm body to her chest, rocking him gently in what was ultimately a self-soothing motion. He didn't complain; less mobile and needier than ever, he enjoyed any contact offered to him.
James's arms wrapped around her, careful to include but not stifle the cat she held. His nose found her hair in a manner not dissimilar to how Harper nuzzled Aslan. She almost chuckled at the realization, but her throat felt too tight.
"I am so, so sorry, Harper," the brunet muttered. "I never wanted something like that to happen to you. Fuck…"
The gruff edge to his voice wasn't what she expected. Harper realized suddenly that he had been shaking from anger, not from some sort of trauma being activated.
"Has that happened to you before?" she asked quietly.
"A few times," he admitted. "After the Flag Smashers, more people have recognized who I am. I didn't think… I didn't think it was enough that it would happen when we were together."
They stood like that for several moments in silence. Harper tried to tamp down the ire that had bubbled up at his response. Part of her didn't understand why he had never told her about being recognized. Not only might that affect him negatively given his complex history in and out of the public eye, but there seemed to be obvious potential to affect her as his partner. But the other part of her understood that perhaps it was so infrequent an experience he really hadn't thought there was a risk for her to be thrown into the spotlight as well.
"Darlin', are you okay?"
"I'm… processing," she answered slowly.
"I'm sorry, doll."
Harper sighed. "It's okay, James. I think I'm going to take a shower and head to bed."
"Alright," he answered, slowly withdrawing his arms from around her.
She could hear the worry in his voice, so she pressed a kiss to his cheek. He looked marginally less tense as he took Aslan from her hold, allowing her to disappear into the bathroom. Harper felt grateful that he had agreed to respect the shower as a private space; she needed it to decompress from her first overwhelming brush with her partner's fame.
A/N: Thank you to everyone who is still sticking it out with this story. I really appreciate it!
