The light was soft when Bucky woke.

Warm yellow spilled through the curtains, catching on the dust motes floating lazily through the air of the antique home. For a second, he didn't remember where he was. Just warmth. Quiet. The faint scent of lavender and something sweeter-vanilla maybe.

Then he felt the weight beside him. She was still asleep, curled on her side, her head on his arm. Her arm stretched across his chest. Her breathing was slow. Peaceful.

He stayed still.

Not out of fear.

Just…awe.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up like this. Safe. With someone next to him. Not a stranger. Not an assignment. Just…her. And stranger still-he didn't feel like running from it.

He turned his head slightly, studying her sleeping face. She looked soft in the light, her hair a little messy, lips slightly parted, a spattering of freckles over her tanned face. He didn't want to wake her. Didn't want to lose this moment.

He just breathed.

Let himself exist.

Safe.

A melody drifted into his mind, soft and strange. He didn't know where it came from-just that it made his chest ache. Without thinking he hummed it under his breath. Barely audible.

A note. Then another.

Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked, a little groggy, and looked up at him.

"...You're humming."

He froze.

"I-uh…" he looked away, suddenly self-conscious. "Sorry. Didn't mean to."

"No…it was nice." she said quietly. Their eyes both searched each other's faces before she sat up, breaking the tension. The blanket slid down her body as she moved, and for the first time, she seemed to really feel the cool air on her skin.

Her tank top clung to her chest, thin enough to leave very little to the imagination. One strap slipped entirely off her shoulder. The pajama shorts she wore had ridden up high on one thigh, the hem barely brushing the top of her legs.

She froze then.

Bucky's eyes flicked to her, then away- quickly. But not before the damage had been done. Not before she felt the way his gaze skimmed over her, even if he tried to hide it.

His voice was rougher now.

"I should, uh…let you get dressed."

She gave a small, breathless laugh, trying to play it off even as she clutched at the blanket.

"Probably a good idea."

He stood, a little too fast, raking a hand over his short hair.

"I'll start coffee," he said, turning to leave.

"And I'll…put on pants."

He didn't look back, but he definitely heard the smirk in her voice. The door clicked shut behind him. She sat there for a second longer, heat blooming under her skin that had nothing to do with embarrassment. There was something about the way he looked at her-quick, sharp, and hungry, even if he didn't mean to…

By the time she walked into the kitchen, dressed now in leggings and an oversized sweater that hung off one shoulder, Bucky was already fiddling with the coffee maker like it had personally wronged him.

He glanced over when he heard footsteps.

Paused.

She gave him a small smile as she brushed past him to grab two coffee mugs from the cabinet.

"Losing the battle with the machine?" she laughed.

'I'm convinced this is Stark tech."

She snorted and gently bumped him with her hip as she took over, effortlessly flipping the switch and adjusting the filter.

'Or maybe it just doesn't respond well to brooding."

He shot her a look, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"I wasn't brooding."

"You were absolutely brooding," she said grinning. He didn't argue. Instead, he leaned against the counter, watching her with a kind of casual ease that wasn't really casual at all. She could feel it-his eyes on her, his gaze dipping occasionally to the stretch of skin at her shoulder or the way her sweater rose just a bit every time she reached for something. He wasn't being obvious about it. But she noticed. And maybe-just maybe-she didn't mind.

After a full morning of cooking, longing glances, and tension the pair finally made it to Sam's. The Wilson house was full of noise, laughter, and warmth the moment they stepped through the door. Kids were running around, cousins were shouting across the living room, someone had already turned on football way too loud, and the kitchen smelled like heaven. Bucky blinked at the chaos and then at the sight of Sam standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing an apron and holding a spatula like it was a weapon.

"You're late." he chided.

"We brought the good mac and cheese." Bucky deadpanned.

"And stuffing. Real stuffing." Charlie smiled. Sam raised an eyebrow but let them pass.

"Then I guess I won't kick you out."

Charlie was then immediately swarmed by a few of the kids, most notably AJ, who grinned and called out her teacher name before dragging her to the kitchen to "help" with setting out the desserts. Bucky watched her with something soft in his eyes. The way she laughed, the way she crouched down to help AJ, the way she already fit into all of this-even if she didn't realize it yet.

"She's always a hit" Sam said quietly.

"Yeah. She's…good at this."

"She makes you seem less grumpy. It's impressive." Bucky rolled his eyes but didn't argue.

Dinner was over. Plates were mostly cleared. The chaos had quieted down into post-meal lounging and football commentary. Charlie was inside helping with dishes, her laughter drifting faintly through the cracked window. Bucky stepped out back, needing a little air. A little space. He wasn't surprised when Sam joined him, holding two beers.

"Figured you'd want the quiet."

"Didn't realize how loud peace and happiness could be. Almost reminds me of when I was a kid." Sam chuckled at his confession leaning against the porch railing.

"You've got that look again." Sam said.

"What look?" Bucky said dryly.

"The one where you're brooding and pretending you're not."

Bucky took the beer and leaned against the porch railing, eyes darkening on the treeline.

"She's good with your family. Like she's always been here."

Sam nodded slowly following Bucky's line of sight.

"She's got that kind of ease. Kids especially. The boys have always loved her." Sam said. Bucky gave a soft hum of agreement, but his jaw was set.

"What's going on with you? You've been watching her like you expect her to vanish. Is it the headaches she was having?" Bucky hesitated at Sam's questions, bottle resting against his thumb.

"It's nothing."

"You don't look like a man with nothing on his mind."

Another pause. Then-

"She zones out. Sometimes. Just for a second. But it's like she forgets where she is. Who she is."

Sam's expression sharpened at his words.

"You think it's something serious?"

Bucky looked down at the porch, scuffing his boot against the worn wood.

"I don't know. It's just- there was this moment in the grocery store yesterday. She froze in front of the freezer section. Just…stared at the frost on the glass like it meant something." he shook his head at the recollection. "She laughed it off, but it didn't feel like nothing. It was…familiar."

"Could be stress." Sam answered.

"Yeah. Could be." But his voice said he didn't believe that. "It's stupid. I've only known her a couple months. Hell I've only been with her in person for a grand total of a week. I shouldn't care this much."

Sam arched an eyebrow at that.

"You alway say stuff like that when you're trying to convince yourself you're right." Bucky glared at him but Sam didn't flinch.

"I've seen you around a lot of people. This is different. You're different with her. Almost like Steve." Sam said. Bucky exhaled slowly at the mention of his friend. His eyes slipping back up to the house. Through the window he could see her. Laughing. Leaning down to listen to AJ to whisper something in her ear. She looked like she belonged there. But something in his gut twisted.

"I don't trust it." he said.

"You don't trust her?" Sam asked, shocked.

"No, I don't trust what might be hiding behind her smile. She doesn't even know that's what scares me." Bucky said, picking the wrapper of his bottle.

"And you care more than you want to admit." But Bucky didn't answer. He didn't have to. Inside she turned her head and smiled at something someone said, and even from out here, that smile cracked something in him.

"You're not wrong to worry. Just keep an eye on her and if you need me to do a little digging then I'll be just a call away." Sam said, clapping his hand to Bucky's shoulder.

"Thanks man."

The road was quiet on the way back from Sam's. The roads were dark as they seldom passed a only sounds were the low hum of the engine and the soft, slow rhythm of the music playing through the speakers-something easy, bluesy, fading into the background.

Charlie was curled into the passenger seat, shoes kicked off, head leaning against the window. When they did happen to pass a streetlight the golden glow flashed across her face and Bucky kept catching himself glancing over-just to look at her. She wasn't saying much. Hadn't really since they got in the car. But it wasn't a heavy kind of silence. Just full. Content. The kind that came after a long day surrounded by people, when it finally gets quiet enough just to breathe.

'Did you have a good time?" he asked after a while.

She shifted her head to look at him, smiling softly."Yeah, I did. Sam's family is…warm. Loud, but warm."

"They love you a lot." he said.

'I liked seeing you with them," she said quietly.

Bucky glanced over to her. "With who?"

"Sam. The kids. All of them. You looked…I don't know. Like you belonged."

He swallowed, fingers tightening slightly on the steering wheel. "Felt like I did. Haven't felt that way in a long time."

Charlie reached across the center console, fingers brushing his. He didn't hesitate-just turned his hand palm-up and laced their fingers together. Because they had this soft spot for each other, and he wasn't afraid to let her in. He always thought if he ever got close to someone that he'd do his best to deny his feelings but maybe he had learned from Steve. Tough still; admitting his feelings to her was not something he had the courage to do. So for now it was longing glances and friendly touches to reassure her he was her friend.

Neither of them spoke for a while after that.

When they pulled into the mansion, the porch light cast a soft yellow glow across the steps. Spanish moss drifted in the breeze, and the air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and pine. Charlie let out a soft sigh as Bucky killed the engine.

"Home," she said, almost like a question.

He glanced at her. "Yeah."

The front door creaked open, the sound of crickets and the bayou wind drifting in behind them. Charlie stepped in first, holding it open as Bucky followed with his arms full of take-home containers.

"I still can't believe Sam made us take half of everything," she muttered, heading straight for the kitchen.

"He didn't make us," he said behind her. "You're the one who looked all soft when the kids offered you the cornbread."

She shot him a grin over her shoulder. "It was good cornbread."

Bucky huffed a small laugh as he joined her in the kitchen, watching as she opened the fridge and shifted a few things around. He took the rest of the leftovers and carefully arranged them in the space she had made.

When everything was tucked away, she stretched her arms over head and let out a quiet sigh. "It's too late for coffee but too early for bed, I think I may read in the study for a while."

"I could eat again," he teased.

She gave him a look. "You're a menace."

He smiled but didn't say anything else. She stepped out of the kitchen, and Bucky lingered a few seconds longer, wiping his hands on a towel and letting the weight of the day settle in his shoulders. By the time he made his way to the study, Charlie was standing in front of an old record player. The low static buzz filled the room, and then the needle caught-soft, soulful music floating from the speaker in slow waves. The kind of melody that wrapped itself around the walls, warming the space from the inside out.

She was swaying slightly, arms wrapped around herself. She hadn't noticed him yet. She was in her own quiet orbit, breathing the music in, letting it move through her.

Bucky stopped in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame. His arms crossed as he watched her in the golden light of the lamp next to the large mahogany desk. The song was something older-smooth vocals and steady rhythm, nothing flashy. Just honest. Timeless.

"You gonna just stand there or are you gonna join me?" she said, extending her hand. The corner of Bucky's mouth tugged up. He stopped just in front of her, now outstretching his hand as if to say-'no I ask you to dance'. Not commanding, not presumptuous. Just there, waiting. Charli elooked at it, then at him. Then, without a word, she placed her hand in his.

He stepped closer, his other metal hand resting lightly against the small of her back. Her free hand settled on his shoulder, and for a few seconds they simply stood like that-close enough to feel the rise and fall of each others breath. A fleeting thought of if it bothered him her hand was on the shoulder where metal met flesh, but if it bothered him he didn't say it.

Then they began to sway.

It was slow. Easy. A little hesitant at first, like neither of them wanted to shift the moment to anything too big. But with every step, every breath, something unspoken stretched between them even further.

Charlie tilted her head, resting her cheek near his collarbone. "You're better at this than I expected."

Bucky chuckled softly. "You say that like I haven't had a hundred years to learn."

Her smile ghosted his shirt. "How long's it been since you danced like this?"

"A while," he said.

"Feels natural."

"Yeah," he murmured. "It does."

They fell into a silence again, letting the music fill the room. The record crackled softly under the tune, spinning them gently through the golden glow of the room. Her fingers tightened on his, and Bucky felt it in his chest like a hook.

She looked up at him-just for a second-and something in her expression shifted. Not fear, but vulnerability. Like she wanted something from him she didn't know how to ask for.

He wanted to close the distance. God, he wanted to. But he didn't.

Instead, his thumb brushed along the side of her hand, and he held her close. Not with urgency but with care. The record slowed to its final chords, fading into the static as the needle reached the center. But they did not move. They just danced. Losing track of time in each other…

Morning crept in soft and golden through the wide bay windows of the old mansion, pouring over dust-moted air and hardwood floors. The house was still, but not silent-birds chattered outside, the floorboards creaked in gentle protest under shifting weight, and somewhere in the kitchen a pipe groaned with age.

Bucky stood barefoot at the stove, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, already two sips into his first cup of coffee. He hadn't slept long but it was enough. The quiet here had a way of softening the edges of his insomnia, though he wished Charlie had stayed with him like she had the night before. His body felt still.

He turned when he heard footsteps. Charlie appeared in the doorway, an extra large t shirt stopping mid thigh. His mouth went dry at the sight of her bare legs and the tan that admired them.

"You made coffee?"

He nodded, gesturing to the second mug already waiting.

"Do you always wake up this early?" she noted looking at the clock.

"Force of habit. Sometimes it's nice though," he said leaning back against the counter. "No noise, no distractions."

She sipped and smiled behind the rim of her mug. "You like quiet mornings. Duly noted."

They stood there a beat-her leaning against the island, watching him from her short distance.

"I liked last night," she said suddenly.

His gaze at her didn't waiver. "Me too."

The words felt like more than what they said. He wondered if she felt it too-that gravity between them. Like something had shifted when they danced. Something had clicked into place. She looked down at her cup then back up.

"We should do something today. Before things get crazy again. Louisa will be back tomorrow."

He tilted his head. "What did you have in mind?"

"There's a historic town about forty minutes away," she said, growing animated. "It's got old buildings, museums, shops. They do walking tours and everything."

He smiled, not used to the idea of someone making plans like that for the two of them. "You want to take me sightseeing?"

"Why not? Could be fun. Plus if you're gonna show me New York I owe you."

"Alright," he said. "Let's do it."

The sun hung warm and golden in the sky as they stepped out of the old car. She Insisted he drive it again for their day adventure. The little town laid out like something from a postcard-cobblestone sidewalks, crooked signs, and the smell of fresh baked bread wafting from a nearby bakery. It was the kind of place that seemed to exist outside of time.

Charlie smoothed her white sundress as she stepped onto the sidewalk, the hem swaying just above her knees. It was uncharacteristically warm for December. Still in the 70s. Her hair caught the sunlight, and her brown wedges gave her the kind of sway that made Bucky forget how to breathe for a second.

He'd seen her wear plenty of things in the last few days-comfy pajamas, oversized sweatshirts, soft cotton dresses-but there was something about this. About today. She looked radiant. And he was absolutely, hopelessly undone by it.

"You okay there, Barnes?" she teased, tossing him a smirk over her shoulder.

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "Just…didn't know we were stepping into a time capsule."

She laughed and tucked her arm through his, fingers brushing against the inside of his elbow. And for a fleeting second it wasn't lost on him that it wasn't his real arm. It was the metal one. The one he was insecure about, that had done so much damage. Yet here she was, attached to him by it like she didn't even know it existed.

They wandered the main street, poking into antique shops and little cafes, exchanging stories and subtle glances. Bucky kept catching himself watching her. Noticing how she smiled at shopkeepers, how she touched every little trinket like it had a story worth listening to.

They were leaning over a stall of handmade preserves when an old man sitting on a bench behind the table looked up from his newspaper. He was wearing suspenders, a wide brimmed hat, and a grin that said he'd seen everything at least twice.

"You two make a fine couple," he said, voice gravelly but kind.

Charlie blinked. "Oh-we're not-"

But Bucky cut in, voice easy. "Thank you, sir."

The old man chuckled. "That ones a keeper," he said, nodding to Charlie. "Don't let her slip away."

Bucky looked at her, and just for a second, neither of them said a word. Charlie's smile faltered a little, but not in a bad way. Like maybe part of her wanted to believe it too.

She turned back to the preserves. "So, blueberry or peach?"

Bucky didn't answer her right away. He was still watching her, hearing the man's voice ringing in his head.

Keeper.

"Both," he said finally. "We'll take both."

She glanced up, amused. "Are you planning on eating your feelings in jam, Sergeant?"

His body tingled at his rank leaving her lips. "Maybe Doll. Maybe."

The town was quiet as dusk settled in, golden light spilling across the storefront windows. They found a quiet bistro tucked just off the main square-wrought iron tables on a little patio, flickering lanterns overhead, and the soft clink of glassware in the background. Everything about it felt like a memory waiting to be made.

Charlie sat across from Bucky, folding her hands around her wine glass, the white of her dress catching the last light of the day. Her bare shoulders glowed faintly in the candlelight, and Bucky had to remind himself not to stare.

They'd spent the day laughing, sharing space and stories and lingering glances-but now, as dinner began, the energy between them began to shift again. Slowed. Softened. They ordered a few things to share, Charlie nearly swooning at the first bite. She leaned back in her chair, a content sigh, eyes drifting to the street beyond the patio railing.

"This place is suddenly reminding me of something.. I don't know what. Just something." she said.

"Somewhere you've been?"

"No. Not exactly." she answered.

He didn't push. She looked far away for a second, like her mind had wandered somewhere just out of reach. A small line appeared between her brows.

He was learning to recognize that look.

"You alright?" he asked, voice low.

Charlie blinked and looked at him again, smiling like she was trying to shake it off. "Yeah. Just…memories, maybe. Or something like them."

Bucky tilted his head, but said nothing. The way she said memories didn't quite sit right. He made a mental note, storing it beside all the other half-answers and quiet pauses she'd given him over the last week. A few minutes passed. She broke the silence again.

"My parents used to take me to places like this," she said. "Little towns with old diners and antique shops. We'd drive for hours, stay in bed-and-breakfasts, try every local dessert on the menu."

Bucky watched her closely.

"I didn't even like road trips back then," she continued. "I used to complain about the car rides. But now? I'd give anything for one more."

He didn't exactly know what to say. He wasn't good at this. Hated when people asked him about his own past. So he just offered, "How long has it been?"

"Three years. It still doesn't feel real sometimes."

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. "What happened?"

She opened her mouth to answer but the words didn't come out right away.

"Boat accident. That's what they said anyway."

"They?"

"The people who found them. Authorities? I don't know. It's all kind of a blur."

"You don't think it was an accident?" he asked.

Charlie's eyes met his. There was a flicker of something there-uncertainty, fear maybe-but she only said, "It doesn't matter. Nothings going to bring them back."

He wanted to reach for her hand, to say something comforting-but he didn't.

Instead she smiled again, more fragile this time. "Sorry that it got heavy."

"It's okay," he said. "You don't have to apologize."

Another silence. Not awkward, just…full.

Then his phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up, thumb hovering over the screen as he read.

SAM 5:47 PM

We're going clubbing tonight. Sarah's making me. Jaoquin's already doing his hair. Don't leave me alone with them. Bring her.

Bucky stared at it for a little longer than necessary.

Charlie tilted her head. "Everything okay?"

He slid his phone over to her with a sigh. "Apparently we've been summoned."

She glanced at the text and laughed. "Wow. That sounds like a cry for help."

"I think it is." he deadpanned.

Her eyes danced at the idea. "So, a club?"

'I don't dance like that," he said flatly.

"I think you're scared." she teased.

"I'm not scared."

"Then prove it." she challenged.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing a bit. "You want to go?"

"I might," she said, swirling the last of her wine. "Could be fun. Besides, how often does Captain America ask you to go clubbing?"

"More often than I'd like to admit. Fine. But if anyone tries to get me to 'fist bump', I'm leaving."

Charlie stood grabbing her little bag and gave him a playful look. "Then I'll just have to find someone else to dance with."

He followed, heart beating a little faster than it should've.