The tires hummed softly against the road as Bucky drove them back through the quiet Louisiana night. Charlie leaned into the window, her heels kicked off, her makeup smudged just a little from the dancing and laughter at Sam's house. Her hand was wrapped in his — warm, gentle, steady.

The road curved gently toward the bayou, trees silhouetted against the deep blue sky, the moonlight playing along the water. They didn't talk much. They didn't have to. Every look, every shared breath between them carried more than words could.

Charlie glanced at Bucky, the dashboard light painting his features in soft gold. She watched him for a long moment.

"You've been quiet," she said softly.

He smiled a little, eyes still on the road. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"You."

The gravel crunched beneath the tires as they pulled into the driveway. Charlie sat up a little straighter in her seat, frowning slightly.

"…Bucky?"

He was already out of the car and rounding to open her door, but she was staring at the front windows of the mansion.

"Why is there light inside?" she asked, confused. "We didn't leave anything on—"

"It's okay," he said, offering her his hand. "Come see."

He led her up the porch steps, his fingers strong and sure around hers. When she stepped into the foyer, her breath caught.

The entire front hall was bathed in the soft flicker of candlelight. Dozens — no, hundreds — of candles, placed carefully along the staircase, windowsills, and down the hallway. The scent of lavender and something faintly woodsy hung in the air.

The mansion felt like magic. Like something out of a dream.

She turned to him slowly. "What is this?"

Bucky gave her a soft, almost nervous smile. "Come with me."

He led her through the flickering hallway and into the sitting room, where more candles glowed low against the dark wood and velvet. In the center of the room, someone — he — had cleared the space. A rug, a few pillows, and a small table with a bottle of champagne and two glasses sat waiting.

Charlie turned toward him again, brows furrowed. "James…"

But he was already reaching into his coat pocket, fingers fumbling slightly as he dropped to one knee.

Her breath vanished.

"I know we've already been through the end of the world these last 8 months," he said, voice quiet and reverent. "And I know we're still finding ourselves, both of us. But I also know that every time I close my eyes, it's your face I see. Every day I wake up, it's your voice I want to hear."

Charlie's hands flew to her mouth, eyes flooding with tears.

"I don't know what the future looks like, but I know I want it to be with you. I want every version of it. The good days, the hard ones. All of it. With you."

He opened the box — the ring simple, elegant, set in gold, a small sapphire glinting in the candlelight.

"Will you marry me?"

She was already nodding through the tears. "Yes. Yes."

Bucky stood just in time for her to throw herself into his arms, her laughter breaking through her tears, full and bright and whole.

He kissed her like it was the first time — no rush, just reverence. Her hands framed his face, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. He walked her back toward the rug, the champagne forgotten, the candles casting golden shadows across their skin.

Bucky reached for the zipper at the back of her dress, slow and careful. Charlie watched him, eyes wide and soft, until the fabric slipped from her shoulders and she stepped out of it.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered.

She tugged at his shirt, pulled it over his head, then traced her fingers down the lines of his chest, the old scars and the new peace etched into his skin.

They undressed each other in silence, their kisses growing deeper, hungrier. When he laid her down on the rug, the world outside the candlelight disappeared.

He made love to her slowly, reverently — not rushed, not desperate, but like a vow.

Every kiss was a promise.

Every breath, a lifetime.

-

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft blush through the windows as they lay tangled in each other beneath a blanket pulled from the nearby couch. The candles had burned low. The champagne remained untouched.

Charlie was curled into his chest, her fingers trailing absent circles over his heart.

"You really did all of this?" she whispered, looking up at him.

Bucky kissed her forehead. "Took me two days and a near-death mission to keep Sam out of the house. Worth it."

She laughed, breath catching against his neck. "I love you."

"I love you more," he murmured.

They stayed like that until the sun rose fully and the birds began to sing. And for the first time in their long, hard lives — there was no war to fight.

Just each other.

Forever.