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It had been a long time since James Buchanan Barnes felt nervous about something so trivial. But, he supposed, it wasn’t all that trivial. The first big step in your relationship. Meeting your family. More specifically, your parents. It was only dinner with your parents. He tried to calm himself by reminding himself that technically he was older than your parents. It backfired, causing a new wave of panic at the realization that though he was somewhat close in age to you in nearly every sense, he had been born in 1917, long before either you or your parents or even your grandparents have been a thought. Most of the time between then and now, he was on and off the ice as Hydra required. He didn’t live those years. He survived them.
“James? Bucky? You ready?” your voice came, breaking through his train of thought. He looked at you and nodded. You had driven the pair of you to your parents’ home. You weren’t an Avenger. You were a civilian, one who he had fallen for, unexpectedly. It had started as a friendship. You were friends with Natasha, something about a yoga class. Bucky couldn’t imagine Natasha doing something so ordinary, so normal. It had thrown him when Natasha had brought you to the compound one day. You had had a day out with Natasha and Wanda, ending with watching romantic comedies on the couch in the shared common area and poking fun at the tropes.
He snapped out of his thoughts when the front door opened. He had barely registered getting out of the car and walking up to the house. A dog excitedly jumped on you as you laughed.
“Sweetheart, we’re so happy you could make it. This must be James,” your mother said, looking at Bucky. She was sizing him up. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it, because the next second she was asking if it was okay to hug him, catching him off guard.
“Please, call me Bucky,” he said as your mother pulled him into a hug. Your father was another story. Bucky was almost certain you’d had to threaten him into leaving a shotgun in a gun safe or something with the way he was looking at him.
“Nice to meet you, son,” your father said extending his hand. Bucky shook it, taking note of the strength. Yeah. Your dad was not a fan. Once you all entered the house, Bucky took note of the decorations. Photos sat on the entertainment center. One was clearly your high school graduation, you in your white cap and gown as you stood in front of the house, balloons with your high school colors on one side and the colors of your college on the other. Next to it, a photo from your college graduation, both your parents beside you.
“Oh my god, why do you have this picture up? Mom!” you exclaimed grabbing a photo off the shelf. Bucky caught a glimpse of it before you did. You were covered in mud, your hair a mess with a group that was in a similar state. What caught his eye most was that you had to have been around fourteen in the photo. He raised an eyebrow at you.
“Rory Anderson’s thirteenth birthday. There was a water slide, except by the end of the afternoon, there was a giant mud puddle at the end. I swear everyone’s parents flipped out. Not mine though,” you said, laughing. He smiled at you. Your father sat quietly, appraising the scene.
A few minutes later, the four of you sat down for dinner. It was quiet until your mother broke the ice. It was going fine until your father asked about Bucky’s parents.
“Dad,” you said sharply.
“What? It’s a reasonable question,” your father said. You glared at him.
“You know what,” you said.
“It’s fine doll. Really. What would you like to know sir?” Bucky asked, maintaining eye contact with your father. You couldn’t decipher the look on either man’s face. It seemed like a challenge had been issued and neither wanted to lose. Bucky spoke about his mother, about his sister. He spoke about how he made an effort to see Rebecca as often as he could. She was nearing one hundred, and he was determined to make the most of the time he had left with her. You could see your father relaxing a bit as Bucky spoke.
“What’s it like being so close with Captain America?” your mother asked. You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. To you, the night had been a disaster.
“He’s still the same punk kid from Brooklyn I grew up with. He’s just less breakable now,” Bucky joked.
While you were helping your mother clean up after dinner, Bucky sat in the living room with your father. He had insisted on helping clean up, but your mother wouldn’t have it, insisting you and her needed to catch up.
“You love my daughter,” your father said. Bucky blinked before clearing his throat.
“We haven’t--,” he started to say before your father held a hand up.
“Doesn’t matter. I can see it. The way you look at her. She’ll kill me if she knows I said this. But you hurt her, I end you. I don’t care how much training you have. She’s my little girl. She’s had her heart broken real bad before, son. And I’ll be damned if I let you get away with breaking it too. I’ve never seen her look at someone the way she looks at you,” your father said. Bucky swallowed nervously. He had taken on enemies much bigger than your father, and yet your father was one of the scariest things he’d faced since he joined the team.
“I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt her,” Bucky said. You father sighed.
“It’s not the intentional I’m worried about, Sergeant Barnes. Your work is dangerous. She could get pulled into it. I’m not sure my baby girl could handle losing you. And I’m worried about the danger she’d put herself in for you,” your father admitted.
“I know,” Bucky said. There wasn’t much else he could say. He knew the risks, the dangers that being with him brought to your life. And yet, you accepted them, no questions asked. You worked out with Natasha regularly, and part of that included training so you could defend yourself if you needed to. You’d taken to practicing archery with Clint for the hell of it.
“You’re good for her. Despite all that. I can tell. She’s the happiest she’s been in a long time. We worried about her, when she moved to New York. But then she met you, met your friends. When the time comes,” your father said trailing off as you and your mother entered the room with coffee for the four of you. You sat down next to Bucky, smiling at him.
A year later, Bucky found himself back at the house, this time without you. You’d been together a year and a half. He knew. He’d managed to pick out a ring without it being splashed on social media, despite Steve and Sam coming with him when he was picking a jeweler to design it. A beautiful white sapphire ring, white gold. The center stone was modest, with smaller stones in the band. He knocked on the door and waited. Your father opened it, ushering him inside and into the living room. Your mother was out of the house. She couldn’t keep a secret from you and Bucky’s appearance at the house would tip you off at just how imminent a proposal was. You’d talked about marriage. You knew a proposal was coming, you just weren’t sure if it’d be next week, next month, or next year.
“Sir,” Bucky started to say. Your father held up a hand, grabbing a bottle first.
“I’ll let you say what you want to say, but first, I think we could both use a small drink,” your father said. Two glasses with ice were already on the table as he poured a small amount of whiskey into each before handing one to Bucky.
“I want to marry your daughter,” Bucky said.
“I know. I knew since the day I met you,” your father said, a small smile on his face.
“She uh, she knows I’m planning on asking you for permission. I love her. More than anything,” Bucky said.
“I had my reservations when she told us who she was dating. The fact that you aren’t just older than her, you were born several generations before her. But her mama talked some sense into me. You’ve been through a lot. You deserve happiness and if that happiness brings my daughter happiness too? Who am I to stand in the way and kick up a fuss about it? You’re both adults. As much as it pains me to admit, she’s grown up. And I know she’s safe with you. I suppose that’s all a father ever wants. Is for their children to be safe, to be loved. And she has that with you,” your father said.
The anxiety Bucky had felt started to melt away. Him doing this had been one thing he refused to compromise on. You’d found it endearing. It didn’t take much to convince you to let him do it.
Leaving your childhood home, Bucky had only one thing left on his list of things to do, and that was get things set for the proposal.