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Bucky startles awake, adrenaline high and breathing fast, completely ready for an attack that doesn’t come. It takes him a second to recognize where he is. His eyes adjust to the dark in AJ’s room quickly and he can make out the clock on the far wall reading 4:46 am.
He breathes out, flopping back down on the bed. He doesn’t remember the dream, doesn’t know if it’s a memory of what he did or fear of something he might do, all he remembers is the need. Need to move, need to run, need to fight. He can almost feel the pull of overtaxed muscles and the burn of not enough oxygen in his lungs. He rests a hand on his chest, willing his heart rate to slow.
It’s been a couple of days since he woke up like this. He’d spent a few days with Rhodey and Hill going over some files from S.W.O.R.D. about possible weapons development by a separatist group in Cambodia that looked worryingly similar to Hydra. He had initially been unsure of what help he could provide being technically almost 9 years out, but apparently, when they all snapped back, the bad guys snapped back to whatever they were doing too. Given his apparent new role, very much outside of civilian life, as Captain America’s partner, the big governmental agencies had broken the fourth wall and were all over him again with lots of requests for his intelligence analysis. Between the long hours of data diving and his… activities this weekend, he had liked to think that maybe he was too tired for the nightmares.
That’s clearly not the case tonight. He looks back up at the clock. 4:58. He sighs staring at the ceiling. He’s not going to get back to sleep. He knows it and it’s only going to make him moody and quiet all day if he tries. He gets out of bed.
He can hear the old floorboards creaking in the kitchen, small feet moving around slowly. He walks into the kitchen to see Cass standing next to the sink, drinking a full glass of water.
“Hey buddy, what’re you doing up?” he asks walking in. Very sleepy, dark eyes blink up at him as he grabs a glass from the cupboard filling it under the tap.
“Thirsty,” Cass says, taking another gulp. He looks up at Bucky guiltily. “Did I wake you up? I was trying to be quiet.”
Bucky smiles softly at him. “Nah, pal. I was up too. Thirsty.” he replies, taking a drink of his own.
He watches Cass finish his water, then turn and rinse the glass. The boy leans back on the counter, looking up at him. Bucky can see he’s already halfway back to sleep.
“Want me to stay with you until you’re done? AJ doesn’t like when I leave him.” Cass asks.
Bucky reaches out and strokes a hand over the boy’s head. “I’ll manage. You go on ahead. Your mom’s not going to want you out of bed long.”
Cass yawns and blinks mutely twice before he nods and heads back upstairs. Bucky feels himself smiling at the kid. Sometimes he feels like he’s been dropped into the middle of someone else’s life. He can’t even imagine what the Winter Soldier would have made of that interaction.
He drains his own glass before rinsing it and placing it back where he got it, then heads out the front door. He stops on the porch breathing in a deep pull of the warm, salt scented air. If he’s not going to sleep, he might as well do something useful.
He jogs down the stairs of the porch and out onto the main road, picking up speed until he knows he’s going faster than a regular human could maintain. He lets the exertion take over, lets his mind go mercifully blank until he’s just a body moving on muscle memory. For as long as it lasts, it feels like peace.
************************************
By the time he gets back to the house, the sun is up and beating hard against his back. It had taken him almost an hour to reach the outskirts of New Orleans before he turned back. He can feel the sharp edge of an oncoming burn on the back of his neck and his legs have a tired, liquid feeling like they are made of jelly, but he feels better. His muscles loose with a pleasant ache.
The house is still quiet, but he can hear the swing moving on the back porch so he walks around to see Sarah sitting on the swing, coffee in hand, pushing herself slowly back and forth.
“Hey,” he says lightly. She looks over at him, raising both eyebrows.
“Wow,” she starts, looking him over. “How far did you have to run to get that sweaty?”
He laughs, looking down at the loose shirt he had thrown on this morning, the grey almost black in the front and the back where he has sweat through it.
“Almost made it to New Orleans before I gave up.” He mumbles coming to sit on the top step. He thinks better of it and instead lays flat on the floor, closing his eyes against the bright strips of sunlight filtering through the wooden railing. It’s much cooler like this.
“NoLa? You ran to NoLa, James?” He can hear the shock in her voice.
He grunts from his place on the floor. “It’s not as hard as you’d think,” he replies. He hears her stand and walk over to him, before coming to sit next to him on the top step, then nothing. He squints up at her. She’s staring down at him.
“You ok?” she asks lightly, her gaze soft in the morning light. His chest clenches on itself. He hates this. Hates being the person that everyone feels the need to check in on.
“I’m fine,” he says, the response automatic. She gets a stubborn, mulish look on her face that he’s definitely seen from Sam. Bucky sighs.
“Wasn’t a good night,” he mutters, sitting up, scrubbing his hands through his hair. His sweat is starting to cool on his skin, leaving him feeling sticky. He feels untethered again, Sam would say ‘grumpy.’ He isn’t sure he should stay out here with her, he’s not the good company he’s been the past few days.
He looks back over at her and she’s still staring at him. She reaches out slowly, brushing her hands through his hair and down the back of his neck, her touch is cool, almost refreshing against his overheated skin.
“You’re gonna burn,” she mutters, looking at the skin on the back of his neck. He shrugs. “I heal too quickly to really burn. It’ll be gone in a couple of hours.”
She looks back up at him, eyes scanning his face like she’s trying to make a decision. “Doesn’t mean it won’t age you. I know you are a hundred years old and all, but you don’t have to look it.”
Her response is so far from what he expects that it startles a laugh from him. “Really? That’s what you’re worried about?” he asks. She pulls her hand back from him, going back to sipping her coffee as her mouth twitches into a smile.
“Don't you know black don’t crack? I don’t want to be seen with an old man,” she says, holding a straight face for a beat before she breaks into a grin. His eyes trace the contours of her face, the curve of her smile, and the tightness in his chest loosens.
“I have no idea what that means,” he says with a self-deprecating laugh. Her answering laugh rings out like a bell, drawing him in. He glances behind him at the house.
“Where’s Sam?” he asks quietly.
“He woke up earlier, saw you weren’t here, grumbled for a bit then decided to go back to bed.” She responds, sipping her coffee. “Everyone else is asleep.” she continues softly, glancing at him.
He tilts his head at her, a wry smile crossing his lips. She puts the now empty cup down beside her and leans into him. Her lips feel warm and smooth, gliding easily over his like they belong. She nips lightly at his bottom lip as she slips her tongue languidly into his mouth, coaxing a small sound from his throat. Her hand comes up to cradle his face, leaning even further into his space, before it trails down from his face to his neck, unto his chest, kicking his heart rate up a notch.
“Sarah-” he gasps out at her. “I am sweaty and gross.”
She shrugs, smirking. “Well… you’re sweaty,” she responds before she leans in again and captures his mouth. Her fingers reverse course, reaching up to tangle with his hair before she uses it to tug him even closer. That sends a shock of pleasure straight to his groin and pulls another moan from him. He swears he’s going to start to have a very problematic, automatic reaction to this porch if they keep this up.
He hears footsteps upstairs, followed by the soft swing of a door. He reluctantly pulls back from her. “Sam’s up,” he says. She licks her lips, nodding with unfocused eyes.
“How do you know?” she asks.
He smiles. “Super soldier hearing,” he whispers. She nods again.
“We should talk to him, tell him. I’d like to be able to kiss you when I want while you’re here,” she says reasonably. He nods and she gives him another searing kiss before she pulls away.
She stands, turning to head inside, dropping a quick squeeze on his flesh and bone shoulder. He lets out a shuddering breath. He’ll head inside in a few minutes when he can stand without embarrassing himself.
***********************************
It’s much later in the day, after the chaos of breakfast and a shower and several hours of training with Sam when he decides he’s gonna say something. They’ve been working to perfect an extraction move where Sam braces Bucky with the shield and throws him into a leap, something Bucky and Steve could have done in their sleep after too many years of just knowing how the other moves when Sarah comes out.
“You boys are gonna be at this a while longer?” She asks, striding up to them.
Sam shrugs. “Probably, still need to get the timing down. What’s up?”
“I’m heading to the restaurant. Need to get some inventory stuff done before tomorrow. Gonna drop the boys by Ms Kathleen, just wanted to let you know.”
Sam frowns. “You don’t gotta take the boys. We can watch them. “ he says, grabbing a bottle of water.
The little furrow between Sarah’s eyebrows makes itself known as she studies, Sam, then Bucky, then Sam again before shaking her head.
“No. Whatever it is you guys are trying to get, finish that. I want both of you coming back from wherever you are off to.” She replies. She walks over and gives Sam a quick kiss on his cheek before she turns away.
“Bye, James,” she says distractedly, hunting through her purse as the boys come barreling through the front door at a gallop. She’s not wearing anything special, just a pair of hip-hugging jeans and some sort of loose, flowy shirt that leaves her shoulders bare, but she utterly sparkles in the sun. He smiles as he watches her walk away.
“Now I know you aren’t checking out my sister.” Sam’s disgruntled voice comes as Sarah starts the truck. It snaps him back into the moment. Bucky looks over at him.
Sam glares.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed. The two of you are… different. With the smiles and the-the personal space. Didn’t I tell you not to flirt with her?” Sam continues. Bucky stares at him.
“Nuh-uh, that cyborg stare won’t work. Leave her alone, Buck.” Sam says seriously. He turns around and drops the shield, sitting huffily on the soft grass.
He could let it go. He knows that. He could try to find a better time or place or something… but he’s selfish. He wants all the time with her they can scrape together and hiding from Sam is only gonna decrease that.
“Sam-” he starts reasonably. Sam’s sharp glare finds him again. “Nuh-uh. No. Nope. Nothing good happens in my life after you use that voice.”
Bucky sighs and drops down onto the ground beside him. “Sam, we should talk about this.” He continues. Sam looks over at him incredulously.
“This? What ‘this’? There is no ‘this’ to talk about” Sam mutters.
“Yeah Sam, yeah there is a ‘this’ to talk about,” he says quietly, staring up at the sky.
“What? What the hell do you mean? You are suddenly so interested in dating? There are other women out there you know? Whole apps full of them.” Sam says, the sarcasm dripping from his voice.
Bucky huffs, trying to tamp down on his annoyance. “I’m not interested in ‘women’ Sam. I’m interested in her. I … I like her, and she,” he stops for a breath before continuing. “-she likes me.”
“Oh, you like her?” Sam replies suspiciously. “How many women do you know? Maybe you just need to look around some more.”
Bucky growls. “Are you trying to say someone else out there is more impressive than her-”
“Man, don’t even. She’s my little sister. My baby sister.” Sam interrupts.
“I know Sam, I know, it’s just…” He trails off for a minute, trying to put the complex and confusing ball of emotion in his chest into real words. "When she looks at me, it's like, I dunno. She sees me," Sam groans out loud at that. He continues on anyway. "-not Bucky Barnes, not the winter soldier. Just me."
Sam scowls. "You know I hate it when you refer to yourself in 3rd person. It creeps me the hell out."
Bucky huffs, frustrated. "Just… would you let me get this out" he snaps.
Sam's teeth click, he closes his mouth so fast. Bucky closes his eyes and breathes in a square. In for 3, hold for 3 out for 3, hold for 3 just like they taught him, reigning in his frustration.
"When Steve looked at me, all he saw was Bucky." He starts, needing to look anywhere but at Sam. "And I can't blame him. I have... all these memories in my head, some of which even feel like mine." He pauses, trying to pluck the words from his head. "He loved him, hell, thought he needed him so much that even when the Soldier was kicking his ass, all he saw was his friend. He tore the avengers a part and yeah, some of that was the accords, but his choice was for Bucky."
Bucky looks back over at Sam, who is quiet and intense, the way he gets when he's really listening.
"You see more of me for me than anyone else but I know sometimes you look at me and you see good ol' Bucky Barnes, sometimes it's the broken world war II vet and sometimes the only thing you can see is the Soldier." He finishes softly.
Sam frowns, "Now hang on -"
"Let me finish Sam." He growls. Sam begrudgingly quietens.
"None of those things are bad. You… you can't help but look for the Bucky Barnes in Steve's old stories. Man, he had you chasing me over half the globe, for what, two years?"
"Yeah, thanks for that by the way." Sam drops in. Bucky ignores him.
"And you saw some of the worst of the Soldier."
He says nothing for a while, just stares at the wind blowing through the old oak and the line of Spanish mosses that mark the corner of the property. Sam gives him the minute.
"She just sees me," He continues. Closing his eyes he can picture exactly how she looks at him. It makes him smile. "I'm- I’m not hiding. She knows the broad strokes of my history, but she isn't looking for anything else, isn't expecting anyone else. Just an overly quiet, sometimes cranky old man with century-old pickup lines."
He realises belatedly that he's done. That he doesn't know any other words to explain the almost magnetic pull he feels to her. He stands, brushing dirt off his jeans slowly before facing Sam, whose face is closed off, unreadable.
"Look, I'm not asking permission from you cause she’s an adult who already gave me her’s, but I'd like your-" he thinks for a moment, trying to find the right word. "blessing." He says, at last, deciding that it fits. "She's amazing Sam. I see that. Her kids are amazing. I'm not… I'm not looking for a quick lay, hell I wasn't looking for anything in particular but… it doesn't change the fact that I found her, through 3 different lives and 100 years."
Sam stares at him with silent regard, face unmoving for a long minute until he cracks a small smile, finally looking away towards the lake.
"Man, you got it bad."
Bucky lets out a small huff of laughter, ducking his head. He feels the tension leach from the hard line of his shoulders. He hadn’t been sure he’d make it through this conversation.
"Yeah," he replies, watching the soft breeze make ripples on the lake. "I've had that thought myself."
***********************************
The sunset is beautiful in Delacroix. Bucky watches the sky light up with brilliant golds and oranges as he and Sam finally perfect the lift, then go dark with muted violet and dark blue as Sarah comes home. They all putter around each other, managing to keep the peace until Sam volunteers to go collect the boys. Bucky wanders out to the front porch, watching Sam pull away as the screen door swings open behind him and he catches the scent of coconut in the air.
"So, how'd he take it?" Sarah asks, walking up to him.
He looks over at her, smiling wryly. "I don't know what you're talking about." He replies softly.
She scoffs. "I may not know your face that well, but I sure as hell know his," She says, pointing at the spot the truck had just vacated. "-and it looked sourer than old lemonade."
He nods slowly, glancing over at her from the corner of his eye. He raises his arm and tilts his head, waiting to see if she'll come. She tilts her own head in response then makes a pleased face as she saunters into his embrace, looping her arm casually around his waist. He drops his arm, pulling her flush against his side.
"He's not happy about it. But he's ok. No excessive injuries were had." he replies flatly.
"Good. That's good."
They stand there for a few minutes more, letting the quiet wash over them.
“When do you leave?” she asks softly. He looks down at her, but she’s staring into the yard.
“A day or so,” he mutters darkly, taking another sip. He doesn’t know what Sam has told her about what they’re doing and where they’re going. Honestly, he isn’t sure how much she wants to know. If there is one truth he has learnt in his long, strange life, it’s that knowledge is dangerous.
“Do you want to go?” her tone has switched from one with just a trace of worry to full concern. He frowns down at her, confusion writ clear across his face.
"I mean, do you actually want to fight?" She asks, dark eyes glittering in the low light. "I wonder sometimes whether you get asked that enough. Like everyone just sees the arm and the serum, but… do you want to fight?"
The question stuns him and he has no response for a moment. She’s not wrong, he doesn’t get asked that enough. He has so rarely had a choice in the matter.
"I always thought I'd have an after you know, an after the war. Come home, have a bunch of rugrats, a nice dame at home." He starts, staring down into the open beer slowly turning lukewarm in his hand. "But then Steve was Captain America and the Nazis were also hydra and I wasn't as sure about an after but… I was willing to die for it." He doesn’t whisper the end of the sentence. It’s one of the few things in his life he’s proud of.
“Since then, there has been so much. Not just hydra… but titans and magic stones that can change the universe. I mean Karli was willing to kill for the flagsmashers and gave us hell, and that was technically a local problem.” he chuckles bitterly at the thought. “The things we've seen aren't really going away and I know Sam isn't going to stop so…. I don't not want to fight. And for right now, that's enough." He finishes, glancing down at her. She’s still looking over the lawn. "Is that okay with you?"
She smiles sadly. "My husband was in the marines. Did I tell you that?"
He shakes his head. "Yup. Two tours. Nothing special or fancy like Sam, just a regular jarhead but…. He volunteered too." she responds, her voice is both sad and stubborn. She doesn't say it, but he hears that it’s enough for her too.
They drift back into silence as he begins to trail his fingers up and down her neck, scratching lightly at the base of her skull. She looks soft in the dim light, her eyes bright. He wants to kiss her. He chuckles to himself thinking he always wants to kiss her, but this feeling that it’s allowed, that’s new. He leans down to her and she tilts her head up just as headlights swing back into the driveway, Sam blowing the car horn at them.
Bucky rolls his eyes but slowly disengages from Sarah. She doesn't move away from him though, her warmth bleeding into him through his clothes from shoulder to hip.
"Mom!" A chorus rings out from the boys, all youthful exuberance as they begin spinning some exotic tale of adventure he’s pretty sure involves them on a deathtrap dinghy she has expressly told them to stay away from.
He watches her face light up as her children run to her, almost tackling her.
"Oh my big boys, you gotta be more gentle with me! You had fun?" She asks, hugging each and giving them a firm kiss on the forehead. She doesn't get an answer as they scramble away from her to climb all over him. They're having about 3 different conversations with him at the same time, barely taking a moment to breathe. It's a lot but, God help him, he thinks he missed this too.
"Ok, ok boys. Let the man breathe,” Sarah says almost physically pulling them from him. “Go wash up, you smell like the ass-end of a buffalo. Go on. Scoot, he'll still be here when you're clean." her voice brokers no argument.
There are lots of dramatic sighs as they lug themselves into the house. She draws back to his side as they leave.
"Nuh-uh, no. That is not the minimum distance from my sister. There must be at least 3 feet between you. Stay one Sam away." Sam says, stepping in between them.
Bucky looks down at him, expression blank. " You're saying you're only 3 feet tall?"
"Ha, man's got jokes. You think I didn't see you snuggling up to her. Just cause I ain't doing anything about it doesn't mean I need to see it." Sam grumbles.
Sarah rolls her eyes hard. "You are an ass, Samuel Wilson. A world-class ass." She huffs, stomping back into the house.
Sam turns to face him, face a mix of consternation and a shit-eating grin. Bucky rolls his eyes.
"Captain America or not, she's gonna kill you one day and I'm not gonna stop her. Worse, I'm not even gonna talk after she does it." Bucky sips his beer slowly, making prolonged eye contact before strolling into the house.
"Buck? Buck come on. Really? You'd let her do that to me? No loyalty," Sam's voice carries clearly through the mix of cicadas and the sound of the boys arguing in the early evening air.
Bucky doesn't smile, but he can admit it to himself, it's starting to sound like home.