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Sam, if he’s being very honest, is really nervous.
He knows, rationally, that there’s no reason to be. He stands in front of a sturdy wooden door, aged and worn from years of usage, the doorknob’s original colour faded from all the hands on it before. He stares at the door as if looking at it long enough will cause all of his nervousness to go away.
“Get it together, Wilson,” he mutters to himself with a sigh, then raps his knuckles on the door. There’s a doorbell, but he’s never used it before, used to just walking in and taking a seat in the living room. Times have changed, though; he’s changed, and he’s sure that they have, too.
The lock clicks and the door creaks open, revealing a woman younger than Sam, all strawberry blonde hair, wide ocean eyes, pale skin, and smatterings of freckles— a stark image of what Riley would’ve looked like if he were a young woman. Her eyes, already large, widen impossibly more when she sees him. “Sam?”
“Hey, Riri,” Sam says softly, feeling a swell of warmth as she pulls the door open further and nearly tackles him with a hug, one he reciprocates almost immediately. “You miss me, kid?”
“Of course not,” she replies wetly, lashes wet when she moves away from him, “nobody in this household missed you, not one bit.”
Sam laughs at that, settling back into that fondness. “That’s great. You gonna let me in?”
“Thinking maybe I shouldn’t,” Riri teases, but steps aside to let him in. “Also, I don’t go by Riri anymore. Too grown to be called that.”
“What? Come on, you’ve always been Riri,” he says, stepping into the house and getting hit instantly with a sense of familiarity. He’s seen this house so many times, even though his visits tapered off into a stop halfway through the second half of 2014, yet somehow it’s still the exact same from what he remembers, from wallpaper to tapestry to the mahogany console table by the door.
“Nope, I go by Dr. Rhiannon O’Connor, PhD now,” she replies with a grin, putting emphasis in the last syllable, “gotta be professional in the work environment, and I can’t exactly have my patients call me Dr. Riri, can I?”
“I guess not,” Sam says. He doesn’t venture any further than the foyer without her say-so. “So, what do you do, then?”
Riri’s expression softens, simultaneously looking as young as Sam remembers her to be and older than he’s ever seen. “Military psychologist. After I got my doctorate and my licenses, I was gonna be deployed in Afghanistan. Then momma got Blipped and I couldn’t leave Kieran alone, so I stayed, but then a year passed and everybody was still freaked out by what happened so I couldn’t have been deployed even if I wanted to. I was hoping to try again now that things have settled down a bit, but...” She glances at the stairs. “You know how she is.”
“You sure you wanna do that?” Sam asks seriously, crossing his arms. “War isn’t a picnic, Riri, and some soldiers’ brains aren’t meant for picking, especially not the ones on combat tours. I’d know.”
Riri smiles weakly, her lips pulled into a thin line. “Momma said the exact same thing, but I know what I want, Sam. I’m a big girl, I can make my own decisions.”
“I know you can, I’m just making sure,” he says, offering her a small smile. Then, his smile pulls a little higher. “Where is Kieran, by the way? Usually when I come over, he’s bounding down the stairs like an overexcited puppy.”
“Puppy is in California, UC Berkeley; he’s a film major and turning twenty soon,” Riri tells him, laughing at the wide-eyed stare she gets in response. “Yeah. Momma was the same way, when she first came back. Cursed the Avengers for bringing everybody back so late that she couldn’t take him to Dublin to celebrate his eighteenth like she did for the rest of us.”
“Hey, I had nothing to do with that, I was gone too,” Sam chuckles, smiling softly when Riri laughs. She’s definitely grown up since he last saw her, a bit of a subtle change from when she’d been twenty-six. “I missed you guys. I’m sorry I couldn’t visit all these years.”
“Well, we weren’t kept in the dark about it. Sarah called pretty regularly, bless her soul, and there was a lotta publicity around your name, more so now,” she says, then winks, “so, Captain America...”
“Don’t you start,” he laughs goodnaturedly, lightly elbowing her. She beams at him, and it’s such a familiar smile that his heart twinges a little. It reminds him why he’s here in the first place. “Hey, it was good catching up, but I, uh... need to talk to your mom.”
Riri smiles at him, “Figured that was the case. Not dire news, I hope? Momma’s only physically sixty-five, but she’s not exactly at stellar health, y’know?”
“No, no, nothing like that. Just... gotta tell her about some things,” he says, hesitant about what to say. Riri nods in understanding, gestures for him to follow.
They walk down the hallway, the faint scent of fresh baked cherry pie in the air when they pass by the kitchen. Then they pass by the living room, and Sam can see the fireplace still sporting some red embers, understandable considering the November cold. Riri leads him up the stairs, the old wood creaking under their feet, then they make it to the door of the master bedroom.
Riri knocks, says, “Momma? We got an unlikely visitor.” She winks at Sam when he rolls his eyes.
The door opens, and Sam can pinpoint the exact moment Mallory O’Connor realises it’s him, from the way her wrinkles smooth out in shock then curl up as she fights back tears, lip quivering as she looks up at him. Her hair’s more grey than brown now, but she’s still got that youthful vigor to her that warms Sam’s soul and reminds him of his own mom.
“Hey, Mrs. O’Connor,” he greets gently, willing himself not to cry when she shakily pulls him into a hug.
She doesn’t say anything, then, when they part, she smacks his shoulder with a frown on her face. “Four years! Four whole years, and the only way I knew you were alive was because Sarah’s a dear who would call and tell me about you! And you come in here and have the audacity to call me Mrs. O’Connor, like I’m some stranger.”
Riri chooses this moment to slip away, going back down the stairs with a teasing smile as Sam looks back at Mal, a stark image of Riley when he’d get mad.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. O- Mal,” Sam says, only stumbling slightly, “there was just- a lot has happened.” Understatement of the century.
“Oh, I know that, Samuel,” she replies, the anger leaving her tone as she lets him into her room. He takes a seat on the chair by her bed, which is smaller than he remembers. The chair, he realises with a small twist in his gut, is in the right placement to get a view of Riley’s framed graduation portrait. “So, what’s been going on with you?”
“Well, you remember Steve, guy I met at the VA?” He begins, and proceeds to recap the entire journey from the first time he met Steve in 2014 all the way to teaming up with Bucky against the Flag Smashers and him becoming Captain America eleven months ago, trying not to react to her rapidly shifting expressions.
“You’ve had a lot on your plate, so I suppose I can forgive you for not dropping by to say hello every now and then,” Mal says after he finishes, nodding almost sagely. Then, because she’s far too observant, she asks, “now, why exactly are you here? I know you didn’t just come here to tell me about things that are on public record.”
“As sharp as ever, aren’t you?” He laughs, feeling that creeping nervousness again. He shuffles his feet a little, biting his lip for a bit as he thinks about how he’s about to word his next words. “The thing is, Mal, I’m... well, I’m getting married, soon. To Bucky.”
Her eyes widen almost comically, mouth falling open as a series of expressions go through her face. Sam’s heart hurts for her, and some parts for him too; this isn’t the first time she’s heard those words with Sam involved, and the way her face momentarily crumples into a devastated expression is enough for Sam to want to take back the words, but he knows he couldn’t have kept this from her forever, even if he wanted to.
“That’s... that’s wonderful news, Sam,” she says after a while, as if trying her best to be happy for him. It hurts him even more. “You deserve this happiness, and if you’ve found it in this Bucky, then I’m happy for you.”
“I just- I wanted to tell you, because...” He trails off, looking away. Then he feels her hand over his, where it’s clenched around his knee, and it gives him just enough confidence to look at her again. Swallowing dryly, he says, “I wanted to tell you, because while- while I loved Riley, still love him, I love Bucky too. More than I thought I ever could, again.”
“Sam,” Mal says kindly, smiling tightly but sincerely, “you don’t have to make excuses for any reason. I know you loved my son, and he loved you like the world depended on it,” she pauses, closing her eyes for a short moment before opening them again, looking at him with Riley’s soft greens, “but my Riley’s been dead for over fifteen years. You deserve to move on, to find love in someone else. It wouldn’t be right for you to be alone for the rest of your life.”
She takes his hand gently, her wrinkled palm against his calloused ones, looking him in the eyes lovingly. “I’m glad you were able to find that in somebody else again. You deserve nothing less than to be happy, and I know he would’ve wanted you to love someone else,” she says, then adds with a small smile, “if this Bucky can handle your reckless, thrill-seeker tendencies, I’m glad you have him.”
Sam laughs wetly, having teared up as she spoke. “More than that, actually. He’s still my partner on the field too, hardly ever lets me out of his sight in a fight if he can help it.”
“Oh, good, because you definitely need looking after,” she laughs, sweet and twinkling. “Captain America’s always looking after everybody, it’s a good thing to know that he’s got someone he trusts watching his six.” She lightly pinches his hand. “Now, tell me more about your Bucky.”
Sam’s cheeks heat up as he laughs sheepishly. “I’m surprised you don’t know about him, if you know all about what happened these last few years.”
Mal smiles at him knowingly. “I want to hear about how you see him, rather than how the rest of the world sees him.”
“Oh,” Sam says quietly, feeling a little shy now, cheeks hot and heart beating a little faster. “Um, well, he’s...” He pauses, thinking about it a little before settling with, “difficult.”
“In what way?” She encourages with a smile.
Sam laughs softly. “A good way, I suppose. He’s difficult, but that’s because of everything he’s been through. He’s... he’s been through a lot, more than anybody can say they’ve gone through, but he still came out a good man despite it. He could’ve gone bad, could’ve chosen to be angry with the world and how his life turned out when he got his mind back,” he says, then quietly, “but he didn’t. He chose to stay good, chose to figure out where to go from there rather than give up, chose to rebuild his life.” He looks at Mal’s hand in his. “Chose to rebuild his life with me.”
She doesn’t say anything for a while, and when he looks back at her, she’s got that watery smile again that never fails to make him also tear up. “I can tell you really love him,” she says, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, “and I’ve got a pretty strong feeling he loves you too. I’m happy you have each other, Sam.”
She sucks in a breath, unhurried and calm. “Ever since my Riley passed, all I’ve been able to think about is, will Sam be okay?” She smiles brightly then, sweet and joyful like the memory of Riley in his mind. “I know, now, that I have nothing to worry about with you. You’ll be just fine, and I better see an invite to the wedding in the near future.”
Sam actually cries then, the tears falling as he pulls her into a hug, burying his head on her shoulder as she does the same. It reminds him of his own mom’s hugs, so warm and tender and comforting, something he still sorely misses even decades after her passing. They don’t say anything for a while as they hold each other, letting their hearts speak for themselves. Thank you, his heart says, I’m glad to have loved your son, and I’m glad that I’m here now.
Coming home to his and Bucky’s apartment in DC, the first thing he smells is the mouthwatering scent of adobo.
He shuts the door behind him, hanging his keys on the wall rack by the door. Immediately, Figaro bounds towards him from the living room, the tortoiseshell weaving around his legs and getting orange hair on his dark jeans. “Hey there, girly,” he says, reaching down to pet her head and scratch under her chin. Then, Alpine comes out from under the shoe rack, swiping at Figaro playfully as she peers up at him with her big blue eyes, a silent demand of scratch behind my ears or face the consequences. “Hello to you too, little devil. Why’re you both acting like I’ve been away so long?”
“Well, when you’re gone for thirty hours for a surprise trip to Missouri, it’s easy to forget that you spend all your time here off-duty,” Bucky says, appearing around the corner from the kitchen with an easy smile. He’s holding a ladle and sporting a brown stain on his already irreversibly stained Parokya ni Edgar shirt , which is such an unbelievably domestic sight that Sam’s knees just go weak. Bucky walks over to him and meets him halfway, pulling him in by the back of his neck and kissing him softly. “Welcome home. How was it?”
“Tell you about it later,” Sam says, going in for another kiss like he can’t get enough of Bucky— which, yeah. “Got more important things on my mind right now.”
“Nuh-uh, not gonna let my adobo burn,” Bucky chides, but he doesn’t complain when Sam’s fingers find his hair, a little long again, and he does just about the opposite of complain when Sam nips at his bottom lip and licks where he’d bitten. Then, after a while of just making out in the foyer, Bucky shoves him off with a grin on his spit-slick lips, cheeks and ears glowing red as wisps of displaced hair fall over his cheeks. “Patience, Wilson. I haven’t even put the peppercorns in.”
Sam follows him to the kitchen with his own grin, a little keyed up and a lot interested in getting that stupid t-shirt off of him. “What if I promise to continue cooking after I get you off? You gonna leave that, then?”
He can feel Bucky roll his eyes from here. “No, God, just let me put them in and turn off the stove, then you can have your way with me,” he says, back turned to Sam as he sprinkles them in from a bag. Sam looks his eyeful of Bucky’s pert little ass in his shorts, the garter accentuating his waist and the slopes of his back in his tight shirt. He sees the little curls at the ends of Bucky’s hair, flicking wildly in different directions from where the strands are tucked behind his cherry-tipped ears.
“And he says I’ve got a staring problem,” he hears Bucky mutter, to which Sam just laughs. Finally, after some time of just stirring, Bucky taps the ladle against the rim of the pot and puts it aside, turning the stove off and putting a cover on the pot. Then, after washing his hands, he turns to Sam with a smarmy grin, the same one Sam fell in love with what feels like forever ago. “Now, where were we?”
He comes closer to Sam, standing right in front of him with that stupid grin on his face, and Sam’s just a guy, a mere human at the mercy of his extremely attractive fiancé, so he cups his hands around Bucky’s cheek and pulls him in for a kiss that’s just the perfect amount of hot and heavy yet sweet and tender; like home.
The look on Bucky’s face when he pulls him into their bedroom is something he’s happy to spend the rest of forever looking at.