Work Text:
Bucky is having a bad day. In fact, Bucky has been having a few bad days.
It's been just over nine months since Sarah and Bucky started dating, and for the most part its been amazing. He's a beautiful person, inside and out, and he has this extraordinary ability to sweep Sarah off her feet when she least expects it. The beginnings of their coupledom were tentative at first, and then all at once. Like dipping a toe in the water to test the temperature before deciding the only way to expel the fear of the unknown is to dive right in. It hadn't taken Sarah long to realise that Bucky knew how to treat a woman. There was no other way to say that he’d wooed her. Flowers, her favourite chocolates, impromptu dates that were actually meticulously thought out on his part...it was all part of his repertoire. He was old fashioned in the best way possible, opening doors, paying for things, and waiting for her to make the first move before making love to her so sweetly, so intimately. It had been such a long time since Sarah had let herself go with a man, let herself be taken care of, and loved, and doted on. He was completely taken with her kids too, and that, for Sarah, had sealed the deal. Just the sight of him running around with them, throwing them over his shoulders, made Sarah almost rethink her decision to not have anymore children. Almost. She was amazed by Bucky every single day. Amazed that someone who had endured so much horror and pain could still have such a large capacity for love. Most days she couldn't even see it on him, his long history of hurt and torture. Most days, when she looked into his eyes, she saw softness and wonder, not the cynicism and weariness that one might have expected. Most days.
But then there were days like this, days like today, when the weight of his long and restless life came crashing down on him like a ton of bricks. These were the days where he felt every single year, every single scar, every single act of violence that his hands had committed. On these days, the pain returned tenfold, filled him to the brim, until the only way to end the internal torture was to shut down completely, to fold in on himself, retreat into his own whirring mind and become a hollow shell of the man that Sarah had grown to love.
It was easier, to an extent, before he’d moved in. Even though it was a little confusing. There'd be days when she wouldn't hear from him, or if she did it would be nothing more than a few monosyllabic responses to her texts. She'd always assumed that maybe he was busy or just in a bad mood. But once she'd let herself into his apartment on one of those days, and she'd found him curled up in a ball on his living room floor, layers and layers of fresh and old tears streaking his face, wearing the same clothes she'd seen him in two days before. I get a little down sometimes, he'd told her by way of explanation once she'd helped him tidy up his home and get some food in his empty stomach. He'd been embarrassed, she could tell, but she hadn't known how to show him that it was okay, and that she wasn't frightened. Instead she resolved to be there for him, to show him patience and kindness whenever he needed it and even when he didn't.
His bad days had slowly become fewer and further between once they'd started properly dating. Sarah liked to think it was down to the combination of him being happy with her and also him taking therapy more seriously. He was really putting the effort in, she could tell, and while she loved it, it made her feel a little nervous that he was putting too much pressure on himself to be the man that he thought she wanted him to be.
When he'd moved in with her a couple months ago, things had initially been smooth sailing, save for a couple of rocky nights where his nightmares had gotten the better of him. He was happy, genuinely happy to be around her and the boys, to share the space and call it home. And to anyone who didn't know him as well as she had come to, it would seem that his bad days were a thing of the past. But Sarah was perceptive. She could see it in him. Bad days lingering behind his eyes like an impending storm beating against an old rattling window, but he pushed through them, didn't let himself succumb to bad feelings or thoughts. He stayed "strong" for her and the kids, trying his best to smile and laugh and be loving. But Sarah grew up in Louisiana. She knew how strong a storm could be. No matter how much duct tape you stick around that window pane, if the glass isn't strong, it's going to shatter.
Three days ago the glass shattered. Sarah had just gotten back from work and walked into the kitchen to start on dinner before the kids came home from school, but when she'd opened the fridge it had been empty, devoid of any of the groceries that she'd asked Bucky to buy that morning. It was unlike him to forget. That had been Sarah's first clue. The second was that the boots he usually wore to work down at the docks were still by the door. She'd called his name and received no response, and by the time she'd made way to their shared bedroom her chest was already tight with dread. He had been exactly where she'd left him that morning. Curled up on his side of the bed, as if he was trying to seem as small as possible, curtains closed, in his t-shirt and underwear with tears drying around his eyes.
That night, when she'd tentatively climbed into bed beside him, he'd apologised to her, and asked if she wanted him to leave. Sarah had honestly and emphatically told him that if he dared try she wouldn't hesitate to tie him to her bed.
It had been a total of 83 hours since Bucky had felt low, and in that time Sarah had only seen him leave bed to use the bathroom. He brushed his teeth once or twice, changed his underwear a couple times, but apart from that it seemed as if he'd forgotten how to take care of himself, how to treat himself like a human being. Sarah found that he neglected to eat and drink, so she'd cooked his favourite meal and asked him tentatively if he wanted to come down and eat with her and the boys. She hadn't known why, but something about that request had made him feel guilty, and a fresh bout of tears had sprung to his eyes as he'd politely declined. She didn't ask again, instead she decided to bring him a glass of water and a few light, dry snacks every once in a while. She'd refill the water once he'd drained it and toss out the half-bitten biscuits to replace them with fresh ones.
AJ and Cass were worried. And Sarah didn't have the heart to even attempt to explain to them the level of Bucky's suffering. She’d tried her best, since their father passed, to shield them from anymore pain. That had proved difficult, since the snap had changed everything about their lives for five whole years. But once it had been undone, and they'd gotten their uncle back, and their friends, and they'd gained a new, tentative but loving father figure, she'd never seen her boys happier. But after Sarah could no longer lie and tell them Bucky was "just tired" they'd slipped into a moroseness of their own, wondering what they'd done to cause this, or whether they just weren't good enough to lift him out of it.
Today, on Bucky's fourth bad day, AJ and Cass had decided to bake him cupcakes. They'd told their mother that they wanted to do something nice for him, and she hadn't had the heart to tell them that their gesture may not be well received, if received at all. So instead she decided to have some of the optimism her children had and try to get through to her hurting lover.
Now, Sarah places her palm on her bedroom door before resting her forehead against her knuckles. She lets her eyes fall shut and takes a few deep breaths to prepare herself. Slowly, but firmly she opens the door. She knows that sudden movements might jolt him, but she also knows that his usually razor sharp senses are dulled so she needs to announce herself. His back is to the door, but by the way his body tenses when he hears her come in she knows he's not asleep. She presses the door shut behind her and makes her way to the bed, walking around to his side and crouching down so she's at eye level. Her heart breaks all over again when she sees him. There's a darkened patch on the pillow beneath his temple, wet with tears, and his arms are wrapped so tightly around himself that Sarah wonders if that doesn't hurt. He looks tired. But it's not the tiredness that comes with sleep deprivation. It's the tiredness that she felt almost every day those first few months after her husband died. She's well acquainted with that tiredness.
He looks at her, his eyes glassy and unseeing as he tries to struggle through something akin to a smile that makes Sarah's chest ache.
"Hi." She whispers.
"Hi." He croaks.
Are you okay? The words are on the tip of her tongue but she manages to catch herself before she can say them. That's a terrible question to ask. She knows he's not okay. As a matter of fact, nine times out of ten, when she asks people that question she already knows the answer.
"Did you want something to eat?" She asks instead. "I can make you a sandwich or something? Or there's some casserole left if you want something a little heavier?"
Bucky attempts his smile again, this time with a little more success, it's a tight lipped one that doesn't reach his eyes. He shakes his head slowly. "No thank you."
It's been almost twenty-seven hours since she last saw him put food in his mouth and it had only been a couple slices of toast that he hadn't finished. She doesn't know much about the biology of super soldiers but she knows that he's still a human being, and human beings need to eat. She stifles her sigh and tries something else. "Maybe you should go have a shower? Freshen up a little?"
He whips his head up to look at her with more speed than she's seen from him in the last three days, and the look on his face makes Sarah immediately want to retract her words. "Shit." He breathes, reaching for a corner of his t-shirt with his right hand and pulling it up to his nose before grimacing. "Sarah, I'm sorry."
Sarah shakes her head immediately, feeling terrible. In truth he doesn't smell that bad, perhaps a little sweaty, but nothing truly offensive. "No, Bucky it's not that. It's just, I think maybe it might help you feel a little better?"
He looks as if he doesn't quite believe her, and Sarah can tell that when he nods his head in agreement he's only doing it because he thinks she wants him to.
The small victory tastes a little sour to her. "Okay. How 'bout I go turn it on, heat it up, and that'll give you some time to get ready?" She waits for another nod from him before she stands up and makes her way to the adjoined bathroom to turn on the shower. He trails in a few moments later, he's removed his left arm and his clothes, but his eyes are downcast as he stops awkwardly in front of the tub, waiting.
Sarah tests the temperature of the spray before pulling back and wiping her wet hand on her shirt as she turns to him. "It's perfect. I'll leave you to it." She says with a soft smile and brushes past him to leave the bathroom.
She listens through the door once she's shut it behind her, hears a pained sigh that makes her eyes fall shut. But then she hears shuffling, and the gentle opening and closing of cabinets, the clink of his toothbrush coming out of its holder, the sound of the tap running. With marginal relief she turns to the bed and begins to strip off the old sheets, placing them in a pile on the floor along with his dirty clothes. She puts fresh linen on, spritzes some of her favourite room spray and pushes the dusty curtains open. She cracks the windows a little to let in some air before making her way to the chest of drawers and then the closet to pick out some clean underwear and fresh clothes for Bucky to wear.
Sarah raps her knuckles on the bathroom door quickly before stepping in without waiting for a response. "Hey, I brought you some clothes and und..." her voice trails off as her gaze flicks to the drawn shower curtain. When she doesn't hear movement she places the clothes down on the closed toilet seat and walks slowly to the bathtub. "Bucky?" She calls gently. When there's no reply she reaches out to pull back the curtain, and sees him standing there, right arm resting against the tiles, face pressed into the forearm as the water beats down on him heavily. His sponge is clenched in his fist, but there's no soap on it yet.
"Bucky?" Sarah says, raising her voice above the crashing water. "Can I join you?"
Relief floods her body when she sees him nod, and she wastes no time stripping down her own clothes. She ties up her braids with the hairband around her wrist, knowing she'll later regret not putting on her scarf and shower cap but not wanting to waste a moment's time, she climbs into the tub. She manages to pry the sponge from his fingers after shutting the curtain, and she covers it generously in soap before pressing it against his back. "Is this okay?" She asks. When he nods again she doesn't ask any more questions, instead she washes him gently, following each pass of the sponge with the soapy caress of her hand, just so that he can feel her. He loosens up beneath her touch, and when he turns around to let her wash the front of his body, Sarah thinks she sees a little more life in his eyes. He's more present when he stares at her, tracks the movement of her fingertips across his body.
He's a little erect, nudging against her hip slightly, but Sarah doesn't know whether sex is what he needs or wants right now. On the one hand he seems drained, but on the other hand she knows that his mind is probably moving a mile a minute and she thinks that perhaps an orgasm can help slow it down. She decides to give it a tentative try, stroking her soapy fingertips down the hills of his abs slowly. He draws in a sharp breath when her fingers circle him and his hand shoots up to grasp her wrist before she can continue. Bucky shakes his head. "No...I don't—"
"Okay." Sarah breathes, pulling her hand away from him entirely and offering him a gentle smile.
He looks at her for a moment, and Sarah thinks she can see something akin to guilt behind his eyes. "I'm sorry." He croaks.
Sorry? Sarah shakes her own head, confused as to what he could possibly be sorry about. And then she realises that he must feel as if he's disappointed her. When they make love he tries his best to leave her nothing less than blissed out and completely satisfied, and he always, always succeeds. He never turns her down. Always wants her. He must feel that his decline of her advances will cause her to feel let down, or unwanted. But Sarah knows he wants her, and desires her, even now. She also knows that this has nothing to do with her. It doesn't even have anything to do with wanting or not wanting. It's about how he feels, and what he needs, and right now, it isn't sex. "Bucky, lover, don't worry about it. I was just checking. That's all. You have nothing to be sorry about."
He looks suspicious again, and a little nervous, and a little like he's about to change his mind just to appease her. The thought of that makes Sarah feel sick, so instead she changes the subject. "Can I wash your hair?" She asks, raising her hand to run her fingers through it slowly.
His eyes flutter closed, his body relaxing marginally as he nods his head. Sarah reaches around him for his shampoo and squeezes a generous portion into her hands before getting up on her tiptoes to reach for his hair. Her precarious balance mixed with the soap around her feet causes her to slip, and before she realises what's happening his arm is locked around her waist, holding her steady. Sarah giggles breathily, her heart racing a little. "My bad," she says, "underestimated the stretch. Can you bend down for me a little?"
To Sarah's surprise Bucky doesn't just bend his neck, he carefully drops to his knees in front of her, arm still held around her waist as he rests his face against her abdomen. She's taken aback for a moment, feeling his eyelashes flutter against her stomach, the gentle huff of his breath between her hips. But then all she feels is relief, and comfort, and emotion at the fact that he's trusting her with this, the fact that he's letting go enough to put himself in her hands, even if only for a little while. Slowly she lowers her hands to his head and begins to work the shampoo into his scalp. She's a couple of minutes in, working up a good lather when he begins to cry silently. Her fingers pause for a moment, and she considers rinsing him off and letting him get out of the tub, but then his sobs get harder, less contained, more ragged. And his grip gets tighter. And Sarah realises that these tears are different to the ones he's been shedding on and off over the past few days. These aren't silent tears of inner pain, they're body-wracking sobs of release and relief. Finally, finally he's letting it out and Sarah has never been happier to have a grown man crying against her lap. She begins to move her hands again, working her fingers between the wet strands of his hair, massaging his scalp with all the care of a mother with her newborn. She mutters beneath her breath, just loud enough for him to hear but soft enough to exude comfort. She tells him she loves him, that he's a good man, that soon this won't hurt so much. By the time she leads his head backwards into the spray of the water to rinse the shampoo out his tears have stopped, settling into heavy breaths and hiccups, but his eyes are still closed and his face is the calmest she's seen it in a while. They're contentedly quiet as she finishes, and when he stands to his feet and turns his back to her to switch off the shower she presses her naked skin up against his back, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his shoulder blade before retreating.
"I'll leave you to get dressed." She breathes. "I'll be just outside."
Sarah towels off quickly in her bedroom after she's shut the bathroom door behind her, topping up her moisturiser, and slips into a pair of sweats and a loose plaid shirt. A thought occurs to her when she sees Bucky's vibranium arm lying atop the dresser. She walks to the closet and opens it, reaching for the black box that rests on the top shelf. She lifts it out, holding it beneath her left arm as she gently picks up Bucky's arm with her right hand and takes them both over to the bed. She bites her lip, suddenly nervous as she lays the arm across her lap. She hopes he won't mind, but she feels deep down that he might appreciate the gesture. She opens up the box and reaches for the oil and polish, dabbing small amounts onto the small black cloth before setting to work on the arm. She's never done this before, only ever watched him do it himself, but she takes her time, puts effort and care into it, hoping that when he reattaches it he'll be able to feel the addition of love between each plate.
Bucky is notoriously quiet when he enters a room (Sarah guesses it has something to do with him being an ex-assassin), so it's the sound of his sharp intake of breath that alerts her to his presence instead of his footsteps. She looks up, sees him standing in the doorway of the bathroom, hair damp but fully dressed in a fresh grey t-shirt and black jeans. He's looking down at the arm in her lap, his eyes wide, with an expression on his face that Sarah doesn’t recognise yet.
“I’m…sorry?” She tries, thinking she may have made a big mistake. “I just…wanted to take care of it.”
“Why?” He asks quietly.
Sarah shrugs, but her nerves calm a little, because she sees something in him, something behind his eyes, beneath the lines of his face, that looks like appreciation. “Because it’s part of you, lover. And I want to take care of you.”
For a moment he’s seemingly too stunned to speak, but after a few seconds of silence he walks toward her slowly, standing in front of her before reaching for the empty left sleeve of his t-shirt and rolling it up far enough to expose the attachment mechanism.
Sarah’s about to hand him the arm, but he drops his hand down to his side and looks at her with an expression so open, vulnerable and trusting that she suddenly realises what he’s silently asking her to do. She knows how, of course. He’s shown her how to remove and attach it, and she’s watched him do it himself sometimes too, but she’s never attempted it on her own. And this, to her, feels like the biggest step they’ve taken in their relationship since it began. She stands up slowly, looking him in the eyes for a moment before dropping her gaze to his shoulder and taking a breath. She lines the arm up with the receptors and feels the magnetic pull. It attaches with some force, locking into place seamlessly. There’s a little pride bubbling in her chest as she steps back to allow Bucky to wind his arm and flex the fingers as the metal whirs quietly to life. He pulls down the sleeve of his t-shirt and Sarah can’t help but smile at him.
“What?” He quizzes softly at her grin.
Sarah shakes her head. “Nothing. You just look sexy is all.”
A blush dusts his cheeks lightly as he drops his gaze for a second.
“So, the boys are downstairs.” Sarah begins slowly. “Do you think you’d wanna go down and have dinner with them?”
Bucky’s gaze shoots back up to her face and the blush drains from his cheeks, leaving him a little pale.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Bucky takes a moment to consider. “I just…I don’t want them to see me like this.” He confesses. “I need…I need to be strong for them.”
Sarah eyes him incredulously. “James Buchanan Barnes, lover, you’re the strongest man I know.” She tells him sternly. “Strength isn’t hiding your pain, or not feeling it. Strength is being able to share it with people. That’s what I want them to learn.”
In the end he agrees, and Sarah takes his hand in hers as she leads him out of the bedroom and slowly down the steps. AJ and Cass’s voices echo through the hall as she leads him toward the kitchen. Bucky squeezes her hand tightly in his and she hears his shaky intake of breath beside her as they walk in.
“I hope y’all ain’t in here tearing up our kitchen.” Sarah says loudly, partly because she’s actually concerned about the kitchen but also partly to announce her and Bucky’s presence—just so that they don’t walk in on a conversation that Bucky shouldn’t hear.
Cass is sitting on the kitchen counter, AJ standing by his brother’s swinging legs that come to an abrupt halt when the two of them lay eyes on Bucky. There’s silence in the kitchen all of a sudden, and for a second Sarah thinks this may have been a bad idea. But then Cass jumps down off of the counter and places his hands on his hips, puffing out his chest a little. “No mess here.” He says confidently. “I’ve been the kitchen manager while you were away and I hold my staff to very high standards.” He indicates toward AJ at the mention of staff.
AJ looks up at his brother, bemused. “Why do you always get to be the kitchen manager?”
“Because I’m the oldest.”
“Yeah but I’m the one who found the recipe.”
“Doesn’t count. And also, you used my computer to find it—”
The sound of her sons’ lighthearted bickering fades into the background when Bucky loosens his grip on her hand and takes a couple steps forward into the middle of the kitchen. He looks a little awkward, shrunken and out of place as he glances around. Sarah’s not sure what he needs, but she thinks that maybe he’s trying to reorient himself, refamiliarise and reground himself as part of this household, part of this home, with these people. So she gives him space, walking over to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair to sit down.
The boys begin to quieten down, wide-eyed gazes darting between Bucky and Sarah as everyone seems to be searching for the right thing to say, until finally AJ breaks the silence.
"Bucky?"
Bucky turns around at the sound of his name, looking down at AJ with a weak smile. "Yeah buddy?"
"Would you like a hug?"
Sarah's heart aches in her chest with a mixture of pride and sorrow. Her sweet boy has always been so sensitive, so empathetic. And it makes her proud to know that she raised someone with such a beautiful soul. But right now she’s not sure that Bucky is quite ready for his affection. Sarah lets out a quiet sigh, looking at her youngest son. "AJ, I don't think—"
"I'd love a hug."
The entire room falls still again for a moment, and Sarah almost can’t believe her ears, but in next to no time AJ sets to work, for some reason walking away from Bucky to grasp the back of one of the kitchen chairs and dragging it back over to him.
Sarah’s brows furrow as she watches her son park his chair in front of her lover and begin to climb up on it. "Boy, what are you—"
"It's more comforting to hug someone taller than you.” AJ explains as he rights himself atop the wooden seat, now standing just an inch above Bucky’s height. “Like when you hug me." He explains to his mom. And then without further ado he opens his arms wide and wraps them around Bucky’s neck, holding him tightly.
Bucky’s response is slow, but his hands come up willingly, wrapping themselves around AJ’s back gently, cautiously. After a moment Sarah sees him let himself go, and his eyes close as he buries his head in the crook of AJ’s small shoulder. His brows draw together, and little wrinkles appear on his eyelids from where he’s squeezing them so tightly shut.
A sigh shudders through him, and Sarah sees relief seep through his body from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes as he allows himself to be held. After the fraction of a second Cass joins in, tentatively wrapping his arms around Bucky's midsection from behind and resting his cheek against his back. Bucky's right hand slips away from AJ and wraps itself softly around Cass's fist. He melts between them, letting out a quiet sound akin to a whimper as he clings to the boys like they’re lifeboats in a storm.
Tears of joy and hope spring to Sarah’s eyes and she has to turn her head to deal with them, not wanting to let any of her boys see her cry.
She doesn’t know how long it lasts, but by the time they gently pull away and AJ dismounts his chair to follow Cass to the kitchen counter, she can see that the last few bricks of the wall Bucky had built have finally been torn down. He’s crying again, but it’s different once again, not tears of pain, neither sobs of desperate emotional release, but more tears of warm and tender disbelief, tears of ease and intense comfort.
Bucky takes a shaky breath, raising the neck of his t-shirt to swipe away the tears from beneath his eyes. He clears his throat, slipping his hands into his pockets as he trails behind the kids to inspect the mess they’ve made on the kitchen counter. "What's all this?" He asks.
"Well,” AJ begins, after a quick glance at his older brother for reassurance, “we‘re baking you some cupcakes, to make you feel better. It was supposed to be a surprise but since you're here, do you want to help?" He asks carefully.
It takes Bucky a moment to respond, but once he does his voice isn’t so heavy anymore. "Sure." He says softly, pulling his hands out of his pockets and glancing around the kitchen. "Where d'you want me?" He asks.
AJ turns to Cass, clearly having not been given the authority to delegate yet. Cass hums in thought for a moment, before deciding to put Bucky’s muscles to good use. He picks up the mixing bowl containing the unmixed sugar, butter and eggs and passes it to Bucky, along with a metal whisk. "I think you'll be most useful on whisking duty." He concludes.
Bucky nods, a smile inching up at the corners of his mouth as he takes his designated equipment. "Yes, sir."
Cass smiles back at him, but his smile falters when he remembers that Bucky is right-handed. Which means that he grips the whisk in his right fist and tucks the glass mixing bowl under his vibranium arm. In a split second images of crushed glass and his mother’s trademark scowl flash across his mind and he grimaces, looking up at Bucky with a bitten lip. "Do...you want a plastic bowl instead?" He asks awkwardly.
It takes Bucky a moment to realise why the offer had been made, but when he does, he laughs. Actually laughs. For what feels like the first time in forever. And the sound makes Sarah’s heart grow wings and flutter in circles around her chest. It’s like the sweetest music to her ears. So she laughs too, light and airy, and when Bucky turns to look at her the smile is still on his face. It’s not quite his usual smile, but it’s something.
Bucky turns back to Cass with a small shake of his head. "I think I'll be fine pal."
Sarah watches with a grin on her face for the next hour as her boys boss Bucky around the kitchen in their quest to make what turns out to be two dozen cupcakes. In the end they make Bucky do most of the work but he really doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, Sarah thinks she sees a degree of catharsis in it for him, as if using his hands to do something as delicate as baking makes him feel even lighter somehow. There are still some moments where he slips away, retreats into his mind for a second, but it becomes easier and easier to pull him out, with a gentle touch, or the soft utterance of his name. And for the most part, the shackles that had been chaining him up so tightly over the last few days seem to loosen, and hopefully come undone.
The boys stay up long enough for the first batch to cool down enough to be iced up, but Sarah sends them to bed before the second batch are cooked. They both hug Bucky again, and this time it’s quicker, and there’s less weight to it, but it’s just as heartfelt, then they disappear up the stairs.
The second batch of cupcakes are just turning golden when Sarah and Bucky are finally left alone in the kitchen. She watches him as he idly spreads pink icing sugar on a cooled cupcake with a butter knife. It’s the last of the bunch so she leaves him to it, leaning back against the counter, smiling at the concentration on his face. She doesn’t disturb him. Instead, she turns around when the oven timer goes off and bends down after swiping the oven mitt off the counter to remove the tray of cupcakes. She kicks the over door shut and places them carefully on the cooling rack before slipping off the mitt.
When she turns around, she sees it, what he’d been so meticulously working on for the past few moments. In his flesh hand is a cupcake with pink icing sugar carefully crafted into the shape of a love heart. Joyous laughter bubbles up from her chest as she covers her mouth with the fingertips of both hands. “Is this for me?” She asks, enamoured.
“Yes.”
She takes it from him with a grateful smile and pulls down the casing so she can take a bite, but before she does, she decides to try her luck. She reaches for her most neatly decorated cupcake form the completed batch, a blue one, since she knows he loves that colour, and she offers it to him silently. She’s half expecting him to decline, but he doesn’t. He takes it from her, pulling down the casing before pausing to look at her expectantly. And then, together, they bite into their cupcakes, and Sarah keeps her eyes on him while his flicker shut. He moans a little, just in the back of his throat as the flavour bursts across his tongue, and Sarah feels such unbridled joy at watching him being able to experience one of life’s little pleasures again.
Bucky looks back at her once he’s swallowed his bite, his eyes brimming with an emotion that he seems unable to communicate with his lips, so instead he just utters the most heartfelt “thank you” that Sarah has ever heard.
She smiles back at him. She knows it’s not just a thank you for the cake, but it’s a thank you for the shower, for the touching, for the soothing words, for the care of his arm, and a million and one other things that he doesn’t know how to express his gratitude for.
Sarah knows that this isn’t the last of his bad days. He’s not “fixed” by any means. In fact, there’s no way for him to be fixed seeing as she doesn’t consider him to be broken. He’s human. That’s what he is. But he’s seen some things, heard some things, done some things that have hurt him in ways that she can’t even begin to imagine. And those things deepen his humanity. They make him feel more than she does. They give him a higher capacity for suffering. But they also give him an increased capability for love. He suffers hard and he loves hard. It makes his bad days very bad, but it also makes his good days incredibly good. And Sarah wants all of it. All of him. She wants his good days, of course, but she wants his bad days just as much. Because they’re the building blocks that make up who he is.
And she loves him. Man she loves him. There are no conditions to the love she has for him. She doesn’t require him to have a certain ratio of bad to good days. She’ll take what he can give, knowing that it’s his best.
Sarah knows it’s not over. She knows it never truly will be. And they have a long way to go and a lot of work to do before he can heal to a stable degree. But right now, he’s standing with her in her kitchen, eating cake, and she can smell his shampoo, and she can see a smudge of bright blue icing sugar on his upper lip, and there’s life behind his eyes again. And that’s all Sarah needs.