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LaGuardia isn’t a fantastic airport, but it’s the closest one to the Bronx, so Stiles is glad it’s the one that Lydia is flying into. Dr. Lewis came in early to cover, so he could leave at 5:30 to take the train to Corona Plaza station near LaGuardia. Once there, he took a bus to the airport. He’s too thrifty to pay for a taxi to wait around idling until Lydia’s plane arrives, so he decides to stand outside the arrivals exit instead.
It takes about ten minutes of trying not to think about what Lydia’s opinion of Bucky is going to be before he notices some people starting to leave the airport. It’s so early in the morning that there haven’t been many arrivals yet, so he knows a plane must have arrived. He stops thinking of every possible scenario of Lydia’s reaction to Bucky—because not thinking about it evidently didn’t work well—-and starts looking for a strawberry blonde goddess to walk through the doors.
It turns out that the arrivals weren’t from Boston because Lydia still hasn’t come out. Stiles starts people watching, making up stories about where they’re coming from and what their plans are in the city. It’s a nice distraction from making himself anxious about Lydia not getting along with Bucky. The last thing he wants is there to be some kind of line in the sand that forces him to choose one over the other.
The reality is that he isn’t entirely sure which he’d choose, which leaves him more than a little shaken. He taps his fingers, one to five, and he tries to come to terms with the fact that his relationship with Bucky is serious enough that there would actually be a choice to make. It’s like family versus future since Bucky also has decelerated aging and could be someone he has in his life for a very long time.
“When you said you were going to meet me at the airport, I actually expected you to be paying closer attention to my arrival,” Lydia says, her voice coming from right beside him.
“Jesus Christ,” he exclaims, startled out of his thoughts. He blinks at her, feeling stupid for being caught unaware in a busy place like LaGuardia. She’s totally giving him judgmental eyebrows, too, which means she noticed. “Where did you come from?”
“I took an airplane from Boston,” she says dryly, slapping his arm. “Is that any way to greet me after six months?”
“I’m sorry; you startled me,” he admits, moving forward to hug her. He picks her up, hearing her squeak as she wraps her arms around her. “It’s so good to see you, babe.”
“I’ve missed you, dumbass,” she mutters, pulling back and kissing his cheek. “If I’d been an evil murderer, I could have killed you without you even noticing, by the way. We are going to discuss whatever had you so distracted because I highly doubt it was my arrival.”
“You’d be wrong, Ms Know It All,” he says, kissing the top of her head. “I actually was thinking about your visit and you. And my you-know-what would have protected me from a killer anyway.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” she reminds him, rubbing her thumb against his cheek, likely to remove her lipstick stain. “It’s merely another one of our theories. I’d rather you not put it to the test in an uncontrolled experiment.”
“It’s not like I can have a controlled one to test it, either,” he points out. “The last time my life was possibly in danger, James shot the guys before they could finish aiming.”
She looks at him and purses her lips. “And when, pray tell, was this? I don’t recall you ever telling me that someone was trying to shoot you, Stiles.”
“Oh, I didn’t mention that when I told you that he found out about my you-know-what?” he asks, honestly not remembering what he’d said exactly about that night. “Maybe we can talk about that further in a safe space.”
“I’ll get us a car if you bring my luggage,” she says, not asking at all. She walks past him with a determined look in her eyes, and he knows he’s getting interrogated during the drive to Bucky’s house.
The luggage consists of three suitcases and a make-up bag. He groans at the sight of it all. “Seriously? You’re only here until Sunday. That’s four nights, and you brought four suitcases.”
“I’m choosing to ignore your petty whining because you’re obviously not thinking clearly enough to realize that I’ve gone ahead and brought some things to leave here with you during my move,” she says sweetly, motioning at a yellow cab. “You could have already had them here if you hadn’t wasted time complaining.”
“I don’t see you carrying anything,” he points out. “How did you even get all of this here without me hearing you?”
“Two nice men from my flight insisted on assisting me,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes. “I even thanked them both right beside you without being noticed. Now you can understand my initial concern.”
“Oh,” he says, nodding slowly. “Alright, I get it now. I should have definitely heard you, not to mention feeling you close by. That is a concern.”
She walks over and picks up the make-up case before patting his cheek gently. “You were in deep thought and counting your fingers when I saw you. Whatever was on your mind had your complete focus.”
“I didn’t feel threatened by your approach,” he decides. “That’s the only explanation for it because I did notice when other people got into my space when walking by. I stand by the theory that my m word recognized you and didn’t feel the need to alert me.”
“I feel like Scott’s lurking around somewhere whenever you use toddler speak,” Lydia mutters, shaking her head. “Just don’t say anything else until we’re in the car in our secure little bubble because I’m not going to get over you actually saying m word for a bit.”
“You’re so mean about Scott,” he says, rolling his eyes when she gives him a look. “I’m just saying, we haven’t even seen the guy since we were eighteen, and he wasn’t ever stupid.”
“Your friendship with him has always blinded you to his faults,” she says. “I know he wasn’t stupid, but that doesn’t mean he was exceptionally clever or a great thinker. We know how his strategy skills were, and they were rarely the best way to achieve the desired outcome. If the town was still a Hellmouth, I doubt he’d have survived this long.”
“I’m not blind to his faults; I just accepted them when we were kids,” he says, wondering for a moment if that’s how it is for Bucky with Steve. Stiles can see how Steve’s choice was selfish and not really heroic, but Bucky can’t seem to agree just because it’s Steve. “He’s still someone I care about even if we’ve drifted apart as we got older.”
“Did you know that he and Malia have a son?” Lydia asks, slinging the bag into the trunk of the cab. “Mom mentioned it once when I made my weekly call home.”
Stiles stares at her, blinking stupidly because the answer to that question is a big fat no. He didn’t have a clue, and he even exchanged a brief text just the other day with him. “How long ago?”
“Sorry,” she murmurs, giving him a hug. “I just wanted to prove a point and didn’t realize that it might hurt you.”
“When did you find out, Lydia?” he asks, sighing as he shakes his head. She lets him go, so he can put her bags in the trunk. “Did you seriously save it up for ammunition next time we had an argument over him and the past?”
“I’m going to forgive you for that comment because I know you’re upset and lashing out, but the forgiveness is a one time only thing,” she says firmly. “We don’t talk about the old days often, so it didn’t come up. It just came to mind now because—“
“Because you wanted to be right and knew something like that would hurt,” he finishes for her. “Don’t look like that, sister wife. We both know that you’re a spiteful bitch when you want to be, and Scott always seems to bring out that side of you, especially since we left Beacon Hills.”
“You just defend him no matter how horrid his behavior, and it’s frustrating,” she says, giving him a guilty look. “But I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I’m starting to understand Buck and his devotion to Steve more,” he mutters, scowling as he slides into the taxi. He leans forward and gives the address in Harlem before leaning back and silently casting the silencing charm around them. “How old is Scott’s son?”
Lydia makes a face. “It’s been a couple of years,” she admits. “After he and Malia got married, so I think the kid’s two going on three? I’m not sure. Mom just mentioned that she’d seen Scott with his son, and I had the moment of hurt because I thought Malia and I were friendly enough to share that kind of news, but I was obviously wrong.”
“I’m surprised that Peter didn’t send out elaborate birth announcements for his first grandchild,” Stiles says, smirking slightly. “Wait, that does mean that Creeperwolf is a grandpa now, which is kinda hilarious.”
“Like Scott would ever let him around the kid anyway,” Lydia says, huffing. “You know how he treats Peter. I’m not the man’s biggest fan for obvious reasons, but he helped save you from the Wild Hunt, so that earned him points in my book. Not to mention saving me from Monroe’s minions.”
“God, I’m so glad that we got away from that place,” he says, leaning over and kissing her on the head. “It was just nonstop trauma for years. You know, good for Scott and Malia. Let them have their little family and be happy because any of us who survived all of that shit deserves some happiness.”
“I’m really hoping that Mom and your dad will decide to move to the east coast now that I’m going to be here with you,” Lydia says. “I haven’t brought it up because I know your dad feels responsible for the town, but I’m pretty sure that Mom’s ready to relocate as soon as he agrees.”
“I mentioned it to him the other day, but he seemed hesitant about it. Said Jordan isn’t ready to be sheriff yet, and it costs a lot to live close to here,” he says, not mentioning the other thing Dad dropped on him like a bomb despite that possibly having something to do with them not moving. “Hey, do you know if your mom and dad were, like, swingers? I’ve heard about rich people in the suburbs doing some strange stuff, and it got me curious about the elite in Beacon Hills.”
“What the fuck kind of question is that, Stiles?” she asks, glaring at him. “How do you go from our parents relocating to questioning my parents’ sexual proclivities? Do you think my mother is having an affair?”
“No, of course not,” he says, frowning at her. “Natalie loves Dad. I was just curious.” He shrugs. “There was this article I read and it linked to another source and I ended up in a rabbit hole about key parties and rich people having sex games.” It’s all true, but the research happened after Dad told him about being bi. None of the stuff he read sounded like something Dad would ever do, and it didn’t sound like Natalie, either, but Lydia’s dad was a jerk.
“You and your Wikipedia spirals,” she mutters, still scowling at him. “My father cheated on my mother, and she divorced his ass. So, no, I don’t think she was into anything like key parties, which I think were more common before we were even born. Were your parents swingers?”
“I don’t think so because Dad was alone after Mom died. If they had kinky sex friends, there would have been people around for him. He just had a bottle of whiskey in those early months,” he says honestly, not getting offended by the question because he just asked her one he hadn’t intended to ask. “Anyway, I think once he’s sure that the county will be in good hands then he might be amenable to relocating. We’ll need to work on your mom, since she’s the one who can convince him that Jordan is qualified enough to run for Sheriff.”
“I thought we’d spend our ride from the airport catching up while you threatened me to be nice to your boyfriend,” Lydia points out. “Instead, we’re arguing about Scott and talking about our parents in ways that I do not want in my mind. Like, seriously, Stiles. Key parties? My mother is far too particular about men to ever hook up randomly. Your father is the only man I’m aware of her even dating since the divorce in any type of serious way, and they ended up married.”
“Did you want me to threaten you?” Stiles asks, arching a brow and looking at her. “I know you too well, babe. If I even thought about threatening you, you’d do the opposite of what I wanted just to prove a point.”
“I never said that threats would work,” she says. “but I expected something to persuade me to be charming and friendly.”
“I think I actually told you to give him a hard time and make him work for your approval because he already thinks he’s going to charm you ,” Stiles reminds her. “I don’t want to make it too easy on him, after all.”
“Stiles, you made the man wait weeks before you even admitted that he was a friend,” she says dryly. “I was beginning to expect an invitation to a wedding that you’d explain away as friends who just need legal paperwork to continue kissing or some ridiculous notion to justify the fact that you were having romantic feelings for him.”
“While I might have deliberately chosen to ignore the fact that we were sort of dating because I was terrified to deal with the implications of letting someone get close to me romantically, I wouldn’t keep my head buried in the sand through a wedding,” he says, nudging her with his elbow when she snorts.
“Close to you romantically, physically, and emotionally,” she corrects. “You’ve shut everyone out since undergrad when you realized you were demisexual and needed the emotional to enjoy the physical because you decided when you were eighteen that you were doomed to be alone forever.”
“Yeah, well, excuse me for not anticipating at age eighteen that I’d meet a man that I’m emotionally attracted to and physically attracted to who happens to have been given some kind of super soldier serum back in the forties that was in such an extreme dosage that it decelerates his aging and accelerates his healing to make him nearly as indestructible as I am now,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, it sounds made up, doesn’t it? Like some cheesy plot to one of those contemporary romance novels your mom likes to read.”
“He’s an up and coming doctor who was formerly possessed by a void kitsune, and he’s a World War II vet who was formerly brainwashed and used as a weapon by Hydra,” Lydia says, her tone like she’s narrating. “Together, they find romance and someone to grow old with.” She looks thoughtful. “Actually, it sounds more like a romance movie, especially when you add in superheroes and the supernatural.”
“Hmm.” He arches a brow. “Like Hallmark romance or Netflix romance?”
“It’s too sexy for Hallmark, but the budget would be too high for Netflix, so I’d say Amazon Original,” she decides. “The effects alone would need a solid budget because you know they’d change your powers to be more readable on screen because the fact that you can just will a spell isn’t dramatic enough.”
“Ugh, you’re probably right,” he says, making a face. “I’m glad it isn’t a movie or cheesy book. It’s just us, as remarkable as it sounds.”
“Just be grateful that it was Bucky Barnes and not one of the widely publicized heroes who is constantly being watched by the public and posted about on social media,” she says. “Superhero fans can sometimes be an awful extreme for stalking and trying to track everything.”
“Yeah, well, Bucky’s just support and sticks to the shadows, so I’m not too worried about him suddenly becoming an attention seeking jackass like Stark,” he says. “Even if I tease him about becoming known as the Sexy Sniper.”
Lydia gives him a look that has him straightening up from his slouch. “I know that you don’t care one way or another about the concept of superheroes, but Captain America, the original one, is incredibly well-known. His history—including Bucky—is something any fan would know pretty well, and it’s a history that even random people with a passing interest in our reality of dealing with superpowered individuals is aware of. You do realize that, don’t you?”
“I haven’t really thought much about it,” he says honestly. “The man in the photos with Steve Rogers isn’t the Bucky that I know. I mean, there are parts of him that are the same, of course, but the guy being highlighted in that museum exhibit I visited wasn’t haunted by innocent deaths he caused under someone else’s control. It’s like old photos of me, you know? It’s in the eyes, the lives we’ve lived and the deaths we’ve caused.”
“That makes sense,” she tells him. “But you need to understand that there were stories on Twitter and Facebook about the Winter Soldier back when Captain America and his team got arrested for aiding in his escape from Berlin. Good grief, Stiles. Did you not look him up at all after your museum tour? You’re looking at me like I’m speaking Latin.”
“I can speak Latin now,” he reminds her. “And, no, I didn’t look my boyfriend up on the internet because I knew everything that I needed to know from him and the museum. I can’t believe you’re giving me that disappointed look because I actually respected his privacy and didn’t want to go down a rabbit hole of bullshit that likely isn’t true anyway. I felt really mature about curbing my curiosity and nosiness for once. I thought you’d be proud. Also why did I not realize just how into superheroes you are? Are you a fangirl, Lydia?”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a fangirl, Stiles. However, I’m more interested in the scientific background for many of those with enhanced power,” she says, her tone prissy in the way she gets when she’s done something she feels might not fit her usual image. “Besides, the original Captain America was a hunk with a pretty face, so I became a fan at a young age when my grandmother would babysit me and read me stories.” She elbows him when he just grins at her. “And, no, I am not proud of you for resisting your curiosity because now I have no idea what you actually do and don’t know about Bucky.”
“I know that he’s persistent, witty, a sarcastic smartass, and incredibly observant,” Stiles tells her. “He’s also loyal, stubborn, has ridiculous ideas about toothpaste rules, slept around a lot before the war, hasn’t ever had any kind of serious relationship, is gentle despite having enough strength to easily kill a man, is accepting and open and doesn’t have any conditions on his friendship. He also knows what it’s like to be controlled, to have his control taken away, and to have darkness that has to be kept in check.” He stops and taps his fingers on his thigh. “He’s also gorgeous, has a great ass, and is an amazing kisser. All in all, that’s all I really need to know about him and his past, Lydia.”
“You’re falling for him, aren’t you?” she asks softly, reaching over to put her on his, pressing his fingers flat against his thigh. “It’s real, babe. There are five fingers, and you’ve found someone who fits with you better than I ever did.”
“It’s much too soon to be thinking about the L word, but I can’t deny that I’m falling,” he admits, turning his hand over so that he can hold her hand. “It’s not something I’m telling him, too much pressure when we’re only now seriously dating, but you know me.”
“Yeah, I do,” she says, smiling wryly. “Once you fall, it’s all in and with everything you’ve got to give. I remember being the focus of that attention, and it could be overwhelming, so I understand why you’re not rushing into it.” She squeezes his hand. “I’m really glad that you’ve found someone who can possibly give you a future, Stiles.”
He leans over and kisses her on the head. “I know you know all about the public knowledge of whatever he’s been through, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s all true,” he reminds her. “You know what gossip was like back in Beacon Hills. I’d rather find out from him if there are things he feels I should know because we have a solid trust that we’ve developed over the last couple of months.”
“It was petty, stupid, and usually wrong,” she says, making a face. “Point made. Some facts are indisputable, but there’s possibly a lot of conjecture, too. I won’t presume to know him just because I’ve read about him since I was a kid.”
“Traffic sucks today,” Stiles says, looking out the window of the cab. It’s time to change the subject because things have been a little too serious since she arrived. “I’m glad you got here early, but this time of day is like a parking lot.”
“It could also be people leaving town for the holidays,” she mentions, giving him a slight smile like she knows what he’s doing but isn’t going to protest. “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, after all. Speaking of, what are we planning to do?”
“Bucky asked us to have dinner with him,” Stiles says. “I have no idea if we’re cooking or getting delivery, though. I asked, and he just said to relax, that it was handled.”
“He doesn’t seem to understand that telling you to relax usually has the opposite effect,” Lydia says, snorting.
“Hey, I’ve been getting better as I get older,” he says, giving her a look when she makes a disbelieving noise. “He knows I don’t like surprises, so he made sure I know that the food is handled. He just didn’t specify how.”
She looks serious for a minute. “Good, I’m glad that you’ve felt comfortable sharing that with him,” she says. She frowns slightly, lost in thought. “Are there any things that I need to be aware of regarding his trauma?”
“Don’t speak Russian,” Stiles says. “Don’t make demands that don’t have some semblance of choice. He’s never told me he doesn’t like that, but I’ve noticed that he tightens his jaw if he feels like he doesn’t have any say in something affecting him. It’s not as big of a control issue as I have, but try not to be so bossy. Don’t sneak up on him, not that he probably wouldn’t notice anyway, but he’s more likely to react in a self-defense mode if he feels caught off guard.”
“I’m glad that I asked because I tend to be somewhat domineering without realizing it,” she says honestly. “The other two things aren’t a concern because I don’t speak the language nor do I sneak up on superpowered individuals. I worked with a mutant at MIT who could manipulate energy, in basic terms, and I quickly learned not to walk up behind him without making sure he was aware.”
“Remember when I had the theory that Bucky was some kind of mutant?” Stiles asks, having to laugh at his past theories. “I guess I was slightly correct, in that he does have unusual abilities, but it wasn’t something he was born with or even chose.”
“I particularly enjoyed the religious cult theory,” Lydia admits. “It was a logical explanation for him not knowing modern cultural references. You said he lives in Harlem, didn’t you?”
“Yes, he’s in Harlem,” Stiles says. “In some ridiculously expensive house that I can’t hate for being part of gentrification because apparently it was bought in horrible condition and restored. It wasn’t extremely expensive at the time of purchase.”
“Good, I’m glad I remembered the neighborhood. I asked the real estate agent that I’m working with to pull properties that fit my criteria in the Upper East Side and vicinity so neither of us have an awful commute to work, and you’ll be close to your boyfriend.”
“The Upper East Side is so not my style,” Stiles points out. “It’s, like, Gossip Girl, snobby rich people vibes even if they’ve got the Met close by.”
“It’s my style because it’s a compromise instead of simply getting an apartment near my new workplace,” she says, giving him a warning look. “You can schlepp around in your grungy t-shirts and sweatpants all you want. I don’t care how you present yourself to the world because you’re not my boyfriend.”
“You realize that’s practically daring me to wear more and more outlandish things, don’t you?” he asks, seeing her smug smile. “Damn it, I can’t resist the challenge of seeing how much it takes before you forbid me from being seen by neighbors. Fine. We can look at the Upper East Side.”
“It’s cute that you thought there was a choice,” she says. “I’ve lined up six apartment visits for Friday and five for Saturday, by the way. All two-bedroom with elevators and in-unit laundry.”
“They had eleven vacancies in our price range?” Stiles is surprised because she limited the search to a rather expensive area of an already expensive city. “When I was looking, there were only about six places in the general vicinity I was looking for, but a couple were at the higher end of my price range.”
“You don’t need to worry about the price range this time,” she says. “You can pay the same amount that you’re paying now, since you’re doing me a favor by allowing me the opportunity to search for a larger space since it’ll still be downsizing from my current condo.”
“You don’t even know how much my rent is right now,” he points out. “How can your agent even know the price range?”
“You’ve bitched about how much you pay for your shoebox enough times that I know the amount by heart,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I do listen when you speak, you know?”
“Yeah, I know, but I didn’t realize I complained that often since it’s way cheaper than anywhere else I could rent around the hospital,” he says, straightening up when the cab finally turns down Bucky’s street. “We’re almost there.”
“The neighborhood looks cozy,” she says, peering out the window on her side. “It’s already an improvement from your place; I haven’t seen addicts standing around trying to rob people yet.”
“You’re so funny,” he deadpans, nudging her with his elbow. The cab driver slows to a stop in front of Bucky’s house. “Looks like we’re here, babe. Are you nervous about meeting the man you’ve read about since you were a little girl?”
“No, but I am eager to meet your boyfriend and put him through various tests to ensure that he is worthy of you,” she says, nudging him to get out of the car.
“I’ll have to hope that he’s a good test taker then.” Stiles opens the car door and stands up, reaching out a hand to help Lydia slide over to the sidewalk side so she doesn’t risk getting out in traffic.
Lydia gets out and tosses her hair over her shoulder, looking at the five story building critically. “Which floor is his place on again?”
“Oh, haven’t I mentioned?” Stiles asks, paying the driver an ungodly amount of money. “The entire fifth floor is his.”
“When you told me that he owned a house with a fancy rooftop patio, I wasn’t expecting something this large.” She looks at him, unable to conceal her surprise. “Do you know how much money is sitting right here, Stiles? I’ve been looking at real estate since I left this summer and decided I wanted to move here so we could be together, and that wasn't entire buildings this size.”
“Yeah, there are five floors, a basement, and that badass rooftop patio,” he says, bragging just a little because it isn’t often that Lydia is surprised. He opens the trunk so he can get her bags when he sees the door to Bucky’s house open.
“I can help get the bags, Doc,” Bucky offers, stepping outside looking like something out of GQ Casual Edition. He’s wearing a very nice sweater that covers his arm, nice slacks, and a pair of leather shoes that aren’t anything Stiles has seen before. It looks like he’s going to some posh event.
“What’s that on your feet?” he asks, looking more closely. “Are those loafers ? Seriously? Where are your boots, dude? Those don’t look comfortable at all.”
“They’re actually very comfortable,” Bucky says, his jaw tightening as he gives him a look before glancing at Lydia then back at Stiles. “Let me get those bags for you, Doc.”
Oh fuck. He’s nervous. Stiles blinks at the realization, trying to process the fact that Bucky is nervous about meeting Lydia. He stops him, reaching out to squeeze his bicep. “I tipped the driver enough that he can wait a second,” he says, before looking at Lydia. “Bucky, this is my sister wife, Lydia. Lydia, this is my Buck.”
Bucky relaxes slightly when Stiles calls him ‘my Buck’, which is something he’s definitely going to tease him about later. “It’s nice to finally meet you, ma’am,” he says, ducking his head slightly like he’s meeting the damn queen.
“Likewise,” she says, looking him over before giving Stiles a look that silently tells him well done . “However, while your use of ma’am is very respectful, it’s unnecessary. I’m sure my brother husband has told you plenty of horribly embarrassing stories about me to make the use of my given name logical.”
“I believe the term strawberry blonde goddess and smartest person I know have been used multiple times, ma’am, which don’t strike me as particularly embarrassing,” Bucky admits, flashing a charming smile before reaching for Stiles’ hand and squeezing.
“I would never share embarrassing stories about you, Lydia,” Stiles says, trying to look offended but knowing he’s failing by her snort. “Well, not many.”
“Then it’s only fair that Bucky and I have the opportunity to discuss embarrassing stories about you, Stiles,” Lydia decides, arching her brow and smiling smugly. “Not many, of course.”
“I highly doubt you can tell him anything that’ll embarrass me,” Stiles says confidently, seeing that Bucky isn’t as nervous now, so he turns to get the luggage out of the cab. “I mean, I even told him about my religious cult theory, babe. In retrospect, that’s pretty damn embarrassing.”
“Did you tell him about the time you dropped an extra large condom in class and Coach Finstock picked it up in front of everyone?” she asks curiously, her smile mischievous when he groans. She looks at Bucky. “Coach congratulated him before handing the condom back. This was high school, so I’m sure you can imagine how fast that story spread.”
“I mean, it’s definitely the right size from what I’ve seen,” Bucky says, his lips twitching when Stiles pushes him with a suitcase. “I thought you said you didn’t date much in high school, though. If that story got out—“
“I wasn’t interested,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “It was when things were starting to go strange for me, you know.”
“Oh, damn,” Bucky says, taking the suitcase and putting it on the sidewalk. He then pulls Stiles into a hug, his sweater so soft that Stiles can’t resist rubbing his face all over it as they hug. “Let’s get your sister inside and settled into my spare room. We can swap embarrassing stories that maybe aren’t connected with traumatic experiences over breakfast.”
“I’d forgotten the timing of that one,” Lydia says, and Stiles pulls back from the amazing Bucky hug to turn to her and give her a hug. “It’s most inconvenient that our high school stories are almost always somehow connected with some trauma or another.”
“It’s fine. I’m not triggered or anything,” he says. “I was just saying that accepting some of the very blunt offers I received after that incident wasn’t anything I was interested in at the time. Anyway, let’s get your luggage inside, Lydia. Bucky mentioned breakfast.”
“Yeah, I might have been just a little antsy waiting, so I raided the kitchen and made a variety of things because I know you’re always hungry after a shift, Doc,” Bucky says, carrying all of the luggage with an ease that makes Stiles slightly jealous but also appreciative of his muscles.
“I can’t believe I forgot that you just got off work,” Lydia says, giving him an apologetic look. “You’re probably exhausted. I am, and I managed to sleep a few hours before I had to leave for the airport”
“It was a Tuesday night, which can be hit or miss for busyness,” he says, shrugging before taking Lydia’s hand. “Last night, it was steady. Never super busy but never slow. Lots of chaotic energy, so that was good, I suppose. I had Alicia and Trini with me, so it seemed easy regardless.”
They follow Bucky into the house. He catches Lydia admiring Bucky’s ass, which his slacks definitely accentuate. He almost starts humming Baby Got Back, but he knows Bucky wouldn’t understand, so there isn’t much point in it.
“I’ll take these up the stairs, if you want to use the elevator, Doc,” Bucky offers, like five flights of stairs carrying multiple pieces of luggage is an easy feat.
“Why don’t you use the elevator while I give Lydia a quick tour of the downstairs?” he suggests. The formal living room, library, and office area are on this floor, and they’re used by both Sam and Bucky as needed. It makes sense to show them to her, plus it means Bucky doesn’t have to carry suitcases up the stairs. He knows from experience how awful that is, after all.
“Sure, you do that,” Bucky says, leaning down and kissing him. Stiles has to remind himself they’ve got company so he doesn’t deepen the kiss. It’s been hours since he last had a Bucky kiss, so it requires some effort to pull back and keep it chaste. “I’ll see you both upstairs soon.”
“Hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you walk away,” he says, winking when Bucky stumbles and glares over his shoulder. He never tires of flustering him.
Once Bucky is gone, Lydia grabs his arm and hisses, “Oh my God. That’s really Bucky Barnes. He called me ma’am, Stiles. He’s even more handsome than I expected. Do you know how freaked out my grandma would be if she were still alive? She died before it was even known that he hadn’t died in the war, and she’d be over the moon knowing I’d just let him.”
“Did you think I’d met some other guy named Bucky Barnes with the same history?” he asks, teasing her a little because she’s dropped her aloof composure and is almost bouncing right now.
“No, of course not,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But hearing about it and having a brief phone conversation with a voice isn’t the same as him being right here kissing you and carrying my luggage and being a polite gentleman.”
“Yeah, that’s an act, Lyds,” Stiles says bluntly. “He’s trying to impress you and charm you, remember? That man doesn’t even own loafers, the last I knew. He’s a smartass who gives me a run for my money, and he doesn’t even like to wear underwear half the time much less business casual from fancy designers.”
“It’s an act that I can appreciate, and it means he cares about you because he’s trying to gain my approval,” Lydia points out. “Also, you were definitely right about that man’s ass.”
“Isn’t it amazing? I can’t wait to spend hours getting to know it intimately when we’re ready for that,” he says, sighing happily at the thought.
“You’re drooling,” she says dryly, reaching over to wipe her thumb against the corner of his mouth like he’s doing it literally. He snaps at her finger, making her laugh. “Come on, Romeo. Why don’t you give me the quick tour then we can go upstairs and eat whatever Prince Charming made for breakfast?”
“Romeo died,” he reminds her, leading her into the formal living room. “We aren’t using that one, babe. For a centenarian, he’s remarkably good in the kitchen. I’ve gained, like, five pounds since we started dating because he’s constantly making sure I’m actually eating instead of working through meals, and he’s somehow managed to get some of the nurses watching my eating habits now.”
“Your dad is going to love hearing that you’re getting a taste of your own medicine,” she says, looking around with an impressed look at the very much professionally designed areas. “Let me guess, Alicia and Trini?”
“And Susie,” he says. “Lucas even reminded me to eat a snack the other night. It’s ridiculous.”
“Yes, ridiculous that it requires five people to ensure that you’re taking breaks and eating,” she says, smacking his arm lightly. “You promised me this summer that you’d make sure you had a regular eating schedule.”
“I lied,” he admits, laughing when she makes a face at him. “Hey, I didn’t mean to lie, but I totally didn’t set anything up. Bucky’s the one who’s made it more of a regular thing.”
“Then I’ll be sure to thank him,” she says. “Whoever decorated these rooms had a very high budget, Stiles. We’re talking out of my price range high.”
“Darn, you’ve guessed my secret,” he says, sighing dramatically. “Bucky’s really my sugar daddy, and I’m exchanging kisses for free food.”
Lydia snorts. “We should get upstairs then so you can make sure he’s paid for breakfast,” she teases, taking his hand and leaning against his side. “He does realize that we were serious about the fact that I share a bed with you when I visit, doesn’t he?”
“If he doesn’t then he will once you climb into bed with us to take a nap after breakfast,” he says. “Hopefully, he’ll also relax a bit the more he gets to know you because I want you to get to know him while you’re visiting, and, while he can make the loafers look good, that’s not really him.”
“After we nap, we can spend more time getting to know each other, and I can share some pre-supernatural Stiles stories from back when you thought I didn’t even know you existed,” she says, kissing his jaw. “But I already like him because he cares about you—something I could see immediately—and he makes you happy. I don’t care what shoes he has on so long as he keeps doing those things.”
They reach the elevator, and he kisses the top of her head. “Good. He’ll realize that, too,” he says, pushing the up button. “For now, let’s focus on getting food and napping. I’ve become spoiled and actually need sleep now that I’ve been getting it consistently.”
“Imagine that,” she says dryly. “I’m glad you’ve been reminded that sleep is beneficial, dumbass.” She steps onto the elevator when the door opens, and he follows her, pushing the fifth floor. “Look at you having such a mature relationship with someone who cares if you eat properly and get enough rest. Sounds like you aren’t the only one who’s falling, baby brother.”