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It’s raining, which Sam supposes is fitting.
The house is old, a staple of the community. It had been there when Sam was growing up, though the blue paint covering its exterior had been less patchy, and the sun-dried porch had been well maintained. He supposed Mr. Lancy just hadn’t been able to keep up with the maintenance as he got older, despite the help he received from his daughter, Lillian, from out of state.
She’s here today, dressed in a somber black dress, umbrella poised over her head. Despite the contrary weather, she insisted on doing this today; it would have been her parents’ fifty-second anniversary, and having his ashes spread here where his wife’s had been spread years before had been one of Mr. Lancy’s final wishes.
It is a beautiful place to be laid to rest, Sam supposes; mature willow trees stand proud in the generous grassy space that makes up the lawn. He can see some overgrown flower bushes, and he knows for a fact that there is a small fruit orchard off to the side of the house near the fenced-in space that is supposed to be the garden. It had, in fact, been a beautiful property when he was a kid. He remembers being invited to Lillian’s graduation party as a young teenager; they’d done it right in the yard.
It’s sad how the place seems to have surrendered to the relentlessness of time. He doesn’t blame Mr. Lancy, of course, but just the same, he can’t help but think about how this place has so much potential that seems to have gone to waste.
Lillian clears her throat ahead, bringing the small group gathered there to attention. Sam tightens his grip on his umbrella; raindrops patter down on its plastic surface steadily.
“Thank you for being here today,” Lillian says. Her voice carries despite the steady downpour. Sarah drifts closer from his left with the boys tucked against her, all of them huddling together under her umbrella. “My dad loved this community so much, and it brings me a lot of joy to see that the feeling’s mutual. I know that a lot of you were there for him these past few years when I wasn’t able to make it down here, and it warms my heart to know that he was loved so much.”
She holds Mr. Lancy’s urn out in front of her. “My dad requested that his ashes be spread out here, where we spread mom’s ashes after she passed. I hope that they’re having a grand old time together right about now, finally reunited after all these years. You know the trouble they could get into together.”
A few of the people gathered chuckled. Lillian opens the cover of the urn and lets the ashes be carried away by the wind toward the bayou behind them. She closes the lid and tucks the urn under her arm, and they have a few minutes of silence to commemorate the moment.
“Thank you for coming,” she says again, voice a little choked. “We have refreshments inside, if you’d like to stay and share a few memories.”
***
The inside of the house is just as worn as the exterior, but it’s clearly well-loved. Chairs and coffee tables have been set up around the living room and kitchen where Lillian is gathering some punch and cookies together to serve to her guests.
People mill into the room, leaving soaked umbrellas in the indoor porch area to dry. As they settle around the room, Sam approaches Lillian.
“How you doing?” he asks softly. He doesn’t know her well; she was a few years ahead of him in high school, and they’d never had overlapping friend groups. Still, he’s seen her around, and he knows the family well enough to say something.
She gives him a watery smile, dark eyes shiny with sadness. “I miss him,” she says simply, and Sam just nods sympathetically. He knows that there’s really nothing to be said that can make this better; all he can do is offer his support.
“If you need anything,” he says, making sure to make eye contact so that she knows he’s serious, “You let me know, okay?”
She offers a small laugh. “Captain America to the rescue, huh?”
Sam winces; he’s been becoming more active as Cap recently, and it’s definitely had an effect on the way people see him. He’s been busy as hell, too - Ross and a bunch of other officials have pulled him into meeting after meeting to discuss some issues that they want his help with. He has to admit, sometimes it’s difficult to separate his home life from his work life.
Lillian must see something in his expression because she lays a hand on his shoulder reassuringly and smiles. “I didn’t mean it like that, Sam,” she says. “It’s just kinda weird, the idea of little Sammy from down the road being Captain America.”
“I hardly believe it myself,” he says.
Lillian grins. “Well, if it’s of any consolation, I think you’re great for the job.”
“Thanks,” Sam says.
She nods. “Only thing I’ll really be doing here is getting the property ready to sell,” she says. “But if you want to lend a hand, I’d be happy to have some help.”
Sam finds himself frowning. “You’re selling? Really?”
Her family has lived in this house for three generations, if Sam remembers correctly. Lillian is an only child, and her father had been too, so there’s nobody else they could leave the property to; still, it’s a bit of a shock.
She nods. “Yup. I’ve made up my mind. I’ve got a whole life up in Maryland; I’m not leaving that, even for this old place. It’s time to say goodbye.”
“Everyone here will sure miss you, but if that’s your choice, I wish you the best,” Sam says. “And I’d be happy to help out around here.”
“Great,” Lillian smiles. “Thank you so much, Sam.”
Sam nods. “Like I said, happy to help.”
AJ comes up from behind him, which Sam takes as his cue to wrap up the conversation. “I’ll stop by sometime this week and we can take a look at what needs to be done, if that works for you.”
Lillian nods. “How about Thursday? Ten in the morning?”
Sam runs through his mental calendar, and nothing comes to mind. “That should work for me,” he says. AJ tugs at his arm to get his attention. “I’ll see you then.”
Lillian smiles. “See you then.”
Sam lets AJ drag him away.
***
It’s still raining when they get back to the house. The boys sprint inside, running right through the muddy puddles that have formed on the driveway. Sarah sighs from the driver's seat.
“They’re gonna get mud all over the floor,” she groans.
“Maybe they remembered to take off their shoes?” Sam suggests.
Sarah stares at him.
Yeah, that’s a bit of a long shot.
They get out of the car, open their umbrellas, and avoid the puddles on the muddy gravel as they make their way to the front porch. Sam remembers a time when he and Sarah had been the ones to sprint inside, splashing through the small reservoirs of water with childish glee. He wonders when they’d stopped. He doesn’t remember when they’d grown up; it had just sort of snuck up on them through the haze of their late teen years. Sam had gone off to join the air force, and Sarah had enrolled at the local college.
The rest had been history.
It seems cold once they get inside, box fans still running where they’re plugged in near the windows which have thankfully been closed. Rain patters against the roof and the windowpanes, emitting a sound not dissimilar to white noise. Sam feels incredibly tired, all of a sudden; the dim lighting inside due to the overcast sky strengthens his need for a nap.
“I heard you talking to Lillian,” Sarah says, taking off her light jacket.
“Yeah,” Sam says, “I’m gonna help with fixing up the Lancy place. She wants to sell.”
Sarah frowns. “Really?”
“I was surprised too,” Sam says. “I guess she wants a fresh start. Can’t really blame her for that, you know?”
She shrugs. “Well, I guess.”
Her tone makes him bristle. He knows that it’s still a little bit of a sore spot between them, that Sam had left for the air force and left her to take over the family business; that he’d taken a job in D.C. instead of coming home; that he’d gone off to become Captain America’s sidekick when she’d been down here taking care of everything.
“I just, I want to help out,” Sam says, feeling the need to justify himself.
Sarah sighs. “I know, Sam. You always do. Just - don’t run yourself into the ground, okay? You’re busy as hell with all this Cap stuff. Lord knows this is just what you need on top of that.”
“I can handle it,” Sam reassures her.
She doesn’t look reassured.
They drop the subject when the boys tumble down the stairs, professing that they are starving even though they’d just had cookies and punch an hour ago. Sarah promises to get dinner started, and Sam retires to his room. He could really use that nap right about now.
***
Unfortunately, Sam doesn’t get that nap.
It’s like Ross can sense when he’s about to go to sleep and deliberately chooses those moments to call him. Sam groans as he takes his buzzing phone out of his pocket and brings it to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Sam,” Ross says, tone stern and pure business.
“Hi,” Sam groans.
“We’ve got a possible ring of arms dealers that we’d like you to check out. There are some connections to A.I.M. and we want all of our bases covered.”
“When?”
“Three weeks they’re supposed to be bringing a shipment into South Carolina,” Ross says.
“Okay,” Sam says, “Let me call Bucky, we’ll be there.”
Sam hears a sigh over the line. “Fine, but Mr. Barnes won’t be available after this mission,” Ross says. “I’m in the process of moving him to a different team.”
Sam frowns. What?
“What?” he says aloud.
“We think he’d be of more use on a different team,” Ross reiterates. “Anyhow. Three weeks, you’ll get a call. I’ll expect your cooperation.”
“Fine,” Sam says.
Ross hangs up.
Sam frowns, staring at his hands. The tiredness is still there, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep now. He doesn’t get it; why would Bucky request a transfer? Hell, he’s technically a consultant, anyway - how does that even work? And why didn’t he talk to Sam about it?
He remembers, suddenly, with aching clarity, those months after they’d gone home after Thanos, after the Snap, after Steve. He remembers countless unanswered calls and text messages. He remembers the painful silence.
There’s no way in hell that he’s going to let that happen again, no matter what stupid ideas Bucky’s got ruminating around in that rusty old head of his.
He picks up his phone and makes a call.
“Hello?” Bucky’s gravely, grumpy tones echo through his phone’s speaker.
“Hey, Buck,” he says, all casual-like. “I need your help with something. How soon can you be down here?”
***
The answer is apparently five hours.
“I got held up on the way to the airstrip,” Bucky says apologetically, backpack swung over one shoulder. Sam blinks at him.
“Bucky,” he says, “It’s ten o’clock.”
“Yeah,” Bucky says, contrite. He walks past Sam into the house and sets his bag down on the floor next to the couch. “Fernando was able to have the plane ready in a few minutes after I called him, but as I said, the traffic on the way to the airstrip was a bitch, so-”
“At night,” Sam interrupts him. “Bucky, it’s ten o’clock at night. I called you five hours ago.”
“I know,” Bucky says.
Sam sighs. “When I said ‘how soon can you be down here,’ I didn’t mean you had to drop what you were doing right away and have some guy named Fernando fly you here during the night.”
“Fernando didn’t fly me,” Bucky says. “I just used his plane.”
“You flew yourself,” Sam accuses, incredulous.
“Yeah,” Bucky says, as if that should have been obvious.
Sam groans. “God help me.”
Bucky frowns. “I thought you were an atheist?”
***
“Where’d you leave the plane?” Sam asks.
Bucky points out the back window toward the dock. “Floatplane.”
Sam puts his face in his hands.
***
“I’m agnostic,” Sam says after about ten minutes of awkward silence.
“Oh,” Bucky says. “Wanna watch National Geographic?”
Sam studies him in the dark. They should really probably talk, but he doesn’t feel like it.
“Sure,” Sam says.
Bucky turns on the TV and flips through the channels, coming to a stop on a documentary about grizzly bears. “Nasty motherfuckers,” he mutters under his breath as he selects the channel.
On the screen, a grizzly catches a salmon in its mouth as the fish jumps from the river.
Sam settles onto the couch and ignores Bucky as he grumbles at the bears in Russian. He’s not getting into that.
“They kinda remind me of you,” he says. “Fuzzy. Grumpy. Sharp teeth.”
Bucky scowls and tosses a pillow at his face.
***
Sam wakes to sunlight filtering in through the windows. The golden streams of light make the dust particles visible, giving the yellow room a sort of archaic atmosphere. To his left, Bucky snores.
The TV is still on, though the screen has gone blank from hours of inactivity. Sam grabs the remote and switches it off.
“Morning, sunshine,” Sarah calls from the kitchen table. Sam looks over to see her staring at him nonplussed. “I see we have company.”
Bucky snores again.
“I called him to see if he’d help with the Lancy place,” Sam says. “When I asked him to get here as soon as he could, he sorta took that literally.”
“I can see that,” Sarah says, amused. “You two heading out there today?”
“No,” Sam says, “Thursday.”
“Great,” she says cheerfully. “You and Bucky can watch the boys for me today, then.”
Sam frowns.
He loves watching the boys; that’s never up for debate. But there are things that he could be doing - should be doing - now that Bucky’s here; namely, talking to him about this whole transfer deal and maybe getting some training in. The boys shouldn’t have to be caught up in the middle of that.
“Sarah,” he protests.
She cuts him off with a raised hand. “Nope! I’m going into town today, and this is the least you can do considering you have nothing going on. Besides, some downtime might do you good. Go to the park, do something fun, I don’t care. But you’re doing this.”
Sam blinks.
“Fine, Jesus,” he mutters.
Sarah smiles. “Great. I best be heading out, then. You boys have fun.”
“Bye,” Sam says.
She stands and leaves the room, presumably to go get ready for the day. Sam stares longingly at the coffee pot on the kitchen counter. It was really unfair of her to spring this on him as soon as he woke up. He groans and drags himself off of the couch and to the kitchen cupboard to get a mug. The clock on the stove reads 7:13.
The boys should be up within the hour. Until then, he sits with his mug of coffee, letting the aromatic steam billow up into his face, and tries to wake up.
***
Sure enough, within fifteen minutes, AJ and Cass are lumbering down the stairs in search of breakfast. Sam fries up some eggs and bacon and pops some bread in the toaster. As it cooks, the smell of crispy bacon fills the house, rousing Bucky.
He reminds Sam of the grizzly bears they’d seen on the TV the night before as he trudges over to the counter where the coffee pot sits, fluffy brown hair sticking up every which way and face contorted into an expression of perpetual grumpiness.
“We’re going to the state park today,” Sam informs him as he hands him a lumpy clay mug.
Bucky grunts. Cass giggles.
“I don’t think he’s up yet, Uncle Sam,” he says.
“Yeah,” Sam says, a grin tugging at his lips. “He’s like a grizzly bear in the mornings, isn’t he?”
Bucky’s scowl deepens. “ Лох bears,” he grumbles into his mug.
***
Sam drives them to St. Bernard State Park.
The hiking trails are a little muddy from the rain yesterday, but the trees and foliage are a beautiful vibrant green, and the picnic tables are dry enough.
After exploring the immediate area a little bit, they settle at one of the tables for a lunch of sandwiches, strawberries, carrot sticks, and cubes of cheese. Sam forces himself to behave like a mature adult when Bucky tosses a cheese cube at his face. He will not retaliate in front of the boys.
When they’re done eating, AJ asks if he and Cass can go check out a fallen tree a few hundred yards away. Sam nods his assent and they run off.
Once their backs are turned, he tosses a strawberry at Bucky.
Bucky catches it in his mouth, the asshole, and laughs at Sam when he scowls at him. Sam grimaces when he eats the whole thing, leaves and all.
“We could toss the shield around,” Bucky suggests once he’s swallowed.
Sam frowns. “I didn’t bring-”
Bucky’s face is suddenly very innocent looking. Sam groans.
“Fine,” he says. Bucky smiles cheerfully and goes to retrieve the shield from the trunk of the car.
Sam likes practicing with Bucky, as exhausting as it can be sometimes. It isn’t quite like training with Steve, who had somehow always had an endless reserve of energy that needed to be worn off. Bucky paces himself alongside Sam, working at his level and pushing him when the situation calls for it. Where Steve had been an energetic golden retriever, Bucky is more like one of those military working dogs; disciplined until he lets go in a burst of energy to push Sam to his limits.
They toss the shield around the grassy area. It’s fun, Sam has to admit, almost like playing frisbee. After a few minutes of tossing it back and forth, they begin to do a few more elaborate moves which catch the boys’ attention. AJ and Cass wander over to cheer them on, and Sam is sure to add in a few fancy jumps and spins. It’s not quite as cool as it would be if he had his wings, but it gets some excited yells from his nephews, which is really all that matters.
They move together with a fluid grace, Bucky and him; it reminds him suddenly that this, their partnership, their friendship, even, might soon come to an end. He misses a step, and overcorrects in order to catch the shield. The movement throws his shoulder back with a twinge of pain.
“Woah,” Bucky says, jogging over to him, concerned. “You alright, Sam?”
Sam grimaces. “Yeah, just pulled a muscle, I think.”
“Okay,” Bucky nods. “We should probably be heading back soon if we want to make it in time for dinner anyway. I can drive if you want to rest your shoulder.”
Ordinarily, Sam would never let Bucky drive. He’s not entirely sure that Bucky’s ever really learned traffic laws, and he and Bucky and cars combined have always sort of been a point of contention. But they have a mission in a few weeks, so Sam really should rest his shoulder, and Bucky would never be too reckless with the boys in the car anyway.
“Sure,” he says, fishing the keys out of his pocket and tossing them over to him. “Boys, let’s go!”
AJ and Cass groan, but make their way over to the car and buckle themselves in.
Before long, they’re pulling out of the park and into the highway.
***
Dinner is quick, and they all head to bed early. The next couple of days are spent helping around the house and occupying the boys so that Sarah can get some things done. When Thursday finally comes around, Sam herds Bucky into his truck, and they’re off to the Lancy place.
“Wow,” Bucky says as they pull into the driveway. “This place actually isn’t bad.”
Sam stares pointedly at the overgrown lawn and the peeling blue paint on the siding with a grimace.
“I mean it has good potential,” Bucky says, almost chiding.
“Yeah,” Sam says with a sigh, “I think so too. Come on, Lillian should be inside.”
They make their way up the rickety old stairs and knock on the door. Lillian is prompt in answering, and welcomes them inside with a flourish. When they get into the living room, Sam realizes she hadn’t been alone.
“Oh,” Sam says. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
“I was just leaving,” the large, burly man standing before them in a neat suit says. Sam recognizes him as William Kline, a local chartering business. “You folks have a good day now.”
Lillian closes the door behind him.
“Might not have much work for you after all, Sam,” she says. “Bill Kline put in a generous offer for the place as-is.”
Sam frowns. “Your land has access to the waterfront,” he says. “He’s going to turn this place into one of his business locations.”
Lillian shrugs. “Yeah, maybe, but there’s nothing wrong with that, really, is there? Hell, more tourists might bring in more business for a lot of the local businesses around here, including your sister.”
“Maybe,” Sam sighs. “But Lillian, this place has been your family’s home for decades. Do you really want it to turn into one of Bill Kline’s chartering docks?”
She frowns sadly, and Sam suddenly feels bad. “No, not really,” she admits. “But, Sam, I need to get this place sold as soon as possible, and Bill’s offer was very generous.”
“Just give us a chance,” Sam says. “I gotta leave for work in a couple of weeks. If we don’t get it fixed up well enough by then for you to get a decent offer, sell to Kline. If we do, maybe consider someone who’ll make the place a home?”
Lillian sighs. “Fine,” she relents. “Go crazy.”
Sam turns to Bucky with a grin. “Let’s get to work.”
***
And get to work they do.
The first few days are focused on the house itself - they give the exterior a fresh coat of paint, fix up the deck, and patch the roof where some of the shingles have fallen off. Bucky cleans out the gutters, making a face at the rotting, wet leaves he pulls from it with his gleaming, vibranium hand.
“Gross,” Sam comments.
Bucky throws the leaves at his face.
***
The next few days, they focus on the inside of the house. Lillian already has most of the stuff moved out of there, so they’re free to inspect the windows, plumbing, and electrical through all of the old rooms. One of the bathroom sinks has a leak, and the kitchen sink is clogged, but other than that, most of the work is purely cosmetic.
“This wallpaper is horrible,” Bucky says.
Sam tilts his head, studying it. He has to admit, it isn’t great. Green, pink, and gold diagonal lines cover the wall above some neat, wooden paneling that lines the lower half of the wall in most of the rooms. The stripes make his eyes hurt.
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Sam says. “A guy of your age - you’d think this would be your ideal style.”
Bucky scowls.
Sam snickers.
They go about removing the wallpaper, working around each other with practiced ease. It saddens Sam all of a sudden, this nice camaraderie - he can’t stand the idea of it being gone.
And Bucky still hasn’t said a thing about transferring teams.
“You know,” he says, setting his scraper down for a minute so he can rest his arms, “You can talk to me, Buck. About anything.”
Bucky stares at him. A strip of wallpaper is stuck to his cheek. “Okay?”
“Just so you know,” Sam prods.
Bucky nods, turning away. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Okay,” Sam says. He’ll tell him about it when he’s ready. God knows Bucky’s timetable is anything but conventional.
He drops the subject and turns his attention back to the wall, pondering what color they should paint it. He’s thinking a light blue, or maybe a sage green.
***
They end up going with the blue, and a white for the wooden paneling.
They get through the rooms with a surprising amount of ease, finishing the whole house within a day. At one point, Bucky had flipped his paintbrush in his hand like he sometimes does with knife-like utensils, and gotten paint all over his face and his black shirt. It had been hilarious. Sam finds himself grinning as he navigates his truck down the road to Sarah’s place. They’re doing a good job; the house is really coming along.
Dinner is excellent, and his mood can’t even be soured by Sarah appointing him for dishes duty. He drags Bucky along with him to help, and they work through the pile stacked up in the sink quickly in a friendly silence accented by the occasional clink of porcelain against vibranium.
The contentedness once again turns to trepidation.
“You sure there’s nothing you want to talk about, Buck?” he asks.
“Nope,” Bucky says as if nothing is wrong.
Sam lets things be.
***
Bill Kline’s fancy truck is in the driveway when they pull into the Lancy place the next day. Bucky makes a literal honest-to-God growling noise in the back of his throat.
“Bear,” Sam mutters under his breath.
Bucky glares at the truck. “It’s wolf. White wolf. Fuck bears.”
Sam ignores him.
“Hey, there, Wilson!” Kline bellows as soon as they exit their vehicle. “How’s life treating you?”
“Not bad,” Sam replies at a much more reasonable volume. Bucky climbs up into the bed of the truck to retrieve the lawn mower they’d brought. Kline saunters over.
“So, I hear you’re trying to put a stop to my business operations,” Kline accuses.
Sam rolls his eyes. “I just think that this place could make a nice family home, and that that option should be explored before it becomes one of your tycoonish tourist attractions.”
“Well,” Kline says, sucking on a tooth, “Short of buying the place yourself, I’m not sure what you can really do about it. Retail takes time. And Lillian doesn’t have a lot of that to spare.”
With that, he turns tail and walks to his truck, gets in, and drives away.
“Asshole,” Bucky mutters, lowering the lawn mower to the ground with his bare hands, the idiot.
“Tell me about it,” Sam says.
***
Kline has a point, though.
Sam frowns as he trims a branch off of one of the rose bushes. The roar of the lawnmower is incessant, but Bucky is working on the other end of the lawn, giving Sam a little bit of peace and (relative) quiet. It’ll take time to sell a place like this. And he’s not sure if it’s fair of him to insist that she wait that long.
And then there’s the other issue that he’s been trying not to dwell on.
Bucky’s been absolutely silent on the whole ‘switching teams’ issue. He hasn’t said a single word. It’s killing Sam, really. He just wants to have the conversation and get it over with. Maybe convince Bucky to stay, because if he leaves, Sam’s terrified that he’ll be ghosted again. He needs to convince Bucky to stick around. He’s just not really sure how he’d do that, though, short of-
Oh, that’s an idea.
Vividly, he remembers overhearing a snippet of a conversation between Bucky and his sister: “would move in with Sam. Truth is, I’d do it, it’s just-”
Suddenly, both of his problems are solved at once.
“Bucky!” he yells, dropping his trimmers.
The lawn mower shuts off.
“Come here!” Sam calls. “We need to talk!”
***
Bucky stares at him owlishly. “You want to what ?”
“I think we should buy the Lancy place,” Sam repeats.
Bucky’s expression does not change. “ Why ?”
Sam flounders. “I’ve been meaning to get my own place down here, you know that, and this would stop Kline from buying it. It’s perfect!”
“Yeah, but what does that have to do with me moving to-”
“Oh, come on, man,” Sam crosses his arms. “I’ve seen your apartment. It’s depressing. We could split the mortgage, be roomies. What do you think?”
Bucky wipes a hand over his face. “You’re insane, Sam.”
“I know,” Sam smiles.
“And coming from me, that’s saying a lot.”
“Naturally,” Sam agrees.
Bucky pauses, sighs. “Was that a plum tree in the back?”
Sam grins. “Two plum trees,” he says. “Plus four peach trees and some berry bushes.”
Bucky nods, thoughtful. “I’ll think about it.”
Sam’s grin widens. That’s not a no.
***
“I think Sam’s trying to domesticate me,” Bucky says to Sarah at the dinner table.
“Jokes on him,” Sarah says, eyebrows raised. “I don’t think you’d be the one who ends up being domesticated.”
Sam shoves a dinner roll in his mouth.
***
They’re sitting out on the dock a couple of evenings later, bobbers shifting lazily on the gentle waves in the water, cold beers wetting their hands with condensation.
The unease that’s accompanied peaceful, friendly moments like this with Bucky is still there; he’s nervous about what Ross had said. But it’s less than what it was before. He can manage it.
Bucky sets his beer down on the dry, wooden deck.
“Okay,” he says, staring off at the sunset on the horizon.
“Okay?” Sam asks, thrown.
“Okay,” Bucky says, “Let’s buy the house. I can cover half the down payment.”
Sam finds his face splitting into a grin. “Yeah?”
Bucky meets his eyes and smiles. Nods.
Sam laughs. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
***
“You sure about this?” Lillian asks.
“Hundred percent,” Sam nods.
“Sure,” Bucky shrugs.
“Okay,” Lillian says, and hands over the keys. “To be perfectly honest, I’m glad it’s you and not Bill Kline.”
“Me too,” Sam says truthfully.
Lillian pulls him into a hug. Pulls back, and smiles at Bucky.
“Good luck, guys,” she says.
“You too,” Sam says.
She leaves.
Sam stares at the keys sitting in his hand.
“Well?” he says, turning to Bucky and holding them out. “You wanna do the honors, White Wolf?”
Bucky rolls his eyes, takes the keys, and unlocks the door.
***
Settling in is anti-climatic.
They flip a coin over who gets the room with the bathroom attached, and Bucky wins. Oh well. Fuck him. Sam’s room has a bigger closet.
Bucky makes himself a little reading nook out by the fruit trees. It suits him, Sam thinks.
They don’t have much furniture, as Bucky had only contributed two chairs and an ugly-looking coffee table and Sam has been living with Sarah since the blip, but they make do.
The day for their mission comes, and they leave together.
***
The mission goes off without a hitch.
They catch the arms dealers red-handed, debrief, and make it home in time for dinner. Once there, they realize that they have no food in the fridge.
Sam sighs. “Sarah’s?”
“Sarah’s,” Bucky confirms.
Sarah is happy to have them, but she does make them do the dishes after they eat.
“This is no way to treat your guests, sis,” Sam groans.
She laughs. “See if I ever cook for you again.”
“I don’t mind doing the dishes for you, Sarah,” Bucky says, all large-eyed and sweet.
Sam scowls.
“Oh, I know, sweetie,” Sarah says. “You’re welcome anytime.”
Bucky beams.
Sam decidedly does not pout. He has no idea why the boys are laughing.
***
They settle into a routine, after that.
Sam and Bucky coexist with surprisingly little conflict. Bucky likes to be left alone a lot of the time, and Sam respects that. They both pull their weight. It couldn’t be better.
Until he comes home one day to Bucky sitting on the sofa (courtesy of Mr. Liu and his generous spirit) with a blank expression on his face, phone slack in his hand.
“Woah,” Sam says, instantly knowing that something was wrong. “You with me, Bucky? You okay?”
Bucky blinks at him with shiny eyes. “Ross called,” he says, tone flat.
Sam’s rapid, anxious thoughts stutter to a halt.
“You didn’t know,” he realizes.
Bucky stares. “You did?”
Sam swallows. “What did- what did he say to you?”
Bucky licks his lips. “They’re making this new team,” he says. “The Thunderbolts.” His mouth twists in an ironic display of mockery. “He wants me to lead it.”
Sam nods. “You could say no,” he suggests.
“Not if I want to keep my pardon.”
Sam blinks. Damn, that’s harsh. And incredibly uncalled for. “Son of a bitch,” he says.
Bucky nods. “My thoughts exactly.”
Sam sighs.
“You knew,” Bucky says, tone questioning.
Sam sighs. “Ross told me you were transferring teams. Way he said it, it sounded like your idea.”
Realization dawns on Bucky’s face. “That’s what you were trying to get me to talk about.”
Sam nods. “Yeah.”
“And this?” Bucky asks, gesturing to the room around them.
Sam grasps for words - the right words. “You’re my best friend, Bucky,” he finally says. “I didn’t want you to leave.”
Wordlessly, Bucky stands and walks over to him. He holds out his arms.
Sam accepts the hug.
“We can fight this,” Sam says into Bucky’s shoulder.
Bucky shakes his head. “This team seems kinda shady,” he mumbles. “Might be best to keep an eye on them.”
Sam hold the hug a minute longer. “Okay,” he says, and pulls away.
“Okay,” Bucky says with a small smile.
There they stand, a couple of guys, co-workers, partners, best friends. They’ll remain this way, Sam realizes, come hell or high water. Because it takes more than the stupid decisions of those in charge of the known universe to ruin a friendship like theirs.
“I think we should paint the kitchen green,” Sam says.
Bucky scowls. “Oh hell no.”