Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bucky’s moving in a whirlwind when his phone rings, trying desperately to get both himself and his four-year-old daughter ready for the day despite her shouts of indignation. Her sparkly light blue backpack is slung over his shoulder, carrying her lunch and a couple of her favourite toys that he hopes will placate her in a strange, new environment. “Ana, sweetheart, can you put on your shoes for me, please?” Bucky asks for the second time, pulling his phone out of his pocket to glance at the screen. She chooses instead to pet Alpine, the white cat who lingers by Bucky’s feet, as she usually does. Liho, the black cat, watches the commotion from around the corner of the wall, her tail flicking curiously.

The name Yelena is lighting up his phone screen, alongside a photo of her and Nat from a couple of Christmases ago; wide smiles on both of their faces, Yelena sticking a pair of bunny ears behind Nat’s head. A quick glance at the time tells him what he already knew, and he hesitates before answering the call. “We’re gonna be late,” he adds pointedly, as if a four-year-old cares about or even knows the concept of being late. Bucky has half a mind to ignore the call, since he's already in a rush, but he quickly decides against it. Yelena has been out of town for work for the past couple of weeks, and it seems to be taking its toll on both of the girls. Ana complains about missing auntie Lena quite frequently, while Yelena has taken to calling him nearly every other day since last week, clearly homesick. She’s never called this early, though. Bucky can't remember what their time difference is at the moment. She must be feeling rather lonely, to be calling like this without texting him first. While Yelena has been a strong source of support for his daughter ever since Nat had passed early last year, he strongly suspects Yelena feels the same, even if she hasn’t said it out loud. Like it’s having a piece of her sister that’s still around. A quick call wouldn’t hurt, he decides promptly. We’re already late, anyways.

He presses the button to accept the call and raises the phone to his ear. “Hel-”

“Put my niece on the phone,” Yelena doesn't even give him time to finish his greeting, her words clipped and deadpan, “I want to hear her little voice.” A short breath almost akin to a laugh escapes his lips.

“Good morning to you too, Yelena,” Bucky sighs, putting the phone on speaker to tuck it into his prosthetic hand while he tightens his tie with his right, “Anastasia. Shoes. Now,” he repeats, a little firmer this time, using her full name as a warning before he addresses Yelena again. “Listen, now’s not really the best time, so it’s gotta be -” 

He’s cut off when a bloodcurdling scream erupts out of his daughter, and he winces at the sound, accidentally pulling his tie too tight. Alpine, spooked by the noise, skitters out of the room, hot on the tail of Liho, who has also made a run for it. “Yeesh,” comes Yelena’s nonplussed voice from the other end of the line, “What on earth are you doing to my poor little monkey?” Bucky rolls his eyes, abandoning his tie to run a tired hand over his face. His beard is getting a little long, he notices belatedly. He's going to need to shave that soon. How had he not noticed it this morning? And then, Ana pointedly kicks at her shoes, and oh, right, it’s because he’s wrangling a four-year-old with separation anxiety all by himself to take her to her first day of daycare. 

“I’m trying,” he mutters through gritted teeth, pulling at his tie to loosen it once again, “to take her to daycare." He crosses the foyer to his daughter, who is folding her arms disdainfully next to the bench by the door. 

“Oh shit, is that today?” Yelena responds over the speaker at the same time Ana shouts, “But I don’t wanna!” 

“Yelena,” Bucky hisses quietly, scandalized, although Ana didn't seem to hear the swear over the sound of her own tantrum, “Speakerphone.” A quiet whoops relays through the speaker as he turns his attention to his daughter, disgruntled. “Hey,” he leans down to scold her gently, putting his hand on her shoulder, “We don’t scream, okay? That’s not how we get what we want,” he reprimands, gesturing to his feet where Alpine once lingered,  “Look, you scared the kitties away. That's not very nice.” He scoops her up onto the bench with his right arm, ignoring her indignant squirming. “Sometimes you gotta do things you don’t wanna do, okay?” he chides, squatting down to pick up her shoes. “Here, talk to auntie Lena while I put on your shoes,” he prompts, gesturing for the girl to take the phone in hopes it’ll keep her distracted long enough to put the shoes on her feet. 

Ana lights up when she hears Yelena’s name, reaching for the phone with grabby hands. “Auntie Lena!” her little voice calls once she has the phone in her hands, bouncing in her seat in her excitement. 

“Why, hello!” Yelena exclaims, equally as excited, and Bucky is pleased with his decision to pick up the phone when his daughter’s mouth spreads into a wide smile at the sound of her aunt’s voice. “How is my little monkey today?” she asks as Bucky slides the shoe onto his daughter’s foot, grateful she’s not kicking at him. 

Ana huffs theatrically. “Sad,” she pouts pointedly at her father as he fastens the velcro strap on her shoe, and he sticks his tongue out at her in response. “Daddy is being mean today!” she exclaims, and Bucky sighs to himself, dejected. Yeah, yeah, so mean.

“Oh, is he now?” comes Yelena’s humorous response, and Bucky grimaces as he fastens her other shoe. Please don’t gang up on me, he thinks tiredly with a slight shake of his head, please, not today. “That’s not good. How is daddy being mean?” 

“He said he can’t play with me all day anymore,” Ana grumbles, her little brow furrowed in a comical expression of frustration, “He said he needs to leave and I have to play somewhere else.” Yelena gives a sympathetic hum through the speaker. 

“That is sad indeed. Very sad,” Yelena starts, and Bucky narrows his eyes at the phone, as if Yelena would be able to see it. “But I think your daddy must be sad, too. He likes to play with you, no? We have had so many fun tea parties together.” Ana looks up at Bucky at the words, and he makes a big show of turning his lips down into a frown, nodding his head. 

Ana sniffs, looking deep in thought for a moment. He can practically see the gears turning in her little head. And then, she finally asks, tears beginning to well in her eyes, “Why does he have to go if it makes us both sad?”

There's a sinking feeling somewhere inside him, and Bucky sighs, wrapping his arm around her to pull her head into his chest. “Like I said, sweetheart. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do,” he explains softly, petting her hair. “Like clean up your toys so you don’t step on them and break them.”

“Or eat your vegetables,” Yelena pipes up helpfully from the other end of the phone. “They are yucky, but they make you big and strong. Like me!” Ana makes a face at that, bringing a soft smile to Bucky’s lips.

“Your auntie’s right,” he agrees, poking his daughter’s belly, making her squeal. “That’s part of being a big girl like her.” Yelena snickers on the other end of the line. “When she decides to act like one, that is.” he adds, drawing a gasp from the phone. 

“Ey!” she protests loudly, her voice crackling over the speaker, “I am always a big girl. A good role model for my monkey,” she insists, and Bucky chuckles, standing up from the small bench. He takes the phone from his daughter now, holding it between them. 

“Whatever you say, big girl. But we’ve — oh, sh...oot," he nearly curses quietly when he catches a glimpse of the time on his phone, "We've really gotta go now, Lena. Say goodbye, Ana,” he prompts his daughter, holding out the phone to her so she can shout a little “goodbye!” into the microphone. A low whistle sounds through the speaker, and Ana’s lips form a small ‘o’ as she blows out harshly, trying to imitate the sound. It comes out as a sharp puff of air, but the end just barely teeters into a whistle, and Yelena’s pleased laugh echoes through the speaker. 

“Hooray! You almost got it!” she praises, and Bucky can hear her small claps through the speaker. “That was really beautiful, monkey. You keep practicing, yes?” she praises, and Ana nods her head excitably with a triumphant smile as Bucky hits the speakerphone button, putting the phone up to his ear.

“Just me now,” he says, his voice low so his daughter doesn’t hear. “I think she hates me a little less now, so thanks for that.” She’s not screaming anymore, at the very least, which he'll take as a win. He can only hope it stays that way. 

Yelena snorts at that. “Don’t say I never do nothing for you," she responds in a sing-song voice. 

Bucky scoffs, a smile playing at his lips. “I’ve never said that," he protests, before briefly turning his attention back to his daughter. "You ready to go, sweetheart?" he asks, and she gives a reluctant nod before she hops down off of the bench, her stuffed animal still clutched in her fist. "When are you back in town?” he directs his question back to Yelena as they step out the front door, who groans in frustration on the other end of the call.

“Ugh, I dunno, it's hard to say,” she hums glumly in response, and he vaguely hears papers shuffling on the other end of the line as she mutters something he can't quite make out under her breath. “Valentina won’t give me a damn break. It’s driving me crazy! Yelena, do this, Yelena, do that. I’m not even her damn assistant anymore,” she grumbles grumpily. Bucky tucks the phone between his ear and his shoulder, fishing his keys out of his pocket to lock the front door.

“Tell me why you still work for her again?” he asks, turning the key in the lock.

Yelena sniffs. “She told me she’s giving me a promotion soon.” Bucky bites at the inside of his cheek.

“She told you that six months ago.” 

Yelena sighs, sounding dejected. “I know.” There’s a beat of silence, and Bucky feels like he should say something, but he doesn’t know what. It’s too early and he’s too frazzled to give sensical advice. Luckily, before he can respond, he hears a tsk from the other end of the line. “Ah, I see what you are doing,” she tuts, her voice light with humour, “Trying to get me to leave so you have your babysitter back, huh?” She deflects the conversation with a joke, because it’s Yelena. He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, but chooses to shelve it for now. It’s not a good time for that conversation, anyway.

He instead forces a short laugh, glancing over at his daughter. She’s tossing her stuffed animal around, making it do flips, before she fails to catch it and it drops on the ground. “You caught me,” he muses, watching with an amused smile while she squats down to pick it up, “Can’t seem to convince anyone else to do it for free.” A small pause. He considers saying ‘and because she misses you’, just because it’s true, but he quickly decides against it. He doesn’t want to make this any harder for her than it already is. “Anyways, we gotta get goin’. Daycare’s a fifteen minute walk from here and we're already running late.” At least he knows for next time. Maybe tomorrow he’ll give himself enough time to make his own lunch, not just Ana’s. For now, though, he’s just thankful it’s close. 

It felt like a miracle getting her a spot in a daycare that was within walking distance to both their house and to his workplace. Not that he can’t drive — it’s just easier not to, given their situation. He reminds himself to thank Steve again for having an in for him at the daycare. Something about being gym buddies with one of the owners or whatnot. 

“Ah, yes,” Yelena responds with a hum as Bucky holds his hand out to his little girl, who takes it in her own. “Back to work for me, too, I suppose,” she sighs regretfully, and Bucky can hear the disappointment in her voice. Perhaps they’ll have to do a video call soon. “Well, good luck to you both. I hope everything goes well today.”

Bucky squeezes at his daughter’s hand as they make their way towards the sidewalk. He hopes so too. 

Chapter Text

Luckily, the walk to the daycare is a fairly uneventful one, with no further pulling or fussing or throwing tantrums; only the odd stop for Ana to point out a cat she spots slinking around the neighbourhood, or to pluck the last of a patch of dandelions. It’s a little late in the year for them to still be in bloom, Bucky thinks. There's not quite a chill in the air yet, the leaves on the trees still green, but the spring is already long gone, and the summer is nearly at it’s end. Perhaps it’s a good omen. Bucky would like to think so. So when Ana comes running over to him with a white puffball clutched in her little fist and tells him to make a wish, the only thing he can think to wish for is for today to go smoothly.

Ana, on the other hand, not-so-quietly wishes for a toy kitchen play set. Bucky makes a mental note for Christmas. 

When she’s not pointing out cats or picking flowers, the pair play I Spy for the majority of the walk, and twenty minutes later — not fifteen, because Bucky forgot to account for the fact he’s walking with a preschooler — they arrive outside of the building.

Ana shuffles closer when they step foot onto the daycare’s property, her eyes wide and unsure. Bucky gives her hand a reassuring squeeze as they walk along the cobblestone path, and the faint sound of voices catches his attention, drawing his gaze to the front yard. There’s a young guy with dark hair and tan skin, probably no older than his early twenties, kicking a rubber soccer ball with a small group of kids on the grass. When he spots the pair, he lights up, giving the ball a soft kick towards one of the kids. “You guys keep kicking that ball, okay?” he says with a grin, and the kids all shout their agreement. “I’ll be right back!” he finishes before he briskly jogs towards the pair. “Hey!” he calls with a wave, a wide smile on his face. “You must be our new addition!” He directs his words at Ana, who is now hiding behind Bucky’s legs. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Bucky apologizes, reaching down to place his hand on his daughter’s head in an attempt to soothe her, “She’s a little nervous about -” 

He’s interrupted when Ana breaks into another loud scream, drawing the attention of the kids on the grass as she promptly bursts into tears. Bucky’s heart sinks again as he pets her hair, his throat tight. Guess the pep talk didn’t stick, he thinks ruefully, giving the man a quick apologetic glance.

His smile has slipped a little now, his brows pulling together with concern. He throws a quick glance to the kids on the grass — who have already returned to kicking the ball, seemingly unfazed by the commotion — and then to the entrance to the daycare behind him. “Here, uh — I’m gonna grab Sam — uh, Mr. Wilson real quick,” the man explains, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to point at the door, “He’s real good with this stuff. You guys just — sit tight, okay? I’ll be two seconds!” Bucky gives him a curt nod as he turns on his heel to jog over to the door, before he crouches down to sit level with his daughter. 

“Hey,” he coos softly, petting her brown hair, “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’ll be okay.” Footsteps approach in his peripheral vision, but he ignores them briefly as he attempts to soothe his daughter. “Winnie, you have to let go of daddy, okay?” he urges, the nickname slipping from his lips in an attempt to soothe her. Taken from her middle name — Winnifred — just like his is. “I promise I’ll be back to pick you up later, honey. Please don’t cry.” The little girl only sobs harder in response, her little hands clutching tightly onto the material of her father’s pants. It’s then that Bucky finally goes to look up at the man in front of him, ready to shoot him an apologetic smile, but the plan falters when his breath catches in his throat. 

The man — Sam, the other guy had called him — is gorgeous, with brown skin and dark, buzzed hair, clad in a simple red t-shirt and jeans that shouldn’t look nearly as good as they do. If Bucky had to guess, he thinks that he must have at least ten years on the guy. Or maybe he just has really good genetics and skincare routine. Possibly both. Either way, he doesn’t look a day over thirty. The light is striking him perfectly at this angle, illuminating him with a soft angelic glow, warm and inviting and -

He’s snapped out of his stupor by his little girl’s voice, choked through tears. “But what if you don’t come back?” she wails, snot running from her nose. “Like mommy?” 

Bucky freezes once again, his hand flinching on the girl’s head. He opens his mouth to say something, to say anything, but no words come, caught in the back of his throat. All he can do is hold her, dropping his head to press a firm kiss to the top of her head. He suddenly feels nauseous. What can he even say to that? He swallows hard, his eyes flicking back up to the man in front of him. If he’s taken aback by the words, he doesn’t show it, his brown eyes soft with pity. 

No, Bucky corrects — not pity. Something else. Bucky sees pity far too frequently, whether it’s at the grocery store, on the playground, or quite literally any place he damn well goes. Every time Ana is asked where’s your mommy? and she answers back with she’s in heaven; or when someone notices his prosthetic, or his lack thereof when he chooses to forgo it. Suffice to say, Bucky sees it frequently enough to be able to identify it. He despises it, truthfully. It makes his stomach turn sour, bile rise in his throat. Bucky doesn’t need pity. He doesn’t want pity. He’s doing — they’re doing just fine on their own, regardless of the shitty hand the world has dealt them, and the absolute last thing he needs is somebody that doesn’t even know him feeling sorry for him.

But that’s not what this is — not this time. So, if not pity then — what? Bucky finds himself transfixed by those doe brown eyes, warm and inviting and kind. It makes Bucky’s stomach flip instead of twist; a fluttering sensation rather than a sinking one. No, this wasn’t pity — the look that the man gives him is one of empathy, of understanding. 

He nods at Bucky, then gestures to Ana. “May I?” he asks quietly, quiet enough that Ana doesn’t hear the words over her own cries. Bucky nods wordlessly as he rises to his feet, not trusting his voice. Sam nods, giving him a soft smile before he crouches by the brunette, tilting his head to the side as she shuffles to hide behind her father. “Winnie, was it?” The girl sniffles, shuffling further behind his leg with wide glassy eyes, but doesn’t respond. 

Bucky clears his throat. “Ana,” he corrects softly, nodding his head down at his daughter, “Winnie is a nickname.” Ana is technically a nickname too, he supposes, but not the way that Winnie is. Winnie is for family, for close friends; Ana is just less of a mouthful. Anastasia was mostly reserved for when she’s in trouble.   

“Ana,” Sam corrects with a nod of his head, “Can you tell me how old you are, Ana?” he asks gently.

There’s another beat of silence, and Bucky thinks he might have to answer for her again, but then a tiny voice comes from below him before he gets the chance. “Four,” comes her quiet response, shaky and small. 

“Four!” the man exclaims, his eyes widening in a show of surprise, “Y’know, four is a very fun age to be. Did you know that, Ana?” The little girl shakes her head, her lips still turned down in a pout. Sam nods, his lips splitting into a sincere smile, showcasing a small gap between his front teeth. It’s cute, Bucky thinks offhandedly. “Because when you’re four, you get to come here and play all day while your daddy goes and does boring stuff. Ain’t that right, daddy?” His big doe brown eyes flicker up to Bucky pointedly, and his breath catches in his throat in response.

Bucky swiftly clears his throat, reaching down to pat her on the head. “That’s right,” he says mournfully, shooting the man a strained smile, “Very, very boring. I don’t get to play all day like you can.” Ana looks up at Bucky, her bottom lip quivering, eyes still shining with tears. 

“Why can’t you stay here and play with me?” she asks through her sobs, getting tears and snot on Bucky’s pants. 

Bucky sighs. “I have to work, sweetheart,” he answers, petting her hair softly. Not a good enough answer for a four-year-old, apparently, because she wraps her arms tight around his leg and squeezes tight, anchoring herself to him. 

“No!” she protests, shaking her head indignantly, “You have to stay here and play with me!” Bucky’s heart shatters. Is it still too soon? He has half a mind to take her back home, to scoop her up into his arms and forget the reason they’re here, but the more rational half knows that he shouldn’t, that he can’t. He needs to go back to work, after all, and she needs to start getting adjusted for when she starts school. He can’t stay at home with her forever.

He’s about to respond when the other man pipes up again. “Hey, you like toys, don’t you?” he asks, gentle and kind. Ana hesitates, but manages a small nod, making him smile. “Well, your daddy needs to work so he can buy you new toys and other fun things,” he explains, reaching out to poke the stuffie she has clutched in her right hand. “If your daddy doesn’t work, you don’t get any new toys or fun treats. That’s why he can’t stay. But you get to play and have so much fun here, and he’ll be back before you know it,” he explains with a reassuring smile. “Now, don’t you wanna come play with the other kids while your daddy goes and works hard to earn a nice new toy for you?” The little girl hesitates, still sniffling as she clutches onto Bucky’s leg, unsure. She looks up at Bucky again, who gives her a reassuring nod of his head. 

“I promise I’ll be back, sweetheart. Okay?” he asks, holding his pinky finger out to her. She snivels again, but links her pinky with his, her hand still wet from wiping her tears. 

“Okay,” she agrees quietly, and it’s like a weight has lifted from Bucky’s shoulders, a quiet sigh of relief escaping his lips. 

“Okay,” he reaffirms, squeezing her pinky tight with his. “There. Pinky promise.” She seems satisfied with this, her grip on Bucky’s pants loosening as she looks towards the other man. He’s smiling warmly, pushing his hands on his knees to push himself back upright into a standing position. 

“Now, why don’t we go inside and you check out all the fun toys we have while I talk to your daddy?” he asks, and she nods, a little less meek than before. She still holds onto Bucky’s pants while they’re escorted inside, her eyes widening with wonder when they enter the daycare. 

It’s a brightly coloured room with murals painted all over the walls; Bucky can make out shapes of animals, plants, other fun things like spaceships and rainbows, all covering the place from wall to wall. It’s a decently sized space, with several stations spread out around the room including bookshelves, craft tables, and all different types of toys littering every corner of the room. There’s a handful of children already inside, and a pretty woman with dark hair and skin sits at one of the craft tables, folding a piece of paper while a couple of the kids follow her instruction. She looks up when they enter, giving the group a warm smile. “Good morning! You must be Ana,” she greets sweetly, waving from her place at the craft table. “You’re welcome to come join us, if you’d like. Or, you can play with one of the toys we have close by.” Ana wipes her tears with her hands, her wide eyes darting around the room as she takes in the bright surroundings. The temptation is seemingly too much, and she looks up at Bucky with wide eyes, tugging on his pant leg. He peers down at her fondly, giving her an encouraging smile. 

“Go on, sweetheart. I’ll be back later, okay?” he smiles, crouching down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. His hand lingers on her hair, not wanting to let her go, but he pulls it away anyway, with great effort.

Ana hesitates, then holds out her pinky finger once again. “Promise?” 

Bucky links his finger with hers. “Promise,” he reaffirms, squeezing it tight. “I love you,” he adds, swinging their linked hands between them gently. She looks up at him, her green eyes still shining with tears, and then over to the rest of the children. Then, she throws her arms around Bucky’s legs, squeezing tight. She’s not clinging this time, however — she’s giving him a hug, the same kind she does when they say goodnight. 

“I love you too,” she whispers, and then she’s bounding over to the rest of the children, her brown hair bouncing with every step. Bucky chuckles, a fond smile splitting his lips, before he finally turns his attention back to Sam. 

“Thank you for that,” Bucky sighs, glancing over at his daughter wistfully as she immediately makes a beeline for the kitchen play set next to the craft table, “It’s been hard for her since…” he trails off, the words still difficult to say. Luckily, he doesn’t need to, because the attendant shakes his head at him, waving his hands in a gentle dismissal. 

“There’s no need to thank me,” he smiles, showcasing the cute little gap between his teeth once, “It’s very normal to have a little trouble saying goodbye, especially during the first week. I’ve got my toy speech down pat at this point.” He sticks out his hand, and Bucky reaches out to take it in his own. “Sam Wilson. That’s my sister, Sarah, who you probably spoke to on the phone, and you met Joaquín outside. I’m sure you’ll meet more of our staff throughout the week.” His hands are rougher than Bucky would expect from someone that works with kids — firm grip. Probably does a lot of handiwork. Competent. Not that that’s important, Bucky thinks. What was he saying again? “It’s nice to meet you, Mr…?” Sam prompts, tilting his head to the side, and Bucky feels warmth rush to his cheeks. Right. His name.

“James Barnes. My friends call me Bucky,” he introduces himself with a tight-lipped smile, and his eyes instinctively flick over to Ana every few seconds, as if she’ll disappear if he keeps his eyes off of her for too long. 

His unease doesn’t go unnoticed. “You know,” Sam starts when he drops his hand, drawing Bucky’s attention back to him, “When I said the first week is hard, that goes for the parents, too.” He clasps his hands in front of him, folding his fingers as he speaks, and Bucky promptly notices that there’s no ring there. Again, not that that’s important. Just an astute observation. “It’s an adjustment period for you both. But I can assure you, we’ll take real good care of her here, and you can contact us at any time throughout the day.” Bucky shoves his own hand in his pockets, nodding his head with a grateful smile. 

“Thank you,” he responds earnestly, “It means a lot.” 

“Of course.” Sam nods his head and gestures towards a brightly coloured door labelled OFFICE. “I just need you to sign some papers for me and you’ll be all set.” Bucky nods, following behind him into a not-quite-as-but-still-brightly-coloured office. Two different desks sit on either side of the room with several chairs littered around them, and there are children's drawings of varying artistic skill covering a large portion of the wall opposite the door. Sam crosses the room to the desk that has a paper with the words “WORLD’S GRATEST UNCLE” stuck behind it, sliding open the drawer to grab a handful of papers. “You can have a seat, if you’d like,” he offers, and Bucky complies, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s still wearing Ana’s sparkly blue backpack, pressed against the back of the chair. He’ll have to remember to leave that before he goes. “I know you already filled out the information form, but I just need you to double-check all the information is correct and sign here.” He points to the bottom of the paper, right next to Bucky’s name and phone number. Bucky’s eyes catch on the “parent 2” line of the page — which has been left blank — and swallows hard. It takes him a moment to notice that Sam is holding a pen out towards him, and he takes it, murmuring a quiet apology. 

Work address — check. Phone number — check. Allergies — check. Emergency contact — check. After a moment of consideration, he jots Steve down as an emergency contact next to Yelena, just in case. That should be fine. 

He scribbles a quick signature at the bottom of the page, clearing his throat as he slides the paper back across the desk. “Everything looks good,” he confirms as Sam slips the paper into a folder, standing to open the filing cabinet behind him. Bucky watches as his sifts through the files, his eyes trailing over the curve of his shoulders, the broad expanse of his back down to -

Bucky snaps his eyes up to stare at the ceiling, his face warm. What has gotten into him? He cannot be staring at his daughter’s daycare attendant’s ass — especially not one that’s probably at least ten years his junior. No, that would be wildly unprofessional — right? Right. No staring. Even if it’s a nice ass. Not that he looked, of course. Are those glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling? They look like the same ones Ana has in her room.

“Mr. Barnes?” Sam calls, pulling him from his thoughts, and Bucky suddenly realizes that staring at the ceiling is probably no less inconspicuous than staring at his ass. He drops his gaze down to Sam’s face — there you go, Barnes — and forces a tight-lipped smile. If Sam is unsettled by the behaviour, he doesn’t let it show, his demeanour still calm and professional as he tilts his head to the side. “Did you have any questions for me?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against his desk, and Jesus Christ his arms are huge - 

“No,” Bucky manages, rising from his chair and adjusting his jacket just to give himself something to do, “No, that’s perfect, thank you.” Sam smiles warmly at him, crossing the office towards the door, and before Bucky can stop himself, he’s scrambling to get there first, twisting the knob and pulling the door open so fast he nearly accidentally whacks it against his prosthetic. Sam’s professional demeanour slips, if only for a moment, his brows flying upwards into an expression of surprise. Bucky clears his throat, mildly embarrassed. “After you,” he offers, nodding his head towards the door. 

There’s an agonizing moment where neither of them moves or speaks, Sam blinking at Bucky owlishly. And then, he laughs, showing off the cute little gap in his teeth as the melodic sound escapes his lips, his eyes sparkling. “How polite,” he comments with a chuckle, walking through the doorway and throwing a glance back at Bucky over his shoulder. “I sure hope you’re teaching her some of those manners, Mr. Barnes.” His voice is light and playful as he gestures to Ana with a nod of his head, who’s still at the kitchen play set, cutting fake vegetables with a plastic knife. She looks up when Bucky exits the office, giving him an excited wave with the hand still holding the plastic knife. Bucky waves back, equally as enthused. 

“Oh, sure am,” Bucky replies to Sam with a coy smile, and he’s struck by a certain exhilaration, the kind of thrill that he hasn’t felt in so long it nearly rocks him to his core.

And then — and then, Sam smiles back, and it nearly knocks the wind out of him. Not a polite, professional, smile, like the one he gave when he introduced himself, but a proper, giddy smile, his lips stretched so wide the corners of his eyes crease. “Good to hear,” he responds playfully, and there’s a brief pause, as he glances over to the woman — Sarah — and then back to Bucky. He tips his head towards the door, the corners of his mouth still turned upwards. “I’ll walk you out. Just in case you think of any questions,” he offers, and Bucky nods his agreement, trying to suppress his smile. “And I can take that backpack from you, too. Unless that’s yours.” And then he fucking winks, and Bucky feels like he’s been sucker punched in the chest. 

Oh, he’s so fucked.