#because I genuinely think somethings not right insided Ferrari but in fact it's still simple

[midesastremanifiesto]

Why do I feel everything surrounding Carlos is blown out of proportion?? people change jobs, sponsors leave, drivers say things, give interviews, make mistakes on track, crash, change friends and leave their girlfriends and it's normal, or it seems to be normal with everyone except with Carlos. Maybe it happens with other drivers and idk because I don't follow them closely, but with Carlos it seems all it has to have a secret motive, or he has an evil plan. Sometimes things are easier than we think.

[need-a-fugue]

Why Not? - Chapter Ten

Summary: With a garage to run and a young daughter to, well… run after, Bucky Barnes doesn’t exactly have time for dating. And with his relationship track record – and the constant meddling of a certain overbearing best friend – he’s not so sure that’s a bad thing. But then he meets Annie – a rather insistent, pretty damn cute fellow car enthusiast – and it’s got him asking himself, despite all his hesitations, why not?

Author’s Note: Written for Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge. Thanks to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ for triggering this… sprawling thing simply by supplying me with the prompt of Mechanic!AU for Bucky. It’s taken on a life of its own already… look at what you’ve done!

I'm so sorry it took so long to update... I got a little sucked into a different WIP that I've been obsessing a bit over. But here we are, the final chapter!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: Bit of angst, mostly fluff. Some bad language words…

“Come on,” Annie intones – practically whines – as both hands come up to wrap around his wrist. She gives a sharp tug, lets out a dramatic groan, and then plants her high heels and pulls on him with all her might.

But Bucky’s feet remain cemented firmly in place, his eyes still lingering on the throngs of well-dressed, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous people behind her as they casually saunter into the country club. The corner of his mouth ticks up ever so slightly, lopsided grin blooming as he watches her antics from his periphery, catching sight of the pretty pink chiffon of her dress blowing in the soft breeze as she leans heavily back and lets out another huff while continuing to manhandle him.

“Uh-uh,” he mutters, shaking his head slowly, methodically. “No way in hell am I going in there.”

She pulls herself upright and gives him a disappointed look, bottom lip protruding in an overdone pout. “You promised.”

He shrugs, twisting his hand easily in her grip to wrap his fingers around hers. “Changed my mind.”

There’s a cheekiness to his gaze – and a brilliant hue to his crystal blue eyes – that she recognizes immediately. It’s the same vague, teasing look he gives his daughter whilst telling her that dinosaurs used to keep sabretooth tigers at pets… and made wooly mammoths use their tusks to clean their litter boxes. Or when he insists that ice cream for breakfast is against the law, and he’s keeping her out of jail by giving her waffles instead.

It’s a look Annie’s had directed her way a time or two as well, the playful flash in his features doing more to set her ablaze than just about anything else – save maybe seeing him slide out from under a car, covered in grease and sweat. Those moments when he sneaks up behind her while she’s washing dishes, gives her a swift and startling slap on the ass that every time causes her to nearly jump out of her skin? There’s that glint burning in his gaze as she turns to coyly chide him. Or when she bemoans being tired after a long day and a late night, only to feel his fingers trail slowly up her thigh, setting her flesh to tingle and singe? Sure enough, when she rolls over in bed, it’s that look she’s met with, impish anticipation painting his features.

It’s a look that has already become adored and craved by her. And freely given by him. A gesture, an unspoken admittance of affection that – in just these few short months – has managed to work its way into a new, shared vernacular.

She steps closer to Bucky, the slowly setting sun beating harshly on her back as she presses herself to his chest. “What if I change my mind about coming home with you tonight?” she asks with a sly smile, eyes fluttering flirtatiously up at him. “I mean, if I go in there alone, chances are, I’ll find some handsome, rich man and go home with him instead. Let him whisk me away in his Ferrari.”

Her mere presence coupled with the unseasonably warm temperature causes sweat to build beneath his collar, and he reaches up with his free hand to tug at the suffocating tie. “If he’s got a Ferrari, I can’t blame you,” he breathes out casually. “Go for it.” He drops his palm down to her hip, taking in the cool silkiness of her dress. “But you’re not gonna find anyone in there more handsome than me.”

She pulls back with a sudden – utterly enchanting, he can’t help but think – laugh and slaps him in the chest. “Cocky much?”

He merely wiggles his brows at her, earning an eyeroll – amid a beautifully dimpled smile – in response.

“C’mon,” she breathes out then, spinning round and twining her fingers with his before setting off towards the celebration. “You’re my officially RSVPed plus one. There’s no backing out now. It’s the law.”

He bites back a short chuckle, lets out instead a rumbling growl, but easily relents just the same, this time allowing himself to be pulled forward towards the massive gardens ahead. “I don’t know any of these people,” he whines pathetically, plodding behind her with heavy feet.

“You know me. And Tony,” she supplies, forging on without casting a glance back at him.

He rolls his eyes restlessly. “Last time I saw your boss, he was practically dusting for prints in my garage.”

“So dramatic,” she mocks thickly, accepting a program from one of the ushers as they enter the sprawling garden. She stops short once inside, Bucky very nearly ramming into her from behind. “It looks amazing,” she lets out in a low, astonished tone, the very tenor of which shoots a wide grin across Bucky’s face. She spins to look at him, her eyes inadvertently ticking round to take in more details of their surroundings. The lush, green topiaries looming on all sides. The big, beautiful lilies and orchids encircling the seating area. The perfectly placed fairy lights streaming from the tall trees. The giant pergola up front where a terribly well-dressed justice of the peace is already stoically standing. “This is exactly like what Pepper requested,” she mutters delightedly. “She must be so happy!”

He tugs her off to the side – out of the way – as more people stream in. “Well, it is her day, right?”

Annie nods, small hum spilling from her lips as she turns and drags him off towards the pristine white chairs, marching ever closer to the pergola at the front. “Tony said that if I sit any further back than the third row, I’m fired,” she tells him when his heels begin to dig in yet again.

And again, he yields, a deep, rather comic frown pulling on his face as they lightly push their way through the other guests. “So Stark is the bridezilla,” he mutters, no question to his voice.

She leads him into the seats, across a few already sitting – oddly familiar-looking – people before plopping down with a huff. “Ugh,” she drones, completely ignoring his comment and instead straightening her skirt beneath her before letting out a long, weary sigh alongside the very simple utterance, “It is hot.”

“You’re hot?” He turns on her with wide eyes, tugging once more at his tie, trying – and failing – to slide the sleeves of his suit jacket up his forearms for just a little air. “If they say anything more than just I do, I might freakin’ melt out here.”

A soft, clever smile rolls across her face. “But you’ll look good while you do it,” she says, reaching up to flatten his lapel before giving a single, terse nod. “I like you in a suit.”

He lets out a small scoff. “Don’t get any ideas, doll.”

“Any ideas?” she intones, grin only growing. “We’re at a wedding, Buck. I’m getting all sorts of ideas.”

His eyes blow wide for the briefest of moments, mouth falling agape and head cocking towards her as an anxious trilling buzzes through his brain. But then he sees the teasing turn to her lips, the tightness in her jaw as she works to hold in a bout of laughter. And he releases a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as an exasperated, “Very funny,” slips from his lips.

The bright, airy chuckle she’d been holding so tightly to spills out, her fingers dropping to splay wide over his knee. “Relax. I promise I won’t propose to you at the end of the night.”

His face drops, and along with it, his voice. “Might not mind you proposing certain things,” he mutters with a shrug.

A quick bark of a laugh has his eyes veering automatically back up at her, locking onto her mirthful gaze. “Fine,” she eases out after the giggles begin to fade. “Maybe I’ll propose something.” Then she shifts in her seat, turning towards him, her face mere inches from his. Her eyes take on a somewhat solemn quality as she tells him, voice dropping nearly a full octave, “I’m not one of those super-sentimental, sappy girls who’s going to get all weepy just because we’re at a gorgeous wedding.” Her eyes tick over to the waiting pergola, a wistful air wrapping around her tone. “Or because I genuinely love the two people getting married. Or because,” she looks back at him, something clenching and burning deep in her core as she catches his bright blue eyes. “Because I love the fact that you actually came here with me.”

A tight breath hisses between his teeth. “Jesus, doll. You keep looking at me like that, you might just turn me into one of those super-sentimental, sappy girls,” he tells her before throwing an arm over her shoulder – despite the heat – and settling back with her body nestled close to his.

000

In the weeks following what had since been dubbed FLU: Revenge of the Toilet, Annie and Bucky had not only grown closer, but more… solid.

That rather rough Wednesday night – when everything seemed to go wrong and all of their insecurities were laid bare – had been a bit of a turning point in their relationship. Looking back, both of them would likely say that it was, in fact, the beginning of their relationship. Before that night, they were dating. They were two people who talked and laughed and hung out… and were – undeniably, categorically – attracted to one another. But after, they became so much more.

For Annie, the defining aspect of that evening – the thing that convinced her they were about to head down a new path together – was simply the fact that Bucky had pushed. He forced a conversation about whether or not she could handle his messy life, felt the need to because – I really like you – he was beginning to see a place for her in his future. That, coupled with the fact that he never asked her to leave, clearly never wanted her to leave, served to quiet Tony’s well-intentioned warning – You’ll never come first, you know – that always seemed to linger in the back of her mind.

Maybe that would still be true at times. Maybe it should be true, especially when the one she’d be competing against for that top spot was a four-year-old girl. But in that moment – that night – Bucky had made it abundantly clear that she was his priority.

Needless to say, she had stayed the night after all. After a rather intense and achingly long make out session that resulted in swollen lips, a bit of beard-burn, and a broken coffee maker; a quick everything’s good here check-in phone call from Steve and Natasha; and too much lukewarm Indian food, Annie ended up coiled around Bucky’s hulking form, breathless in his bed, sweaty sheets sticking to naked flesh as her exhausted body drifted off to sleep. It was blissful and hot, and above all else, it just felt… right.

The next morning, on the other hand, wound up being less than stellar. She woke cold and alone, sprawled atop an otherwise empty bed, pulled from her slumber by the muffled sounds of retching emanating from behind the closed bathroom door.

She cared for Bucky that day – much to his chagrin – helped him shower and dress, cleaned his toilet, even ran to the store to stock up on Gatorade and ginger ale. And she allowed him to care for her as well – to come and fetch her and take her home, clean her up and keep her hydrated – when she blew chunks all over her desk at work two days later.

And that is what became the defining moment for Bucky.

It had all been a somber sign of things to come. Sickness. Hardship. Going to bed on cloud nine and waking the next morning with a faceplant to the dirty ground. It was all the things that he’d been afraid might happen. Burdening Annie with the cumbersome task of caring for a stubborn patient – I see where Lana gets it now – and the painful domesticity it bore. Having to do the same for her, just looking at her pale skin and hooded eyes, wiping the sweat from her brow, all the while knowing she was sick because of him. Having to break plans – the first plans they managed to make that didn’t involve chicken soup and Netflix – when a rather green-looking Natasha brought Svetlana over two days early because Steve’s horrendous retching was making the little girl cry.

But they made it through just fine. It was oddly easy, in fact… easier than he ever expected it to be. Caring for one another. Wanting to care for one another. It had been too damn easy.

If he were to be completely, unabashedly honest, Bucky would have to admit that this degree of ease… of comfort and simplicity – because that’s really what it is, isn’t it? Just a bizarrely uncomplicated, effortless sensation? – was not something he’d ever had with any other woman before. Even with Nat – whom he’d loved long before Lana came along, though admittedly not in the way that allowed two people to forge a life together – it had never been easy. She was strong and independent and wholly her own person. Her strength reeled him in and turned him on. But it also terrified him. Still does. Showing any vulnerability in front of Natasha Romanov – despite her telling him repeatedly that she can see right through his cocky façade – is not a thing he has ever been willing or able to do.

And with other woman too, he’s only ever allowed a certain side of himself – or perhaps a select few sides – to be glimpsed. More often than not, he’s shown them the charming, self-assured smile, imbued every movement, every word with the seemingly subtle confidence that he could see turned them to mush. But never, that he can recall, had he shared with them his struggles. No, instead he’d wear that charm like armor, a beguiling indifference that got him laid while still keeping his heart safe. And after Lana was born, once he realized his heart had become even more precious – more full and seemingly fragile now that his baby girl lay inside – an utter air of detachment was added on as an extra, thicker layer of protection.

He’d tell women about himself – what he did for a living, where he grew up. He’d share with them that he loved cars, loved screwball comedies, loved his daughter more life itself. He’d let them into his home and his bed. But his heart – and most of what made him truly him – was simply off limits.

He never really realized how much of his time was spent walking on eggshells around the women in his life, cautiously selecting which pieces of information to reveal, which parts of himself – if any – to lay bare. He’d never realized quite how hard it had been to be himself… to be real and genuine and – God help him – vulnerable with women.

Until Annie came along and made things so damn easy.

000

The music is surprisingly… intense. For a wedding reception, at least. The not-so-subtle beats of AC/DC and Metallica permeating the air for a good hour or so before slowly tapering off into some more appropriate rock ballads. “Tony got to choose the tunes for the cocktail hour,” Annie whispers to him with a smirk. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.”

But for Bucky, the predetermined cocktail hour expands well into the post-dinner lull, his general wariness of large crowds and unease with small talk driving him to keep his hands and lips busy with drinks for as long as humanly possible. He gets it down to a science… sip easily at the watered-down drink in his hand to keep from having to say more than a few words to any of Annie’s overeager – borderline neurotic – coworkers. Then slip back over to the bar, taking his sweet-ass time to get a refill.

He’s on his fifth lap now, taking a break to sit at the far corner of the open bar. He watches from afar – head ducked, fleeting smile stifled – as Annie laughs and talks and mingles with a handful of work friends, her kind eyes ticking his way every few moments in quiet – easy – reassurance. And with each tender glance he feels a new wave of adoration wash over him, a steadily undulating current that both buoys him and threatens to drown him in the depths.

“You’re drinking the cheap shit,” he hears from over his shoulder. His hand grips the crystal tumbler of bourbon a little tighter as he slowly spins on the stool, raising a brow at the suspiciously unaccompanied center of attention. Tony ticks his chin toward his glass before calling the bartender over and saying simply, “Break out the Pappy Van Winkle.”

“The what?” Bucky asks, his eyes following the bartender’s cautious steps as he makes his way around to the back of the bar, throwing furtive glances over his shoulder as he goes.

Tony rolls his eyes and lets out a small grunt before dropping into the seat beside him. “Stupid name, wholeheartedly agree.” He tugs at his bowtie, unfurling it in one quick swipe and flinging it down atop the mahogany bar. “But it’s the best. Or…” he shrugs. “One of the best. Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow – not unkindly, but certainly suspiciously – as he watches the bartender return with two tumblers and a bottle that his fingers curl around as though it were the freaking holy grail. “Shouldn’t you be out there mingling with all your high-society guests?” he asks once they’re left alone with their drinks.

Tony raises his glass, holding it high with an expectant sort of impatience. “C’mon,” he mutters fitfully. “I just married the love of my life. Toast me.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirks up into an amused grin, a quick snort of a chuckle spilling out as he brings the bourbon up and clinks Tony’s glass. “Congratulations,” he deadpans, the smallest gleam in his eye revealing the depth of his sincerity.

“Thank you.” Tony pulls back and sips at his drink, a look of pure comfort spilling across his face as his Adam’s apple bobs.

Bucky brings the bourbon to his lips – slowly, cautiously – and lets the amber liquid slide inside, coating his tongue, his throat, his soul in the most delicious burn possible. “Damn,” he breathes out, staring wide-eyed at the drink in his hand. A delicate trace lingers as he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, head shaking slowly. “Damn.”

Tony chuckles under his breath. “Probably shouldn’t have introduced you to good ole Pappy,” he declares. “Like sending someone who’s only ever flown coach across the ocean on a private jet.”

“I’d settle for business class,” he smarts with a frown.

Tony nods, another small chortle spilling out of him. He takes another sip and cheats out on his stool, gazing across the large dancefloor in front of them until his eyes light on the tall strawberry blonde, dripping with white silk, a glass of champagne in her left hand that sets a sparkling backdrop for the platinum band clinking delicately against it. “Nah,” he mutters, grin growing as he watches his new wife throw her head back in a carefree, delightful bout of laughter. “Why settle when you can have the best?”

Bucky’s shoulders pull into a quick shrug, his gaze sweeping out to find the object of Tony’s attention before returning to settle on the drink in his hand. “Not everyone can afford the best,” he mutters a bit under his breath.

Tony turns to him with a disappointed glare. “You do realize I’m not actually talking about bourbon, right?” He lets out a long, exasperated sigh and settles in, placing his glass on the bar and leaning close to the man beside him. “She’s ruined you, hasn’t she? Annie,” he clarifies when Bucky’s brows curl in confusion. “Can’t go back to the cheap shit after getting a taste of her. Am I right?”

Something akin to a growl pulls from his chest, his jaw ticking tightly to the side. “Don’t talk about tasting my girlfriend.”

And Tony just laughs. Loudly. Haughtily. Slapping Bucky on the shoulder as he goes. “Relax, will ya?” he chokes out before swallowing down the snickers. He shakes his head with a fond sort of amusement. “Metaphor, Barnes.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, hint of agitation still in his voice as he brings the glass back to his lips and lets the liquor wash away the remnants of his irritation.

“I was watching you before,” he states simply, mirthful eyes still trained on the rather uncomfortable looking man before him. “The way you look at her, eyes following her around like a little puppy dog.”

Bucky’s lips press tightly together into a small snarl.

“I’m a genius, you know,” he lets out vapidly before giving a quick shrug and reaching up to pop open the top button of his starched, white collar. “Doesn’t take a genius to see what I saw, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky bites out, perhaps a bit harsher than intended. “What’s that?”

A smug smile, a stifled laugh, a short, incredulous snort… that’s all the answer he really needs. But Tony says it anyway, never one to pass up the opportunity to be heard. “You’re smitten. Intoxicated. You’ve had the Pappy and – you’ve gotta admit – nothing’s been sweeter, smoother… easier going down.”

He flashes him a stunned look, his stare reflecting something between confusion and accusation. And his lips part, jaw popping open to emit nothing but dumbfounded silence.

“Love’s a good thing,” Tony tells him, his voice light and airy, flitting atop a soft laugh. “Annie is a damn good… thing,” he finishes, frown forming as he realizes what he said. But he shakes it off, a look of you know what I mean flashing Bucky’s way. “She tell you about the promotion?” he asks, curiosity lacing his tone.

Bucky sputters a bit, the swift change in topic causing him to reel. “Uh,” he thinks. Promotion… promotion. “Yeah,” he utters finally, once his brain catches up. “Yeah. Something about… operations…” He shakes his head. “Or operational… something.”

Another snort of a laugh. “Operations manager for our new Innovative Tech Division.” He shakes his head with an almost annoyed air. “Up and comers are the worst. They all think they’re the hottest shit, each of their ideas the most… innovative. I find them… exhausting.” He narrows his eyes pensively. “Actually I find them to be the most irritating little shits on the planet.” He issues out a quick scoff and downs the rest of his drink before returning his gaze to Bucky. “Annie says they’re too much like me and that’s why I hate them. But I don’t buy that. I love me.” He shrugs. “Anyway… figured she could go unleash some of that insight on them. Help them all get their shit together and function like a team. Or, hell, I’d settle for just function.”

Bucky lets out a soft snicker, crooked smile blooming. “Want her to clean up more of your messes,” he muses thickly, taking another pull of bourbon.

Tony flattens him with an uncharacteristically serious stare. “It’s what makes us a good team.” He turns on his stool to bodily face the man before him, brows knitting tightly as a contemplative expression washes over his face. “I can only function in a world tempered with chaos… need it to be able to find the answers that just swirl around in the air. I make messes. It’s part of my process. Annie, she likes to… clean things up. Organize them. Fix them. She’s good at it too.”

Bucky’s lips pinch tightly together, his head slowly bobbing in a pensive nod as a sudden swell of doubt rises in his gut. “She likes order,” he says, almost to himself.

“Nah,” Tony mutters. “She just knows that sometimes order is what you need to make things more… palatable for others.” Bucky’s brows twist tightly together, utter befuddlement tugging at his features. Tony stifles a laugh as he catches the look. “What she likes is the mess. Because it gives her something to fix. She likes the challenge.”

“The challenge,” he repeats, his shoulders deflating, head drooping. “Great. Just what every guy wants to hear… I’m a challenge to be around,” he murmurs under his breath.

“Give her some credit,” Tony mutters drolly, pulling Bucky from his haze. “If she didn’t want to be challenged, she’d shack up with one of the boring-ass intellectuals down in accounting. Lord knows enough of them have tried. She saw your ramshackle little garage, saw you racing all over the place to fix things…”

“My garage isn’t ramshackle,” he interrupts with a frown.

“Every time I went in there the place was overbooked, you had some new project going on – ”

“You brought me those projects,” he defends a bit heatedly.

Tony merely shrugs. “Tools and grease everywhere,” he goes on. “A business partner who comes and goes as he pleases. Some teenager trying not to break shit in the back…”

“Hey, Peter’s a good kid.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know. I’ve heard.” He stares Bucky down, his deep brown eyes holding a steely edge. “Barnes, I have heard everything about you. About how great you are with early model fuel-injection systems. How generous your are with your regulars… working out financing and payment plans and other nonsense that’s just gonna land you in the poorhouse. How patient you are with working around other people’s schedules. How wonderful you are with your kid,” he finishes with another overdone roll of his eyes. “Yeah, you got a little bit of chaos surrounding you,” he goes on with a tender note. “And she likes that.”

“You’re saying she likes me because my life’s a mess,” he mutters, only a hint of a question to his voice. “She wants something to fix.”

“Your skull really that thick?” he asks with a raised brow. “I know you’re not a genius like some people…” Bucky rolls his eyes and snorts, both actions being completely ignored by Tony as he goes on to say, “You fix cars. She fixes people. You clean up after a kid. She cleans up after me. You hold together a complicated little family unit, work to make it, well, work. She’s about to do the same with a group of arrogant young prodigies. She’s not trying to fix you. She’s not looking to be challenged by you. Barnes, you idiot… she wants to be challenged with you.”

000

As the party slows, the night growing long and stretching out towards its inevitable end, Bucky finally leaves the bar and returns to their table. The other Stark Industries’ workers that had been surrounding them before, smothering Bucky with their enthusiastic welcomes and long-winded inside jokes that drove him to the silent corner of the bar to begin with, had all filtered off to either take over the dancefloor or simply retire for the night. It’s only Annie now, a vision in pale pink, the loose curls around her face coiling tightly at her temples due the unseasonable humidity. She rests heavily in her seat at the empty table, head propped on her fist as her eyes trail along the smaller – yet still substantial – crowd before her. The sweetest smile rests on her lips as she placidly watches people dance, laugh, talk, and just be.

Bucky flops down in the chair beside her, scooting a plate piled high with two different types of cake and a heaping scoop of fruit covered in chocolate sauce – because apparently there had been a chocolate fountain sitting at yet another dessert buffet on the opposite side of the room all night – over between them. Her smile grows into an excited, toothy grin as she accepts the proffered fork and stabs through the mountain of sugar, trying to capture all of the sweet treats into a single bite.

“Finally get tired of keeping yourself sequestered?” she asks just before popping the fruit-laden cake into her mouth.

He lets out a small chuckle and spears a chocolatey strawberry with his own fork. “Kinda backfired on me,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue around some of the dripping chocolate. “Your boss found me.”

She laughs indelicately, almost snorting around the massive bite of dessert as she chews and effortfully swallows it down. “Yeah,” she says with a nod. “I saw.” Her fork returns for another serving, playfully batting his away to get at a plump blueberry sitting atop a mass of vanilla buttercream. “Could’ve been worse. Gary from accounting found his way over here.” Her head drops dramatically back, a mocking – and loud – snore pulling from somewhere deep in her chest alongside a theatrical moan. “Sooooo boring.”

Bucky can’t help but laugh at that, his wide smile settling into something fond and familiar as he watches her sigh and slouch forward and focus once again on the dessert, taking another too-large bite and leaving a smear of frosting along the corner of her mouth. “You tired?” he asks, reaching down and plucking a naked raspberry from the pile, raising it up to swipe along her lip, using it to clean her mess before he pops it into his mouth with a wink.

She cocks her head at him and grins, eyes crinkling at the edges as she finishes chewing. He reaches out with his thumb to clear off the remnants of icing and chocolate pocking her bottom lip, and she lets her eyes blink slowly shut, head drooping a bit once she swallows. Bucky unfurls his hand, palm opening to easily accept her flushed cheek as she nuzzles into him. “Is that a pickup line?” she asks, leaning over the edge of her seat, gradually fading into his warmth. “You want to put me to bed?”

He laughs – the sound light and airy and wonderfully melodic to her ears – and scoots his chair closer, wraps an arm around her and tugs her casually to his chest. “Maybe.”

Her eyes flit open and take in the twinkling fairy lights above, each tiny, haloed bulb melding masterfully in with the night sky. “Thanks for coming with me tonight, Buck,” she murmurs languidly as her head rolls back along his shoulder.

He lays a chaste kiss atop her head and pulls her a little closer with his left arm, his right hand still absently stabbing at fruit with his fork. “Any time, doll.”

She shifts beside him, turns her head just enough to be able to catch a glimpse of his face. Her eyes shine with something akin to mischief as she says, “I have a friend who’s getting married in December. We went to high school together so everyone I grew up with will be there.” Her eyebrows wiggle almost maniacally, the look equal parts terrifying and endearing.

“Great,” he deadpans, swallowing down a chortle. Then, “Ah, you know what?” oozes out of him in an easy cadence. “Yeah, I think I have Lana that night. Probably can’t make it.”

“I didn’t tell you the date,” she says, blank face just barely cracking as a sneaky smile threatens to tug at her lips.

“Yeah, well,” he breathes out. “I’m a busy guy, you know.”

She scoots a bit closer, her hip splitting his knees apart as she settles in and wraps her arms around his center. “You’re not that busy,” she intones, dropping her face to his chest and letting out a small yawn. “Or did you forget that I updated your calendar myself?”

No, he hadn’t forgotten. He actually – silently – thanks her daily. Every time he gets an alert on his phone… a reminder about swim lessons, soccer practice, a change of days with Lana. Or a notification – complete with embedded heart emoji – telling him exactly where to be and at what time for their date that evening. She had – now that he thinks about it – somehow managed to already calm the inherent chaos in his life, easing the strain of the everyday.

“Hm,” he hums out casually as his fingers weave into her hair. “You know, I’m pretty sure that calendar told me just the other day that Lana’s starting gymnastics next month…”

She pops up excitedly, coming to life in his arms as she presses her palms into his chest and pushes off of him. “I know!” she enthuses, turning a beaming smile his way. “I’m so excited for her!”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, soft chuckle spilling forth. “Well, that’s good, I guess,” he mutters cheerily, all the while shoving down the butterflies that so often burst to life in his gut when she’s around. She’s excited for my baby, he thinks, grin growing wider from just that one thought. “But I was trying to point out that I’m sure I’ll be way too busy for any more weddings.”

Her bottom lip pushes out into a pout, pensive look tugging at her features as her eyes narrow. “Nah,” she says after a moment of seeming contemplation. “We’ll make it work.”

“Oh, we will?” he questions amid a laugh.

She drops back into him, her head colliding with his collarbone and causing a harsh grunt to sound, cutting off his laughter. “Of course we will,” she mumbles into his chest, the sound of her voice muffled but the feel of it edging into him, vibrating through his chest and colliding with his heart.

He squeezes her a little bit tighter, his fingers trailing softly along the bare skin of her neck, swiping down over her shoulder in a delicate trace. He drops his lips to her hair once more, breathes in the now familiar scent of coconut shampoo… smiles when he gets a swift hit of Lana’s lavender detangler too.  

“I think,” he breathes out, low voice slowing trailing off. She curls deeper into him and gives a small hum by way of encouragement. But he doesn’t go on, can’t quite form the sudden, overwhelming thought into a coherent sentence. He releases a long, hot breath into her hair, the statement that had only just cracked forth and dropped through a chink somewhere in his armor now lodging in his throat.

I love you.

She pulls back and gives him a curious, almost worried look. “You want to go home?” she asks, her voice soft, achingly tender.

He offers a fond, closed-lip smile before tugging her back to his chest, nuzzling her close, and tucking her head beneath his chin. I love you. The words are now tickling the very tip of his tongue, smacking ceaselessly atop the roof of his mouth. I love you.

But… not yet. Not here. “Home,” he muses serenely, hums softly into her hair. A deep sigh spills from his lips, and along with it – carrying a note of practiced ease – he utters plainly, “Yeah, doll. Why not?”