Sarah is just starting to nod off over her book when the front door creaks open. She’s debating whether she should get up and investigate when Sam appears in the kitchen, followed closely by Bucky.
Sarah glances at the clock. It’s almost eleven; the boys are in bed, and the house has been returned to some semblance of order – at least, enough so that Sarah felt she could justify parking herself in the old armchair with a book and a mug of tea. There’s probably a hundred and one other things that need doing that she should be doing, but a girl could indulge every now and then.
Not to mention it keeps her from thinking too hard about what sort of perilous situation her brother might be in at any given moment. Tonight, though, she’s happy that she can put that to rest for the time being.
She’s hardly pushed herself to her feet before Sam is folding her in a hug. You have to be ready for his hugs, she thinks fondly. He squeezes tight and doesn’t let go until he’s good and ready. Sam loves hard – always has.
Which means he can hurt just as hard too. Sarah usually refrains from asking for details about missions; she knows it’s hard, dangerous work, and that just because everyone she loves comes home in one piece doesn’t mean that’s the case for everyone involved. She can always tell when it’s been a particularly difficult time. Sam’s poker face is laughably bad.
Sam finally releases her. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Sarah looks him up and down. A few scrapes here and there, and an impressive black eye, but nothing permanent. “We weren’t expecting you two until tomorrow.”
“Change of plans,” he explains, grinning tiredly. “Buck heard you made mac and cheese, and then it was pedal to the metal all the way from Nola.”
Sarah has to smile. “There’s leftovers in the fridge.” Bucky doesn’t eat nearly as much as Steve did, according to Sam, but the man can still work his way through mac and cheese at a speed that would be concerning were it anyone else.
“I’m gonna go clean up,” Sam says. “Save me some of that mac and cheese, though.” He gives Sarah another squeeze, claps Bucky on the shoulder, then tromps upstairs.
Sarah turns her attention to Bucky. He’s watching Sam go, face creased in a thoughtful frown. He gets lost in thought like this sometimes. On good days – or at least the better ones – he’s just distracted. Sarah’s come to learn that times like that, his mind could be on anything from the latest mission to the best way to fix the hinges on her refrigerator door. On other days, Bucky’s whole body goes tight and he can’t quite seem to focus on her, and she doesn’t need to ask to know he’s stuck deep in his head.
Tonight, though, he just looks tired. As she watches, he lets out a silent sigh that leaves his shoulders slumping, then runs an absentminded hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in tufts that don’t exactly sell the supersoldier image. Sarah feels another smile tugging at her mouth.
“Hey,” she says gently. “You good?”
Bucky blinks at her, distinctly owlish. “Huh?”
“Are you okay?”
“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
Sarah hums. “The boys will be happy you’re back.”
She doesn’t miss the way his face softens at that, the creases and lines easing into something closer to a smile than his previous expression. And she should be used to it by now, but - her heart twists just the same, watching the subtle play of emotions across his face. This is Bucky unguarded, and at times like this Sarah thinks she has to look away before the emotions welling in her own chest – too many and too fragile to name – burst.
Bucky is just kinda like that, as Sam puts it. Sarah knows exactly what he means.
“I owe them a game of catch,” he says, earnest and apologetic and so very young. “Meant to last week, but..” One shoulder lifts in a shrug.
“The superhero shtick,” Sarah supplies.
His nose wrinkles. “Yeah, that.”
It’s not all that funny, really - God knows that the whole superhero thing isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be - but she laughs because right now it’s the easiest option. The safest option. Despite her relief and his exhaustion, there’s an undercurrent of tension, too. There always is. Sometimes she can even bring herself to admit it.
And maybe it’s that heady relief that drives her to say it, but suddenly she finds herself saying, “I’m glad you’re back, too.”
His eyes snap to hers. This is another thing about Bucky, she thinks. For all that he’s quick-witted and alarmingly competent, she’s still able to throw him for a loop fairly regularly. Even now she isn’t sure if she should feel bad about it or not.
His smile is tentative. “I’m always happy to be here.”
The lamplight takes the sharper edges off the steeliness of his blue eyes, and for a breath Sarah wonders what would happen if she threw caution to the wind and voiced all the things in her mind that are clamoring to be heard. He’s standing close enough to her that he can probably hear the way her pulse quickens.
His throat bobs when he swallows. “Maybe we could – ”
The stairs creak, and Sam appears on the landing, dressed in shorts and toweling off his head with one hand. “You save me anything to eat?”
Sarah closes her eyes long enough to despair at her brother’s timing, then calls back as evenly as she can, “Yes, there’s plenty.”
By the time she looks around again, Bucky has retreated. His hip is propped against the couch, and his expression doesn’t convey much more than polite interest. Sarah lets herself regret it, just this once.
Sam leans against the doorframe, balancing a bowl in one hand. “Shower’s free, Buck.”
“Yeah,” Bucky says, voice distant in a way that doesn’t match the look on his face. It mollifies the regret, somewhat.
Thankfully, Sam either doesn’t notice or is too tired to comment. Bucky slings his bag over his shoulder and disappears up the stairs. Sarah very carefully does not watch him go.
“What were you two talking about?” Apparently Sam isn’t too tired to be a big brother. Sarah loves him for it, but she also kind of wants to put his head through a wall. He's probably just as happy to be home, though, so she lets it go.
She purses her lips. “Nothing,” she says, filing away images of Bucky’s wide eyes and uncertain smile for tonight. “Nothing at all.”