The loud buzzing startles Sam and Bucky from their reverie.
'It's mine!' Bucky scrabbles for his vibrating phone, catching it just as it scooted itself off the coffee table. He taps the screen and the discordant alarm stops as abruptly as it started. He drops it back onto the coffee table and turns his face into the crook of Sam's neck. 'We've got thirty minutes,' he murmurs, lips sliding against the warm skin.
'Until what? We turn into pumpkins?' Sam drags his hand down Bucky's arm and snakes it into the gaping waistband of his jeans.
'Til Cass and AJ come home from school.'
'You have a Cass and AJ alarm?' Sam's hand shifts, and Bucky hums, hips canting upward.
'So we don't get caught with our pants down,' Bucky explains. He shudders as Sam's fingertips skate across the sensitive skin, a hint of lingering stickiness creating friction that sizzles in his veins.
'Plenty of time,' Sam cajoles, chasing Bucky's mouth with his.
'You're insatiable.'
'So are you, old man.' Sam props himself up on an elbow and admires his handiwork. Bucky's clearly torn between shoving his jeans down to his knees and offering himself to Sam as one would a feast to a starving man, and putting his clothes to rights. 'They won't be home until after five. Soccer practice.' His fingers tighten almost infinitesimally, but it’s enough to make Bucky moan.
Bucky grasps Sam’s wrist and with great reluctance, pulls his hand away. He presses a kiss to the palm of Sam's hand before releasing him. Bucky lifts his hips and tugs his jeans up, but leaves them unfastened. 'I've been thinking,' he says slowly.
Sam rises onto his knees and twitches the waistband of his shorts so it's once more riding just above his hips. 'I must've not done a very good job if you could still think,' he grunts as he sits back, propping his back against the opposite armrest.
'When I come back next time, where are we gonna live?'
Sam blinks. He hadn't thought that part through. 'Should find a place, I guess.’ He glanced around the living room, with the inevitable clutter produced by two children and two busy adults. ‘Unless you want to stay here.’
Bucky doesn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
‘You wanna live here? With my technically younger sister and her two boys?’ Sam can’t keep the incredulity from his voice. He can see no fewer than five Cheerios between the couch cushions. Cass’ Iron Man action figure sticks out from under an armchair. The ceiling fan squeals softly above them, because he and Sarah keep pushing fixing it to the back burner. They need to replace the hot water heater and make some desperately needed repairs to the exterior of the house. Not to mention all the fuss that comes with raising two kids. Field trips that need chaperones. Soccer practice. Soccer games and weekend-long tournaments that leave everyone in an exhausted heap by Sunday afternoon. Homework assignments that demand last-minute trips to the dollar store for poster board. AJ’s burgeoning interest in robotics. The absolute cacophony AJ and Cass could produce. The fights over who took the last red freezie pop. And the pouting that follows when all that was left were the pink ones.
‘I grew up in a three-room apartment with my parents, three siblings, and until I was eight years old, my grandma. And all the times Steve stayed with us,’ Bucky reminds him. ‘And I don’t wanna take you away from your family. Not again.’
‘All right.’ Sam lunges across the couch, intent on finishing what he started earlier, but Bucky holds up a hand.
‘On one condition.’
Sam sighs, nestling his bottom between Bucky’s knees, feet planted on either side of his hips. ‘Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this…?’
‘We ask Sarah if it’s okay.’ Bucky gazes around the living room. The desk he can see over Sam’s shoulder is clearly Sam’s workstation, a laptop and two phones nearly arranged on it. But the rest of it all but shouts “Sarah.” The cozy blanket thrown over the back of her favorite chair. The boys’ artwork taped to the wall proclaiming her the world’s best mom. Various photos of her with her late husband and the boys. The bookshelf in the corner with stuffed with a jumble of her books crammed cheek-by-jowl with Sam’s science-fiction favorites. Even the scent of her shampoo lingers. He doesn't want to be a disruption. Although Sarah would probably tell him that ship sailed long ago.
‘Half this house is mine,’ Sam retorts testily, but he knows Bucky is right.
‘And we ask AJ and Cass.’ He gives Sam a crooked grin. ‘It’s their house, too. And their lives.’
Sam can't argue with that. He steals a glance at his watch and sighs again. The lure of a half-naked Bucky is strong, and he wants nothing more than to drag the man upstairs to his — no, their — bed and make love to him until neither of them can walk in a straight line, but it's his turn to make dinner, and he's promised the boys spaghetti and meatballs. So he carefully drapes himself over Bucky, giving him a kiss ripe with the promises of later. When he pulls back, Bucky's eyes are smoldering, and he forces himself to let go of Sam. He's not sure either of them are going to get much sleep that night. Bucky's flight is at the ass crack of dawn, and he'll have to leave no later than four in the morning to get to the airport on time. Sam slides off Bucky and grabs his shirt from where it dangles off the corner of the TV. 'What do you want to do?' he asks, voice slightly muffled as his pulls his shirt on. 'Call a family meeting?'
'Yeah.' Sam is half-joking, but Bucky is completely and utterly serious. He gropes for his shirt on the floor, and pulls it over his head, then zips the fly of his jeans. 'After dinner, maybe?'
'Sure.' Sam walks into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator and takes out a sheet pan filled with meatballs. He connects his phone to the Bluetooth speaker over the sink and lets the smooth, yet energetic rhythms of the music he's selected drift over the kitchen while he peels garlic. Bucky meanders in after him, and pulls a stack of plates from the cupboard and starts to set the table.
Bucky's too keyed up to sit still. He putters around the kitchen, washing a dish or utensil as soon as Sam sets it aside, whether he plans to use it again or not. ‘Are you nervous or something?’ Sam asks with a chuckle.
Bucky turns, clutching a damp dishtowel in his hands. He manages a sickly smile, not dissimilar to the one he wears when he feels out of his depth.
‘Oh my God…’ Sam taps the wooden spoon against the edge of the pot. ‘You’re nervous…’
‘Nah…' Bucky scoffs, trying to find the cocky self-assurance that lurks under the surface. 'I mean… It’s a big change. For everybody.’
Sam checks the burner and lowers the flame under the pot. ‘Buck… they love you. If they didn’t like you, believe me, you'd know.’
Sam is right. Bucky can vividly recall the biweekly trips from Brooklyn to the Bronx to visit his father's older brother and his family, and his mother's iron grip on his elbow while they found seats on the subway as she muttered that he needed to smile and be polite or so help her God… Bucky hadn't minded his aunt. She mostly hovered nervously in the background, trying to keep a lid on Bucky's eight cousins. Anything to avoid setting off his uncle, who twelve year old Bucky despised because he felt art was worthless and never missed an opportunity to disparage Bucky's interest in it. The stiffness, the reticence he'd felt in their house was something he never saw in Cass and AJ. The wobbly expression lessens enough so that Bucky doesn’t look as though he’s going to puke at any second. He nods. 'Yeah?'
'Yeah.' Sam uses the dishtowel to draw Bucky closer, and nuzzles the skin just under his ear. Bucky exhales and lets his shoulders drop. He's still practically vibrating. 'Why don't you make a salad?' Sam gently suggests, to give Bucky something with which to occupy himself. The man was a trained sniper and fought Nazis, but the idea of being told "no," by two kids under the age of thirteen makes him more edgy than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
The thing is, Cass and AJ don’t give their affections easily. Bucky knows this as well as Sam does. Even though Sarah spent five years telling them all about their Uncle Sam, it took several weeks before they stopped viewing him as some sort of visitor that they had to be on their best behavior around. Sam suspects they wanted to keep him at a distance, just in case he and half the world vanish without a trace again.
At any rate, it’s going to be a few more months until Bucky can officially move down to Delacroix. Plenty of time for everyone to get used to the idea.
***
'I thought Uncle Bucky went to New York today,' AJ observes from the backseat, peering through a break in the trees as they approach the house.
'Hmmm?' Sarah glances absently in the rearview mirror at her son.
AJ points to the sensible navy blue sedan with a bright orange rental company logo on the rear bumper parked next to Sam's truck. 'That's Uncle Bucky's car.'
'Maybe his flight got cancelled,' Sarah replies. She pulls into the drive on the other side of Sam's truck and the boys tumble out of the car, pelting for the door.
'Uncle Bucky! Uncle Bucky!' The screen door slams open, and AJ and Cass pause long enough to drop their backpacks and then make a beeline for Bucky.
Bucky springs from his chair at the kitchen table. 'Hey!' He envelops the boys in a hug, dodging their playful punches with a laugh. He feels a little of the tension drain from his shoulders. The boys seem genuinely pleased to see him, the complete opposite of the plastered-on, forced smiles he wore when his family made the trek to the Bronx to visit his aunt and uncle.
'Did you miss your flight?' AJ asks.
'Can we read the next chapter of Circle of Magic tonight?' Cass demands, tugging at Bucky's vibranium arm.
'Hey!' Sam points with the spoon in his hand. 'Go get washed up. Dinner's almost ready.' He makes a shooing motion. 'You can pester Bucky after dinner.'
'Well?' Sarah follows the boys into the house and shoves their backpacks aside with a foot. 'Flight get cancelled?'
'Not exactly.' Bucky all but squirms. They can hear Cass and AJ fighting over the soap in the upstairs bathroom. They've only got a couple of minutes at best before the boys come back down. 'Sam asked me to move here and I said okay,' he says in a rush, with a wince as he finishes the sentence.
Sarah strides to the refrigerator and pulls out a pitcher of iced tea. 'And live where?' she inquires, although she already knows the answer.
'Here?'
She turns at the barely disguised hope in Bucky's voice. 'You want to live here, with all this?' She waves a hand at the calendar on the wall, filled with reminders of dentist appointments and parent conferences, then motions at the ceiling, where Cass' yelp echoes from the bathroom.
Sam drains the pasta with a snorting laugh. 'I thought he was crazy, too, but yeah. He and I want to stay here.'
Sarah fills three glasses with iced tea, and two smaller ones with milk and sets them around the table. She pats Bucky on the cheek. 'How can I say no to that face?' In truth, she's not surprised. Each time Bucky's come down to Delacroix, he's stayed a little bit longer than he had the previous visit, and the length of time between trips has gotten shorter and shorter until he all but lives here as it is. She's joked more than once that he only goes back to New York long enough to check his mail and see his therapist. He always laughs, but never denies it.
The boys slide into the kitchen on socked feet, skidding to a stop at the table. Sam dishes up bowls of spaghetti and meatballs, and distributes them around the table. Sarah nudges his ankle with her foot, and gestures with her chin across the table. Bucky's head is tilted toward Cass, a soft, contented smile on his face, as he listens to Cass chatter about a spelling test. Dinner is chaotic, as usual, with Cass and AJ talking over one another, and a dropped meatball leading to not-so-subtle hints that a dog might be useful around the house.
Once dinner is over, Sam sends AJ and Cass into the living room to do their homework. Bucky’s already at the sink, switching the music to mellow, romantic songs from the forties. Not Sam’s favorite, but he’s come to appreciate the mood it creates. Bucky starts washing the dishes, singing softly under his breath.
Sam retrieves a clean dishtowel from the drawer and picks up one of the plates Bucky's washed and dries it, and then puts it away. ''Thought we'd include the boys on Buck moving in,' he tells Sarah. She says nothing, but lifts a brow. Sam points to Bucky's back. 'His idea.'
Sarah leans back in her chair, studying the clock on the stove. There's just over an hour and a half until Cass' bedtime, and AJ's isn't far behind. 'What's your plan?'
Bucky places a dripping bowl into the dish drainer and looks over his shoulder. 'Haven't gotten that far yet.'
Sam opens the freezer and scans the shelves. 'Can they have some ice cream?' he asks Sarah. There's a can of whipped cream in the fridge, along with a jar of maraschino cherries and a bottle of chocolate syrup.
'You're resorting to bribery?' Sarah hoots. 'Tough look, Cap.'
'That's Captain America to you,' Sam shoots back with a lofty tone, continuing to dry the dinner dishes and put them in the cupboard.
'It's not bribery,' Bucky retorts. When Sarah gives him a skeptical look, he hastily gropes for a reason why they would need to have ice cream 'We just wanna keep it casual.'
'Yeah. Casual,' Sam echoes, flashing a surreptitious thumbs-up at Bucky with a slightly exaggerated relieved look on his face. The last thing he wanted to do was make a bigger deal out of it than it already was.
Sarah waits until there are only a few dishes left in the sink and pushes herself to her feet and takes out a stack of bowls from the cupboard. 'You don't have to do all this,' she tells Bucky. 'You could just keep stealth moving in until it's a done deal.'
'I have not been stealth moving in,' Bucky protests, rinsing the last dish and stacking it in the drainer. He fills the pot that had the tomato sauce and meatballs with hot, soapy water to soak, and grabs a dishcloth to wipe the counters, then dries his hands on the dishtowel thrown over his left shoulder.
'Stop.' Sarah lays a handful of spoons on the table. 'You have at least a week's worth of clothes in Sam's dresser.' She opens a drawer and pulls out an ice cream scoop. 'And do you know how I know that?' Bucky shook his head, then opens the refrigerator and gathers the chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and cherries. 'Because I've been folding your damn drawers for months. Do you even have clothes left in New York?'
'A few…' Bucky lowers the volume of the music. 'Couple of changes.'
'I rest my case.' A smug smile spreads over her face. Sarah calls into the living room. 'Cass, AJ, want some ice cream before you get ready for bed?'
She doesn't need to ask twice.
Sam arranges an assembly line, putting a scoop of ice cream into a bowl, that he hands to Sarah, who then drizzles it with chocolate syrup, then passes it to Bucky to add a crown of whipped cream and a jewel-bright cherry. It only takes a few minutes before everyone is seated around the table, with a bowl of ice cream in front of them.
Under the table, Sam rests a hand on Bucky’s knee and squeezes it. ‘Bucky and I wanted to ask you two something,' he says to the boys, the serious tone in his voice putting an instantaneous halt to their chatter.
'Cass did it,' AJ blurts.
'Did what?' Bucky licks a smudge of chocolate syrup from his fingertip. It’s probably nothing, but the memories surface of his younger brother and sister ratting out each other with unholy glee over even the smallest infractions, and he has to suppress an indulgent smile.
'Spilled juice on the shield,' AJ replies, eyes shooting daggers at his younger brother. 'I told him to be careful.'
'Not the worst thing that's been on it,' Bucky mutters around a bite of ice cream.
Sam's head bobs once in agreement. 'That's not what we wanted to ask, but good to know. I was wondering why it was sticky.' He took a deep breath and set his spoon down. 'Actually, Bucky and I wanted to ask you if it was okay if he moves in here. With us.'
AJ and Cass glance at one another, bemusement furrowing their faces. ‘We thought he already lived here,’ AJ ventures, eyes darting from Sam to Bucky.
Sarah lets out a bark of laughter at the looks of consternation on Sam and Bucky’s faces that she quickly smothers by clapping a napkin to her mouth . This is clearly not the reaction Sam or Bucky anticipated.
Cass brandishes his dripping spoon like a sword. 'You work together. You sleep in the same bed.'
'Can't argue with that logic,' Bucky snorts.
'You don't even bring clothes with you when you come back from New York anymore,' AJ observes. 'Just books.' He points to the living room, where a small easel takes up a corner with northern light. 'And there's that.' He pushes his glasses up his nose. 'Mom and Uncle Sam don't draw.'
‘And you have a key to the house,’ Cass continues. ‘Me and AJ don’t even have a key to the house.’
‘QED,’ Bucky mutters.
Cass drops his spoon into the bowl and jumps up from his chair. ‘I made something for you.’ He dashes back into the living room, then returns with a piece of somewhat crumpled paper. He stands next to Bucky, holding it up at chest height, a proud, toothy smile on his face.
‘You did this for me?’ At Cass’ vigorous nod, he carefully takes the crayoned drawing and lays it on the table, fingers smoothing out the creases. A lump forms in his throat and he gives Cass a smile with eyes that are suspiciously bright.
‘You can take it back to New York with you,’. Cass explained. ‘Uncle Sam said you didn’t have any pictures in your apartment.’
‘Oh, he did?’ Bucky glances at Sam, communicating his mild annoyance at Sam’s description of his apartment with a slight lift of his brow. That wasn’t entirely true. He did have a couple of his better sketches tacked up on the wall. And a rough drawing of Sam that does him a surprising amount of justice that he stuck in a frame that he keeps on his nightstand.
Cass nods again, glasses slipping down his nose. ‘Uh-huh.’ He points to the refrigerator. ‘You can hang it on your fridge!’
‘Great idea.’ Bucky hugs him. ‘I love it.’
‘Time for your bath,’ Sarah says. Cass grabs his bowl and drops it in the sink.
AJ scrapes the last of his ice cream from the bowl, then places it in the sink, then returns to the living room to finish his homework. Sam pulls a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and pours a glass for himself and Sarah, then holds it up with a questioning look at Bucky, who nods. Sam sets a glass of wine in front of Bucky. 'For the record, I did not tell him you didn't have any pictures in your apartment.' He pushes the second glass to Sarah. 'He asked about your family for a project for class, and if you had pictures of them, and I told him no, because you were missing for such a long time, everyone thought you were dead. Then he wanted to find your mom and call her and see if she'd send you some pictures, and I had to tell him your family was gone.'
Bucky runs his hand over the drawing. The five of them stand on the deck of the Paul & Darlene. He and Sam have their arms looped around each other's waists. Cass has exaggerated the bulge of muscle in their arms, but he's remembered the gold details in Bucky's vibranium arm. Cass and AJ stand on either side of Sarah. The Captain America shield is propped against the side of the boat.
It's the first family picture he's had in eighty years.