Bucky has a bit of a problem.
Well, he wouldn't consider it a problem. But it is… problematic. Timing wise.
See, he was doing fine. This was Steve's second deployment, he was used to it by now. Somewhat. It was easier. Not easy, but easier. Steve's wifi access was shittier this time around, so even if Bucky was used to sleeping alone, things were still kinda sucky.
Nat kept a close eye on him last time, because he was known to be a little reckless without Steve by his side. He almost dyed his hair blonde when Steve went to Basic, so. Maybe Nat has a point. In his defense, he was more than a little drunk and it was just dawning on him how long Steve would be gone. Even though Basic was only ten weeks. But it was the prospect of all the weeks after that that had Bucky going in a downward spiral. Bucky had no idea how excruciatingly slow 48 weeks could pass by without Steve there. That was not a fun thing to learn.
This time was 61 weeks without Steve sleeping half on top of him, without Steve burning bacon every weekend, without Steve giving Bucky sweaty hugs when he comes back from his runs, without Steve leaving his crushed toothpaste tube on the side of the sink, without Steve getting paint on their floor and coffee table.
It was week 60 now, and Bucky is staring at the splattered cacophony of stains on the hardwood floor under the living room window.
He's also staring at the puppy that has curled up in their curtains. Because. Well.
Bucky sat him down to get him some water and he made a beeline for the opposite wall, proceeded to bite and tug on the curtains, then twisted himself up in them, then plopped down contently. Or at least Bucky assumes he is. Maybe he's hiding. All Bucky can see are his blue eyes peeking out from underneath the reach of the curtains. Bucky was just grateful they didn't fall and take the pole with them.
"Are you just gonna stay there?" Bucky asks, uselessly. The dog just blinks at him. They continue to have a staring contest.
Bucky had gone out to get some food, and was on his way back with his burger and fries, when he heard the whimpering in the alley next to his building. He stopped in the street, stared between his bag of food and the source of the sound for probably too long, before sighing and turning into the alley. It wasn't hard to find the dog, but Bucky's still wondering how he managed to get himself caught up in clothing line and a crate (though now that he's seen the dog rolling around the curtains he thinks he has a pretty good idea). The dog whimpered the whole time Bucky attempted to free him, using his keys to cut the string. Getting him out of the crate was easy enough, his paw was really only encumbered by the line. Once free, he immediately pounced on Bucky, little paws on his knees as he tried to lick whatever of Bucky he could reach.
"Yeah, okay, you're welcome, little guy," Bucky said, trying to get the pup's tongue away from him. The dog seemed happy with this, staring brightly at Bucky from his perch in his outstretched arms. Which was… odd. For a street dog. "What are you doing out here all by yourself?" The dog didn't have a collar, and couldn't have been more than a couple months old, given his small size and friendly demeanor. It was a pit bull, obviously, and quite frankly, was adorable, bigger than a new pup but smaller than full size. His black fur was pretty sleek, and his back two paws had white socks. He must be used to people, or not understand the concept of abandonment. Or maybe he was just lost. Bucky would like to think that's the case. "Who could ever leave you behind, hmm?" he cooed, and the dog promptly barked squeakily and licked his face. "Okay, okay, yeah, yeah. You're cute, you win."
And Bucky set the dog down just so he could gather his things, and the dog jumped his way towards the bag with the burgers. Sniffing loudly, he might add.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing? Get outta there." Bucky tried to stop him, but the dog kept wiggling his way out of Bucky's hands, clawing at the bag. Bucky's not all that strong, nor does he have a heart of stone, so he ended up spending a good fifteen minutes sitting on that alley ground, feeding half his burger to his dog. This dog. Not his dog. Just a dog he found on the street. Who is now curled up against the wall of his living room window.
Fuck.
—
Bucky takes the dog to the vet.
He finds out that the dog is, in fact, a he, and that he's about three months old. He doesn't need to be nursed anymore, but is not potty trained, obviously. Bucky was really hoping to hear something else.
"He's not microchipped," Claire tells him. "He doesn't have mange, and seems to be healthy and happy. My best guess is he ran away from home, or got lost. Maybe the family he was born into couldn’t take care of all the puppies, or didn't keep count; maybe they moved. Who knows," she shrugs, letting the dog play with her fingers on the table. "He's lucky. And so are you."
Bucky snorts. "How do you figure?"
Claire gives him a look, as if she knows Bucky's not already in love with the dog. "Well, for starters, you're lucky he didn't lash out at you; he's already people friendly. Got a lot of energy. It gives you something to do besides mope."
"I don't mope," Bucky protests, pouting petulantly. Claire stares at him again. Bucky huffs. "Stop gossiping about me with Nat. Don’t you have anything better to do?"
"No, not really," Claire says flippantly. "Anyways, since he's a puppy that means you get to spend more time with him, and he gets to grow with you. Pit bulls are really loyal and dedicated, so, he's gonna love you a lot; I can tell he already does."
Bucky smiles, despite himself. God, he wishes Steve were here. Mainly so he can talk him out of keeping the dog. Or so Steve could at least be included in this process. He misses him. Two more weeks. He sighs.
"Well." He clears his throat. "I should still, um. Make posters or something. See if anyone's looking for him." Even as he says this, he reaches out to scratch the dog's head.
Claire eyes him. "Yeah, okay. Yeah. You can make some posters here. And we can go ahead and chip him and give him his shots. Just in case."
Bucky stares at the dog as he rolls around on the table, head and butt wiggling, tail thumping on the table. Bucky suddenly sees himself curled up on the couch, reading a book, dog curled up at his side; he sees himself living with this dog. Also, he's very cute. Steve could paint him. Steve could paint him a lot. When he's home that is. Fuck, Bucky's in trouble.
"Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah. Let's do it."
—
Bucky puts up posters up and down the block. Claire hangs some up in her office, and faxes them to other vets and shelters.
Bucky feeds and walks the dog for a week. Bucky gets peed on for a week.
No one calls for the dog.
Bucky names the dog Tribble.
—
"Like… from Star Trek?"
"Yeah," Bucky says. "Should I get the alien or dinosaur toy?"
Sam stares at him. Then his eyes flick to the shopping cart, which is already filled with six different toys, one of which Tribble is gnawing on. It's the Uncle Sam one. Steve will find it hilarious. Assuming he doesn't kill Bucky for getting a dog. A puppy. An untrained puppy.
"I think you have enough toys man," Sam says.
Bucky grabs the alien and the dinosaur toy and throws them in the cart. Not that Tribble notices. Well, they kind of land on the dog bed in there, too. Bucky would like to say he picked it out, but Tribble waggled his way onto that one and curled himself up there like he owned the fucking place. It was adorable, and Bucky took about ten pictures. Sam was not amused.
Bucky knows Sam mostly agreed to this trip to keep an eye on Bucky, and to keep him from going overboard, in case the owners did end up calling and saying they want their dog back. But he's not really doing a good job, seeing as how the cart is already full of toys, the bed, dog food, treats, food and water bowls, a puppy towel, bath supplies, a crate, and an extra leash. Bucky picked up a collar from Claire's office, and he and Sam unanimously decided it would be best to leash him to the cart in case he tried to hop out and run wild. Which seemed increasingly unlikely the more Bucky threw toys in the cart.
Sam is also failing at keeping Bucky from going overboard because Bucky is not listening to anything he says.
"So, uh…" Sam starts as they turn down the dog clothing aisle. For the record, Bucky thinks dog clothes are stupid. He repeats this in his head, even as he stares at all the doggy sweaters. "Have you talked to Steve about this?"
"And how exactly do you expect me to have done that?" Bucky retorts. Steve comes back in a week. Bucky is restless.
"Right. Sorry, but. Well, have you guys ever even talked about…" Sam waves his hand around, gesturing to the smorgasbord of shit Bucky is planning on purchasing for the dog. And the dog. Sam's talking about that too. "…getting a dog? Or any kind of pet?"
"Um." Bucky chews on his lip. "Not really? I mean, it's not that Steve doesn't like animals, it's just. We didn't really get past the part of our future where he's off in Afghanistan, so."
"Sorry —"
"I mean, we're not even engaged."
"Um."
"Um." Bucky blinks.
"Is that something you're thinking about?" Sam asks gently. Surrounded by the dog onesies.
Bucky stares at Tribble, who is blinking up at him. "I don’t want to be with anyone else," Bucky says, and this is the first time he's not floored by the weight of it, by just how true that is. He got drunk the first few times he thought about it, and had a long ice cream spooning session about it with Nat. He loves Steve, plain and simple. More than anything on the planet. Even if Bucky is stuck here in New York without him, and has spent a total of 108 weeks without him. Two years. They'd only been living together a year when Steve first shipped out. Bucky kinda hates it. Bills still come in with Steve's name attached to them. Bucky misses him, but he wouldn't trade all the homecomings, all the grainy Skype calls, all the sappy letters, all the distance, for anything. He loves Steve and he supports his choices; he knows this is what Steve needs to do, and Bucky is proud of him, above all else. He would never want to lose him.
He's also scared shitless, but. He doesn’t talk about that.
Tribble barks at him, and it's more of a squeak, and Bucky laughs wetly. God, he needs to stop crying every time he thinks about Steve. Just one more week. One more week.
He turns his eyes back to Sam. "I got a ring already."
Sam's eyebrows shoot up. Only briefly, though. Then he smiles, wide and bright. "Well, what man wouldn't love to come home to a dog and a ring?"
Bucky grins.
—
At this rate, Bucky has spent more time taking Tribble outside to pee than he has actually hanging out with the dog. Jesus Christ. Bucky will gladly take this over Tribble going in the house, though, no doubt about it.
Nat and Clint come over on Tuesday. Steve comes back on Sunday. God.
"You're such a nerd," Clint says, even though he's the one who bought the tag engraved with Tribble. Bucky pays him no mind and attaches it to Tribble's collar. He gets a grateful, happy, and loving lick for his efforts.
Nat stares at him for a long while, though. Assessing. It's unnerving. Then Tribble barks and makes his way to play with the new people, darting around between their legs. Nat almost cracks a smile. "At least your hair's not blonde," she says, and Bucky knows she's hooked. He flashes her a grin.
Clint's already kneeling on the ground to play with Tribble, and Bucky loves them both.
"So, do we get to see Steve at all on Sunday or are you gonna keep him to yourself?" Nat asks, sitting down on the couch.
"Well, his flight doesn't get in until after 3. And then I have to tell him about this," Bucky says, gesturing to the dog. And Clint. Because they are rolling around on the floor. He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. "And, um. There's something else."
Nat raises an eyebrow at him. Bucky holds up a finger, goes into the bedroom, comes back, and sits in the chair adjacent to the couch. He holds out his hand, and Nat blinks.
"Um. Are you proposing to my girlfriend?" Clint asks from the floor.
"Bucky," Nat says, ignoring Clint.
"I'm ready," he says. Nat nods. "I just don’t know when I should… I mean, part of me wants to do it the second I see him, part of me wants to make him dinner and then do it, and part of me wants to not. Like." Bucky wrings his hands together. "I got a dog."
"We noticed," Clint deadpans, coming to sit next to Nat. Tribble follows, and jumps on the couch next to him. Then seems to see Bucky, and hops back and down and settles himself underneath Bucky's legs.
"Steve won't be mad," Nat tells him.
"No, I know," Bucky says. Or maybe he's not so sure. "It's just, a lot. And it was never in the plan."
"He'll get over it. It's not like he can do much about it," Clint says. "The dog is already attached to you."
Bucky looks down at him, resting easily between his legs and the chair. "Yeah. And there's still a chance his owners could come looking for him."
"Sure," Nat allows, though Bucky knows she doesn't believe it. "But it's Steve. He's not gonna turn him away. You know he wouldn’t."
Well, she has a point.
"Dude, you know she's right. Always is," Clint says, leaning back and stretching his arm around her shoulders. Nat pretends to be annoyed.
Okay. Bucky breathes. "Okay." He leans back. "What should I make him for dinner?"
Nat and Clint share a look. "Breakfast," they say. They're right, of course.
—
Taking Tribble out to pee at 5 AM is worth it, admittedly, when they both crawl back into Bucky's bed, and Tribble snuggles his way to Bucky's shoulder. Bucky keeps a hand on his back, and closes his eyes, and goes to sleep. Only for three more hours though.
Bucky's covered in short black hairs when he wakes up. He's getting used to it, though.
—
When Steve walks through those sliding doors at baggage claim, Bucky does the only logical thing and runs at him. Obviously. He jumps and Steve catches him, Bucky's feet dangling inches off the floor.
They hug for a long time, such a long time. And yet, it doesn’t feel long enough. Bucky could hug Steve for all the time in the world. But he can't. Unless he wants to come back home to puppy urine. He left Tribble in his crate, sure, and took him out right before he left, but. Bucky's not counting on that plan being foolproof.
"Hey," Steve whispers. He sets Bucky down on the ground, but doesn't let go. Bucky doesn't either. Steve's hand winds into his hair, and Bucky tucks his head into Steve's neck. Bucky breathes. Steve smells like home.
"Hi," he says, winding his arms tighter around Steve. Steve tugs the hand in his hair gently, and Bucky takes it as the sign it is, and lifts his head up. He meets Steve's eyes, and everything else stops. It's just blue on blue, and Bucky gets lost in it. He's breathless. Steve is home.
Their lips touch, and Bucky loves him all over. They kiss and kiss and kiss, right there in front of the Arrivals doors, and Bucky doesn't care about anything that isn’t him and Steve. All the parts they’re touching. Where they meld together, fitting into place, like they were made to do. Bucky's missed him so much. 61 weeks. He hasn’t touched Steve in 61 weeks.
"I missed you," he breathes against Steve's lips.
Steve smiles at him, and it's beautiful. "I missed you. So, so bad. I love you."
"I love you, too. I'm so glad you're home safe." Bucky leans in to kiss him again, and Steve cups a hand around his jaw. Bucky melts. And maybe starts crying. But Steve does, too, so he doesn't even try and stop it.
Steve sniffs. "Let's get outta here. Before we make a scene," he laughs, rubbing at his eyes. He thumbs away Bucky's tears as well.
They kiss again, and go to get Steve's pack. Bucky drives them back in Nat's car, and when they hit the bridge he says, "I have a surprise for you." That's not really what he wanted to say but. It's out there now.
"Oh?" Steve says, amused. That glint in his eye and smirk on his lips. Bucky's missed those.
"Yeah, um. I…got…it, uh, recently? It wasn't planned or anything, but, uhh…" Bucky's losing his words. He grips the steering wheel harder.
Steve laughs at him. Bucky smiles automatically. "Just tell me, Buck."
Bucky shakes his head. "No, no. I'll just — it's better to show you first." Bucky's not above using Tribble's cuteness to his advantage.
"Whatever you say," Steve says, shrugging. He reaches his hand over to Bucky's thigh, though, so that's good.
When they get home, Bucky starts to get nervous. More accurately, he starts to show how nervous he is. Because he's passed his threshold for internal freak-out.
He can hear Tribble start barking as soon as the key gets in the lock, and Steve's eyes widen.
"Buck…?"
Bucky ignores him, and opens the door. Tribble is pawing at his crate door, which is against the wall with the window, because where else would Bucky put it. He's also barking loudly.
"Jesus, Tribble, relax, I was gone for an hour," Bucky mutters as he goes to open the door. Tribble bounds out, jumping and rolling all over Bucky, licking at his face and neck. "Yeah, I missed you, too, don't worry." Bucky kisses his head, rubbing his back.
"Uh, Buck? Care to explain?" Steve asks from the doorway. And oh, yeah.
"I got a dog," Bucky says dumbly.
"I can see that," Steve says, leaning against the kitchen counter.
"He was in the alley. I put up posters, but no one called. I took him for shots and I'm potty training him, and — and — and Sam went with me to the pet store, and Clint and Nat bought him this tag and — and he's really chill. I mean, he's excited all the time, because he's a puppy still, but he isn't crazy. And he sleeps all curled up next to me, and it's the cutest thing I've ever seen, and he loves people, he's really easy, and — and he's so cute, Steve, I —"
"Bucky. Bucky, slow down," Steve interrupts, walking over to them. "Calm down, you're making him anxious." Bucky looks down and Tribble is whining a little, twisting and turning recklessly in Bucky's arms, trying to get closer to his face. Bucky relaxes his hold and breathes deep, and Tribble stands up, front paws on Bucky's shoulder, nosing at his face. Bucky smiles. Steve's hand on his back might have something to do with that, too.
"See? That's better," Steve murmurs, pressing his lips to Bucky's cheek. He rests his forehead against Bucky's temple. "Did you really name him Tribble?"
"Yes, I did. And you're too late to make fun of me for it," Bucky says, turning his head though so he can kiss Steve. "I'm sorry I got him without talking to you about it first, I —"
"Buck. It's okay," Steve says. "You rescued him; you did a good thing." He smiles, and turns it on the dog, who is staring curiously at Steve. Steve reaches his hand out to pet him, and Tribble lets him, of course, happily leaning into Steve's hand. Even goes so far as to jump out of Bucky's lap and into Steve's. "And you're right: he is really cute."
Bucky grins. "Thank you."
"For what?" Tribble licks Steve's chin.
"Just thanks," Bucky says, reaching out to pet Tribble, too. Then he snaps a pic of Steve and Tribble, Steve still in his fatigues, and Tribble looking right at home in Steve's arms. Bucky knows the feeling. Bucky sends the picture to their friends, captioned he likes the dog :). He gets back different variations of no shit and then leaves his phone on the coffee table while he and Steve make breakfast. Steve's in his gray Army shirt, and Bucky stirs the pancake batter; Tribble follows them around the kitchen the entire time, and Steve burns the bacon.
Home sweet home.
—
Bucky doesn't wait.
They're lying in bed, playing fetch with Tribble. He leaps up on the bed, Uncle Sam toy in his mouth (Steve did think it was hilarious), drops it onto one of their laps, circles around for a bit, before looking at them expectantly, tail thumping, until they throw it across the room again and he goes barking and running, only to bring the toy back and start it all over again. Steve seems to be enjoying himself, and that's all Bucky cares about.
He's looking at Steve when Tribble climbs up onto the pillow between them, smacking Bucky in the face with his tail. "Thanks," he says dryly, while Steve laughs. Tribble goes around in a circle before settling himself happily between their heads, panting happily up at Bucky. "Oh, no, no, no. No way you're sleeping here, not with that bladder of yours." Bucky tries to push him farther down the bed, but Tribble only looks confused, before he crawls his way back up, paw on Steve's pec. Granted, he's never actually peed in the bed yet, but there's a first for everything, and this is not a chance Bucky wants to take.
"I'll go take him out," Steve offers, and really, well, Bucky can't say he even tries to protest. Also, Steve's only wearing briefs for pants, so Bucky gets a really nice view when he climbs out of bed. "Come on, Tribble," Steve calls. "Come on. Come on, little guy," Steve coos, patting at his thigh after he pulls on some sweats. Tribble goes happily, following Steve out of the room. Bucky tells him where the leash is, and soon he hears the front door open and close.
Bucky realizes a few things while he's waiting there for Steve to come back. One: Steve is coming back. In a few minutes actually. And that's astoundingly comforting. Two: Bucky hates watching Steve leave, even if only for these few minutes. Bucky doesn't want to lose him. And three: Bucky doesn't want to wait any longer. He loves Steve, and he wants this promise.
So, when Steve comes back in, Bucky's kneeling in their bedroom doorway, ring box in hand. Tribble runs straight past him and hops up onto the bed. Steve, though. He stops short. Trips over the legs of his pants.
"Buck," he starts, hands fluttering around. "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" Bucky replies, and oh God, he's already tearing up.
"It looks like you're proposing," Steve chokes out, still staring, standing stock-still.
"Good to know all that desert sun didn't get to you," Bucky teases, and is slowly losing his grip. Because this is. This is them. This is perfect. Steve's losing it, too, Bucky can see. His cheeks are flushed and his hands fly up to his face, seeming to having a hard time deciding whether they want to rest over his mouth or tug at his hair. He manages to step closer to Bucky, though, and drop to his knees, too. His eyes are wet.
"Buck…" he exhales. "Buck." This time, it's more of a sob.
Fuck. Bucky wipes at his eyes. "Steve," he starts. Takes a deep breath. "Steve, you're my best friend. I love you more than anything in this world. I love you when you're right here breathing your morning breath on my face, I love you when you're ignoring everything and painting up a storm, I love you when you're thousands of miles away risking your life out there in the desert; I love you when you say goodbye." Bucky's full on crying now, and he doesn't do a thing to stop it. He's on a roll here. "If possible, I love you more every time you come home. Every time I wake up next to you. I want that forever, Steve. I want to keep waking up next to you, and I want to keep falling in love with you. I want you to chase after your dreams and I want you to love what you do; I want to raise this damn dog with you," Bucky laughs, and Steve does, too. They're holding hands. Bucky doesn’t know when that happened. He keeps going. "I want you to keep coming home to me, no matter the circumstances. I want to be your home, because you're mine."
Jesus Christ, Bucky doesn't think he's ever said so much in his life. But it's Steve. He'd do anything for him. Hence, the proposal.
Steve's staring at him still, openly crying, smiling and sobbing and looking like the most beautiful mess Bucky's ever seen.
"Please say something because I'm kind of freaking out over here," Bucky says, and Steve squints at him, before bursting into laughter. And that. That is not the reaction Bucky was looking for.
"You didn't even ask me, yet, dumbass," Steve gasps out, and fuck. Bucky's brain short-circuits. Steve's shoulders are shaking with his laughter, and Bucky can't help but mirror him. And there they are, sitting on their bedroom floor, laughing and crying and nothing about it is cute, yet, it's one of the best moments of Bucky's life. Steve snorts, and this is what Bucky was talking about: he loves him.
Steve's wrapped up in him, laughing into his neck, and Bucky holds on, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
"For the record, the answer is yes," Steve says, and Bucky's heart stops. He knew but he could never know until the words left Steve's mouth. Well, word. Yes.
"God," Bucky sobs, and takes Steve's face in his hands. "Yes? You'll marry me?"
"Yes," Steve confirms, nodding too much too fast too hard, blue eyes red rimmed. "Yes, Buck. Of course. Yes. Yes."
Every time he says it, Bucky's heart jumps a mile into the air. His lips curl and he can't stop it, he's grinning and it won't go away. And he doesn't want it to. And Steve smiles because of it, because of him, and Bucky couldn't wish for anything else.
He slips the ring on Steve's finger, crying the whole time, and Steve kisses him senseless after. Bucky loves him.
"We're engaged," Steve breathes, like he can't believe it.
"After probably the most inefficient proposal ever," Bucky laughs, moving his hands to the back of Steve's neck.
"No," Steve shakes his head, moving his hands up to cup Bucky's cheeks. "It was perfect." And he kisses Bucky again.
And then, seemingly offended at the lack of attention, Tribble comes bounding over, wriggling his way in between Steve and Bucky's frames. He licks Steve's now ringed hand and thumps his tail against Bucky's thigh, and Bucky wouldn't have it any other way.