Holding On | Bucky Barnes

16 | Monday, January 10th

When the valet finally pulls the car around, I sigh in happiness.

My feet are seriously starting to hurt.

I pulled my heels off a few minutes ago, but the hard concrete isn't much better on bare feet.

"Squeeze in," I smile, holding the front seat forward for Steve. Bucky does the same on the other side for Nat, who slides in gracefully. The back doesn't have a bench seat, so Steve is going to have to squeeze into the bucket seat behind me. He looks in before meeting my eyes and raising an eyebrow. "Sorry," I shrug. "You're lucky we found one with back seats. Most only have two."

"I mean I could drive. You're probably tired anyways..." he suggests.

"Into the back, Hen."

The plaza is filled with police and patrons, all milling trying to figure out what to do, and I would like to get out of here sooner rather than later.

I send him a look and he glares, pushing in.

Nat is a fit of laughter as Steve tries to maneuver himself into the seat, legs, and arms at awkward angles. When he's finally settled, I bend down and see his head ducked so it doesn't hit the roof. I try to hold back giggles and gently put the seat back, sliding in and adjusting until I'm comfortable. "You good back there?" I ask, meeting Steve's eyes through the rear-view mirror.

"Drive."

Bucky chuckles from beside me and I shut my door, pulling into the line of cars already trying to leave the pavilion.

The car quietens down as we reach the road, and Bucky's thumb stills on my thigh. I look and see his head resting against the back of the seat, eyes closed and breathing slow. I check the mirror and see Nat and Steve doing the same.

Unlike them, I'm on a high—adrenaline is still pumping through my veins, and I feel like I could go for a run right now.

After a half-hour, I'm pulling off the dark road and onto the drive of the private airport. I'm stopped by a security guard and hand him our I.D.'s before he nods and waves us through.

"Alright guys, we're here," I say gently.

Bucky take a deep breath before his hand squeezes my thigh gently and he opens his eyes. "Sorry for falling asleep—not fair on the driver," he mumbles with a guilty smile.

I shake my head. "No worries, I'm not tired," I shrug, grabbing my heels from the floor and opening the door. I move my seat forward, but Steve is still passed out, slumped down in his seat with his head resting against the window. "Steve," I say quietly.

Nothing.

"Steve," I say louder.

That did it.

He shoots forward, smacking his head on the roof with a grunt.

"Oh my god," I say through giggles. "I'm sorry, I—I just wanted to wake you up." Steve glares at me and shifts, holding a hand out to help him from the car. "Alright, Grandpa, don't get your draws in a twist," I chuckle, grabbing his hand and helping him climb from the back seat.

He finally steps out and gives himself a twist. "Never happening again," he grumbles.

I smile and turn, and we make our way into the airport. While it's small, it's luxury. The floors are marble for god's sake.

"Bonsoir—ah, bonjour," I correct myself when I look up to the clock above the desk and see it's quarter to six in the morning. "Do you have coffee available right now?"