A love that never leaves

Chapter 8: That's where I met him

"I don't - why didn't you say something sooner?" Bucky whispers. "Why - "

But he stops. He stops, because he knows why.

"Oh," he says softly, disappointment filling his throat. "No, okay. It's okay. I get it."

She watches him glance at the metal arm, his shoulders sagging as he tries to pull away. Her hands fly up, gripping his arms tight, keeping him in place.

"No. You listen to me Bucky Barnes - this was not about you or anything you think you've done." Bucky stares hard, clearly desperate to believe her. "I wanted to tell you, I just - couldn't hold you to a promise we made seventy years ago. We were different people then, I know that. You have a whole other life now. I don't expect anything, I don't - expect you to still want that."

The sharp ache that hits him whenever he sees her sadness tightens his chest. The words come easily, and he answers without a second thought.

Because really, he doesn't need to think. They're the most honest thing he knows.

"Darlin, you listen to me - I said it then, I'll say it again. This kind of love, it never leaves. I meant that. Even if I don't remember saying it, I know I meant it. I know I did."

Hope fills her eyes at his insistence, that fragile kind he could smash with a single word.

Which he never plans to do, as long as he lives.

"Really?" she whispers, brushing her knuckles over his fuzzy cheek and he turns, pressing his lips to them.

"Really," he says hoarsely.

Curling her fingers behind his neck, she pulls his mouth down and her kiss is soft and sweet and everything he's been missing his entire godforsaken life. Bucky lets himself drown in her for a brief moment, before breaking the kiss.

"Jesus Christ," he swears, pulling back. "We were gonna get married and I just fuckin' left you. I left you. God dammit, I'm - fuck, I'm so fuckin' sorry."

"Don't you dare apologize," she says immediately. "It wasn't your fault, Bucky. None of it was your fault."

Those magic words, he's heard them a million times, in a million variations, since the day he came back. They've always meant nothing, hollow assurances he actively scorned. He knew better. But now, lying here with her while the dim light of a fresh mountain morning begins to flood the room - he finally lets them soak in.

Maybe he even believes them.

"We were gonna get married," he says instead, wonder filling his voice. "You were gonna marry me."

"I was," she says, and her tentative smile is like the sun. "And you were going to marry me."

Bucky considers her for a moment before he surges forward. Nothing about the move is coordinated, it's a messy tangle of tongues and teeth clacking together, a kiss bubbling over with frantic need, as though the world is ending and this is the only way to prevent its demise.

His kiss is frantic and passionate and so utterly Bucky, she can barely breath. Everything he does to her, it kicks her heart into a crazy tailspin and she kisses him back ferociously, drinking up the tiny sounds he makes, the way his lips fit perfectly with hers. It's enough for forever, the way he spills over so full of life and happiness and love.

And she knows, it's all for her.

When his hands squeeze her ribcage, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt, his lips move up to her ear with the question she's been waiting for, and she shivers.