Final Part. Thanks for being on this seriously emotional roller coaster with me.
"Things must happen when it is time for them to happen. Quests may not simply be abandoned; prophecies may not be left to rot like unpicked fruit; unicorns may go unrescued for a very long time, but not forever. The happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story." ~ Peter S. Beagle The Last Unicorn
"Well, aren't you a sorry sight," you teased him the minute he walked on, his hair disheveled from constantly being worried over by his nervous fingers and his coat nearly soaked from the rain. "I thought you had a date."
He clicked his tongue and sat down in the nearest booth, his shoes squeaking on the floor. "It didn't quite work out."
"Did she stand you up?" you asked, feeling sorry now for teasing him. You were nearly done with your shift, only ten minutes left, so you walked over and sat across from him. "Buck, I'm sorry. I didn't know or I wouldn't have-"
"I cancelled," he interrupted and you frowned. That was a rare. Bucky never cancelled a date, well, not when Steve was healthy and well and Steve hadn't been sick for a whole two months. "She sounded disappointed but I just wan't feeling it."
"That doesn't sound like you. Are you coming down with something?" you asked and reached out, pressing your cool palm to his forehead. Nope, no fever. "I thought you really liked this girl."
"I did," Bucky just shrugged and you sighed, standing up again. "Where you going?"
"I gotta finishing cleaning up, Buck," you said, "Then we'll go. Okay?"
"You can head out, [Name]," your boss called from back in the kitchen. "Be better for you since Barnes is here to walk you."
"Are you sure? I haven't mopped yet," you frowned. Not that you weren't ready to leave but your boss was an older man. He didn't need to be doing all that by himself!
"Yeah, I'll take care of it. You get on home and I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"Alright! Thank you, Mr. Douglas!" you undid your apron, hung it behind the counter and pulled on your own coat. A minute later, you were walking down the sidewalk with Bucky at your side, carrying the umbrella, and rain boots kicking through the puddles as you two made the short walk toward your apartment. "So, why'd you cancel on her?"
"Just didn't feel up to it," he answered with an easy shrug. He still looked a bit down, deep lines set into the corner of his mouth and a crease in his forehead but you were used to the look. He was thinking about something, worrying over something big, if your suspicions were correct, and you couldn't imagine what it was but you'd get him to tell you. You always did.
"Didn't you already have tickets, though? Why didn't you and Steve go?"
"Steve's in class, remember? It's his late night."
"Oh, that's right. I forgot," you laughed and shook your head.
"You, who knows everything there is to know about Steve Rogers, forgot he was in art school?"
"Hey, I'm allowed a few mistakes here and there!" you laughed and nudged his arm with your shoulder, smiling up at him. It was true. You didn't forget often, especially when it came to Bucky or Steve, but you'd been so busy lately there just didn't seem to be enough room in your brain, even for things you already knew. "I'm not perfect."
"Debatable," he muttered and you raised a brow at him but let it slide. It wasn't anything new. Bucky was always slipping in compliments into conversation, offhanded flattery that you knew just came naturally to him, some unconscious instinct to always be the charmer, and you only ever responded to a quarter of them.
"That still doesn't explain it. I really liked this girl, Bucky, what happened? You two were going so well together!" you said, but you weren't sure why you pushed the subject. Maybe it was because this had been his longest relationship to date and you really had liked Meredith, but there was something else. There had to be but you couldn't put your finger on it. "Did you two get in a fight?"
"No, nothing like that," he shook his head and you could tell he was chewing on his lip, a tell all sign he was getting frustrated, either with the conversation or your persistence over it. "I just didn't feel like going, okay? Can we drop it?"
"No, Buck, I wanna know," you insisted, turning the corner to your street. He likely wasn't going to come in, not with it being after nine, and since he was probably getting more annoyed with you by the minute. "You can't keep going through girls, you know. You had a good thing going and you ended it, just like that. The city is going to run out of girls. Aren't you tired of always starting over?"
"Sure I am," he said and stood with you on your stoop, beneath the protection of the small roof, your folded umbrella held against his leg.
"Listen, I don't know why you're so upset about it. It's nothing new. I had a girl, I lost interest, so I let her go. It wasn't what I wanted."
"What do you want?" you asked him, looking up at him though the dim light of your stoop lamp. HIs hair was a mess, falling into his face, and that deep crease had settled into his forehead but he was still handsome. Bucky was always handsome, at least to you. He was grinding his teeth, you could tell and you watched his jaw and the corded muscles of his neck work as he ground his molars. "Tell me, Buck."
"You," he answered and you blinked, stepping back and bumping onto the thin railing. "I didn't go tonight cuz I didn't feel right. It hasn't felt right for years, taking out girls that weren't you and, I dunno, I guess I didn't wanna do it anymore. We're not getting any younger, sweetheart and yet we're wasting our time, so since you dragged it out of me, tonight is as good as any other night to confess."
"Confess?" you whispered, still staring up at him. He nodded and stepped forward, putting his hands over yours and leaning in so his body lay against yours. It wasn't unwelcome contact but you were suddenly too aware of him. Of his face, his smell, his presence and the weight of him as he leaned into you.
"I don't wanna keep going through girls, doll," his voice was so low, so quiet that if you hadn't already been acutely aware of everything Bucky Barnes, you would have strained to hear him. "Not when the one I want is right here, right here in front of me and I know it might be strange at first, sweetheart, given how long we've been friends and, trust me, I cherish that but I gotta take this next step, baby. I gotta see where we can go or I'll die a regretful man."
"Bucky..." you whispered, staring up at him and swallowing hard. Your throat was dry, tight but a pleasant warmness had spread up your arms from where his hands lay intwined with yours. You were surprised, certainly but you understood. You didn't know when it happened but at some point on this long road you two shared, you'd fallen for him too. "Okay."
"Okay?"
You nodded and stood on your toes to catch him up in a kiss, claiming his lips in a sudden, sweet kiss. You pulled back and smiled at him. "Let's see where we can go."
"You know me?" you whispered, staring at him. "You know who I am?"
"You're [Name] Barnes, aren't you? My wife?" he asked and you nodded, more because you knew you should than you actually thought to do so because your brain had completely launched into overdrive. He knew you. Bucky knew you.
Staring down at him, knelt in front of your with his arms resting on the couch on either side of your legs, you could almost see him. Your husband. Kind eyes, bright with that bit of charm and mischief that was just so Bucky, and a million watt smile that could light an entire room but you could also see a soldier too, both from WWII and HYDRA. So many faces, you thought, for just one person. You noticed then that, before coming to find you, he'd shaved and trimmed his beard, his hair brushed and combed back, and had changed from the clothes he'd been wearing into a nondescript pair of jeans, a shirt and jacket. They were absolutely nothing special but they were perfect. For so long you'd seen him his Soldier clothes, in the restricting leather and suffocating mask, that to see him in such plain, comfortable clothes was, well, wonderful.
"I am," you choked out, feeling the weight of your lost decades, your crushing memories, crash down around you like a hundred waves. Your lip trembled and your chest knotted painfully, sending your heart into a racing flurry and you felt yourself start to cry. You broke and the sobs came, heavy and unforgiving. "I am. I'm [Name]. Your [Nickname]."
You were no one else in that moment. Not a nurse. Not HYDRA. Not a killer or an experiment. Not a solider and not a fighter. You were just [Name] Barnes, wife to the man in front of you.
"I proposed at the park," he said and you nodded instantly, shoulders shaking and tears dripping from your chin onto your folded hands. You didn't care. "On the lake."
"Yes."
"You wore pearls when I married you."
"Yes."
"And ivory lace. A dress you sewed yourself."
You nodded, unable to speak. You didn't dare wipe away your tears, didn't dare try to cover your face.
"I wrote to you."
"All the time."
"We slept under a yellow blanket, on a bed so small you were always against me," he paused and his hand came up to cup your face, thumb pulling across your wet cheek. "You stayed with me."
"I could never leave you."
"You took care of me. I remember you being there, stitching me up."
"That is what I did best."
"You let them change you. You gave into them."
"I'm sorry," you whispered, half-choking on your own sobs and went to pull away from him but his hand held you so tightly, fingers hooked behind your jaw. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to save you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm-"
He surged forward then and his heavy weight fell on top of you, crushing the air from your lungs and making you as breathless as the kiss that he pressed to your open mouth. You sank into the couch and Bucky came with your, his metal hand on your hip and the other holding tightly to the back of your neck. You threaded a hand into his long hair, knotting the dark strands around your fingers and held him against you. If you tugged too hard, he made no notion that he felt it. Your other hand curled into a fist around the fabric of his collar. It wasn't a kiss you were used to, all mashed lips and painfully colliding teeth, but you gave back to him as urgently as he gave to you. It was too hard, too rough, too desperate but it was Bucky. When he pulled away, you fought for air, dizzy and lightheaded, and watched him do the same.
He came back to you but not your lips, instead his arms curled around you and his head settled on your shoulder, face pressed into your neck. He was heavy, and it was a bit of an uncomfortable position with him on his knees and you awkwardly sunken into the couch, but you didn't say a word. You just let him lay there, listening to him breathe deep and steady, and combed your fingers through his hair. His beard scratched your skin as he rubbed his face down your neck and across your collarbone. You wandered what he was doing, what kind of memory he was trying to work through, or feeling he was trying to remember but you didn't stop him. Instead, you let him continue, heart beating hard against your ribs as he worked his fingers over the strained muscles of your stomach and thighs. Was he remembering you? What it had been like to be with you?
-
Bit of smut (cause I had to)
You were spent, tired and sweaty, as you lay on top of the winkled sheets, still gasping slightly to pull air into your hungry lungs. You glanced at the clock, surprised at the time. Had it really been that long? "It's almost morning," you whispered, looking down to where he still lay between your legs, head on your bare stomach.
"Is it?" he answered, not bothering to look. He just continued to lazily trace the lines on your hip and thighs, fingertips fluttering over too sensitive skin. You didn't know your body had the will to still respond to him after all you'd just done but it did and you felt pleasant tingling rise from your toes and settle in your lower abdomen. You were exhausted, you knew it, but Bucky could, and still would, elicit a response from you with just a touch. "I hadn't noticed."
"You were preoccupied," you laughed lightly, biting back a moan and rolling your hips when his wandering hand fell between your aching thighs. "Bucky, I can't..." you whimpered, certain your body would completely give out on you if two went again. He just smirked against your skin.
"I can't help it," he murmured, pressing kisses to the hot skin below your bellybutton as his practiced fingers brought forth a familiar wetness from your heated core. Your stomach tightened and your spine bowed up toward him, your body relinquishing itself to him yet again. He stirred you up so easily and it was almost insane how fast, how fully your body responding to him, even after hours of giving into him. "I haven't had enough of this, of you, and I want more."
You twisted your hand into the sheets, head falling back, and arched your back hard to better meet his curling fingers. "Bucky...Bucky, please...I can't...I'm going to..."
- (Smut End)
You snapped yourself from the memory, surprised to find him staring intensely at you, eyes lit by their own internal fire. He sat back now, so you sat up as well, nearly mirroring your position from earlier. You could barely read him, this new face so familiar but so foreign to you, but you thought, for a moment, that maybe he was remembering the same thing as you.
You kissed him then and let your hand rest on his muscled forearms, surprised when his lips yielded to yours and his mouth opened for you. It wasn't the worst way to find out he trusted you.
"There still so much," he said once you pulled away, "So I much I can't make sense of, that I don't understand. It's all there but-"
"I'll help you," you told him, promised him and wrapped your arms around his neck, slipping from the couch and sighing when his arms accepted your weight. He sat back on the floor, and it didn't matter that you were in the middle of Stark's living room, you sank into him. "I'll help you and it'll be okay."
And it would be okay because you were together. Not as soldiers, or nurse and patient, but as husband and wife. As Bucky and [Name].
"You think?"
"Yes and we're going to fix this. Save the world just like we did before."
"Yeah. We even have Steve," he laughed at the, short and quick, and you looked up. You frowned.
"What's funny about that?"
"Nothing, it's just funny, ya know? The three of us again, taking on the world like reckless renegades. I guess we didn't learn our lesson the first time around,"
"No, we probably never will, but it's the four of us, actually."
"Four?"
You nodded and twisted around, so you sat against his chest and Bucky hunched over you so his chin was on your shoulder. Stark would take joy in teasing you over the fact that you two were on the floor, staring at the couch you should have been sitting on but at this point, you might just tease him back. "Yeah, didn't you know?" when Bucky shook his head you had to laugh. "Well, let me tell you about Sam Wilson."
"All this expensive furniture, all the money I spent on an interior designer, and you're sitting on the floor. You're cuddling on the floor."
When Bucky tensed and started to pull away, you stilled him with a quick kiss to the jaw and a few, whispered words before twisting around to stare at Tony, who stood in the doorway, glass of scotch in one hand and a slice of thick, double layer cake in the other.
"It's comfortable," you answered, cheek pressed against Bucky's upper arm, arm pitched out beside you to hold you up. Bucky's hand held tight to your hip.
"It should be. That's an $800 sheepskin rug you're canoodling on," Tony answered and you stared at him, ever so surprised at how casually Tony referred to the price of things.
"No one is canoodling, Tony, but more importantly, you bought an $800 dollar rug?"
"Good thing I did since you're not using the furniture," he smirked at you and, where a few days ago you would have wanted to punch him, you just laughed and shook your head. Tony Stark was an...interesting man. "Just don't make a mess on it, okay? It's a bitch to dry clean. Goodnight, love bugs."
"Goodnight, Tony," you said and watched him go, rolling your eyes once the billionaire was gone. You smoothed hand over the soft rug, actually paying attention to it for the first time, and shook your head. Well, when you had the money to spend...
"Was that Stark?"
"Yeah, Steve says you get used to him," you answered and settled back in against him, happy when his arms pulled tight around your stomach. A moment later, much to both your surprise, the lights dimmed, the fireplace flickered to life and the familiar, smooth music of the late 1930s filled the room, sounding just as it had on your apartment's old record player. You had to laugh.
"Well, at least he got the music right."