NOTE: This is the last of the summer chapters. The_wordbutler and I will be back in a couple of weeks with the next school year. Enjoy!

"You sure you don't want me as backup?" Steve asked for the tenth time, and Bucky rolled his eyes as he climbed out of his car. "Somebody to cover you? Make sure Carol doesn't—"

"What? Bite?" Bucky retorted. "Because she can't do much worse than you."

Steve laughed, his voice warm even over the phone. He'd planned this outing with his mom—some giant estate sale, flea market thing featuring a ton of antiques—weeks ago, but he'd started to back down from it a little when Bucky'd (half-proudly) announced that he was the first of Carol Danvers's here's how you treat my kids victims. "It's barely summer," Steve'd pointed out, and he'd sounded slightly worried. "She usually doesn't meet with people this early."

"Because you're an expert on the fourth and fifth grades?" Bucky'd returned. Steve'd huffed slightly as he'd brought down their dinner plates, but Bucky'd shrugged at him. "I don't think she's hazing me."

"But she could be."

"Yeah, she could be. She's Carol. I'm perpetually afraid of a wedgie, noogie, or both." Steve'd chuckled as he'd slid past Bucky, his hand on Bucky's hip, and Bucky'd forced himself to ignore how good it felt. "She's gonna brief me on her kids. It'll be fine."

"Unless you've got a tough case ahead of you," Steve'd pointed out.

"I welcome the challenge," Bucky'd returned, and when Steve'd started to protest again, he'd flicked salad dressing at him.

Bucky slung his school bag over his shoulder before he leaned back against the side of the car. "Go have fun with your ma and stop worrying about me."

Steve snorted on the other end of the line. "So I'm not allowed to worry about my guy?"

"Not today, you're not." Bucky swore he heard Steve's grin, the way the warmth overtook his entire face—and found his summer freckles. "I'll see you when you get home tonight and dragging whatever ridiculous cabinet or table you bought into the house."

"I am not that bad."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Steve sighed. "You're lucky I love you, you know that?"

"I'm reminded every day," Bucky replied, and Steve's little hum of contentment brought a warmth spreading through his chest and up his neck. "Gotta go. Love you."

"You too, Buck," Steve said, and then Bucky forced himself to end the call before they went full no, you hang up teenager on each other.

He'd just shoved his phone back into his pocket when he heard somebody slow-clapping behind him. He groaned aloud as he turned to discover Carol Danvers standing near the back of his car, her shit-eating grin bright as the sun. "Congratulations," she said smugly, still clapping.

"Do I want to know for what?" he demanded.

"For officially being one half of the most disgusting couple I've ever encountered." Bucky rolled his eyes, but if anything, Carol's grin grew brighter. "Seriously, I thought Barton and Coulson were the worst I'd ever seen, but you blow them out of the water."

"I'm not buying your lunch, now," Bucky warned.

"Oh, witnessing your blushing I love you is worth three lunches," Carol retorted.

Bucky, maturely, flipped her off before they headed inside.

The restaurant—half cafe, half diner, all artery-clogging delights with dessert included—was pretty empty, and they ended up sitting in one of the big booths in the corner. They ordered drinks without incident, a sure sign that Carol'd forgotten about her whole most disgusting couple award—at least, until she closed her menu and peered intently at Bucky.

"I'm picking a sandwich," he informed her without meeting her eyes.

"There's about six options that won't kill you with gravy or cheese. It's not a hard choice." He snorted at that and turned the page, but Carol just leaned her elbows on the table. "I have to hand it to you, you know."

"Because I'm disgusting?"

"Because you've done the impossible." Bucky finally glanced up, eyebrows raised, and Carol shrugged. "I've known Steve for a while now. Never took him for the move fast in the relationship type. But apparently, you've either got a magic personality or a magic dick."

"Or both, because I've definitely got the second one," Bucky returned. Carol laughed at that, shaking her head, and he glanced back at the menu. He tried to focus on his options, but his mind started ticking over, repeating the same thoughts he'd had for the last couple weeks. He picked at the laminated corner for a second before he admitted, "It's not me."

Carol blinked. "Huh?"

"It's—" he started, but the word escaped him and he sighed. He set his menu down as the waitress brought their sodas, and he purposely took longer than necessary pulling off his straw wrapper and helping himself to his first sip. Carol never glanced away. "For the record," he said, "I usually have people to talk to about this kind of shit."

"Because I'm not people?" Carol asked with a little smirk.

"Yeah, 'cause that's what I meant," he returned, and she laughed at him. He thought about Natasha—just for one, stomach-sinking second, because she still only returned half his phone calls and she'd waved off his offer to help her move—before he leaned back in the booth. "But I'm not exactly convincing Steve to move fast. It's more that he's ready for stuff half a beat before I even think about it, and we end up jumping ahead."

She rolled her lips together. "And this bugs you?"

"Sometimes. Maybe? I don't know." He huffed out a breath. "Why am I even telling you this?"

"My joke hit a nerve and I have one of those open, caring faces?" Carol responded. He wrinkled his brow at that, and she rolled her eyes. "Okay, just the first one then. But seeing as we have all afternoon, my work husband is in about the healthiest marriage ever—"

"Even if it's not the most disgusting anymore," Bucky pointed out.

She grinned. "That, yeah. And, I mean, it's not like my own romantic life is so fulfilling." He frowned, about to ask the obvious question until she jabbed a finger in his direction. "Not going there."

He raised his hands. "I said nothing."

"My point is that you can talk to me if you want." She paused. "Or, we can order an onion ring basket and drown our sorrows in grease before we talk about my theory of everything."

"You mean your theory of special education," Bucky corrected.

Carol narrowed her eyes. "Funny how I didn't say that."

Bucky laughed, and Carol grinned back at him. The waitress came for their orders—including the onion ring basket—and then promptly disappeared again. Bucky toyed idly with his straw wrapper while Carol—maybe expectantly, maybe not—watched him. Finally, he shook his head. "He's too good to me," he said, she raised an eyebrow at him. "He gives more than anybody I know. He does a lot more for me than I deserve. And I think he ends up getting to the big stuff before I do. And I don't think I have to prove myself to him, but at the same time, I don't always want to be the guy who says 'I love you' second or agrees to move in instead of asking, even though I want it."

Carol shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest. "Maybe you're just not ready to say what you're thinking."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed, but the word sounded wrong. He frowned slightly. "Well, no, actually. It's not— I'm there, but I worry that he's not. And then he turns out to be, and he beats me to the punch because I doubted him." He glanced over at her. "If that makes sense."

"Sure," she answered, but then she pressed her lips together. "Look, I'm shit at relationships," she admitted, "but here's the one thing I'm starting to figure out: there's a lot of leaps of faith involved. A lot of trust. A lot of doing a thing because you believe it's what you both want, even if you've never had the conversation in explicit terms." She leaned back against the booth's vinyl cushion and shrugged. "Sometimes, it bites you in the ass. But sometimes, it's pretty amazing."

Bucky quirked half a smile. "Are you one of those single people who spends all her time advising her friends on how to be good partners?"

Carol burst out laughing. "More like I'm one of those single people who puts out the fires her friends' relationships start. And by 'friends,' I mean Jessica."

Bucky grinned. "She can't be that bad."

"Oh, you have no idea."

Carol ended up spending the first half of lunch telling Jessica Drew Dating Horror Stories (so horrific, they deserved capital letters), and the second half really advising Bucky on her theory of everything. Bucky drove home full and happy, and he felt better than usual walking into their house (not just Steve's, but theirs) and seeing all the proof of his last several months with Steve lying around. Not for the first time, he felt overwhelmed with how much this relationship meant—and how far they'd come, together, in a short period of time.

"Please tell me you didn't make lasagna," Steve said when arrived home just after seven that night. Bucky stopped tossing the salad to watch him walk into the kitchen, and he wasn't entirely surprised when Steve came over to peek into the oven. "What'd she do?"

Bucky blinked. "What'd who do?"

"Carol." When he frowned, Steve rested his hands on his hips and sent Bucky a truly dubious look. "To make you make lasagna and garlic bread when it's not our anniversary."

Like a supportive boyfriend, Bucky smacked Steve in the stomach. "Maybe I just wanted to," he defended.

Steve grinned and caught him by the wrist. When Bucky tried to tug his hand away, Steve tugged back, and he ended up in Steve's grip, right there in the middle of the kitchen. Steve smelled like sweat and dust from the estate sale, and Bucky fought against his urge to sink into him.

"I still think you're spoiling me for some reason," Steve said after a moment, his fingers sneaking under Bucky's t-shirt.

"Because you're not a good enough reason on your own," Bucky retorted snidely, but all his fake bluster disappeared when Steve, the asshole, just smiled.

"You're only wearing those sunglasses so that no one knows you spend the entire game staring at Steve's ass."

Bucky looked up just in time to see Darcy—wearing her own pair of oversized sunglasses plus a snug v-neck t-shirt and short shorts—sit down next to him on the unbelievably uncomfortable metal bleacher. "You say that like it's a bad thing," he replied.

Darcy snorted. "Please, that man's physique is a work of art. If I could have a statue of his naked body, I totally would. Drag it around with me and everything."

Bucky smiled, but didn't respond, just turned his focus back to Steve. Steve, who, yes, had a gorgeous build but would never be caught dead in front of even his closest friends due to fear about drawing attention to the scars on his chest. Even though he's been in remission for years, Bucky knew Steve still saw his body as something had betrayed him and could do so again at the drop of a hat.

But Bucky had to agree that Steve's ass looked amazing in a pair of baseball pants. Or whatever the official name was for the adult-sized version of the little league's uniform was called.

"He teaches art to children, can rehab furniture, and he spends his summers coaching little league teams," Darcy continued. "Do you know how many women hate your breathing guts right now?"

Bucky looked her up and down. "I know how girls dress when they think they're going to be seeing someone special but still want to look casual about it. That amount of cleavage and thigh should be illegal around small children."

Darcy wagged a finger at him. "We're not talking about me right now."

Bucky eyed the Capri Sun in her hand. "That wouldn't be spiked, would it?"

"I have to watch a doubleheader for the Odinson-sons. What do you think?"

"I think you should have brought me one," Bucky replied.

"You're already drunk on Steve and his most likely perfect dick." She paused to lean in conspiratorially. "It is pretty perfect, isn't it? Do you have pics on your phone?"

"Wow, we are not talking about this."

"That's a yes," Darcy muttered.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Is there something you need?"

"Nah. Just needed to talk to some hot dude to pique someone else's interest."

"Do I even want to know?" he questioned.

"Probably not."

Bucky snickered and shook his head. He hadn't spent much time around Darcy during the school year—either too swamped in putting together a curriculum for second graders or too busy making heart eyes at Steve—but she reminded him of his sisters. She was snarky, dangerous, and trouble; she would fit in all too easily with Barnes women.

"Seriously," Darcy sighed, "he coaches little league?"

"Yeah," Bucky answered with a smile.

If he were honest with himself, that was when Bucky knew he was fully head over heels for Steve: when he watched Steve during his first practice with his team of ten-year-olds. Of course, Bucky had seen Steve work with small children all the time at work, but giving up your summer to help young kids learn how to be a team and have some good sportsmanship skills? Bucky was done.

Also, the pants. Bucky really loved the pants. And loved peeling them off of Steve even more.

"You've got about five months, you know," Darcy commented.

"I'm sorry?" Bucky asked.

"If you want to beat Coulson and Barton in the race to the being husbands. You started dating, when, November?"

"October," he corrected.

Darcy let loose a low whistle. "Four months then."

"It's not a race," Bucky argued.

"Stark's betting pool disagrees with you. I mean, it's fine if you wait longer. In fact, my bank account would really appreciate it you would."

Bucky raised his chin at the challenge. "You don't think we could end up married within a year of when we started dating each other?"

Darcy reached over and patted him on the head. "You're adorable. Also, I thought it wasn't a race?"

"It's not, but—"

"But your manhood's been challenged and now you have to prove you have a pair of balls by, what, getting down on one knee right here right now?"

A rebuttal died on his lips at the sound of a young girl shouting "Miss Darcy! Miss Darcy!"

Darcy waved at a pair of people—a tall man and a little girl sitting on his shoulders—walking towards them. "Someone missed you after you wandered off," the man said. Bucky didn't miss the look he and Darcy shared, and he suddenly had an idea who was the target of Darcy's skin exposure gambit.

"Oh yeah?" she asked.

The girl pouted her bottom lip. "Mama keeps trying to talk to me about space. I don't care about space, Miss Darcy. It doesn't have horses."

"It is indeed a travesty," the man agreed as he swiped the Capri Sun out of Darcy's hand and took a swig.

"No, Uncle Loki! You can't do that," the girl yelled. "You'll give Miss Darcy cooties."

"It's cool, Alva," Darcy replied. "I made sure to take my cootie shot this morning."

The little girl sighed relief before realizing who Darcy was speaking to. "Hey, you're Henry's teacher."

"Guilty as charged," Bucky answered.

Darcy pointed to the dugout. "Did you see Mister Rogers?"

Alva gasped in excitement and screamed his name until Steve turned, smiled, and waved her direction. "He's my favorite," she sighed dreamily.

"Mine, too," Bucky agreed.

"October," Darcy said to him in a sing-song voice.

Bucky shoved at her. "Get away from me."

A couple of hours later, after a victory and traditional trip to the Mom and Pop ice cream parlor down the road to celebrate the team, Bucky was busy wondering how long Steve's kisses would taste like a chocolate sundae.

"What'd you and Darcy talk about?" Steve asked as they took a second to catch their breaths.

Bucky shrugged while snaking a hand under Steve's shirt. "Cooties, favorite teachers, scheduling. You know, your typical conversation between elementary school employees."

"Oh my god," Tammy breathed right against Bucky's ear, "he's holding that baby and I can literally feel my ovaries imploding."

Bucky twisted around to glare at his sister, but she just grinned at him, her eyes sparkling in the bright July sun. The yearly Barnes Family Picnic—an enormous party involving a lot of beer, a lot of potato chips, and enough lighter fluid to charbroil a moose—had only started an hour earlier, and already, the whole park was crowded with various relatives from all over the country. Bucky'd tried for weeks to dodge the reunion, but every time, his ma'd started ranting about gratitude and family values so loud that Steve'd grinned across the room.

Not funny if I go deaf, Bucky'd mouthed at one point, holding the phone three inches from his ear.

Steve'd shrugged. "Clint can teach you to sign," he'd replied serenely, and Bucky'd thrown a couch pillow at him.

He'd purposely steered Steve through the crowd early, shoving him toward the tolerable cousins and away from the crazy ones until Lainey'd grabbed him by the t-shirt and dragged him away. "There are at least three babies I need to see him kiss," she'd informed Bucky. "Go locate beer or something."

"'Locate?'" Bucky'd repeated.

"Or go look pretty, I don't care," she'd retorted, and Steve'd laughed as she'd waved her brother away. Now, Bucky loomed next to the snack table while Steve cuddled with his cousin Eliza's little girl.

No, wait, cousin Eliza had the boy toddler with the weird teeth, this baby belonged to—

"Eleanor," Rebecca supplied as she walked up, two beers in each hand. She shoved one at each of her siblings but kept two for herself. "Remember? She's six months older than Lainey and Ma's still pissed that Aunt Connie stole her number one baby name?"

"Since when was Elaine almost Eleanor?" Tammy asked.

"Since Ma keeps sitting me down for family history lessons now that I'm the only kid still living at home." Bucky almost snorted his beer, and Rebecca dug her elbow into his ribs. "Not funny. I swear, if you don't get engaged soon, I'm going to have to move into some creepy guy's cat piss scented basement apartment just to avoid all her weird mama mojo."

"We know that's not exactly on the horizon right?" he asked. Both his sisters swiveled toward him, their expressions each brimming with patented Barnes-brand disdain. He held up his hands. "I know you think we're on a wedding bell collision course, but—"

"But you're constantly staring at him like he hung the moon?" Tammy asked.
"And you spent an hour last night not-so-subtly talking to Ma about when she and dad got engaged?" Rebecca chimed in.

Bucky felt the back of his neck warm. "You said you were going to Starbucks."

"Yeah, well, you said you'd help me with my baking soda volcano when I was in the fourth grade, and look how that turned out." When Tammy snorted, Rebecca pointed the neck of her beer bottle at their sister. "There's still the ghost of papier-mâché past stuck to the carpet in my room, Tamara. If Ma ever finds it—"

"You might be evicted from your rent-free accommodations?" Tammy shot back, and Bucky hid his smile behind the lip of his beer bottle as he let his sisters jump into the same old argument.

Over near the picnic tables, Steve was still balancing Eleanor's baby on his hip as he chatted idly with Lainey and a couple other relatives. The baby was probably about nine months old, a round-cheeked little thing with a massive mess of dark hair, and every time Steve stopped paying attention to her, she squealed and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. He laughed whenever she did it, bouncing and tickling her as he continued the conversation and—

Bucky sighed and dragged a hand through his hair.

Steve looked so perfect, so right in the middle of the family reunion with a baby on his hip, that Bucky felt his stomach tie itself into double- and triple-knots.

He hadn't come for the visit with any kind of agenda or plan. Sure, he'd talked to his Ma about proposals and just starting out in a marriage, but it'd really only come up because she'd been hounding him on how it was to live with Steve: good, bad, and ugly.

"Relationships are the hardest when you first start testing them," she'd said at one point, her elbows leaning on the kitchen table. "It's like the first time you're driving down a road filled with speed bumps. You maybe know the bumps are there, but you don't know where they are yet. And so you hit them hard enough that your teeth rattle. But after a while, you figure out the places to slow down and how best to drive over them—even though they never go away."

Bucky'd snorted. "It was like that for you and dad when you first got married?"

His mother'd grinned. "Let me tell you about when the two of us first got married . . . "

The rest of it had knitted together that night as Bucky'd laid in bed and listened to Steve breathe next to him, his bare back beautiful and freckle-kissed even in the moonlight.

"You've got the magic touch or something, because that baby is usually the crankiest little shit on the planet," Lainey said suddenly, and Bucky jerked his head over to discover that Lainey and Steve'd returned from the planet of adorable babies. Lainey stole Bucky's beer. "Did you see him with Eleanor's kid? He's a baby-whisperer."

Steve grinned. "It comes with the territory."

"The ovary-melting territory, or the I would like the straight version of you in my bed all night, every night territory?" Rebecca demanded. When Bucky glared at her, she shrugged. "What? I'm never not going to find your boyfriend hot. That's just a thing now."

"She's got a point," Kristin commented as she joined the group. Rebecca handed her the last of the beers, and she took a long pull. "I'm starting a betting pool on how many cousins want to take him home."

The tips of Steve's ears flushed bright pink, and Bucky rolled his eyes. "How about we all stop tormenting my guy and somebody find me a beer?" he suggested.

The sisters all looked at one another before Lainey scoffed aloud. "Get your own."

"I'll go grab us something," Steve offered. When he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, Bucky realized that his Ma and two of her cousins (members of the more reasonable generation) were manning the beer coolers. "I don't want to interrupt sibling bonding time."

Bucky sent him a dubious look. "Is that what you're calling this now?"

Steve smirked. "Since I don't have siblings, sure," he replied, and Bucky resisted the urge to roll his eyes again.

"Okay, please tell me you're going to make an honest man out of him," Kristin declared before Steve'd even stepped away from the group. Bucky glared at her, and she shrugged. "What? He's perfect, he keeps you in line, and you need to lock that down."

Steve just grinned. "Well, I'm already pretty honest," he teased, and he laughed when Bucky pulled a face. "When have you known me to be anything but honest and true?"

"Besides right now?" Bucky demanded, and Steve laughed before leaning down to kiss him.

He trotted off to the row of coolers after that, waving to Bucky's Ma on his way, and Bucky tried desperately to pretend there wasn't some sort of suffocating heat crawling up out of his stomach and curling around his heart. But the truth was, he loved Steve like breathing, and the thought of actually getting down on one knee and asking him to stick around forever, it—

Well, it kinda—

"Holy shit, you're actually going to propose to the guy, aren't you?" Tammy demanded, and the other three sisters shut up in the middle of their conversation. When Bucky blinked at her, she grinned. "Yeah, I know that face. You're in it to win it."

For the first time during their whole conversation—since the first time since his sisters stole his cell phone at Thanksgiving, even—Bucky felt his whole face flood with warmth. "Shut the fuck up," he muttered, but he couldn't help grinning when his sisters started exchanging high-fives.

Bucky checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes. He knew Steve's mom had a penchant for running fashionably late, but Bucky'd really hoped that she would've broken the habit just this once. He nervously ran fingers through his hair and then wondered how poofy it looked. Steve called his hair height his stress-o-meter, and while Bucky rarely found it amusing, he could at least see the truth in it.

Steve didn't know where he was, and Bucky hated lying to him. He'd stretched the truth about seeing a buddy from the Army, which he was going to do after lunch. Steve was just under the assumption that it was an all-day thing, not Bucky driving a couple of hours to meet with Steve's mom, driving another hour to see Dugan for a bit, and then a three-hour drive home.

Sarah Rogers entered the small café, and Bucky shot to his feet. He did a little wave to catch her attention, and she smiled back at him. It was the full, bright smile he was used to seeing. That was one of the traits Steve clearly inherited from her—her smile, bright blue eyes, blonde hair (even though Sarah was letting hers gray). There was even the joke that for a short time mother and son shared the same haircut, until Steve decided to cut his a little shorter to avoid getting mocked.

"Hello, Bucky," Sarah greeted as he pulled her chair for her.

"Ma'am," he returned.

That earned him an arched eyebrow and immediate disappearance of the patented Rogers smile. "I'm 'ma'am' now?" Bucky tried to sputter a response, but she cut him off with a look. "Does my son know we're meeting?"

"No, ma— No, he doesn't."

"And why would that be?"

Bucky felt two inches tall. Compared to his mother, Sarah Rogers should be a sweet, kind little water sprite or something. But sitting across the little table from her, Bucky could feel the heat from the protective mother aura she was giving off in waves. "Because I want the proposal to be a surprise."

Sarah nodded once and then took a sip of her water. Bucky followed suit, finding his throat to be impossibly dry. "And we're meeting why?" she questioned.

"Because it would mean the world to me and Steve if we had your blessing," Bucky answered honestly. Internally, he was extremely proud of himself for sounding as calm, cool, and collected as he did.

The waitress stopped by to take their orders for diet cokes—not that Bucky or his nerves needed the caffeine—and the house specialty salads. "When are you going to propose?" Sarah asked once the waitress left them alone.

Bucky shrugged. "I'm still trying to piece everything together, but probably before the school year starts."

Sarah leaned back in her chair, eyeing him up and down. "Why my son?"

Bucky swallowed hard. "A year ago, I was a completely different person. Fighting in a war and losing too many friends will mess you up like that. But I'd just come to accept that my life was always going to have holes in it, damage that couldn't be reversed. Teaching my kids helped me feel more normal, see that there was still hope in the world and whatever." He paused as the waitress delivered their drinks, gulping down a few swallows to bolster him. Laying out his emotions was never something he was good at, but it was needed right now. "If you'd asked me then if I'd ever be in a relationship let alone wanting to propose to someone, I would've blown you off. But then I met Steve."

"And he filled the damaged holes in your life?" Sarah asked, her eyes sparkling.

Bucky shook his head. "No, didn't even try, which is one of the many reasons I love him so much. He doesn't try to fix me, just loves me in spite of it." He snickered for a second. "I'm like some chair he finds at a flea market—run down, not much to look at, whatever. He doesn't try to transform me into something I'm not, just puts in work to bring out the best of what's already there."

Sarah cracked the first hint of a smile since she entered the café. "Sounds like Steve." She paused to lean forward, and her serious face returned. "That boy is my life, you know that right?"

"I do."

For a split second, Bucky watched as a number of emotions washed over her face. He imagined she was trying to relive all her memories with Steve in a heartbeat. "I raised him almost entirely on my own. I saw him through a fight with leukemia that some nights I didn't think he was going to win. I've watched him grow into the man that he is, and I am so very proud of him for that." She pointed a finger at him, and Bucky felt like he was about to be dressed down by a superior officer. "If you hurt him—"

"I would never."

"If you hurt him, I will come after you with a wrath you've never seen before."

Bucky nodded. "I'd expect nothing less, and you'd be the first in a long line of people to do so."

Sarah eyed once more before leaning back in her chair. "You haven't even dated for a year. Are you sure you're ready?"

"This is one of the few things in my life I've been sure about."

Her smile lit up the room, and Bucky felt the giant knot that was in his stomach gently unfurl. "You know, he comes by it honestly," she confessed with a chuckle. "Steve was born six months after I married Joe, almost on the anniversary of our first date."

Bucky grinned. "He never told me that."

"Probably didn't want to scare you off."

"I don't think he could ever do that."

Sarah reached across the table to put her hand over his. "I spent so many nights hoping Steve's life would turn out well, or just get to happen at all. If he ever forgets how lucky he is to have you, I'll be the first to remind him."

"Thanks," Bucky muttered.

"You have my blessing on one stipulation." Bucky raised his eyebrows and waited for her response. A slow, dangerous smile spread across Sarah's face. "I want grandchildren."

Bucky walked into the elementary school and parked next to Steve's car. Inspecting the parking lot revealed that Principal Fury, Darcy, Pepper, Clint, and Phil were also present.

He tried to think through the list of things he needed to accomplish in his room today, but his mind kept drifting to his other to-do list. The one that was coming together and involved talking to Tony about procuring technology and calling Mama Rogers again to track down the famed Sheila's bakery.

Bucky nodded hellos to Darcy and Clint, who were huddled over some paperwork in the front office. Out of habit, Bucky missed the stairs and instead started going to his old room.

"Lost?" Steve asked.

Bucky turned to see his boyfriend standing in the doorway of the art room and smirking. "Maybe I was gonna come see you."

"You were facing your old room."

"Maybe I was going to back in," Bucky returned with a smirk as he eased into Steve's personal space. "You seemed to have a healthy appreciation of my ass last night, so…" He kissed Steve on the corner of his mouth and his boyfriend just laughed.

"What do you need to work—"

"What do you know?" Both men turned to see Pepper standing in the hallway with one hand on her hip and the other wrapped around her cell in a vice-like grip.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

Pepper strode up to Bucky, and he felt himself instinctively want to stand at attention. "What did she say to you?"

"Who?"

"Natasha," she answered in an annoyed sigh. "You took her to the airport, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Bucky answered slowly.

"Bruce texted Tony this morning. He's really upset and said that Natasha wasn't planning on going to Chicago at all this summer, but changed her mind all of the sudden, and they had a huge fight."

"Yeah," he said with a shrug, "she said she had a change of plans."

"Did she say why?" Pepper pressed.

Bucky thought back on the ride to the airport an hour ago, and how much of it he'd spent droning on about his life. "Not really," he answered quietly.

"Are they doing okay?" Steve asked, concern evident in his voice and across every inch of his body.

Pepper shook her head. "I don't think so. We've been hearing less and less from Bruce. We'd hoped it was because they were getting used to playing house, but someone mentioned to Tony that Bruce was coming for extra meetings during the week." She turned her attention back to Bucky. "Did she say anything about what might be going on between them? Clint just told me she's been canceling on them for dinner the last few weeks."

Bucky felt his stomach twist. He knew Natasha—when something went wrong on her life, she had a habit of closing herself off from everyone. She was reluctant to let anyone watch her lick her wounds. "I noticed she looked a little… off. I asked her if she was okay, and she said everything was fine." Even he could hear his own lack of confidence in that statement.

Pepper gave him a sharp glare, and Bucky suddenly found him feeling a lot sorrier for Tony. "I know you're into men, but for someone who has six sisters, you should know 'I'm fine' is how females say their world is burning around them and you should've noticed already."

"I'll take care of it," Steve said, and Bucky could practically hear his boyfriend grinding his jaw.

She gave Bucky on last, long look. "If you hear anything—"

"I'll let you and Tony know."

Steve hooked a finger into a belt loop on Bucky's jeans and yanked him into the art room before closing the door behind them. "What's going on?" he asked.

"I just told you—"

"You've been distracted this last week. We've been bad about holing ourselves up in our house. When was the last time you even hung out with Natasha?" Steve asked him.

Bucky rolled his lips together and tried to keep his temper in check. He knew his reaction when getting called out on his crap was to fire back, but he tried really hard not to pick fights with Steve. "She's been busy getting settled in at Bruce's."

"You mean busy getting into a rough spot with Bruce?" Steve shot back.

Bucky breathed through his nose. He wanted to tell Steve that he had a very good reason to be distracted this past week, but couldn't. "I told her that if they were in rough patch they'd make it through."

Steve gave him an incredulous look. "If you were in her shoes, would that be what you wanted to hear from your best friend?" Bucky clenched his jaw and didn't answer. "You've known each other for, what, ten years?"

"Yeah," he replied. Steve shook his head and pulled out his cell phone. "What are you doing?" Bucky asked.

"Texting Natasha an apology for hogging her best friend. You should probably apologize, too."

Bucky grit his teeth and walked out of the art room. He spent the next hour angrily rearranging desks into different formations—not something that actually needed to be done, but it felt slightly therapeutic. He wasn't entirely sure who what made him angrier: getting called out for poor friendship skills by Pepper and Steve or realizing how crappy he's been acting toward Nat.

With a sigh, he pulled out his cell phone and put in her flight information. She was boarding and probably had her cell phone off. Of course in her current state, she may have turned her phone off earlier. He dialed her number anyway and waited for her voicemail greeting to pass.

"It's me," he said. "Sorry I've been a self-absorbed ass lately. You better call me if you need me or you're in trouble."

Bucky ended the call and knew that it would take a lot more than a phone call to earn back her favor.

"Do I need to worry about what you're up to?" Steve asked, and Bucky blinked.

Okay, so maybe Bucky was lingering in the living room, waiting for Steve to leave for his regular Tuesday night Little League practice, his nerves buzzing like bees as his boyfriend laced up his tennis shoes. And maybe Bucky'd lingered a lot in the last hour or so, wandering around the house restlessly and checking his watch no fewer than a half-dozen times. And maybe he'd turned a little antsy during dinner and barely eaten anything.

Maybe.

He smiled as innocently as possible. "Worry? About me? Never."

Steve squinted at him. "Is this going to be like when you reorganized the medicine cabinet?"

"That medicine cabinet was a tragedy, Rogers, and you know it." Bucky leveled a finger at Steve's chest, and Steve rolled his eyes. "You had Neosporin in there from the 1990s. It probably would've given you gangrene."

A little smile touched the corner of Steve's mouth. "You would've nursed me back to health."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Bucky replied, and he grinned when Steve finally laughed.

He waited on the front stoop until Steve's car drove out of sight before ducking back into the house and finally setting his plan into action. It'd started to reveal itself shortly after his lunch with Steve's mom, all the pieces cascading down into place like a really good game of Tetris. He'd called in some favors and pulled some strings, sure, but he knew it'd be worth it.

(Mrs. Rogers's friend Sheila'd required the full effect of his puppy-dog eyes, and once he'd finished explaining, she'd called him a lovesick fool. "Guilty as charged," he'd admitted, "but I still need your help." Lucky for him, her glowing smile had lit up her whole bakery.)

He'd actually finished the last (and most complicated) piece that morning while Steve'd mowed the front yard. He'd wanted to sit on the stoop and watch his half-naked boyfriend work, his skin tan and beautiful in the sun, but he'd needed to finish.

It was funny, but he really didn't want to wait another second before starting the next phase of their lives.

He'd just about set everything up when Steve's car pulled back into the driveway a good two hours later, and Bucky's heart immediately leapt into his throat. The last fingers of sun still glimmered above the horizon, and the sky was smeared with pink, orange, and purple as Bucky dumped the last bit of lighter fluid on the fire pit and added a couple lit matches. It flared to life just as he heard Steve call out to him from inside the house.

"Out here!" he hollered back, and pretended he didn't feel sick.

Steve appeared a moment later, his shirt a little damp around the neck as he stepped out into the rapidly cooling evening air. He blinked for a second, and Bucky tried to imagine the scene from his perspective: a blazing fire, a card table full of goodies, a mysterious bag shoved under one of the lawn chairs by the fire pit. Bucky brushed his hands off on his shorts before waving Steve over.

He hoped his smile looked breezy instead of terrified.

"You want dessert?" he asked, and Steve arched an eyebrow as he headed toward the table. Bucky met him halfway and gestured to the various treats. "I grabbed us some coffee," he said as he pointed to the carafe, "and then I've got actual movie-theater popcorn, some pastries, a pie, and—"

"Runts?" Steve questioned, laughter in his voice. Bucky flashed him a grin, but when he reached for the plates he'd brought out, Steve caught his arm. "I remember the Runts. From Christmas."

"From secret Santa," Bucky emphasized.

"Right." Steve surveyed the table again, his eyes narrowing. Somehow, Bucky forced himself to keep breathing even as Steve's expression slowly transitioned from suspicious to thoughtful. "Is that peach pie?"

Bucky shrugged. "Figured it was pretty summery."

"And Sheila's peach rolls, with it."

"They go together, right?"

Steve pressed his lips into a small line before he glanced over at Bucky. "And movie popcorn," he said, and Bucky nodded. "From the actual movie theater?"

"Where else do you get popcorn?" Bucky asked, aware of how nervy his voice sounded.

"Along with what I'm guessing is coffee from Prime Roasts?" When Bucky stayed silent after the question—mostly because he felt a little nauseous—Steve's whole face softened. "My 'dessert' comes from our first dates and the time I called you my boyfriend?" he asked.

He sounded just incredulous enough that Bucky couldn't help his smirk. "I know how much you eat," he joked, and Steve actually barked a surprised little laugh before glancing back at the table. He kept staring down at all the pieces like he didn't believe it was real, and Bucky—

Something deep in Bucky's heart said screw it.

"Come here," he said, and Steve jumped a little when Bucky grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the fire pit. He sat Steve down in one of the chairs and then scooted his—and the bag under it—over. "I need to give you something."

Steve's smile was slightly crooked and full of amusement. "I thought you were force-feeding me our dating history in dessert form."

To Bucky's ears, it sounded a tiny bit nervous, and Bucky's heartbeat jumped into overdrive. "Later," he said, and he handed Steve the paper grocery sack from under his chair.

Steve eyed it suspiciously. "You shouldn't have."

"Just open it," Bucky instructed, and he watched as Steve bit down on the edges of his smile and reached inside.

The digital picture frame'd been running for the last half-hour—Bucky'd charged up its battery just for the occasion—and it meant that the first picture Steve saw was the ridiculous group photo from Tony's couple's brunch a few months earlier. He laughed immediately—they'd all pulled faces for the occasion, even Natasha—and Bucky watched the light dance in his eyes before the display changed. For a couple minutes, they sat there in the light of the fire, watching as dozens of stupid selfies and candid shots from the last school year flickered by. There were photos of Mister Rogers and Mister Barnes (separately and together) from the school's Instagram, pictures from Steve's trip to meet the Barnes family and from all the various outings with their friends, a couple lazy morning pictures from when they'd first started sleeping together—and then, from when they'd first moved in together. Their whole life so far, collected from their friends (and Tony) and stored forever in a memory card.

Steve was smiling softly at another of their pictures (one from a payday happy hour, Bucky thought) when Bucky pulled in a breath. "So," he said carefully, "my ma told me this story about her and my dad. About how they were broke when they first got together, and how they could barely afford to do anything together other than, I don't know, walk around in the park and hang out at parties." Steve looked up from the frame, his face soft and beautiful in the firelight, and Bucky felt for a moment like he was soaring. "They worked hard to scrape by, so one time around their anniversary, my dad—"

"Put together a photo album of him and your mom," Steve finished for him. Bucky blinked in surprise, and Steve's cheeks reddened as he glanced back at the frame in his hands. "Your mom told me about it when we were in town last month. She said—" He paused, and Bucky watched his throat bob as he swallowed. "She said that's how your dad proposed."

"Yeah. Uh. Well." Bucky rubbed his palms on his shorts again and waited for Steve to look at him. "I— Steve, I love you. I love you in a way I don't think I believed in until I met you. And the more we're together, the more I know that it's not something that's gonna go away. It's something that's gonna last us to the end of the line." His voice started to quiver, and he gulped down a big breath. "I don't want to wait 'til we've been together for some magic amount of time to make sure it's permanent," he said. "And more than that? I don't want you to ever doubt it."

Steve's mouth hung open, his face caught in this perfect, breathtaking surprise that Bucky wanted to freeze and hold onto forever. He wet his lips before he murmured, "Bucky—"

"Hey, I'm not done," Bucky cut in, and Steve laughed a little breathlessly. But the laugh only lasted until Bucky drew in a deep breath and slid off his chair to kneel in front of Steve. Everything else—the fire, the frame, the table full of food, the cool night air—faded away until it was just the two of them, Steve caught in his big-eyed wonder and Bucky's hand shaking as he gripped Steve's in his.

God, he loved him.

"Steve Rogers," he said, and Steve pursed his lips like he wanted to cry, "will you please marry me?"

Steve's grin bloomed like the brightest star Bucky'd ever seen. "Absolutely," he answered, and Bucky wasn't sure which came first: his relieved, elated, helpless tears, or Steve's searing, desperate kiss.