"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,"

"Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" -Robert Frost

"Why aren't you eating?" Bucky asked Ophelia.

She looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips, but it wasn't the one that lit up rooms. Bucky could tell something was off with her, he knew her well enough by now to pick up on her body language. The way her smile didn't reach her eyes, the way she prodded at breakfast but didn't eat it. She was never all that good at lying, and Bucky had no struggle figuring out when something was under her skin.

"Not hungry," she replied like a child.

"O..." Bucky trailed off. How far did he go? Did he push her to reveal what was on her mind? Was she regretting saying yes to getting married? They hadn't even discussed when or where, but Bucky already knew it would be something quaint. He just wanted to say Ophelia was his wife, and he knew she had always wanted a name, a real surname. He was able to give her that, if nothing else.

"I'm thinking about Romania," she said, big green eyes studying his reaction. "I think one day... We should go back."

"There's nothing for us there," Bucky reminded her. "We lived in a shell of a building. I couldn't give you anything that I can here."

"All I ever needed was you, though, Bucky."

"I know," Bucky started, tapping his metal fingers on the table. "I want you to have more than that. I don't want you to rely on me..."

"I have other things, Bucky. I know for a long time I... I thought you were the only thing that could keep my head above water. And for a long time you were. Then there were the others, Steve, Sam, all of them. Now we're here and I feel like I have everything in the world."

"Something is up, though, something you're not telling me."

"I'll tell you tomorrow," she promised. 

Getting up, she walked over to Bucky's side of the table and she pressed her soft fingertips under his stubble-covered chin. Tilting his head up, she brushed her fingers through his tangled brown hair. As she leaned in, her own hair tickled against his face and neck. His arm snaked around her and pulled her onto his lap. She laughed into this kiss, and it was her laugh that filled the room and made Bucky believe he was just overreacting. Ophelia wasn't, and wouldn't be, hiding anything from him.

They'd never hidden anything from each other before, nothing that really mattered at the end of the day.

After all they had made it through, how they had always defeated the odds, Bucky told himself to stop worrying. He was being an idiot. 

He stood up, holding her hips, her legs wrapping around him. He bumped the table as he blindly navigated their home. The home Bucky had lived in without Ophelia, and now for the first time, one he lived in with her. It felt warmer with her, fuller. Bucky realized as they fell to the bed that this was how he felt with her. And everywhere he went with her, that feeling would follow.

Whether they lived in cages, whether they were holing up hiding in a motel, whether they were travelling across the world trying to find a place to hide. Whether they found a home to live in, hiding among the city of Romania with electricity that wasn't always on, and water that wasn't always clean. That feeling followed them. It followed them here to Wakanda too. Bucky knew that feeling was Ophelia, whatever she was made up of, that warmth that Bucky felt around her -what everyone felt around her.

He let her go afterwards, lying back in bed while she dressed herself in some sort of wrap-style garb. A few times a look of utter confusion crossed her expression, her tongue came out a bit as she tried a different loop of the fabric, arm going through at a different angle. As she finally managed it, though clearly unsure if she did it quite right, she smiled at Bucky.

"I'll be back later," she said with rosy cheeks. Bucky couldn't tell if it was from trying to get the dress on or from their activities prior to.

"Hey," he called and she stopped at the door. "I love you, O."

"I love you too, Bucky."

Half an hour later, Bucky got up and dressed as well. He had tasks to do, to keep his mind off of things that had no right being in there. Worries and fears when he had everything he needed in the world. He had her, he had somewhere safe for the both of them, he had opportunity through Sam, he couldn't ask for anything more.

"Thanks, Steve," he whispered to himself as he stepped out into the open. 

The summer was in full swing now, the blistering heat was something he had to get used to again. But as he worked, chopping wood for the upcoming winter -which wouldn't be harsh here- he built up a sweat, his mind drifted into a pleasant nothing. Raise, swing, chop, repeat. It was so simple, being back at the mundane. He stopped worrying about Ophelia, he stopped worrying about what he might do when it came to joining Sam -perhaps he would in time, and he knew Ophelia would go anywhere with him. Which is why he wanted decided it would be best to tell her before the wedding -regardless of what Sam suggested.

He refused to take advantage of Ophelia's willingness for anything.

She had to want to go, too.

Bucky had a feeling she would.

"White Wolf," T'Challa's voice came out of nowhere. Bucky turned at the sound and spotted the man, he looked panicked and it brought forth a sickening twisting feeling inside Bucky's stomach. "You should come with me."

Bucky dropped everything and followed the King.