Steve took a seat on the couch and Mrs. Rogers took a deep breath. Steve braced himself.

"Steven, this choice you've made to be gay is... Well, it's ridiculous." She looked at him pleadingly. "If you're trying to get back on us for raising you this way, you use your words."

"It isn't a choice," Steve said, keeping his voice calm. "And it's bisexual. That means I could be with either a girl or a boy. It's a boy I've fallen for, and there isn't anything you can do to change that."

She looked a little annoyed. "This is just acting out, and I won't have it. Look -- we've given you the world, darling, when will you just open your eyes and see it?"

"And when will you? You're so blinded by your hatred that you can't see that you're losing the people you love," Steve snapped, leaning forward. "Your husband. Your son. When was the last time we had a proper family get together?"

"You're not pinning this on me," she growled, teeth gritted. "It isn't my fault your father chose your side over mine. What will it take to get you to be... normal?"

Steve stood and took half a step towards her, struggling to keep his anger in check. "I am normal," he hissed. "For years I've been finding myself, and I'm finally comfortable enough to say that it's normal, what I feel." He felt hot tears racing down his cheeks, and his lip quivered. "It's not me that's disgusting."

Mrs. Rogers stood as well, her face turning red. "Take that back right now, young man," she demanded. "Now."

Steve stared at her defiantly.

"Right. Now," she hissed and folded her arms.

"Or what? You going to hit me again?" Steve tilted his chin up. "You hurt me. Do you remember the times when there was a thunderstorm and it was you I ran to?"

Mrs. Rogers blinked repeatedly, still scowling.

"You're the reason I'm never home. You're the reason I've been stressed," Steve wavered and wiped his face. "Bucky makes me feel alive."

"Steven -- it's wrong, don't you realise?" Mrs. Rogers looked pleading again. "I want to know you again, but you're making up these feelings. They aren't real," she said exasperatedly. "I know you're a young boy, and you may want to try things, but -- "

"I want to try being happy for once. Don't you understand? I've been happier with Bucky than I've been in years. And you -- you want to take that away from me," he choked. Mrs. Rogers stared down at him, speechless.

She couldn't remember the last time Steve had cried around her.

"I -- "

"I'm not going to beg you," Steve muttered and wiped his eyes. "I just want you to understand." He looked up at her. "Why? Why do you hate him so much?"

"He isn't... He's no Atticus -- " She spoke half-heartedly.

"Because he's Bucky," Steve pleaded. "He's been the only one there for me in a long, long time." He stepped back and shook his head a little. "I don't understand how you can be so horrible," he murmured.

Silence. Mrs. Rogers seemed to be struggling to find something to say. She stared at Steve, who stared back as if to dare her to go further.

"I -- " She swallowed, searching his face. "Steve... you're right. God, you're right." She hesitantly wrapped her arms around him and began to cry. Not a single tear, no attempts to keep proper, full on sobbing, her face red.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she sobbed and Steve hugged her tightly, hiding his face against her shoulder. He cried in relief and Mrs. Rogers kissed the top of his head and held him close. "He's a fine boy, Steven, I know." She nodded quickly and looked at him, her eyes glossy with tears.

"Please give him a chance?" Steve looked at her. She offered a quick smile and nodded again.

"Of course, dear, I'm so sorry." She looked heartbroken. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Steve wiped his face. "Maybe. I don't know, mom. I have to -- I need some time."

"I understand," she said quietly. "Well, I'm going to try to. I'm sorry."

Steve didn't say anything more.

////

It was Sunday. Steve hadn't seen Bucky the rest of that week -- he needed time to think and come to terms what had been happening.

Steve, his mother, and his father all went round to the Barnes's in time for the barbeque. Bucky opened the door and paused half a second before flashing a grin and wrapping his arms around Steve. "Hey, Steve baby," he hummed and Steve blushed at the old nickname. Bucky smiled politely at Mrs. Rogers and welcomed them all to the back.

It was a beautiful day; the sun was bright and the sky was almost perfectly blue. Bucky went around introducing everybody to Steve and vice versa.

Mrs. Rogers quietly approached Winifred. "Hello," she said softly and Winifred looked up and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Hello," she replied, cautious. Mrs. Rogers extended a hand and Winifred slowly shook it.

"I know I've said this before, but my actions were inexcusable. I've treated you, your family, and your son horribly. I did the same actions months ago, but I didn't stop then, and I'm sorry." She swallowed thickly. "I'm not expecting you to forgive me. I just wanted to tell you how truly sorry I am." She took a deep breath. "I'm Sarah Rogers."

Winifred stared at her and George came to stand beside his wife. Sarah stood anxiously waiting, and Winifred offered a small smile.

"Winifred," she said gently. "Let me show you the garden," she invited, her voice soft. Sarah's face broke into a smile and she joined Winifred, spewing apologies left and right. Winifred paid them no mind as she forgave the woman who had caused her the most trouble in years.

"Well, look at that. Miracles do come true," Emma spoke as she walked up to Bucky and grinned, April on her arm. Bucky smiled back and glanced over at Steve, who looked proud of his mother's actions.

"Guess I did get through to her a bit," he chuckled and Bucky smiled and kissed him.

"Get a room!" Sam laughed and turned to Riley, a boy he'd gotten close to over weeks. Peter was talking animatedly to Atticus, who looked politely bored with the topic of spiders.

"One bit me a month ago but I haven't seen any change..."

"Would you like to prank my mother?" Atticus said suddenly and Peter lit up.

"Hell yeah!"

Steve pulled Bucky to the sidelines and took a breath, smiling a little. "Too loud," he explained as Bucky sat next to him on the brick wall surrounding the back. Bucky smiled and nodded to the ground. Steve watched him for a second, in nothing short of adoration.

"You're the best thing to ever happen to me," Steve said softly and Bucky looked up, blushing. He took his hands and nodded again, smiling.

"You are too, Steve. I love you," he murmured and pulled him in for a lingering kiss, supporting himself with one hand on Steve's thigh, cupping his cheek with the other. Steve turned red as he kissed him back, his arms draped around his shoulders.

"I still owe you that date," Steve murmured as they pulled away. Bucky raised an eyebrow, looking at him from under his lashes.

"I'm ready any time, Rogers."

"Good, 'cause I have it all set." He stood and took his hand, and began leading him back to his place, and up to his balcony, where it all began.

There sat a scrapbook with the word Memories written across the top. Bucky paused and sat down, and picked it up. "That's cheesy," he murmured with no conviction, tears pricking at his eyes as he slowly ran a hand over the cover. Steve smiled down at him then took a seat.

"Been working on it for a while," he admitted as he leaned back on his hands. Bucky slowly began paging through the book.

First was the sketch of the soldier he had shown him months ago, and next to that was a smudged, wrinkled drawing of Bucky balancing on the wooden outcrop, arms wide as he wavered on one leg.

"I thought it'd be weird to have a drawing of my neighbor I didn't yet know," Steve said off-handedly as explanation. Bucky smiled over at him and tilted his head.

"Smooth."

Steve smiled and waved him off. Bucky continued.

There were their adventures at the creek, memories of them baking together, out in town, a story laid out in front of Bucky's eyes either by camera -- Rebecca always managed to be in the right place at the right time -- mementos, or drawings. There were a lot of drawings, or lines of text. Steve'd written little notes down as he'd created the scrapbook, meant for Bucky to read.

This was when we first met. I'd thought you were... different, but someone I wanted to get to know.

That night in the rain? I had started to think that I liked you.

The balcony -- where it all began.

This was the night of drama - well, one of many that is.

I told you I liked you, and I'd never been happier.

Bucky looked back up at Steve, eyes brimming with tears, a smile on his face. "You did all this?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly bashful. "Yeah, um, I know it's cheesy but -- "

"Thank you," Bucky wavered and choked out a laugh, wiping his eyes. "Thank you, Steve. For everything."

He remembered them all. He remembered the memories, the good, the bad: tackling Steve in the water, hearing him laugh; baking, seeing the look of concentration on his face; the love, the emotion that he always tried to hide behind a strong façade, but never could because it showed in his eyes. Bucky didn't know it could be possible to care for someone -- no, love someone that much.

"Thank you." Bucky hugged him tight and hid his face against his neck, tears soaking into Steve's shirt.

"Aww, don't cry." Steve lifted Bucky's face and gave him a smile. "Look, there's a lot left. We got a long time to finish this, Buck. You with me?"

He smiled a watery smile and nodded, kissing his cheek. "Until the end of the line, doll. Promise."

Bucky felt like this was the ending of a long chapter of his life. A fitting one, really -- almost storybook. He'd never believed in happy endings until he himself was granted with one.

A blond, and a brunet. Rich and poor. Quiet and loud. Polar opposites who worked amazingly together. Why?

Well, everybody knows that opposites attract.