A/N: thanks everyone for reading!! Hope you all have a happy end of 2017 and a great start to 2018 tomorrow ❤️

Stevie Wonder sings from the speakers as I hustle to ready myself for another evening with Bucky Barnes. This one, though, is very different than the night that happened two days past or the episode in the kitchen yesterday morning. I haven't seen Bucky since that morning just after I'd sat with him on the tile and felt his cheek beneath my palm and his heartbeat through my fingertips. I doubt that's there's much more in this world sadder than the lost-puppy expression Bucky gains when he's deep in a flashback.

"Dammit." I draw myself out of my own thoughts when I drop my powder brush into the sink. I curse again to see that it's wet and practically useless now. I scrounge around the drawers for that old, crusty one from Walmart. I can't very well only use foundation on one side of my face, now can I?

It's not my fault that I'm so clumsy. The prospect of going out with Bucky tonight has only added to my poor grace. I've already stubbed a toe and burnt the tip of my ear with the curling iron.

It's ten minutes to five. Bucky said he'd be here at the hour. I'm running a tad behind (per usual) so I only hope he is as well...

"Miss Sadie, Sargent Barnes is at your door."

"Ah shit."

Friday speaks again. "Would you like me to send him away?"

I panic. "No! No, no, no. Please let him in. Just—just tell him I'll be out in a minute... or maybe two."

"Yes, Miss Sadie."

Above the soft volume music I hear my front door open and then close very gently. Bucky's footsteps are nearly silent against the hardwood but I know he's here.

"Sorry, Buck! Be out in a sec!" I call to him through the bathroom door.

"No worries, doll. Take your time."

Quickly I check over my reflection in the mirror. I have to look good. No; I have to look irresistible. My sweetest, most unrealistic dream is that this man takes a glance at me and gets just a FRACTION of the longing thoughts that I receive whenever in his presence. Goddamn, he's unreal: smart, handsome, brave, quick-witted, selfless... the list goes on and on. I could really ramble about him for hours, but I'll spare you the excess. You get the point—he's fucking perfect.

Well, minus the 70 years of brainwashed assassinations.

So... Besides that. But what he lacks in righteous back story he makes up for in pureness of heart. That's what I believe, and I will defend this statement to the end of the line.

One more spritz of honeysuckle perfume on my wrist and then I'm spraying just a bit more hairspray onto the curls I've got pinned up because I worked too damn hard on this hairdo for it to all just fall apart once we step outside into the moist air. I fiddle with the clasp of my pearl necklace, the very one that my mother gave me for my sixteenth birthday that matches the bracelet and the earrings I wear now too, and then slip into the black heels that do wondrous things to my legs and ass. Now that I look and smell great I imagine there's nothing keeping me away from Bucky any more.

I take a deep breath.

Then I open the door, take a step, and walk out into the living room.

I find Bucky a few paces away from my couch with his body leaning towards one of the photos I've got framed up on the wall. For a moment I wonder why he's looking at it so intently and what it is that he's thinking to make him look so thoughtful, but then he's turned around fully and I get the whole picture of what my date really looks like tonight. Oh god—he's a stunner. His hair has been slicked back real soft-like and shines such a healthy chestnut shade of chocolate brown. He's shaven clean all the way from his cheeks to his chin and neck—a neck that is wrapped up with a pretty blue bowtie. I fucking love bowties. And I love how this particular one makes his eyes pop like dynamite. I don't think I've ever seen eyes so beautiful and bright and full of promise.

Bucky stands there, blinking, and I pretty much do the same for a few moments.

"Sadie, you, you look..." Bucky begins but then just shakes his head. I wait, rather impatiently, to hear what he's got to say on this particular matter. All of my self-conscious worries are quickly dispelled though when Bucky's lips turn up and two happy dimples appear. "You look absolutely beautiful." The rumble of his voice is low and long like a soft summer thunder storm.

I can feel my cheeks warming with unwelcomed blush. "Oh. Wow, that's—that's so sweet."

God, could I sound any stupider?

"...And you do too. I mean—you look good. Not that you aren't beautiful, because you really are, but I just meant that you look really... umm, really good."

Now I've done it: I've beaten myself at a stupidity contest in the audience of the world's most dateable man.

I want to punch myself.

Bucky takes my stupidity in stride. He chuckles, reaching back with his flesh hand to scratch the back of his neck while the metal one stays secretively in his pocket. "Thank you." His gaze dances down from my face to the deep cranberry colored dress that I wear. "That's a lovely dress."

I decide this is as good of time as any to grab my coat and purse just next to him by the door. "You think so? I wasn't sure about the fit so I had to take it to the tailor. Of course I didn't have to get something vintage but I just thought it'd be fun since I never get to wear anything like this." I'm rambling but I can't seem to stop myself.

Bucky smiles and I'm slightly surprised as he gently takes my coat from my hands and helps me into it. I don't think anyone's ever done this for me before. He seems rather confident in his skill of dressing me, though. I don't doubt that he's done this in the past.

"Well," Bucky's voice is behind me now as I finish tugging the coat over my 40s slit-necked dress. "I happen to think you wear this dress better than anyone ever has before."

I'm pretty sure he's making me blush now as I turn to face him. I'm kind of at a loss for words, and I think he can tell as much. Thankfully he cares enough not to watch me drown in his flatteries because he goes on to say something else before I can embarrass myself with a response.

"Is that your brother?"

I look to where he's pointed at the picture on the wall. Sure enough, the snapshot I'd walked in on him gazing at is the one of my brother's farewell at the airport that day he'd been sent off to war.

"Yeah. That's Jeremy."

Bucky's not really looking at the picture any more, but instead at me. "I didn't know you had a brother in the service."

"He's retired now," I say. I can't help but look back to the picture in question. I smile softly at the sight of Jeremy's face and shaved head. "My sister Bekah is the girl on his other side." At this Bucky averts his eyes from me and back to the snapshot. The tall sandy haired girl has his attention for a moment before I'm speaking again. "That picture was taken when he first left. I must've been fifteen."

Bucky's quiet. He seems to be thinking. Not that he's very readable, but I can only imagine that's what he does when he gets very quiet. He seems like the type of guy to always, ALWAYS, be thinking. His brain must never shut off. I know mine works in the same way, but also very different. I'm usually daydreaming or planning things, where he must be strategizing and making complex conclusions. It's one of the ways I like to think we're similar but also so intriguingly opposite.

Amidst my rapid-fire thoughts I realize that we've been standing in a moment of silence. We make eye contact and he smiles in a warm, soothing way that makes me forget why I was even nervous about tonight in the first place.

"Should we go?" Bucky asks, gesturing for the door. I'm grateful it's not another question about Jeremy.

"I believe we shall," I formally reply— making the man let out a low laugh.

When we get to the elevator we find that it's already halfway full. Tony Stark and Steve Rogers stand nestled inside. Whatever conversations they'd been holding suddenly halt when the doors open and they see us standing there.

My boss is smirking when Bucky guides me into the elevator with a hand to the small of my back. I refuse to make eye contact with Steve, either, who is smirking so broadly now that I can hear the movement of his moist lips against the pristine white teeth.

"You look very nice, kiddo. You two got a date?"

I huff, punching the button for the lobby. "Thanks, Stark." I choose to ignore the second part of his statement.

"They're going to the theater," Steve answers for me. He stands in one corner and Tony the other. Bucky and I are somewhere in the middle right beside each other. He's no longer holding onto my back, but I can feel his metal arm hanging close.

"Ah, how romantic."

My neck whips around so that I can send a look to Tony. He wiggles his eyebrows.

"It was a Christmas gift," I explain. "And I happen to love the theater." My arms cross defensively at my chest.

Tony takes a once-over of my choice of dress. "What are you seeing?"

"Bandstand," Bucky says. He's watching the number counter on the high wall—seeming very impatient to get away from Tony's questioning and Steve's boyish giggling.

"Oh I see. That's why you're dressed like you're just as old as Cap and Metal Man now."

I roll my eyes but smile softly. "Don't be rude, Tony. All of the best things have come from that era; the music, the clothes..."

"So Sadie's got a thing for antiques, huh?" Tony muses in the middle of my speech. He rises up taller on the balls of his feet before settling back down. "I see why she likes you then, Tin Man."

The doors chime as they click open at our floor. "Oh would you look at that! We're here." I don't hesitate in grabbing Bucky's hand and tugging him after me into the lobby. I send a wave over my shoulder to the two boys behind us.

"Be safe, kids!"

I may have held Bucky's hand thoughtlessly, but now that it's come time to let it go it takes a lot of strength. I release him from my grasp when we come to the glass doors that lead out onto the street. There's a soft buzzing noise coming from the street, and an even gentler whirring from Bucky's metal arm.

"I cannot believe those two," I huff.

Bucky's quick to appear in front of me. He opens up the door and steps aside to let me out first. "I'm not too surprised. They're both a pain in the ass."

I immediately shiver when stepping out into the cold. I'm not sure if it's entirely from the weather though. I just got a strong whiff of Bucky's cologne. I've never smelled it before. It's musky and expensive.

"Do you want to get a cab? Or we can walk," I say. I look around us on the sidewalk. "It's only a few blocks away."

Bucky nods, a small smile sprouting on his face. "Whatever you wanna do, sugar. It's your night."

Well, if that's the case, there's a long list of things I'd like to do with James Buchanan Barnes that I'd love to put into action...

I clear my throat and hope that this trained agent isn't as good as reading facial expressions as he's been said to be. I flush milky white. "Let's walk. I'm a bit scared of cabs."

Bucky's head tilts a bit more to one side. Aww, he looks a bit like a lost puppy when he does this. I feel my sanity melting into a puddle on the sidewalk amongst the dry wads of gum. "You're scared of cabs?"

"Only a little!" I laugh nervously. Bucky's started walking in the direction of the theater. I fall into step beside him—not missing how he's positioned himself on the outside side of the sidewalk closest to the street. Apparently this is the gentlemanly, old fashioned thing to do.

"So you'd rather walk around New York City after dark than take a taxi?"

My nose scrunches. "Now that you say it like that, it doesn't make much sense."

"You walk home after your shifts at the restaurant?"

I nod, fixing my hands in the soft pockets of my coat. I wish he would reach out and hold my hand, but I'm not brave enough to do it myself. "Besides the slight fear of the cabs, I like the walk. I like looking at everything." I find my eyes raking over the scenery around us now. People walk about in their own little universes, completely unaware of everything else. "I didn't grow up in a world like this." I laugh a bit when I realize the absurdity of what I've just said. "I guess you didn't, either."

"Not exactly," Bucky chuckles.

"So," I scuff the sidewalk with my heeled shoe. "Is there anything ridiculous that the brave Bucky Barnes is afraid of?"

Bucky laughs. "Ah, that's a tough one..." He looks around in obvious search for a way to escape this question.

"Oh come on. I told you one of my silly fears. It's your turn."

Bucky nods. "Alright, doll. Umm, well, I guess if I'd have to pick one..." He smiles when our eyes meet. "I'd say snakes."

"That's not exactly a ridiculous fear."

"Eh, I'm pretty damn freaked out by them—so I'd have to disagree."

"So Bucky Barnes is afraid of snakes," I say. Bucky laughs. "Anything else?"

He ponders this quietly for a moment. We pass a soft pretzel cart and the smell is intoxicating. "Heights."

"Really?" I hum in thought before saying, "That's a bit surprising."

"Why's that?" Bucky inquires.

"Well, I guess I just imagined you'd have absolutely no fears at all."

Bucky shakes his head. "No, doll. There's actually quite a bit that scares me, if I'm being honest." The way his blue eyes bore into mine at this moment sends a shiver riding up my spine. I wonder what all he's trying to relay with that soft smile now, but I'm too caught up in the closeness of our bodies as we walk to think about much else. "I guess I've just gotten really good at fighting past it. The fears, I mean."

I force my stare off of his beautiful face. But even when I'm looking around us at the sights and lights I can't erase the image of his smile out of my mind. After a brief pause in the conversation I clear my throat. "Bucky?"

We stop at a crosswalk and wait with a throng of people for the flashing red light to change. "Yes?"

"When you go on all those missions, do you still get scared?"

Bucky blinks, not really having expected this question. "Sure, doll. All the time." He waits. "Why's that?"

I purse my lips, taking the first step onto the street with the rest of the crowd. "I was just wondering." I love how he's trying so hard to stay close to me as people push and shove around. "Because every time you're gone," I find myself admitting aloud, "I'm terrified."

Bucky's footsteps falter. His eyes take on a slightly rounder shape in the wake of my quiet admittance. I don't know why I've said this just now, let alone why I'd made it sound so heartfelt. The truth has a tendency to come pouring out of my lips—drunk or sober (I'm very sober now, might I add).

"I—" Bucky can't quite articulate anything at this very moment. He swallows hard then tries again. He actually takes the time to pull us into the shadow of a watch store building—hand on my elbow and fingers lightly pressed into my skin through the material of my white coat. "Is that true?"

"Of course it is," I say. 

Bucky shakes his head. "I—I don't want you to be scared. Not for me, not because of me, not at all. I want you to know that everything's going to be okay." He pauses. There's not a smile on his face, but there's a warming glow to his eyes. "Okay?"

My head nods very, very slowly. "Okay, James."

The right side of his raspberry lip tilts up in a smile of sorts. "Good," he hums. He looks down to his hand on my elbow, the flesh one of course, before trailing it softly down the back of my arm. Little shivers erupt in the chaotic wake of his dangerous, rough fingertips. It's so innocent yet so intimate. I want to sigh at the sensation but then I'm nearly drooling when his fingers slip down between mine. "Let's go see the show, darlin'."

We resume our walk to Broadway while talking more. In fact, we talk so much that we both seem to have sore throats by the time we arrive in the line. We play little question games that make us giggle like high school kids: quizzing one another about all things, like favorite celebrities and most embarrassing stories. By the time we're allowed into the theater to find our seats I feel as though we've known each other much longer than the few months I've been around Stark Tower.

Our seats are ridiculously amazing. We've got our own box seats up above the stage to the left side. I'm shocked to see how spectacular our view's going to be when we are cordially escorted to our private seats.

"Oh my god, Buck! How much did you spend on these?"

Bucky shrugs. "I don't really remember," he says. It doesn't sound like a lie, but I doubt he'd actually tell me the number anyway.

I gawk—leaning slightly over the edge of the balcony to look down at the people below us. "This is amazing..."

I feel Bucky's hands, both of them, take my waist. He softly pulls me away from the edge of the bannister, clearly worried about my lack of grace in case of a slip and fall. "Careful, love. Don't want you getting hurt now, do we?"

Love.

Bucky's just called me love. That's a nickname he's never given me, yet just now he's said it in a manner that sounds so smooth and comfortable. My heart lodges up in my throat and I can't help but to turn and smile at him.

"Right. I probably shouldn't be leaning over any balconies with my clumsy track-record."

Bucky nods. "Probably not." His hand smoothly glides to the small of my back. Good god, I love it when he holds me here. He seems to like it too, because he's done it a few times now. His steel blue eyes roam my face. He's standing impossibly close. Suddenly, a huge smile sprouts on his lovely lips.

I'm confused by his drastic expression—it's so joyous. "What's got you grinning, Sargent?" I chuckle.

Bucky tilts his dimpled chin lower: leveling our gazes as his voice dips lower. "You."

I lose track of my smile as I seek out the sincerity in his voice. I follow the trail from his smiling lips to the crinkled corners of his eyes. Then I'm chasing the sight of his mouth again.

"Me?" I repeat.

Bucky nods. "It's safe to assume whenever I'm smiling it's because of you, angel."

I've been so invested in his words that I haven't noticed how close we've become. Like magnets pulling towards each other we stand chest-to-chest on the edge of the balcony with the warm lights streaming through the little space between our faces.

It's my turn to smile now. I don't move my sights from his face as I blindly reach out to touch him. Bucky seems taken aback when he feels my hands at the bottom of his torso. My palms splay open against the silky fabric of his dress jacket. "And why's that, darling?"

Bucky's grin cracks wider at the nickname I've gifted for him. Then I feel his fingers curl tighter into my waist and I'm just about ready to BEG him to devour me with those pretty pink lips. "Because, because Sadie I..."

Whatever thoughts Bucky wants to share, however deep or revealing they may be, are suddenly interrupted by the flickering of the theater lights. A voice comes over the speakers that tells everyone to find their seats as the show is about to start in two minutes. When the speech is done the lights are nearly off completely and I'm left blinking at an outline of Bucky's pupils in the dark.

"Perfect timing," Bucky sarcastically grunts.

"Come on now, Sargent. We can talk after." I grin cheekily in his direction and hope he can see my face in the dark. He snorts a bit, sort of like a laugh, so I assume he's seen me. Then I take Bucky by the metal hand to lead him to our seats. He lets me pull him, which is something that I take pride in because he's certainly strong enough to deny me this; yet he allows me to tug him around and even to keep our hands entwined as the director of the play makes his way across the stage for a short spiel. I'm nearly drooling with excitement when Bucky takes my hand that's wrapped up in his and sets it in his lap. His thumb gently strokes my wrist in a mind-numbing pattern of random shapes.

The show is marvelous. The first half goes by ridiculously fast, and during our brief pause I leave to go to the bathroom and when I come back Bucky's in the same place I left him. He smiles at me in that damn handsome way. I decide that now is as good of time as any to snuggle up a bit closer than I was before. So I make my move—wiggling until my head falls down onto his shoulder and my arm is lingering on the top of his thigh. He's stiff beneath me if only for a fraction of a moment. Then there's no hesitation on his part to wrap an arm behind my shoulder, enveloping me in the scent of his expensive cologne, and drowning me in the feels.

"Is this okay?" I hear him whisper into my ear at the start of the second half.

"Bucky, this is perfect."

I crane my neck back to smile at him. He looks down at me and can't keep himself from smiling back. "Good." I turn back to watch the show but find myself slightly distracted. Bucky's hand that rests on my waist has a metal thumb that now gently rubs circles on my hip through my dress. Oh god, it's so sweet but so sexy...

"Is this at all what it was like?" I whisper near the end of the show.

Bucky, confused by my question, cocks an eyebrow. "What?"

I nod towards the stage below us. "The forties, Buck. What were they like?"

He chuckles dryly. "There was a lot less singing," he explains in a slow, silky voice. It's like thick, drippy maple syrup that cascades down a tall stack of pancakes. "But the clothes were all pretty similar."

I look back to the musical. The lead actress in her pretty yellow dress sings into the microphone. The glows of the lights are reflected in her long blonde tresses.

"Did you have any girlfriends?" I ask. Now why the hell would I ever say such a thing...?!

Bucky's face stays blank. Looking straight at the stage, he says, "I went out with a few girls, I think. I never met a gal as memorable as you though, sugar." Then his ocean blue eyes flutter towards me—a smirk tugging at one side of his mouth. He quickly hides the expression by biting down on his lip. This, of course, unknowingly makes me hunger for his kiss even more than before.

I scoff; hoping to hide my blush by further turning my cheek into his comfortable shoulder. "Kiss ass," I mutter with a chuckle. Bucky laughs a bit in response before tightening his hold around my waist.

The show ends and I feel strangely upset that it's all over so soon. Bucky must be able to relay this by the look on my face, because he's grinning and asking, "So it's safe to assume you liked it?"

"Bucky; that was amazing!" I grab his jacket sleeve and tug it a bit for dramatic effect. "I never wanted it to end."

Bucky's quiet smile is enough to make me breathless. "I know what you mean."

I peer out over the balcony from our seats. The floor is almost cleared. Then I'm looking back to my date—seeing how in the light his chestnut hair seems almost golden in some parts and how the bright azure of his eyes is nearly like looking into cuts of sapphire. His clean shaven jaw is sharp enough to saw through stone—much like the rigid, sexy muscles of his bulging biceps.

"Let's get something to eat." I say. I pop up from my seat with his hand already in mine. "I don't wanna go home yet."

"Alright," Bucky hums. "It's your night."

"Careful Sarge," I tease with a wink shot back to him over my shoulder as I begin to drag us away. "I may never let you leave."

Bucky's face warms with a smirk. "You wouldn't hear me complaining, doll."

I choose to eat out at the closest 24 hour diner on a curb corner downtown. It's a red and white bulb-lit building with waitresses in skirts who lazily walk around to refill coffee cups at the late hour. The patrons here now are an odd collection of rebellious teenagers, night-owl Wall Street wannabees, and a few tourists with jet lag. Bucky and I find a cozy little booth beneath a window that overlooks the street. I'm not sure where our names fit on the stereotype line-up—the shiny eyed chef girl and the stoic ex-assassin with the shiny metal arm—but we're comfortable enough in each other's company that it doesn't matter what anyone else sees.

"Coffee?"

"I'd love some," I tell the waitress. I shoot her a smile as she fills my ceramic white mug with the cheap, distilled stuff. Bucky gives his head a brisk but considerate shake when she asks him the same. Then we get our menus and she's walking away to the distant sound of a radio playing chart toppers over the roar of an outdated fryer.

I take a long sip of my coffee. It doesn't taste great, but I've had worse. I notice through my first tip-back that Bucky's not looking out the window as I am. I can see his tall reflection through the dark glass. Instead of admiring the city view outside; he's admiring me.

I clear my throat, setting the cup down. It leaves a damp ring on the tabletop. "Thank you for tonight, Bucky."

The man nods real gently. His swept back hair hardly moves.

"And thank you for coming with me," I continue on before I get too shy. "I really meant it when I said I wouldn't've have wanted to come with anyone else." I give him a smile and feel the loose curls from my updo fall to one exposed shoulder as I tilt my head at him slightly.

Bucky's flesh thumb routinely folds over the corner of his laminated menu. His eyes fall from my face to the page as he mumbles around a soft smirk, "I don't know how you do it, Sadie."

I blink. "Do what?"

Bucky glances back up to me. He keeps intense eye contact before once again looking back down to his menu. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that the Winter Soldier was being bashful. "When you talk like that," he starts by saying. Again he looks to me and sees how confused I've suddenly become. He chuckles, very quietly, and gives his head a disbelieving shake. "Your voice all sweet and your eyes big—and your words are always so pretty and perfect."

I'm frowning a bit. "I mean it, though."

"No, I know you do." A car drives by honking and I jump slightly, startled out of my staring stupor at the man across from me, but he doesn't budge. Bucky goes on, "I guess that's what makes it even more intoxicating." The slightly shy smile tugging at one half of his lip has my heart a beating frenzy. "You have a way of making people feel..." he seems to search for the word in the crevices of his mind. If he comes up with the word he doesn't feel like sharing it. For then he's shaking his head and muttering, "I don't know."

"What is it, James?"

Bucky's stunning blue eyes flicker from the greasy tabletop to my hands that lay splayed on the wood. His sight lingers on my small hands, tracing over my faint scratches and freckles, then those beautiful eyes rise up to meet mine. "I think the word I'm looking for is... well, it's loved." I hold my breath as he watches my face for any sort of reaction. "I've lived a hell of a long time, Sadie, but no one's ever made me feel like I'm wanted. Not like when I'm with you."

My breath's been taken hostage, as has my sensibility. He hasn't even touched me—our knees can't even reach across the booth—but yet I feel more exposed and sensual under his intense blue stare and in the wake of his rough, deep voice than I have in my entire life.

I don't know what to say. I certainly don't know what I should do. But what do I do?

I stand up, reach across the table with shaking hands, and bring Bucky Barnes' in by the face for a kiss.

All my nerves bleed away the moment I taste him. His lips are both sweeter and softer than I'd imagine they'd be—like dew dripped rose petals. He's got the flavor of a sweet Christmas candy cane and the scent of his intoxicating cologne is only increased by our closeness. My fingers move from his cheeks, shaven and smooth, to the back of his head where I feather my nails into his hair. This is the moment that Bucky finally makes a move of his own—his head tilting closer and his lips parting gently against mine. I feel a warm hand on my jaw. Then I'm being tugged back down to earth when Bucky pulls away. My eyes blink open. He's already looking at me. His mouth is slightly perched open and his brows are gnarled. I have to sit back down onto my seat before I lose my balance across the table and end up on his lap. But would that really be such a bad thing...?

I see Bucky staring dazedly at the tabletop. He looks down to his hands, not saying a word. He did kiss me back. So why does he look so confused? And why did he end it so suddenly?

"I—I'm so sorry," I mutter.

Bucky's head whips up to face me. He's frowning real deep and handsome now. But no matter how handsome it is, it's still a frown.

"I shouldn't—I shouldn't've done that." The words spill out of my mouth without me stopping them. They aren't the truth. I don't regret what I've done. I've wanted to kiss him for so long. It was only a matter of time until I did—especially with all the sweet things he was saying.

Bucky swallows. He opens his mouth to speak, and then suddenly the waitress is back.

"Are you two ready to order?"

"No. Not yet." Bucky shakes his head and speaks but won't look away from me. I'm staring at my coffee now as I take another long, silent sip.

The waitress leaves us again.

"Why did you do it?"

I blink. "What?"

"Why did you kiss me?"

I stare blankly at the gorgeous man across from me at the booth. Soft hair tugged back in a bun, neck long and thick above a pretty bowtie where his thick adam's apple falls, chest buff and puckered... "Are—are you seriously asking me why I kissed you?"

Bucky huffs. "Yes, I am."

I cross my arms. "Then I have the right to ask why you kissed me back."

Bucky subconsciously mirrors my gesture by crossing the metal arm over the flesh one. "Because—you—because I," he stops his stuttering. "I asked you first."

"I kissed you because I wanted to, dammit. And I've been wanting to for months now, actually!" I sink back into my seat—arms still firmly crossed. I feel his eyes on me but I choose to regard the damp streets outside instead. "I guess I just thought you were feeling the same way."

The man is quiet for a long time. But when he finally speaks, Bucky's voice is rather emotionless. "You're right." I look back to him with wider eyes than before. He's sitting with his hands on the table and his mouth pursed tight. Only between words does his jaw relax from its hardened state. "You're right about it all. I kissed you back. And you already know how I feel, so I won't bother explaining it."

I blink. That's an arguable thing, surely, because he's very hard to decipher. But I can only imagine by this is that he feels the very same way for me that I do for him.

"Then what's the problem?"

Bucky swallows. "It's not a good idea."

I'm confused, and he can tell as much from my face. "What's not?"

Bucky's metal hand gestures from one side of the booth to the other. "This—you and me."

By this point in the conversation, my heart is a wreck. Any hope that this could be salvaged after my denied kiss has now been obliterated.

"Sadie—god dammit," I hear Bucky muttering in low curses. "Don't do that to me." He must be talking about the expression on my face or the little sad noise I just accidentally made.

"I'm not doing anything," I mumble. I turn my head away some more. "You're the one sending mixed signals."

His hands run up his face before knotting up in his own hair. He's the epitome of a stress case all of a sudden. "You have to understand where I'm coming from here, doll. It's not going to be easy. I'm sick as hell. I'm not a normal guy—"

"And if you were a normal guy, I'd want nothing to do with you," I interrupt him. "Because I don't want just any average Joe. I want James fucking Barnes because he's strong and caring and makes me laugh over the stupidest shit and never makes me wait around for something that I know won't be worth it in the end. Bucky, I want you. And if you don't want me, then that's fine. Whatever. I'll get over it. But don't make this about you not being good enough. Because you are the reason I'm feeling like this to begin with—like I can't go one more day without you."

The Winter Soldier is notorious for being unreadable, unshakable, and stoic. But this man ahead of me now is no Winter Soldier. James Barnes is shaken—his eyes slightly buggier and lips parted. He stares ahead at me after my rambles and appears to be suddenly torn. He's quiet, and so of course my big mouth decides to say more.

"Please don't stay away because you're trying to protect me," I whisper so softly I wonder if he'll even hear. "If I'm being honest, Bucky, the safest I've ever felt is when I'm with you." I shake my head and look down to the knotted mess of my fingers on the table. "I don't want to lose that. And I certainly don't want to lose you."

The diner isn't silent, but the two of us are. It lasts a good minute or so—no words, just shitty radio music and the ringing of an overhead bell as someone walks into the place.

I've said my peace. There's nothing left for me to do.

With my head turned away I don't expect him to notice the dampness of my eyes or the lost hopefulness of my features. But he's a genius when it comes to noticing things, so I would much rather hide myself before he can see how much he's really hurt me.

I'm surprised out of my thoughts. A cold, biting metal has wrapped around my wrist in the gentlest way. My eyes dart down to the bionic arm that has reached out for me. Bucky's looking at me now. In his gaze is the most vulnerability and sincerity I've seen him muster.

"I'm sorry."

I swallow hard at the phrase. My whole heart teeters on a single sliver of hope that maybe he'll change his mind. I've been turned down before, sure, but never this painfully—never when it mattered this much.

"I'm so sorry," he repeats slightly louder this time. "Please look at me."

I close my eyes for a moment before doing as he's asked. He sighs. I can feel his thumb running shapes along the back of my hand. "I want you, too." Bucky reaches up with his warm skinned hand to tuck some of the curls behind my ear. My heart picks up speed. I lean into his touch as warm fingertips dance airily across my cheek. "I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my entire life." His voice is rich and honeyed but also sort of dark and dangerous. "I just don't want anything bad to happen to you. I don't know if I can be the man that you deserve."

"I know you can," I whisper back. A hopeful little smile has started to blossom on my lips. I can see the way he's looking at me. I see the shining adoration in his eyes as he leans closer to me now. It's enough to make me have hope that this man won't be another to break my heart. "Please don't leave me."

I don't know why the bloody hell I've just said this. Actually, I do. I know what's made me say it, but I wish I hadn't. I sound so weak and small... like a child. I don't want him to hurt me like I've been hurt before, but he doesn't know this.

Or does he?

Bucky sees it on my face. He's smarter than hell. He notices something there that I haven't shared. He sees my last flickering candle of hope and I just pray that he won't be sinister enough to squash it out.

Bucky's hand cups my cheek. His thumb reaches up to brush the underside of my eye. His gaze flutters around—landing on all parts of me while he seems to drink up the sight. A sad sort of smile tugs at his lips. Then he says, "I won't. I won't leave you, angel. I promise."

Then he kisses me.

It's innocent and sweet but still manages to fluster me to the point of no return. I get that darling taste of him again and can't help but sigh in relief. Our lips pull apart slowly before I'm resting my forehead to his—our noses slightly brushing.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asks me. I can feel his breath on my mouth.

I roll my eyes but smile. "Yes, loser. This is what I want." I take him by the back of the neck then surprise him with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. I draw it out long and slow before pulling away again. I think he's a bit pleasantly surprised by the action, as I can see the gob smacked grin on his face. "And don't ask me again or I'll have to punch you."

"I think I could take you in a fight, sugar."

"Mhmm," I hum. I can't get enough of him now as he's leaned across the table to be closer. I toy with the hair at the back of his neck and watch as he smirks down at me. "But I know your weaknesses."

Bucky bites down on his bottom lip to keep from grinning too broad. "You are my only weakness, darlin'."

"Good." I laugh lightly. "Then I guess you'll be letting me win."

Bucky smirks. "Every damn time," he mutters. He presses closer for one last quick kiss before settling back onto his side of the booth. He laughs when I frown at his absence. "Get over here, gorgeous. I've got plenty of room." He taps the spot next to him with a twinkle in his eye.

I try not to seem too eager as I come to join him on his side of the booth. Just as I'm settling under the crook of his strung-up metal arm, the waitress comes back around to take our orders. We haven't even looked at the menu, but I decide not to terrorize the poor girl any longer and just randomly order a few things. Bucky lets me pick for him, too, and then the girl is gone again.

Roaring sensations like electric shocks tumble up and down my skin wherever he touches me. The metal finger against my bare arm where he softly traces shapes has me seeing stars. 

"Just remember you're in charge here, okay doll?" Bucky hums into my ear. He plants a soft kiss to the spot just below my pearl earring and I'm left choking on a moan.

"What—what do you mean?"

"I mean," Bucky goes to explain, "That there's no question what I wouldn't do for you. You need it and it's yours." I turn my head to look at him with a bit of shock. The amount of dedication and seriousness on his face is damn overwhelming. "And that includes your space. If you decide this isn't going to work, you just let me know. I'll understand."

"Bucky, don't talk like that..."

"Just let me finish please, sugar."

I bite my tongue—nodding a bit at his soft tone and nickname.

"I just want you to realize that this won't be easy. But if you decide it's not what you want, I'm not going to hold that against you—no matter how much you mean to me. You're always going to be put first. Hell, I've thought that about you for a long while now. I guess now it's just going to be a little different from back when we were friends." He smiles a bit when my head rests against his shoulder. "Okay?"

"Okay." I nod.

At the time our food arrives we're in a giggling fit about something I've said in response to one of his stupid stories. We've taken turns asking random questions again, but quickly found out that we were running out of good quizzing topics that we hadn't already addressed some time before—whether it had been in the gym, at dinner, or tonight at the show.

"Your pancakes, miss," the waitress sets down a platter in front of me and then a provolone bacon burger with an egg for Bucky.

"Thank you," I send her off with a thanks and a grin.

"How'd you know what I'd want?" Bucky genuinely asks as he goes to grab some ketchup for his waffle fries.

"I make your food, Bucky. That's my job, remember?"

He chuckles. "Oh, right." He takes three fries at a time to shovel into his mouth while I begin to saw through my apple pancakes. "Wanna go see a movie with me tomorrow?"

I nod but then stop mid-gesture. "I've got a shift at the restaurant tomorrow."

"Damn. What time?"

"I don't get out until midnight."

Bucky swallows some food then goes to take a drink of tap water. "We could see a morning show."

"Ah, so the old man is a fan of Monday Matinees," I tease him.

Bucky's head tilts back as he lets out a laugh. When he's composed himself again he's saying, "Biologically speaking I'm only a few years older than you."

"A few? Bucky you're nearly thirty."

"Hey—twenty-nine. That's only five years older than you are."

I chuckle. "Whatever you wanna tell yourself, grandpa."

Bucky smirks at me over the top of his burger. "You must have a thing for older men then, sunshine."

"Actually, I do." I take a bite of my soggy pancake stack. I can feel the syrup on my bottom lip. Before I can grab for my napkin to wipe it away, Bucky's reached out with a soft hand to swipe it up on his thumb. He brings the bead of sweet, sticky syrup to his own mouth—sucking it away with his eyes boring intently into mine—before going on as if nothing has happened at all. Meanwhile, I've become a flustered mess. I can feel my cheeks blushing.

"Then it's a good thing I've got a thing for sassy young brunettes."

I laugh, still trying to recover from the syrup incident. "Been with a lot of sassy young brunettes lately, James?"

Bucky pauses as if to consider it heavily. "Hmm. Not really." He thinks about it for another moment while chewing on a fry. "Only a few."

"Oh wow. You sure know how to make a girl feel special," I tease.

"I never said I liked 'em that much. But you?" He pauses to grab my chin and tilt me towards him. "Honey that's a different story."

I smile when he's kissed my forehead, the bristles of the hair growing on his chin scratching my skin lightly, and then pulled back away for another drink of water.

"Anyway, I'd love to see a movie with you," I revert back to our first topic.

"Then it's a date, doll."