[ He's never had to work this hard to court or woo anyone.
And, sure, it's been about eighty years since Bucky last had to do those things (he's not really going to count his recent failed dating attempt, thankyou kindly), but he remembers it being so easy. Once upon a time, he had natural charm, and being around people came easy. Now he know he's stiff and awkward and too intense and the only person who seems to make him feel like his old self again is Sam. Bucky's been trying to hint at his obvious affection. As if he hasn't done enough between helping with the boat, or bringing Sam a real Captain America suit, or all the other stuff between now and then. It used to be a lot easier in the Forties. People, Bucky thinks, expect a lot of different things now when they want to date.
Hell, most people seem to skip the courting process all together and while Bucky can see the convenience, what's the point if you don't even get to know the person?
But Bucky's realized that he has to be direct. That's what people want these days. Less subtle hints and acts of affection and more straight-forwardness. So he'll be straight forward, and either he'll fall flat on his face and have to go back to living on his own for the rest of time, or it'll work in his favour.
And he's pretty sure it'll work in his favour.
Bucky shows up with a bouquet of flowers in hand. Nothing too showy, but nothing small, either. Just a generous amount of in-season blooms that he holds in his hand as he makes his way in through the back door, taking off his sunglasses. ]
[ Delacroix's been looking good on Bucky, if Sam's honest. And it didn't go beyond his notice. Bucky's always been handsome,if you're into hobo chic, but here... he's relaxed in ways he wasn't before. Not always, not fully, but it's a world of difference compared to before. Sam likes to see it on him. The easier smiles, the way his eyes crinkle when he grins. The way he chats to Mama Mabel behind the counter of the local bakery, and the way people around here have generally adopted him.
Didn't take long after the mess with the Flagsmashers for them to decide that Bucky was spending too much time here to really need that apartment in NYC, and that if he moved here, they should get out of Sarah's hair. So... here they are. Got a nice little fixer upper, spent a few weeks working on it, making it a home. 10 minutes from Sarah's, with a nice back porch and a cute pier of its own. Enough space to land a quinjet outside if need be, and for them to have set up a training area.
They've started looking into getting a small place in NYC or DC, too, just something small where they can crash when work keeps them there longer. Turns out, Bucky's not exactly poor, given that the government quietly provided him with a generous backpay as the longest POW in history.
But Delacroix, in the meantime, has become home, and Sam loves their life together. Loves evenings spent cooking, days spent tending to the abandoned Reggio Cemetary, like all local fishermen do, afternoons spent taking Sarah and the boys to the big parish cemetary to visit the Wilson family graves. Trips to New Orleans to get some culture into this poor man. Nights sipping drinks on their own dock.
It's a good life. Sam wishes he didn't feel like it could be better. Bucky's been... charming, to say the least, and always willing to lend a hand. On his best behaviour, and whenever they visit Sarah, Sam can take a guess as to why, sees how Bucky is with her and the kids, and feels his heart ache and sink.
Isn't gonna say anything, 'cause lord knows his sister deserves some happiness, and so does Bucky, so he'll... he'll just... figure it out. Keep himself quiet. He wants for nothing in life, he's decided.
Except when Bucky comes home, calls out like that and has flowers in his arms, something inside Sam's chest flutters pleasantly, and he yearns in ways he has not in years. Honey. Doll. Sweetheart. Sam would give so much to be... but he swallows it. Can't quite help the way he looks, though, mouth lifting into a soft smile that makes his dark brown eyes bright. ]
Honey, huh? Those are nice, Buck. But you know we ain't going over to Sarah's tonight, right?
[ Because clearly, that must be why Bucky brought flowers. Right? ]
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And, sure, it's been about eighty years since Bucky last had to do those things (he's not really going to count his recent failed dating attempt, thankyou kindly), but he remembers it being so easy. Once upon a time, he had natural charm, and being around people came easy. Now he know he's stiff and awkward and too intense and the only person who seems to make him feel like his old self again is Sam. Bucky's been trying to hint at his obvious affection. As if he hasn't done enough between helping with the boat, or bringing Sam a real Captain America suit, or all the other stuff between now and then. It used to be a lot easier in the Forties. People, Bucky thinks, expect a lot of different things now when they want to date.
Hell, most people seem to skip the courting process all together and while Bucky can see the convenience, what's the point if you don't even get to know the person?
But Bucky's realized that he has to be direct. That's what people want these days. Less subtle hints and acts of affection and more straight-forwardness. So he'll be straight forward, and either he'll fall flat on his face and have to go back to living on his own for the rest of time, or it'll work in his favour.
And he's pretty sure it'll work in his favour.
Bucky shows up with a bouquet of flowers in hand. Nothing too showy, but nothing small, either. Just a generous amount of in-season blooms that he holds in his hand as he makes his way in through the back door, taking off his sunglasses. ]
Honey, I'm home.
no subject
Didn't take long after the mess with the Flagsmashers for them to decide that Bucky was spending too much time here to really need that apartment in NYC, and that if he moved here, they should get out of Sarah's hair. So... here they are. Got a nice little fixer upper, spent a few weeks working on it, making it a home. 10 minutes from Sarah's, with a nice back porch and a cute pier of its own. Enough space to land a quinjet outside if need be, and for them to have set up a training area.
They've started looking into getting a small place in NYC or DC, too, just something small where they can crash when work keeps them there longer. Turns out, Bucky's not exactly poor, given that the government quietly provided him with a generous backpay as the longest POW in history.
But Delacroix, in the meantime, has become home, and Sam loves their life together. Loves evenings spent cooking, days spent tending to the abandoned Reggio Cemetary, like all local fishermen do, afternoons spent taking Sarah and the boys to the big parish cemetary to visit the Wilson family graves. Trips to New Orleans to get some culture into this poor man. Nights sipping drinks on their own dock.
It's a good life. Sam wishes he didn't feel like it could be better. Bucky's been... charming, to say the least, and always willing to lend a hand. On his best behaviour, and whenever they visit Sarah, Sam can take a guess as to why, sees how Bucky is with her and the kids, and feels his heart ache and sink.
Isn't gonna say anything, 'cause lord knows his sister deserves some happiness, and so does Bucky, so he'll... he'll just... figure it out. Keep himself quiet. He wants for nothing in life, he's decided.
Except when Bucky comes home, calls out like that and has flowers in his arms, something inside Sam's chest flutters pleasantly, and he yearns in ways he has not in years. Honey. Doll. Sweetheart. Sam would give so much to be... but he swallows it. Can't quite help the way he looks, though, mouth lifting into a soft smile that makes his dark brown eyes bright. ]
Honey, huh? Those are nice, Buck. But you know we ain't going over to Sarah's tonight, right?
[ Because clearly, that must be why Bucky brought flowers. Right? ]