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The Long Way Back to You

pairing | Veterinarian!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader summary | After years of traveling abroad, you are called back to your hometown to help settle your grandmother's estate. You expected to quickly sell the house and return to your life in the city, but an injured bunny leads you straight back to your high school sweetheart...and a life you thought you wanted to leave behind. warnings | MDNI; 18+ Barbies ONLY please 💗 | modern AU, hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn, high school sweethearts to strangers to lovers, mentions of relative death (grandma), grief, Bucky lost his arm and it's briefly described (non-graphic), jealous partner (not Bucky), Bucky Barnes is a yearner, slight description of an animal injury (non life threatening), mentions of pet euthanasia (not described, just the feelings around it), Bucky Barnes is a beggar, but also a tease, oral f! and m! receiving, pussy pronouns, slow, passionate unprotected p in v, these two yap way too much as does the author, Bucky can lift reader and is described as being bigger than her, nicknames used: bunny and sweetheart, reader has a relevant tattoo of something, somewhere, no use of y/n, please let me know if i missed anything word count | 18k (i did say the long way, didn't i?) phoenix chirps | hooollllyyyyyyy fucking shit, i did it. my longest fic to date, who let me yap this much??? my second fic for the @stantastic-association Barbie collab ❤️💗 this one...i'll talk about after. there's a lore drop at the end where i'll yap your ear off even more. for now...please enjoy my favorite fic i've ever written 🫶 oh and if this flops i'm ending it all. kidding. maybe. Main Masterlist | Barbie Dreamhouse Masterlist | AO3

When did casseroles become the standard of care when someone was grieving?

Surely there had to be something better than canned ingredients thrown into Tupperware dishes to give the surviving members of a family? The unlabeled containers felt like a tower of misguided sympathy as you stacked them in the passenger seat of your car. The reception had cleared out minutes ago, each of your grandmother's friends handing you a dish and saying "sorry for your loss" or "she's in a better place" before going off to their own lives.

Words that were meant to bring comfort, yet hit a concrete wall that you had erected around the feelings death brought. Smiling as sadly as you could, you accepted each one gratefully. Social norms telling you anything but that would be rude and inappropriate. So now, not only were you still holding back tears that you didn't want to shed in the presence of others, you had to play Tetris so they wouldn't topple over on the drive.

Still though, it was easier to focus on them than the grief that was clawing at your insides, you supposed. Easier to focus on the contents of casseroles than the oddity of returning to a place you thought you'd left in the dust when you decided to broaden your horizons.

As you drove, your mind picked out familiar things. The tree-lined streets that looked like they belonged on postcards were still the shining star of the sleepy town, impeccably manicured as always. Yet the landscape around them had changed in the decade since you'd laid eyes on it. The diner you used to get a quick bite to eat at after school had gotten a new coat of paint that made you wrinkle your nose. The library where you once pored over travel magazines and occasionally studied had gotten a new neon sign and updated the flower beds with limestone facades. The singular convenience store where everyone did their grocery shopping had gotten a modern facelift with new signage.

Time had seemed to touch everything except the layout, making everything both familiar and new at once. The nursery that was at the end of the street your grandmother lived on was just putting out their spring plants. A fresh wave of despair hit you square in the chest at the realization you wouldn't get to hear your grandmother lovingly describe what she picked to plant in her garden that season.

The stack of Tupperware leaned dangerously when you turned onto the road you learned to ride a bike on, and once knew all of the neighbors. Memory alone got you from the reception hall to now idling on the unpaved driveway of your grandmother's house, body working on autopilot the second you had passed the nursery. The house looked the same, in theory. Though there was a looming darkness where your grandma's presence would've normally brightened. Like the soul of the house had been snatched with her passing.

The plush leather seats seemed to have magnetized your clothing, your hands not able to move from the steering wheel. Of all the tasks you needed to take care of since you got the news, somehow getting out of the car and crossing the threshold to a quiet house where your grandmother no longer occupied was definitely the hardest.

Yet, it was your cross to bear as her sole heir. Her last wishes were for you to clean up the house that had been in your family for generations, and make sure whoever bought it would treat it with the same care as she did. And there was no way you could fulfill that if you didn't gather the courage to walk through the door.

Yanking your suitcase free from the backseat, you moved to face the front door, casseroles forgotten in their stacked configuration of the passenger seat. With trembling fingers, you finally unlocked the heavy wooden door and pushed in.

The scent of muted rose perfume and lemon pledge hit you first, and your mind briefly played a phantom memory of your grandmother. Rounding the corner from the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel before she opened her arms for an all encompassing embrace that could cure all ailments. Pressing a hand to your heart to stop the ache as you took in the dim entry way, moving to the living room. The rooms and hallways looked the same as they did in your childhood memory only…smaller. Like you had outgrown the space, but not the feeling of comfort.

A fresh tinge of guilt wrapped around your throat as you saw the signs of your grandmother's aging. Pill bottles on the small end table, lined up in an orderly fashion. A walker stood at the ready next to her favorite arm chair that had a handmade throw blanket you sent her from a remote village of Machu Picchu. An unfinished crossword sat on the small coffee table that made your lip tremble. It would likely stay unfinished for all of eternity.

With a deep breath you moved to the bedrooms, taking in the changes that you had only heard from your grandmother when she visited you or spoke about on the phone. The kitchen had gotten a much needed upgrade from the old 70s appliances that were truthfully on their last leg for awhile.

Your childhood room had amassed some boxes, but remained for the most part untouched. That's where your suitcase landed, hoping what you packed would be enough until you could get the house ready to sell.

The heels you wore to the funeral clicked on the worn hardwood, and you could almost hear your grandmother's voice asking you how you walked in those things. The last room you hadn't inspected yet was hers. And the closer you got to the door at the end of the hallway, the stronger the scent of her perfume became.

Memories flooded in one by one as you dared to reach for the door knob. Cuddling up next to her while awful soap operas played on an ancient TV with a lace doily draped over it. Gossiping about the townspeople like they were characters in her own personal drama series. Your grandmother always made it a point to know everyone's business.

Dropping your hand from the knob, you bolted for air. For space to breathe that wasn't bashing you over the head with guilt. Guilt for not coming back as she aged even though you could have. Guilt for your selfishness of always flying her to you on your travels instead of relaxing with her in the home you basically grew up in.

The sliding glass door squeaked as you stepped into the backyard oasis that was still thankfully maintained to perfection. The sun was just dipping below the trees, casting everything in a soft orange glow, and birds were calling somewhere off in the distance. Out here, your thoughts always seemed to halt.

In the summer, wildflowers would bloom along the fence line, fruit trees towards the back of the property would produce lemons and cherries for pies that would be baked from scratch or preserved. Rows of raised flowerbeds held all manners of vegetables, herbs, and fruits. Even in her old age, your grandmother had continued its upkeep insisting that it helped her feel young again.

And when her body began to wither with the throes of time, she hired trusted gardeners and landscapers from around town to keep its spirit alive. Something you were tasked to ensure the next owners of the house would do. Even now, the thought of this space still overflowing with life being redone in a trendy minimalist aesthetic brought a strange surge of anger in your veins.

Just as you took a deep breath, you heard a rustling sound from a raised flower bed to your left. Something too loud to be from the light spring breeze. Slowly making your way over, you saw the source of the sound. Nestled between the stalks of herbs that had survived the winter frost, was a small, tawny bunny with wide black eyes trying to burrow for safety. Yet, she was ensnared in what appeared to be fishing line, an angry red mark visible against her fur where it dug into her back leg. She stopped at the sight of you, going completely still except for the rapid twitching of her nose.

You shrugged off your black cardigan without a second thought, draping it over her body in hopes of keeping her warm. You couldn't bear anymore thoughts of death today if you could help it. Dashing inside, heels briefly getting caught in the grass, your thumbs were already flying over your phone screen to find the closest vet. It wasn't lost on you that you used to know this town — and the vet clinic — like the back of your hand. And now you needed to Google a place you used to call home because you didn't trust your mind to remember where it was.

Grabbing a small shoebox from the kitchen counter, you returned to the bunny. Gently snapping the fishing line so as not to disturb the wound, you wrapped the cardigan completely around her and placed her in the box. "Hold on for me, okay?" you pleaded, securing her as best you could before making your way back to the car. "I've got you."

The casserole dishes you had been too drained to move still sat in the front seat, a glaring reminder that you hadn't been able to stomach anything real since the news of your grandmother's passing. But you had more pressing matters to attend to.

Based on your search, there was still a singular vet in town. The street address was the same as well, familiar now that it was staring back at you. Summers spent at that very address using every spare minute to nurture your passion for animals. And while you should know how to get there, you didn't trust the decade old map in your head while a life hung in the balance.

Pulling up to the clinic was like opening a time capsule. The name had changed to "White Wolf Animal Hospital", proudly displayed on a wooden sign. The front facade had been redone, upgraded slightly with a modern undertone though still keeping the rustic charm. The big oak tree you used to sit underneath during hot summer afternoons still stood, branches larger and broader now.

Carefully scooping up the box, you pulled open the clinic door, a bell announcing your arrival with a faint clink. The reception area was empty and quiet, though the overhead lights were still on indicating that it should have been occupied. It was odd that no one was manning the front, a position you used to fill during your free time, so you knew how important it was.

You checked your watch to see if you were too late for their working hours (you weren't), then chanced a glance at the bunny. She was still in a state of shock, eyes blinked slowly up at you. Sighing, you set the box down on the high counter, close to convincing yourself that you could go to the back and use your limited knowledge to maybe help the little creature.

Surely this place wasn't closed yet if the door was unlocked? And if it was, what kind of person bought the clinic and was managing it so inadequately?

"Hello?" You called into the emptiness, heels continuing to click with each step. The clinic wasn't that big, surely if anyone was here, they would have heard you. Picking up the box again, you moved to start opening doors to exam rooms until you found anyone to help, when the farthest one swung open, a man in a lab coat stepping through.

"Ma'am, I'm so sorry, but we're —"

Time froze as soon as blue eyes you never thought you'd see again met yours. Your heartbeat increased wildly, just as it used to when you saw him. Of all the people you had expected to be running the old vet clinic, Bucky Barnes was the absolute last one.

He looked nearly the same as he did in your memories of him, somehow. A little older, a little more muscular, with wisps of incoming grays in his dark hair and stubble around his jaw as the only things to show any time had passed since you had said goodbye. When the relationship between two young and dumb kids couldn't stand the test of long distance and an amicable breakup followed, you thought that would be it. And the 20 year old you left behind would be the forever image you held of your first love.

But now here you were, shaking free his own memories if the way his eyes darted around your figure were any indication.

"Bunny?" he asked, breathless.

Stepping closer, you held the box out for him to see, you almost asked how he knew what you had brought him. Until you realized he wasn't referencing the injured animal. He was talking to you.

A nickname bestowed to you once upon a time. When the stars twinkled brighter and your futures weren't yet decided, a silly thing based on an inside joke of an inside joke that you couldn't remember the origin of. Hearing it from him was in and of itself, another kind of shock.

"Oh," you both said in unison, chuckling awkwardly, trying to figure out where to go next. Because, truthfully, what words were there to say to someone after ten years and barely a birthday or holiday card? You weren't even planning on looking him up, not wanting to disturb whatever peace he had built by showing up unannounced. And yet an injured bunny sent those plans to crumble.

His gaze dropped to the cardigan in the box, then to the modest black dress and heels you hadn't bothered to change out of. His features morphed, worry lines deepening as he came to a quiet conclusion as to why you had returned in the first place.

"I…found a bunny in grandma's garden. It looks like she got caught up in some fishing line," you explained, breaking the silence. You moved closer, box still held out like a peace offering in hopes of getting his calculating stare off of you and towards the more pressing matter.

"Come on back," Bucky motioned with his head to the exam room behind him, holding the door open for you and letting you go in first.

Suddenly incredibly aware of the clack you made with each step, and how you were trying to breathe calmly and not breathe in the familiar aroma of his cologne. You placed the box onto the metal exam table, stepping back to give him space to perform the exam.

"Alright little one, let's see what you've gotten yourself into." Bucky's voice still held that gentle quality you remembered falling in love with. It was surprising how much you missed it, when something that faded over time without you realizing it was suddenly back with clarity.

His hands moved carefully, cradling the small animal that somehow seemed even smaller once it was in his palm. The glint of black and gold on his left hand caught your eye then, a sleek and modern prosthetic that had your chest clenching, mind reeling with scenarios of what could have happened for him to lose his arm. Vaguely, you did remember your grandmother telling you briefly of how there was a fire at the animal clinic, and that someone had been injured. She just hadn't told you how or…who.

Bucky's voice calling your name snapped you from trying to decipher the mystery and defrost any more memories. He was looking at you expectantly, probably asked a question you didn't hear and therefore couldn't answer. "Sorry, what?"

A soft chuckle left his mouth, making your heart melt just a bit further. "Do you know how she got wrapped up like this?"

"No," you answered, arms wrapping around your waist. "I was getting some air in the backyard when I heard her rustling in between the rosemary and parsley. I'm not even sure where the fishing line came from, grandma didn't use it for this very reason."

"Well she's lucky you found her." Bucky smiled in your general direction, but he hadn't met your eyes since the nickname faux pas. Turning, he grabbed some cleaning solution and gauze.

You watched as he tried to dress the wound, but the bunny was wriggling to the point it had become a struggle of not injuring her further. "Let me help," you offered softly, already pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. Helping to hold the bunny still, Bucky was able to get her patched up. Based on your limited knowledge, the wound didn't appear that deep, but without your intervention there was no way the poor thing would have survived.

Putting the thought of anymore death out of your head, you turned to dispose of the gloves and let Bucky do a final wellness check. Ignoring the familiarity of what just happened by reaching up to fidget with the pendant of your necklace.

Bucky barely looked over at you, but still asked: "When's the last time you ate anything?"

"Oh, about…twelve hours ago," you answered truthfully, but when he leveled you with a pointed stare, you felt the need to ramble in defense. "But I have…casseroles. In the car. For…later."

"Casseroles," he deadpanned, now moving his attention to bringing out a small cage and preparing it with straw and bowls from various cupboards.

"The backseat is full of Tupperware containers. Apparently all of grandma's friends thought the best way for me to deal with her death was by pouring a bunch of ingredients into a dish and letting me play a guessing game of what I thought was in it."

His lips twitched into a barely there smile, placing the bunny into her temporary home where she immediately hopped to the corner, snuggling into a tight ball. "I'm going to keep her here for observation for a few days, and contact some wildlife rehab centers in the morning."

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, he rocked onto the balls of his feet. "In the meantime, let me take you to dinner. We can catch up."

It was a simple request, one you could deflect again. You did have casseroles…but they likely weren't even good anymore, considering they should've been refrigerated as soon as you got to the house. But as it neared 6 pm, you'd been running on empty for hours without realizing it. And your stomach was growling in protest of being ignored.

"Okay," you agreed, continuing to fidget with your necklace. It was a simple agreement. And yet nothing was going to be simple about bridging a decade of non-communication into one dinner.

"We can go to Frankie's up the road, just give me a couple of minutes to close up," Bucky suggested, nodding towards the door to the front.

You nodded, the name of the old diner hitting you like a force field. Memories of past dates, post homecoming and prom nights, and…the night you had both decided that the relationship wouldn't work if you left. There were no fireworks, not even a fight or careless words thrown. Just two people mature enough to realize that the life you wanted was one that he couldn't follow you into. And loving each other enough to say it instead of forcing someone to give up their dream.

Initially, you thought it would be easier to sever ties completely. Considering there would be long stretches where you didn't know where you would land, you didn't want to lead him on when you also didn't know if you'd be back.

Yet every year you'd look at important dates on your calendar just a little bit longer. A birthday, anniversaries of first kisses or relationship milestones that no longer meant anything hoping that you had made the right decision by putting yourself first and that Bucky was at least happy. Because that's all you'd ever wanted for him.

"Ready?" Bucky asked, returning to you with keys twirling around a finger easily. The lab coat was gone, giving a closer glimpse of his broad shoulders stretching the plaid button-down shirt he was wearing as he grabbed a jacket from a hook behind the reception desk.

You nodded, following him out of the clinic and onto the sidewalk. The streetlights were just coming on, bathing everything in an amber glow, with the soft chirps of crickets providing ambiance as you began walking.

It was absurd if you thought about it for too long. How normal this would've been had you not had to cure the wanderlust of your soul.

"So…" you both started awkwardly, chuckling at your timing. Perhaps this sort of clumsiness was just what ten years apart does to two people who used to finish each other's sentences.

"So, how long are you in town for?" Bucky asked, keeping a respectful distance with his hands shoved into his pockets and focusing on the ground in front of him.

You matched his pace, heels scraping along the sidewalk while your hands weren't really sure what to do with themselves, the anxious habit of twisting the pendant the only thing you were able to think of. "Only until grandma's house sells. Her will specified that I need to stay there while it's on the market, something about making sure it goes to the right person," you explained calmly. "You know how particular she was about that garden of hers."

Bucky nodded thoughtfully, a few pieces of hair bouncing as he did so. The uncomfortable silence lingered again, pressing inwards like it knew it shouldn't be here. There was the sense that there were several thousand words unsaid, and yet none were rising to the surface.

"So…how long are you in town for?" you asked, looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

He smiled fully then, lines around his eyes and mouth a little deeper than you remembered. "Quite a while, I think."

You stopped next to him in front of the diner, nose wrinkling in slight disgust as you saw the new paint job it had been given. A bright cherry red and white awning with bright, electric blue signage, where there was once a soft yellow storefront with inviting turquoise accents. Who decided that your favorite diner needed to look like a bomb pop had exploded? Only…was it really your favorite diner anymore?

"Don't worry. It may have gotten a botched facelift, but the food is still good," Bucky assured, holding the door open for you, the still familiar smell of fryer grease and salt with the undertones of ground coffee even this late in the evening wafted out.

There was once a time you recognized everyone who worked at Frankie's, including the owner, who named it after his late father. But now, only new faces blinked back at you while you were shown to a booth in the corner.

Just like your grandmother's house, the booths felt and looked the same, yet seemed…smaller. You had anticipated that after ten years of growing, yet you didn't think you'd ever outgrow a place that meant so much to you.

The Formica tabletop had been refinished, probably at the same time the awful paint job had occurred outside. This corner booth was one you would frequently sit at, and one your fifteen year old self had boldly carved your and Bucky's initials into, like it was going to be as permanent as what you thought your relationship was.

"What can I get ya, Doc?" a waitress asked, stopping by the table with a pen and notepad in hand. She smiled warmly at you briefly, but her attention was focused mainly on Bucky. A habit of people from a town where everyone knew everyone.

It was strange to hear Bucky of all people be referred to as 'doc'. Technically, it was his title, and you knew that. It just took a stranger saying it out loud to make it click that the boy who used to shotgun energy drinks, demolish your high score in Guitar Hero, and whisper sweet nothings against your skin was an actual doctor. Even if it was for animals.

"Two coffees please, Joyce, and I'll have my usual," he answered, not even glancing at the menu.

You rattled off a simple sandwich and French fry order, settling on the first familiar thing you saw. A little grateful that not everything had changed.

Joyce returned with two mugs of steaming coffee, and you wrapped a hand around one, letting the warmth seep into your palms.

"So, where did you end up going?" Bucky asked, pushing the tin of sugar towards you before you had a chance to grab for it.

"Ah, all over really? Spent a couple of years traveling around central Europe picking up odd jobs. Learned how to ask for directions and where the bathroom is in about eight languages," you explained, focusing more on the slow turn of your spoon.

He nodded again, eyes finally freely roaming over you when he thought your gaze was downcast. Up until now, he'd really focused on anything that wasn't your face. It made something in your chest twist, knowing that your surprise appearance was just as big a shock for him as it was for you.

Guilt, like bile, settled in the back of your throat. You had promised to come back, in this very booth actually. Sure it was before you knew where your life would take you, but still. You could have visited.

Your eye caught the black and gold glint of his left arm again, heart hammering to know how exactly that came to be. You hadn't really stopped wondering, but didn't know how to bring it up. You tried taking a sip of your coffee, averting your eyes back to Bucky's, but he was giving you a small, knowing smile.

"About a year after you left," he began, leaning back in the booth like he was reliving the memory in real time. "A fire broke out from some faulty wiring. Almost lost the whole building."

You put that into a quick perspective, trying to figure out what you were so busy doing while something so horrible was happening to a person you claimed to care about.

"All the animals got out," he continued, drumming his fingers against the table top. "I went back in to get the old clinic cat. Stubborn thing was hiding in the back storage room. I was able to get her out, but got pinned in the process."

You swallowed thickly, guilt still radiating outward. "Grandma told me about the fire, but never the extent of it."

"She probably just didn't want you worrying," he answered, sipping his coffee.

Your eyes finally met his since the first time at the clinic, cataloguing freely the changes age and the stress of running a business had caused. And his did the same to you. "Bucky, I'm - "

You were cut off from an improvised and too late apology by Joyce, dropping the food off at the table.

Shoulders dropping, you didn't even know what you would've said anyway. Something like that should be more thought out so you could get out everything you needed to say.

"So old Doc Hensley finally retired then? Any idea where he ended up?" you asked, steering the conversation away from a haphazard apology.

Bucky huffed a chuckle, popping a fry into his mouth. "Bought a timeshare in Cabo. Left me with the clinic once he knew I could handle it after I got my degree."

The image of walking into an empty reception area had your head tilting slightly. "Can you…handle it?" you asked gently, remembering just how difficult it could be to run the whole operation by yourself.

One of his shoulders raised slightly, the corner of his mouth tipping up like he knew what you were really asking. "It's been harder recently. Lost my front desk associate after he decided to choose a different career path."

You knew he didn't mean anything by the words. That was just the story of what happened, but still, an apology tried to worm its way free again. Like he wouldn't have this problem had you stayed…

"And where did you finally end up? Or are you still traveling?" he asked, and you wondered if he could see where your mind was wandering, and he had looked for a way to bring it back to the present.

"I'm working in the tech field now, based out of New York City, where I live. Mostly remote stuff, so I could keep traveling around if I want. I took a bereavement leave to get the house sorted," you paused to look at the darkening sky, realizing you had not made a dent in packing up the house or contacting a realtor to begin the process of putting it on the market.

"Do you like it in the city?"

"It's good, I suppose. The apartment is tiny, but it's in a great neighborhood, and my - " you paused briefly because it really hadn't hit you how awkward this next glimpse into your new life would be. "- my boyfriend likes living there."

Bucky stilled, coffee cup halfway to his lips as a mix of emotions quickly flickered over his eyes., before he shifted his gaze downwards. "How long has that been going on?"

Chewing your lip at the sudden change in demeanor, hand that wasn't occupied with the coffee mug flying to the pendant necklace again. "About two years."

He nodded his head once, like it was something final, and you couldn't help feeling like you had just sucker-punched him with that news. "Is he good to you?"

It was your turn to nod with a small smile when you answered, "Yeah, he is."

You should have expected this reveal to land awkwardly, as everything else had with him since you ran into his clinic. But in practice, it felt so much worse for reasons you didn't currently want to dwell on. Especially when every single turn of events since the funeral - except for saving that bunny - had made guilt become the leading emotion for the foreseeable future.

Turning your mug in your hands, you fought against the urge to fill the silence. Even as Joyce came to take away your empty plates and drop off the check, you still wanted to say something. But what could you say to someone whose feelings you hurt twice in the span of a decade? In the very same diner, no less.

You turned to dig in your purse to put some money down, but Bucky had already placed cash on the table and leveled you with a look that crossed a decade. Enough that you knew whatever small argument was about to happen, you would not win.

"Thank you for dinner. You really didn't have to," you protested, scooting out of your side of the booth and following him out of the diner.

He smiled gently, something unguarded now in his expression. "You ran into my clinic in what I'm assuming are your funeral clothes with an injured bunny. It's the least I could do."

Out on the sidewalk, the temperature had dipped considerably now that the sun had set. The moon had risen, providing a silver haze mingling with the amber pools of light of the streetlamps.

The silence between you and Bucky no longer felt like it was begging to be filled with awkward questions and small talk, it had become slightly more manageable. The dinner was successful, if that bar was measured by divulging big life events and evading the pitfalls of a reunion neither party was prepared to make.

You shivered against the chill during the short walk, slightly berating yourself for leaving the cardigan you had worn earlier with the bunny.

Bucky cleared his throat, draping his jacket over your shoulders without question or ceremony. He used to do something similar on cold nights, walking down these same sidewalks. Only it was his Letterman jacket he'd put over your shoulders and then wrap a hand around yours. His hand didn't find yours though in the present.

"How are you doing? With…everything?" he asked gently. It was a loaded question in the loaded silence while your hand was itching with the phantom feeling of his. Gone was the formality of catching up, and he was genuinely asking. Looking for an honest answer that none of the funeral goers earlier in the day would have wanted.

You let out a shaky sigh, guilt in the back of your throat being replaced with a heavy hollowness. Tears really hadn't fallen since you got the news, and some form of robotic numbness had taken up residence where emotion should be, and you didn't want tears to fall now. "Okay, I suppose. Being back in the house was hard. Didn't really have time to dwell too hard on it when I found the bunny."

Bucky glanced sideways at you, something in his expression shifting at your answer. You must have worn your sadness plainly enough now. "Do you need any help? Boxing things up or anything?"

You were approaching the clinic's parking lot where your car was waiting. "I don't know where to start, really. I couldn't even open her bedroom door," you paused to rifle through your purse for the keys. "The whole place feels like a giant game of Minesweeper, and I just keep stepping on mines instead of flagging safe spots."

"Well…" Bucky sighed, stepping back to give you space to open the door to your car. The wafting smell of casseroles made you grimace, thankful that you had taken Bucky's offer to get some real food tonight. "The clinic could use some help. If you ever want somewhere to be that isn't the house."

You faced him fully then, leaning against the car, tilting your head back to look at him. The passage of time had been kind to him. And maybe in another life, this date - if that's what you could even call it - would've ended with him gently pressing you against the car, his hand at the nape of your neck. It would be comforting even now, yet impossible for you to ask for on several counts.

"I'm not even licensed for anything clinical, Buck," you sighed, looking back down at your shoes, worried about getting too lost in his eyes. "I'd just get in the way."

"I'm aware," he answered simply, "and no, you wouldn't."

You kicked a small pebble with your toe, watching it bounce between his feet. Deep down, you knew he wasn't expecting an answer right now. He really wasn't even expecting you to do it. It was just an offer of a distraction so you didn't wallow in grief.

"I'll think about it," you finally answered with a small smile, gaze tracking over his face.

He nodded, opening the car door for you further so you could slide in. "Try to get some sleep. It really was good to see you."

"You too."

Shutting the door and driving away with an easy wave, you mulled over the last few hours in your mind. How little building blocks had all snapped into place so you could end up here. It wasn't until you turned onto the road home that you realized his jacket was still draped around your shoulders. And now that if the heaviness of going through your grandmother's things got to be too much, you had a sliver of an excuse to show up and slide behind the reception desk as if no time had passed at all.

Sleep evaded you, like it always did in a new place. Ghosts of your childhood and the things you left behind had you tossing and turning for most of the night. If you had managed to drift off, it was dreamless, and interrupted by sounds of the house settling that you were no longer used to. You rose before the sun, intending to at least start clearing some of the easier parts of the house.

The kitchen felt like the safest place to start. Not to mention if you were going to tackle anything on your to do list, copious amounts of caffeine were going to be a necessity.

The cupboard always held seven mugs, six were from the set of china your grandmother had acquired on her wedding day. The single out of place mug was a chipped butter-yellow with lopsided daisies hand painted on it. One that you had presented her when you were no more than seven years old. And ever since then, you watched her pour coffee into it every morning, reserving the 'fancier' mugs for company.

No one was ever allowed to use it while your grandmother was alive…and you decided you'd like to keep it that way. Setting it on the counter, the flagship of the 'keep' pile, you started the ancient coffee maker and let the aroma of fresh coffee fill the kitchen.

There were only a couple of texts from Nick asking how you were. A fresh pang of guilt knocked against your ribs that you hadn't responded. That you were too busy reliving the past to fully remember the present. You sent off a simple response…

You [7:39 AM]

Morning! Slept OK, but it's been a lot to take in…hoping to make progress with the realtor today. Miss you xx

With your coffee mug in hand, your feet carried you to the solace of the backyard while you drafted an email to the local realtor in your head. The sun was still hiding behind the trees, but must've been barely over the horizon, as the sky was lightening to a pale purple.

Glancing sideways at the small herb garden where you'd found the bunny, there was a small indent in the greenery still visible. A small frown tugged at your lips. You didn't really know how the bunny was doing this morning after her little ordeal. Sure the wounds weren't that bad, and the fact that she survived the car ride alone should've been enough to calm your mind. Yet, as you moved back inside going room to room to take stock of what you needed to accomplish, the poor bunny still lingered in the back of your mind.

Along with the image of an empty reception area. If Bucky was truly short-staffed, who was going to be checking on her throughout the day? Considering you were the one to drop her in his lap, maybe you should just…

Then, your eyes landed on the borrowed jacket that had been draped over your shoulders last night, where it now laid on the back of the couch. You should return it, at least, and when you did that's when you could check in on the bunny.

You should also start adding more to the 'keep' pile and clean up a few of the more personal effects of your grandmother's so listing photos could be taken. But the thought of doing that felt insurmountable when you were worried about the little creature. And Bucky trying to run that place on his own…

So, with a half-drafted email waiting to be sent in your outbox and memories that you didn't have the mental capacity to untangle yet, you grabbed the jacket and your keys and left all responsibilities to wait.

The drive to the clinic was familiar now. You pulled into the parking lot just in time to see Bucky emerging from a house next door to the clinic, juggling a bag and a travel coffee mug, his keys held between his teeth while he situated everything into a comfortable hold.

Stepping out of your car, you waved sheepishly at him, fiddling with your own key chain. "You live around here?" you asked, once he was in earshot.

Really, you expected to surprise him, seeing as this was your second time showing up unannounced in less than 24 hours. Yet there were no signs of shock on his face, just a knowing smile and the hint of relief in his piercing gaze. "I live next door," he gestured to the house, key sliding into the lock. "Easier and faster to get here in case of an emergency. What are you doin' here?"

You held the jacket out like a peace offering, "I didn't want to steal your jacket, and…I was worried about the bunny."

His lips twitched at the corners while he held the door to the clinic open for you to pass through first. "I checked on her last night before I turned in, and she was doing great. You can go see for yourself if you'd like."

You walked to the back, lights flicking on overhead as Bucky wordlessly prepared his clinic for the day. The bunny was awake, moving as gingerly as she could through her bedding of straw to get to a small food bowl. She caught sight of you, twitching her nose as she ate. The bandages you had helped place were still intact, though you suspected Bucky would need help changing them soon.

Your cardigan had been folded carefully and placed next to the cage, no longer needed now that the bunny was safe and warm. Moving to pick it up, your eyes caught sight of a small placard that would normally get filled out during intake. In Bucky's semi-neat handwriting was the name 'Rosemary' along with a few progress notes.

"See? She's a real trooper; the first night is always the one to watch."

"Bucky you…you named her?" you asked, turning to look at him while he adjusted his lab coat over his shoulders.

"I did. Figured she might be staying a bit until she gets her strength up, and we can find a wildlife center to help us release her."

For a moment, you didn't say anything, turning to look back down at the tawny bunny - Rosemary - instead. You could sense Bucky pick up on something being wrong as he moved closer behind you. "Was that okay?" he asked, voice dipping now in concern.

Nodding quickly, you turned the cardigan over in your hands. "It's just….I mean…you named her after my grandmother?"

Bucky's composure completely faltered as he finally connected it, eyes going wide with surprise. "Oh! I - fuck - I only named her that because you said you found her in the herbs, and I didn't - I'm sorry."

You huffed a small laugh at his stumbling, really unnecessary apology. It wasn't like your grandma liked being called Rosemary anyway. She much preferred everyone call her 'Rose' or 'Grandma', even if they had no relation to her. "It's really fine, I just…wasn't expecting it. It suits her, though."

Bucky's mouth opened like he had more to say, but just outside the room, the bell jingled to announce that the first client had come in for their appointment. "Well, that's me. You'll be okay back here?"

Nodding, you glanced back at your cardigan in your hands.

"Hey," he said, hand already braced on the door to the front. "Seriously, you can stay as long as you need to."

"Thanks," you murmured, knowing what that offer was. Stay somewhere neutral if the house is getting too loud. And you really were grateful for it. The crushing weight of responsibility still sat in your chest, but it was easier here when glaring memories of the past weren't around every corner.

But sitting in a room with your thoughts while the bell jingled twice more, and the sound of an overexcited dog came from beyond the door, wasn't really helping either. A different kind of guilt hit then, when you knew you could help. You knew, roughly, where the client files were. You knew how to soothe owners when something slightly traumatic happened, and they were worried. You knew some patients would take longer, and a backlog would happen if intake forms weren't completed before Bucky saw them.

Setting the cardigan back down next to Rosemary's cage, where she had already curled up for a nap, you pushed your way to the front. Bucky was bent over the reception desk, fingers rifling through folders. "Let me," you said gently, moving to nudge him out of the way, but he had already stepped back before you got too close.

He gave a grateful smile, but didn't dwell further, showing the dog and her owner to one of the exam rooms. Orienting yourself was easy enough, or would have been. But whoever Bucky had manning the front had completely obliterated your filing system that you spent your entire last summer here working on.

"Who fuckin' organized these?" you grumbled under your breath, knowing you'd need to get this back into shape at some point. Even if you didn't plan on staying, the need to create efficiency was already eating away at you.

The bell jingled again, and you looked up to see an elderly woman with a cat carrier clutched tightly. "Well, I'll be, I didn't expect to see Rose's granddaughter here ever again."

You chuckled softly, recognizing her as one of the many whom you met at the funeral the day before. "Just getting my mind off things. What brings you in today?"

A sympathetic smile creased her face. "We're here for Figg's annual checkup." She raised the cat carrier a bit.

Nodding, you pulled the paperwork free, and began the simple process. Asking questions if anything was concerning or anything had changed since last time. "Take a seat and Doctor Barnes will be out here shortly." The line out of your mouth was standard once the paperwork was completed. Though it used to be 'Hensley' you said, and Bucky's surname coming from your lips felt a little foreign. Still, you couldn't stop the flare of warmth in your chest at knowing he fulfilled a dream he'd talked about since you were kids.

"You know, these used to be organized to perfection," you groused, sliding Figg's client folder to Bucky when he emerged from an exam room.

A look of amusement danced across his eyes as he picked up the folder. "I do know."

You settled behind the desk once they were out of sight, starting to reimplement everything back to perfection. Something about doing something menial with little emotional consequence was healing. Giving you the space to maybe come to terms with having to go through every one of your grandma's belongings.

The day began to run smoothly. You sorted paperwork, greeted patients as they came in, and tried to get your mind to clear as much as possible. It was a little alarming if you stopped to think about it too much. How easy it had been to slip back into a persona and exist in Bucky's presence. Despite the initial awkwardness of dinner the previous night, and a few moments where the space between you narrowed too close, the stiffness had dissipated slightly, leaning more towards two people who had always known how to coexist in the same space.

It wasn't until your phone buzzed under a particularly thick stack of papers that reality came to a head.

Texts from Nick asking how things were coming along had been sitting unanswered, and you'd been too caught up to respond. Right. You had been in the middle of an email when you had decided you'd needed to be anywhere else.

With a lull in the day, you opened the half-drafted email back up on your phone. But just as you were double-checking the contents before sending it, Bucky's voice pulled your attention.

"Would you mind helping me redress Rosemary's bandages?"

And just like that, your phone lay forgotten once more, a more important task needing your full attention.

Once the last patient of the day left, the clinic lights had been dimmed, and the front door locked, you returned to Rosemary for one last check-in.

"Thank you for staying. " Bucky said, with this being the first real chance the two of you had to be alone. "You really didn't have to."

"I did, though. Couldn't leave you stranded when all I was going to do was stand frozen in the hallway of grandma's house."

You were aware of his proximity as he moved closer, while he carefully deduced what an appropriate amount of space there should be between you. "The offer still stands, you know. With the house. I have the weekends free if you need an extra pair of hands."

"Speaking of an extra pair of hands, could I…come back tomorrow? It was nice getting away from the house." You hated how timid your voice sounded, asking for permission to be in a place he'd already said you could be. But you really didn't want to get in the way or cause a distraction. "I figured I'd rather sort through paperwork rather than grandma's things…"

You caught the small twitch of Bucky's fingers from your periphery. Like he wanted to reach for you in comfort, but wasn't sure if he should. "You don't have to ask, you know. Just show up if you want to."

There was a long, white box waiting on the doorstep of your grandmother's house when you arrived. Picking it up and seeing it was from a local florist, your first instinct was that this was a late funeral arrangement. Someone that your grandmother had befriended on her travels with you, who couldn't make it to this small town.

Already gathering a vase from the linen closet, your eyes were finally able to start making mental notes of what to do with the contents after clearing your head at the clinic that day. But when you opened the box, you didn't see what appeared to be a funeral arrangement. There were a few dozen pink and white tulips nestled in brown kraft paper, wrapped with a delicate lace ribbon.

Plucking the card carefully from the greenery before situating them in the vase, your heart thumped just slightly harder at the familiar scrawl on the white stationery.

Hope these help you smile. You'll be okay. - B

Your favorite flowers from an ex of the past, yet maybe… a friend of the present had your mind reeling. Though you couldn't linger on what the feeling of being seen in such a vulnerable way, without having to word it for too long.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, another dose of reality being poured down your throat for what felt like the thousandth time that day had just arrived.

Nick [6:42 PM]

What did the realtor say?

It was never meant to be something long-term. Maybe a week of clinic work at most until your head cleared enough to tackle the responsibilities of selling your grandmother's house. But by the second week of working a structured Monday through Friday, 8 to 5…a routine had been established.

You would arrive just as Bucky stepped out of his front door. Both of you would tackle the opening tasks separately, with you checking in on Rosemary, who was getting stronger every day.

The once messy files were now put back to their original glory, ready to be handed off to whoever Bucky decided to hire for this position. Who would hopefully keep it at least more organized than when you found it.

It became easier to breathe in the charm of the small town. Most everyone who came in recognized you as Rose's granddaughter, and would want to regale you with their favorite tales of your grandmother. Sometimes you'd be able to handle it, but others, Bucky learned to step in and redirect the conversation to the pet that was being seen. You weren't sure when he'd begun recognizing your grief was about to spill over unintentionally, but it was welcome. Like he'd never stopped knowing when to protect you, but the skill had waned while not in your orbit, only to sharpen with each day you kept showing up.

Sometime in that second week, the space you and Bucky carefully kept between you seemed to shrink. Until one day, poring over the appointment book to try to find room for a last-minute call in, the distance was nonexistent. Close enough that you registered the warmth radiating off of him, and practically feel the fabric of his shirt against your arm.

Neither of you moved to fix it, or place the wedge back. But you didn't acknowledge that something had shifted from when you first showed up with an injured bunny, either. The moment fleeting, as you solved the problem of squeezing in an appointment, and both resuming your separate tasks that didn't require such tight proximity.

In the middle of the third week, you realized that bereavement for your job that helped pay rent for an apartment in the city would be coming to an end soon, and you'd need to make arrangements. That combined with an onslaught of texts from Nick had reality continuing to press in from all sides.

Nick [11:23 AM]

How's the house coming along?

You [11:24 AM]

It's coming…still kind of hard to go into some rooms.

Nick [2:47 PM]

Did you ever hear back from the realtor?

You [2:58 PM]

Not yet, I still need to get some more cleaning done :(

Nick [7:15 PM]

Let me know if you need help finding an agent, I can pull some strings.

You [7:42 PM]

I think someone more local would be best, but I appreciate it. Love you xx

Somewhere along the way, his texts had become less about with your well-being, and more concerned that you hadn't been working towards the end goal of selling the house.

You still hadn't mentioned why you weren't really able to get much cleaning done. It wasn't a lie really, just a careful omission. You still hadn't been able to work up the nerve to go into your grandmother's room. Things did need to be cleaned for staging photos to be taken, but by the time you got back from a long day at the clinic, you didn't have the strength.

Not to mention, how were you supposed explain to your boyfriend of three years that the reason you're avoiding the house is because you're essentially working for your ex? You couldn't even explain to yourself why going to the clinic saved you from an emotional spiral that would've inevitably kept you rooted to your bed, and you didn't feel like you should until you had a concrete answer.

One weekend with the clinic closed, the storm clouds of your mind finally began to clear. The haphazard boxes that you'd started to stage around the rooms didn't seem quite so insurmountable. Determination flared the moment your eyes opened to the now familiar slatted ceiling and soft light filtering through the blinds, like the soul of the house had finally awoken and said 'let's start healing now'.

The living room was an easier place to begin, and maybe if you came home to visible progress, you'd be more inclined to keep moving ahead. With a fresh cup of coffee in hand, you began with the bookshelf that stretched from the ceiling to the floor along half of the wall, filled to the brim with cookbooks, knickknacks, framed pictures, and the occasional phone book.

Three boxes marked 'donate', 'New York', and 'discard' followed you as you worked along the shelves, sneezing every so often as clouds of dust broke free. Just as you neared the top shelf closest to grandma's favorite arm chair, you spied a bundle of postcards tied with twine, wedged between two thick mystery novels. Once you got them free, a wave of emotion hit, paralyzing any more of the progress you would make today.

Dropping to the soft rug with your legs crossed you began flipping through them. Every single postcard you had ever sent your grandmother was saved in this bundle. Tangible evidence of everywhere you'd been able to explore now lay in front of you.

Lisbon, Edinburgh, Melbourne, Mumbai, Rio de Janeiro…

Reykjavík, Iceland. You ran a finger over the glossy image of a waterfall you'd seen in person, remembering the moment you got to cross it off your bucket list. Roughly a year after you left…the same time Bucky would've been -

You didn't allow yourself to finish that thought. Instead, you wrapped the postcards back up, gently set them in the New York box, and didn't sort anything else for the rest of the weekend.

That Thursday was what Doctor Hensley would call 'a hard luck kinda day'. Like no matter what happened, a disaster was around every corner. The culmination came when Bucky's last appointment ran longer than it should've. When he had to pause at the door of the exam room after some X-rays came back, and the news he had to deliver was going to be one of the most devastating things a pet owner had to hear.

Regrettably, you'd forgotten this part. How sometimes this job asked you to hold someone together while simultaneously tearing them apart. You sighed heavily, hearing a muffled cry from beyond the exam door. With no more appointments that evening, you locked the front door, dimmed the lights, and silenced the desk phone.

It never got easier, no matter how many times you'd witnessed it, but you would try your hardest to make the owner comfortable when they left.

And when they did, it was with a tear-stained face and a strangled goodbye, a leash twisted around their hands that no longer had a purpose. Bucky emerged a minute later, a look of pure devastation etched deeply into his face. "Can you - "

"I've already called the cremation facility." You answered before he had a chance to ask. "They'll be here in a half hour at most."

Bucky nodded, eyes downcast. "Thank you, bunny," he whispered before turning and making his way out of the back of the clinic. The nickname caught you off guard, touching a nerve that was connected directly to your heart. He hadn't called you that since it had slipped out when you first showed up at the clinic with Rosemary.

You left the reception desk, finding him sitting on the short concrete steps that led out of the back door. He looked smaller somehow, his shoulders sagging inwards like he'd forgotten why he'd wanted to get into this profession in the first place.

His eyes were glassy when he glanced sideways at you when you sat down on the steps beside him. Crystal clear and bluer than the sky after a rainstorm. Deciding that now was when the space between you narrowed into nothing in an attempt to comfort, your shoulder brushed his.

"They were one of the first clients that came in after I took over," Bucky whispered, looking down at his hands clasped between his knees. "I watched them grow up, and just…"

You knew no words would help at this moment in the grieving process, having heard all of the canned idioms people thought they should say when a soul passes on a few weeks ago at your grandmother's funeral. They still didn't help now if people tried to give them. Instead, your knuckles gently brushed against the back of his hand, ignoring the slight flare of anxiety and welling of emotion at the familiarity of it. When he didn't shrink back, your fingers worked in between his palms, freeing one of his hands from the other and putting yours in its place.

He didn't say anything more, but squeezed your hand a little tighter in thanks, while you both watched the sun set beyond the treeline.

That next morning, you lay in bed for longer than you meant to, replaying the scene from the evening before. Something had shifted the minute you decided to comfort Bucky with touch rather than words. Or maybe it had shifted before that, and your brain was only now catching up. Seeing each other for eight hours a day, five days a week so suddenly after a decade of silence was enough to close any distance you thought would still be here. You didn't want to examine that too closely, almost afraid of what it could mean.

So instead, you made coffee and went to the clinic like normal, pushing whatever feelings were rising back down where they belonged.

In the week that followed, Nick's texts took on a different edge. Like he was trying tactic after tactic to get you to hurry up and move on like you were a client of his he was trying to sway.

Nick [10:14 AM]

Seriously though, how long do you think this is going to take? I miss you.

You [11:58 AM]

She has a lot of stuff and I want to do this properly…I'll be back as soon as I can, I miss you too.

Nick [12:01 PM]

Well, my buddy knows a good real estate lawyer if you need a referral to see if this can get settled faster?

You [3:47 PM]

No, I think it'll be okay. There's really nothing to settle except some memories, and it's still a bit raw for me.

Nick [3:49 PM]

I just feel like I haven't properly talked to you in days…

You [6:07 PM]

I know, I'm sorry babe…I'll try to make it up to you soon.

Nick hadn't been completely wrong, when you thought about it. On your phone calls, you hadn't been fully present, and you knew it. But when the only thing he wanted to talk about was how the house was coming along and if you had emailed the realtor (you still hadn't), it became more of a performance to speak to him. Especially when you hadn't touched a single box since you had found the postcards and you still hadn't mentioned the clinic.

The realtor email was something that felt like a finality that you'd been putting off. Like the second you sent it, it was going to put into motion that you'd be leaving once again, and that there was going to be a deadline attached to your time here.

But being reminded over and over by Nick….something snapped in you during a midday lull.

The draft had been sitting in your outbox since the morning you had decided to return the jacket and check on Rosemary instead. You added a few extra sentences, that above all, whoever bought it had to have your full blessing before any papers would be signed. The 'woosh' sound that it had finally been sent felt almost like a cold bucket of water being dumped over your head.

It should have felt like relief. One less thing off your plate. But it felt like the opposite. Your sudden change in mood must've been clearly written on your face, or Bucky had simply relearned how to read you.

"Everything okay?" he asked gently, leaning against the reception desk.

"Yeah, just…just sent an email."

He didn't respond, only gave a single nod, and changed the subject. But the corners of his mouth tilted down like he already knew what the email could be and what it meant for him.

Anxiety began to loom once again as soon as the realtor responded with suggestions of open houses, staging times, and a listing price. You tried to ignore it, but it was like any excuses you afforded yourself had finally run dry. That weekend, you reached through the invisible barrier your mind had placed over your grandmother's bedroom and finally opened the door.

It looked perfectly preserved, like it had been waiting for her to come back. Her perfume was strongest in here, having been sealed in with you unable to open the door. The vintage-looking crystal bottle that held the perfume in question was sitting on the dresser, primed for use. With trembling fingers, you allowed yourself to pick up the bottle, running your thumb over the beveled edges, remembering how it was to sit in this room and watch her get ready for the day.

You sprayed a small amount on your inner wrist, the urge to bolt again for fresh air still prevalent, but not quite as urgent as it had been that very first day. And with it, every time you moved, the perfume wafted around you, like the spirit of your grandmother was indeed still here.

It helped you move through the room. Opening the closet to assess what needed to go where once the boxes were brought in, immediately placing her jewelry box in a makeshift 'New York' pile. Trying not to feel like you were snooping as you opened drawers that you would've never looked in if your grandmother were still around.

It was in the nightstand that you felt the beginning of an avalanche you didn't know how to stop.

Your grandmother's planner was in the top drawer. She always said she liked to make sure she crossed off every to do at night, and look at the day ahead when she woke up. Among the mundane things like doctor's appointments, planting schedules, and get-togethers she had planned, your name appeared every Sunday at 2 pm without fail. A weekly ritual you hadn't really forgotten, but had just chosen not to think too much on in fear of what it would do when you realized you no longer had it.

The Sunday after she passed, your name was underlined with a small note that said 'Ask her to come home.'

She never did ask you to come back. Instead, always packing a bag and making a trip to where you were in the world, and never once making you feel guilty for it. And even if she had asked, would you have brushed it off and said this place was behind you? Calling it a chapter of your life you'd already finished? Cradling the planner, you sank onto the bed, where you would often curl up against her side.

You still hadn't properly cried since you got the news and began funeral preparations. Always keeping your mind and hands busy…the clinic, filing, packing. Because falling apart normally meant that what had happened was a finality. And you hadn't been ready to let go of your grandmother in that way yet.

In the end, all it took was realizing that she wanted you to come back and that she was probably in some other plane of existence where people go when they leave, regretting that she never got to ask.

And in that moment, you lay against the pillows that had a lingering scent of her shampoo mingling with the borrowed perfume on your wrist and finally let the tears fall.

You cried until there was nothing left, whispering apologies to the room like your grandmother could hear you. Even though you knew she'd tell you there was nothing to apologize for, and that your journey would've wound up exactly where you were always supposed to be eventually.

That next morning felt lighter, once the weight of tears you'd been carrying had been shed. Only made brighter when you walked into the clinic to do your standard check-in on Rosemary. Her wounds had healed to the point that no more bandages were needed, and she had developed her own routine as soon as the lights of that room flicked on.

The moment she heard your voice, she hopped to the front of the hutch, having learned that your presence meant either food or attention. And she loved both.

"Oh, the rehab center called and said they'd be able to do an assessment on her next week," Bucky said from the doorway while you started to clean her cage. You could feel his eyes on you while you worked, quietly assessing your reaction to the news.

Nodding, you held your hand in the cage for a second longer than necessary, letting Rosemary nuzzle into your fingers before she moved to her food bowl. "I guess we'll see how she does," you smiled up at him before making your way to the reception desk to set up the files for the day's appointments.

It wasn't until you arrived home that evening, sinking onto the couch with a glass of wine, that you had the chance to finally check your phone. Your stomach dropping slightly at the number of notifications you had waiting.

Nick [9:04 AM]

Morning love <3 Any word from the realtor?

Nick [11:23 AM]

Do you know when you'll have a timeline?

Nick [3:21 PM]

I miss you… I don't like that you're still there all by yourself.

Nick [4:10 PM]

What's actually going on over there?

Nick [5:39 PM]

When are you coming back?

Nick [6:08 PM]

Wait, did you extend your leave? How much longer is this going to take?

You [6:42 PM]

I did…I just couldn't balance that work with the house and wouldn't have been able to give it my all. My performance would've suffered.

Nick [6:44 PM]

OK…

Conflicted didn't even begin to cover the pressure in your chest. You truly didn't have an answer as to when you'd be back or how much longer it was going to take.

And the days were flying by at a breakneck speed to the point that you had become comfortable in the house and with your current routine. Gone were the days of slouching over a keyboard, staring at three different monitors while noises of the city hummed beyond your too-small apartment.

Here, there was…peace. A calm you didn't know you missed until you allowed yourself to stop and appreciate it. You weren't sure when you'd begun to miss the hustle and bustle of the city, or when the image of your apartment had become too fuzzy to remember.

Or when you stopped looking forward to the thought of leaving again.

The thing with making someone wait for your attention was that eventually…they became too big to ignore.

In the middle of sending out email reminders for appointments and vaccine schedules, the bell above the door jingled.

Not even looking up, you began your standard greeting. "Welcome in, we'll be right - "

"Finally, I've been looking all over for you."

Your fingers stalled on the keys, the voice familiar, yet didn't belong in this realm of your world because you hadn't invited him in yet.

Nick stood expectantly in the middle of the clinic, dressed like he'd caught the first flight out after a long day at the office, with the rich scent of his aftershave so out of place it made your head spin.

It took several beats for your brain to catch up with what your eyes were seeing, and that you should register the feeling of happiness of seeing your boyfriend after weeks of being apart. But you only felt confusion and a slight annoyance as to why he was here in the first place.

He cleared his throat, opening his arms further, obviously expecting a much warmer greeting.

"What….what are you doing here?" you asked, finally rounding the desk and returning his embrace.

"I missed you?" he phrased it like a question and that it was the most obvious answer before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. "I thought you could use some help so you could come home sooner."

Nick's hands landed on your shoulders to hold you at arm's length, performing a quiet assessment like he would an asset before making an offer. "And imagine my surprise when I didn't find you at your grandmother's house and," he paused to wave his hands around the space that felt smaller with him occupying it, "here."

His sharp gaze met yours, and then you realized he was waiting for you to explain what here was. "I'm just…helping out. They were short handed and - "

"You've been working here?" His dark eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Instead of - "

"Helping," you corrected quickly, placing your hands on his chest. "It's not - I really just needed somewhere to be that…wasn't the house."

"Love, you - "

That was the moment Bucky had seemingly decided to exit an exam room, cutting off Nick's sentence. "Hey, did the Bartons confirm or - oh."

It was like watching worlds collide in front of your eyes after the swinging of a door.

Realizing it was you who was in charge of introductions, you piped up to fill the awkward silence. "Oh, Bucky, this is my boyfriend, Nick. Nick that's - "

"Doctor Barnes," Bucky interrupted with the same tone you knew he reserved for difficult patients, extending a hand to Nick.

"Nick Fowler." The handshake was civil and brief, both men's smile not really meeting their eyes.

Bucky nodded. "I'll let you two catch up." And with that, he disappeared through the same door he'd just come out of.

Nick watched where he had disappeared for just a second longer than you thought necessary.

"Uhm, we can get lunch," you offered quickly, grabbing for your purse. "I'll show you the town."

Sitting in a booth at Frankie's, you quickly remembered that Nick always had loud opinions. And those were normally fine when dulled by the equally loud buzz of New York. But here, where things were quieter. And it made him stick out obnoxiously.

"It's…cute," was Nick's only praise while he barely looked up from his phone, food sitting untouched in front of him. "But I have some thoughts about the listing price of the house."

And that was all he said about a place that had been your solace for weeks. Cute. It shouldn't have landed wrong, it was a compliment after all. But he said it like it was an insult. Like he was a parent praising a child's finger painting.

That night, Nick had tried to convince you to go to his hotel. Stating something about it being weird to stay in the house and that he was already missing the amenities of the city. Strangely, he hadn't really said he missed you. You didn't push him to stay where he didn't want to be, but you felt the gap being widened between you and him even if this was the closest distance wise you had been in weeks.

The next morning, he showed up at the house bright and early, an easy smile on his face. "I figured I'd come help you pack," he offered, letting himself in without waiting to be invited. You knew he meant well, but it really was beginning to feel like he didn't want to be here longer than necessary while you were trying to get him to see the charm of this place.

"Nick, I have to go into the clinic today…"

"Oh, you're still - okay, um," he paused, hands on his hips as he looked around. "I'll go to the cafe then, I've got to get some work done anyway."

And that was that. His lips brushed yours in a rushed goodbye as he walked away, already talking on the phone to settle some sales pitch.

It wasn't until you stepped into the clinic that you realized you could breathe fully. Like you weren't walking on eggshells or performing or worried you were going to say the wrong thing. Bucky gave you a tight smile, but neither of you addressed the very clearly Nick shaped wedge that had surfaced. Instead, you worked around each other like normal. Letting the routine heal the staggering nerves that had for some reason started clawing at your insides.

That evening when Nick was helping you sort through a few boxes, taping them up and getting them ready to ship, he made the comment you'd been expecting. "You know you don't have to keep doing that. Volunteering for him."

"I know, but…I like it and the clinic does need help until someone fills that position."

Nick nodded like he understood, but you doubted he did.

The day of Rosemary's wildlife rehab assessment came, and when you mentioned it over breakfast to Nick, the only thing he managed to say was "So you'll be done at that clinic soon, then?" before directing the conversation to potential owners he had found for the house.

The foundation of your relationship with Nick continued to crack after that.

You watched with bated breath as the wildlife rehabilitator carefully took Rosemary out of her cage. He examined the now fully healed wounds where the fur was just beginning to grow back, jotting something down on a clipboard. Once she was set back down on the metal exam table, Rosemary hopped straight to you. She sat back on her haunches and looked at you expectantly, nose twitching with what you supposed was indignation of being handled by a stranger and to remind you that her breakfast was late.

The wildlife rehabilitator immediately confirmed what you'd probably already known. Rosemary had become too accustomed to humans and wouldn't survive on her own in the wild if released. You and Bucky exchanged a glance, a silent conversation happening with one single stare. "I"ll keep her," Bucky offered, watching you cradle Rosemary before gently putting her back in the safety of her cage.

Over dinner, you told Nick about your day, casually mentioning that Rosemary would be staying with Bucky for the foreseeable future.

"How well do you know him? Barnes," Nick asked, focusing on something on his fork instead of you.

You bristled only slightly, giving the bare minimum. "Pretty well, we went to the same high school, and worked at the clinic together."

He nodded, corners of his lips downturned, and didn't say more about Bucky. But did continue to make arrangements around 'the asset' as he had begun calling the house.

The cracks became fully noticeable and not something you thought you could fix when Nick showed up unannounced at the clinic the next day, offering to take you to lunch.

You had already agreed, standing to go let Bucky know that you'd be right back when he appeared from the back, head too buried in a file to notice Nick was there. "Hey bunny, did you get the Maximoffs their vaccine records they requested or - " he stopped as you stiffened. The nickname ringing through the clinic like a death knell. Ever since that evening on the steps after the euthanasia, he had tentatively begun calling you that again. And - a minor fault of yours - you let him. Allowing yourself to be swept away with the comfort it gave you.

To Nick's credit, he didn't cause a scene then and there, but there was a storm swirling behind the stare he shot at Bucky.

"I'm so sorry - didn't really realize - I'll - " and with that, Bucky disappeared to the back again, but the damage had well and truly been done. Maybe it had been done for a while, but you were trying to hold the foundation together with temporary band-aids.

Nick cleared his throat, giving you a once-over before saying, "I'll just see you tonight."

He came to the house that evening after your shift like he had been doing since he arrived. Normally, he picked up dinner, and had his laptop bag slung over his shoulder. But tonight, he was empty handed.

The door had barely shut before he said it. "Bunny."

You had been braced all day for this fight the second bunny slipped from Bucky's mouth. "It's just a nickname," you tried to play it off.

He folded his arms across his chest, head dropping like he was trying to solve some sort of puzzle. "Why did he call you that, though? That's not something you call an employee. Or volunteer or whatever the hell it is you're doing."

"It's just a silly nickname, it doesn't mean anything."

Nick shook his head briefly, still not meeting your eyes. "From when?"

He was backing you further and further into a corner. "High school," you answered.

"Did you date him?"

You looked up at the ceiling with a deep sigh. "Yep." There really was no sense in lying about it now.

"So you've been working for an ex-boyfriend for weeks and you didn't think that was something I needed to know?" his voice sharpened.

"I really didn't think you'd understand. We worked at the clinic together in high school and - "

"Bunny," he said again, cutting you off, something calculating behind his narrowing eyes once again. "Like your tattoo."

Your hand brushed over the spot on your hip almost like a shield, where you did indeed have a small bunny tattoo. No one had questioned it before, because they thought it was something you got on a silly whim. And yet here it was, the true meaning behind it being cracked open.

"How long have you had it?" he asked, eyes trained to where your hand lay over it.

You chewed your bottom lip. "A while."

His voice quieted. "Did you get it for him?"

Shutting your eyes, you nodded quickly.

"This is just," Nick shook his head again in disbelief, turning away from you. "You had a life, a real career. And you're talking about throwing it away to file paperwork for…for him."

"I came back for my grandmother. This is not about him," you clarified.

"We've been together two fucking years, and you never brought him up. Or this boring ass town. And yet all of a sudden, your grandma dies and you want to be back here? For what? Help me understand, because this all just seems like a dead end."

"See, that's the problem isn't it?" you asked, voice raising in pitch to match his. "You don't understand. All you've done since you got here is try to sell the house and belittle every fucking thing without trying to see it from my perspective first."

"I thought that's what you wanted! When you left you said you just needed to settle your grandma's estate and you'd be back."

"Maybe what I wanted changed!"

"Does that include me?"

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed. As you tried to reach for the most diplomatic answer. Though to Nick, your silence must have been answer enough, as you averted your eyes further. Because at this point, after watching him interact with a place you had fallen in love with again, you realized you couldn't be with someone who looked down on this town the way that he did.

"I see," he whispered. "Guess we're done then." he said it like he'd won a prize. Like he'd been expecting this and had been waiting for the culmination of it for longer than just today.

You gave a single nod, eyes looking down at the rug instead of him. "I guess so."

He scoffed, brushing past you to the front door. "I'll mail you your stuff so I don't inconvenience you by asking you to leave this place again."

And with a final door slam, rattling the pictures on the walls, he was gone. The silence he left behind deafening. But as finite and heavy as the silence felt, it was nothing compared to the weight that had been lifted off your shoulders. Of trying to live two separate lives at once while ignoring what felt like an inevitability.

Though losing a relationship in such an explosive way was never easy, and what you really needed before you spiraled into an uncontrollable mess was…

You picked up your car keys, hoping to go to the only place of comfort you had ever known.

You sat in the parking lot of the clinic longer than you probably meant to. Worried that you were disturbing Bucky after a long day. Probably made longer after your relationship with Nick silently imploded midday and you hadn't returned.

Soft light was filtering onto the flowerbeds from the curtained windows, so you at least knew he was awake and home. You approached the door like it might bite you, or tell you to get lost and that you no longer had claim to the comfort he brought you. But Bucky's words of 'if you ever need to be somewhere that isn't the house' echoed in your head. Sure he may have been talking about the clinic, but your mind had equated that to him as well, and how the thoughts quieted in his presence.

When you knocked, he opened the door not long after. Hair messy like he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly, dressed in a black t shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, and dark sweatpants.

A look of wide eyed confusion flickered across his face while he took in your appearance, not all that different from the first time you dropped into the clinic unannounced.

"I…didn't know where else to go," you shrugged, looking down at your feet.

"That's okay, come in." he assured, opening the door wider and letting you pass.

The living room felt like the embodiment of him, warm and minimally decorated. Cozy in the same way a cup of coffee is during a fall rainstorm. A lamp was on in the corner next to a record player that was spinning something, but the needle had been lifted so no sound was coming out.

"Can I get you anything?" he offered, watching you orient yourself in his space.

Several things ran through your mind at once of what you wanted, each seemingly more and more unattainable. Sinking onto the couch with wobbly knees, wrapping your arms around your body like a shield. "A drink would be nice."

"What do you drink now?" he asked quietly. "Surely your tastes have changed from the dollar store boxed wine you used to sneak."

You mustered as close to a smile as you could , eyes watering at the fact that he remembered the rebellious teenager you used to be. "Whatever you're having is fine."

Bucky returned with two small tumblers of amber liquid, placing one in your hands. You murmured a thanks, turning the glass between your palms when you heard him fiddle with the record player in the corner of the room, lifting the needle back onto something soft and ethereal.

He settled beside you, as far away on the couch as he could, just enough to give you some space if you needed it.

"Nick and I broke up," you finally said, taking a large sip of what you deduced to be whiskey, the liquid immediately warming your chest.

Bucky nodded, slowly swirling his own glass in his hand like he had already known the second he opened the door to find you standing there. "I figured, after…my mess up earlier. Are you okay?"

"Not really," you huffed a dry chuckle, finishing the whiskey. "And it wasn't your fault."

The silence lingered like it had the first night the two of you went to the diner. But this wasn't awkward or loaded with expectations. Silence between you and Bucky had morphed over the past few weeks into something you found comforting. It's probably why you subconsciously decided to show up at his doorstep. Yet after everything that had transpired with Nick the past few days, it felt like something finally had to give and you needed to fill it.

"I owe you an apology," you sighed, leaning forward to put the glass on the table.

"You don't - "

"I do, Buck, I - please just let me," you turned towards him, something still guarded in his expression.

His eyes roamed your figure, sensing the determination behind your words and he sat back against the couch cushions. "Okay."

You stood, unable to say the hard parts while sitting still. Maybe that's why you weren't able to do it in the diner. There wasn't enough room to get your thoughts out.

"I'm sorry for never coming back like I promised," you started, beginning to walk back and forth in front of the couch where he sat. "I'm sorry I left in the first place, that was really fucking selfish, but - I should've at least called. Sent you a card or something on your birthday or the holidays instead of just - "

Your hands found your hips, eyes glaring at some nondescript spot in the dim room, before you began pacing again.

"I was in fucking…Iceland," you blurted, waving a hand at nothing. "When the fire happened. I figured it out a few weeks ago when I found some postcards I sent and - " you stopped, letting out a frustrated laugh. "I was standing in front of a waterfall I'd been dreaming about for years and you were - "

"Don't apologize for that," Bucky tried to interject, but the thread you were currently unraveling couldn't be stopped.

"I know you made peace with it, I know you know there's nothing that I could've done, but I would've…if grandma would've told me - " you stopped again, the thoughts now not coming out in the correct order, brain working faster than your mouth could move.

"She had 'ask her to come home' written in her planner for the Sunday after she died. She was going to ask me to come back. And - and she never got to. I don't know what had changed for her want to ask me that. And it just feels like - " Tears were now free falling, words tumbling out even faster.

"Hey," Bucky's voice finally broke through your own, and he was standing in front of you. "I know," he nodded. His hands raised settling on your shoulders first and then drifting up to cradle your face. "I know."

"No, that's - I don't - "

"It's okay, we're okay," he said, softer this time. Thumbs wiping away the tears that were collecting on your cheeks. His hands were a welcome weight on your skin. One familiar, one not, the cool touch of the prosthetic felt different, but not wrong. Still…him.

Bucky was now closer than he had ever been, your chest brushing his with each shuddering inhale. There was something unguarded in his expression when you opened your mouth to start the spiral again, but he shook his head, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "We've always been okay."

"You can't mean that. Not after I just…disappeared."

"We both agreed all those years ago that was best," he reminded you. "Might've been slightly misguided, but…"

His voice trailed off, something left lingering between you as he stepped closer, body pressed to yours completely. "I never stopped loving you, you know."

The words hung in the air. Suspended by the dreamlike reverb of whatever record he had chosen. Rendering you speechless after you had just spilled the contents of your heart.

A rush of memories flashed in your vision. The first time he had said 'I love you' in history class when you were barely sixteen, the times he whispered it against your hairline during school dances and beyond, the first time you'd given each other everything, the last time you had heard it in that diner booth before you started to travel…and yet, him saying it now had healed twenty-year-old you who thought you'd never get to hear those words from his lips again.

"You - " you thought about repeating it, but with everything that had happened since that morning, it was a snap decision to start acting on your feelings instead of continuing the spiral that had kept you frozen from your true desires for far too long.

Your own hands lifted to mirror his hold, cradling his jaw the way he cradled yours. His eyes hadn't stopped darting around your face ever since he had said those seven words. Like he was worried you were going to disappear when they finally registered in your brain.

And when they did, you didn't run like you had been recently whenever things got too weighted. Instead, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his, allowing yourself to finally melt into him fully.

An explosion of time and fate, your mind had finally caught up to what you had been barrelling blindly toward for weeks now. His hands dropped from your face, arms wrapping tightly around your back like he planned to keep you there for all of eternity.

Bucky kissed you back, carefully at first, a sound of surprise escaping his throat like he couldn't believe what was happening. His lips tasted of whiskey, but underneath that, familiarity and comfort. Your arms wove around his neck, pressing your body to his, needing space to no longer exist between you.

The heat, the lingering tension of two people who had once given each other everything was rising steadily. His lips wandered from yours slowly, moving to your jaw, to your cheeks, tongue daring to erase the salt lines of your now dried tears. And you let him. Allowing him to explore the terrain of your features while your fingers twisted in the soft material of his shirt; an exploration of your own occurring along the muscles of his chest as he began to walk you backwards towards the couch.

"I've been wanting to kiss you since you walked into the clinic," he whispered, maybe more to himself than you as the backs of your knees hit the cushions. Each word was punctuated by a kiss somewhere on your skin, like his lips were magnetized and could not spend more than a second away.

A fire flared low in your belly, radiating out to your fingertips that had gotten bolder, taking the journey traveled so often underneath his shirt, tracing the ridges and dips of his skin. Once known completely by memory.

When you sank onto the plush couch, Bucky followed. His knees hit the rug, slotting himself between your thighs immediately. His mouth had moved to your neck, searching for the spots that used to leave you shaky and breathless, testing to see if they still did.

His hands radiated with unbridled tension as they trembled where they landed on your waist. Fingers dared to slide under your shirt, a sigh escaped from his mouth against your skin like he'd been waiting for this moment for far too long. "Can I?" he whispered in your ear, goosebumps erupting down your neck and arms.

You nodded quickly, leaning back so he could fling your shirt across the room. His mouth was back on you, restraint waning with each passing second, continuing a slow, almost agonizing descent. Moving over the swell of your breasts, down your sternum, teeth occasionally grazing your sensitive skin until his fingers dipped below the waistband of your jeans.

"C'mon bunny," he pleaded to the barrier of your jeans, fidgeting with the button and zipper. "Please let me, I've missed her."

Huffing a laugh, you ran a hand through his hair, reveling in the desperation behind his widened pupils and kiss swollen lips. "Go ahead," you chuckled, the sound quickly replaced by a sharp inhale when he pulled you to the edge of the couch.

A low, desperate but barely there growl sounded from between his teeth. With permission, his fingers made quick work sliding the denim off. Bucky's head lowered to continue working down your body. Until he saw the faded ink of your tattoo in the low light.

His jaw slackened on an inhale, like he wanted to say something, but words escaped him. He briefly shook his head instead, thumbs hooking into your panties to draw them down your legs.

Bucky's lips parted, tongue brushing over the tattoo briefly and then moved closer to your aching center. It was slightly frustrating, to say the least. He seemed to be taking his time, while your body had been missing his for ten years. "Bucky…" you whined softly, trying to use your thigh to push him where you needed him, but his arms were faster. Wrapping under your thighs so you couldn't move.

"When'd you get it?" he asked, not looking up, focused instead on your lower belly, kissing right above your clit.

"What?" Every one of your nerve endings was on edge and he wanted to talk about this now?

His finger tapped twice on the tattoo just as his tongue finally grazed your clit. Your body jolted, legs straining against his hold. "Please tell me when you got it," he pleaded again, voice deeper as his tongue ran through your folds once more.

"Uh - I - fuck…" you gritted out as he continued the slow, even movement. He may have forgotten how to exist in your presence momentarily, but there was no denying that he had never forgotten how to please you.

"C'mon bunny, tell me," his dark gaze lifted, meeting your glazed eyes while he continued to tease. A smirk raised the corners of his mouth, one thick finger circling your entrance, moving in tandem with the devastating pace he'd set.

"Two years after I -" you managed, but got cut off by a moan when that finger slid slowly in, lips sealing around your clit.

Bucky pulled back, leaning his head against your thigh. His blue eyes now dancing with amusement watching you squirm while his finger never ceased the slow curling motion that had your back arching for more. "After you left?" he finished for you.

He kissed along your inner thigh, stubble leaving a slight scratch in his wake while he moved back to the tattoo.

You nodded, reaching for him, to put his head back where it belonged between your thighs, but he resisted, batting your hands out of the way with his that wasn't slowly driving you to madness.

"Why?" he asked innocently, thumb now circling along the bundle of nerves with featherlight pressure.

You whined in frustration. "Do we really have to do this now?"

"Yeah, think we do. Bunny," he laughed softly against your skin, kissing the tattoo once more, and then turned his head, finally flattening his tongue along your clit. "Go on, now."

He finally stopped teasing, allowing your hands to fly to his hair in muscle memory. "I - I missed you," you stuttered out, the languid pace feeling more like he was savoring a feast.

"Mhm," he hummed, the vibrations of it making head fall back and thoughts to scatter.

"I was in - " you moaned something that might have been considered Bucky's name, "I don't remember, but I -" you stopped to cry out again. He pushed another finger in, like he thought the problem with you blanking on the story was that you weren't full enough of him.

"It was your birthday and I was sad I wasn't here for it, so I got it on a whim to make you feel closer to me while I traveled, and fuck please don't stop." The words spilled out in one breath as your thighs shook next to his ears.

Your answer seemingly satisfied his curiosity, gone was the slow pace he'd set replaced by a hunger that hadn't been satisfied in a decade. His name fell from the tip of your tongue like it had been perched there for the same amount of time, as sparks flared up your spine, release crashing over you in rocking waves.

His fingers and tongue slowed, withdrawing completely. His hands found your waist again, lips kissing the tattoo one more time before traveling back up to your mouth. Still trying to catch your breath, you draped your arms limply over his shoulders, returning the kiss. He groaned into your mouth, his own arms snaking around your middle to pull you against him.

"Bedroom?" he asked, voice sounding hopeful and wrecked while you were still hazy, mind fuzzy, savoring your own taste on his lips.

"Bedroom," you confirmed. With a deep grunt, he lifted you off the couch. Your legs locked around him on instinct while he staggered through the house until he nudged open the door to his bedroom. Turning, he sank onto the bed, situating you on his lap.

A slight impatience took over your movements, yanking the hem of his shirt over his head. It was then you caught the first glimpse of the extent of his injury, making you pause. A clean scar sat where his shoulder used to continue, where the black and gold prosthetic was attached. "Can - " you didn't finish the question, fingertips already ghosting over the raised edges. "Does - can - "

"I can feel things," he confirmed, letting you come to terms with this new part of him at your own pace. "Even if I couldn't, I don't think I could forget what you feel like."

You gently guided him down to lay on the bed, kissing his mouth first, then moving in your own familiar path down places you knew made him impatient. But not before pressing your lips against the scar tissue, offering an apology. Whispering it in your mind and transferring it from skin to skin.

Continuing down over the planes of his chest that had grown hair since you last visited them. Teeth gently sinking into the soft skin over hard muscle of his belly. A trail of coarser hair disappeared under the waistband. You didn't ask permission, as your thumbs dipped below, smiling against his skin at his sharp intake of breath. Permission was given in the form of his hips raising and you tugging his pants down.

His cock landed heavy against his stomach, flushed, hard, and leaking for you already. Mouth watering, having already wasted too much time not being here you leaned forward, tongue dragging slowly from the base to the tip.

Bucky tensed under your touch, letting out a strangled sound. Your eyes flicked up to his face, smiling while you wrapped a hand around his length, seeing the veins protrude from his neck and arm while trying to keep some form of composure. Your thumb swirled along the reddened tip, spreading the precum before your lips parted, pressing a kiss in the mess you made. A near involuntary moan left your throat at his taste.

He inhaled sharply again, his hand finding purchase on your head, brushing any stray hairs away from your face. With your tongue resting on the thick vein on the underside, you allowed your mouth to part, taking his length fully into your mouth.

He let out a dulcet grunt, fingers flexing against your scalp. "Oh fuck I've missed your mouth," he breathed while you slowly bobbed your head up and down on his cock. The taste of him had always been addictive to you, something you didn't realize how much you missed until you had gone without it for so long.

Bucky had been vocal, you remembered. But his voice was deeper now, taking on a sharper edge while you worked, sending heat rushing through you all over again. The second he hit the back of your throat, his hands moved, patting your arms and grabbing your chin with a gentle urgency. "Can't be finishing in your mouth like a teenager, sweetheart, hop up here. I need to feel you."

You laughed, letting him pull you back onto his lap. He adjusted, back hitting the headboard while your thighs landed on either side of his hips. There wasn't a preamble to be had anymore, one of his hands guiding your hips down, the other fisting his cock to line it up with your entrance.

Sinking down onto him felt like you were finally coming home. Like it was a missing piece of a puzzle you'd tried to solve in a different room. Your forehead dropped, leaning against his, allowing your body to adjust to the welcomed stretch.

"She feels just like I remember," Bucky whispered, hips bucking slightly like he couldn't help it. "Perfectly fucking made for me."

In such an intimate position, overwhelming pleasure and devotion trickled down your spine. Feeling the passion radiating from his embrace as his arms wove around your back, one warm resting on your shoulder, the other slightly cooler, holding you steady on your waist. You moved slowly, wanting to savor the sweetness of finally being where you were supposed to be for as long as possible. And he let you, allowing you to set the pace with only slight twitches of his cock when it dragged against a certain spot.

"Why didn't you ever come back?" he exhaled shakily, breath mingling with yours. You were sure he was rambling. Asking a question to the room and not really expecting an answer.

You hummed, already gasping broken moans quietly as your hips circled. "I didn't think you wanted to see me ever again." The answer honest, finally breaking free.

The hand on your shoulder drifted to the nape of your neck, coaxing you to look at him fully. "You've always been it for me, bunny." His blue eyes two crystalline pools of vulnerability, laying his emotions out raw and hoping that you wouldn't try to run again. "No matter how long you were gone.

"You've always been it for me too." You said, hands coming up to cradle his face. "I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it."

His palm guided you forward, mouths meeting again as the pace became less about savoring, more about letting everything go that you'd been holding back for a decade.

Whispered words of love, of devotion, of pleasure mixed with the sound of skin on skin. A new desperation took over. Bucky held your hips, slamming up over and over, his cock hitting the spot only he knew how to reach that had your mind blanking except for his name over and over again.

Breathless moans turned ragged, until your body clamped down on his, fingers dug into each other's skin like the fact that he wasn't buried as deep as he could be was close enough. You felt the twitch and throb of his cock as he held you against his body, the heady feeling of his own release right after yours spreading through your veins until you slumped forward into the safety of his embrace.

In the afterglow, Bucky held you close, sliding down the headboard to lay flat against the pillows. All the while peppering any skin he could with gentle kisses like it was impossible for him to not to have his lips on you. Like he was making sure you were actually here.

The only thought you could muster in that moment as sheets were pulled over your bodies and your brain was still soft around the edges was that this was what home should feel like. This was the feeling you had been chasing around the world, and it took you leaving first to realize it.

"I'm done running, I think," you whispered into the crook of Bucky's neck.

"Yeah?" even behind the tiredness of his voice, the hope that you were finally coming back here, back to him was unmistakable.

You nodded, fingers tracing over his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart that you had somehow never forgotten. The rhythm lulling you into a deep, even sleep.

One Year Later

A chipped butter yellow coffee cup with hand-painted daisies clinked down on the metal outdoor table next to a vase of fresh pink and white tulips. Steam curled into the early morning air as Bucky sat down in the patio chair next to yours.

"I found a good flight to Iceland, by the way," his voice broke through your drifting thoughts while you watched Rosemary happily hop around in her handmade hutch situated by the herb garden where she had been rescued. "We would leave right after the reception."

You smiled, twirling the ring around your left finger. Vacating your chair, you planted yourself on his lap instead. "Yeah? I can't wait for you to see it," you whispered against his lips.

Bucky's head tilted back to look at you fully. The rising sun catching the look of pure adoration and contentment in his eyes. With a slow smile spreading across his face, while he wrapped his arms further around your waist, "And I can't wait to be married to you."

Lore Drop (as promised): On August 21, 2025, I had to make the incredibly difficult and unexpected decision to put my soul dog to sleep. Anyone who's ever lost a pet knows that this emotional pain is really unlike any other. I still cry every day about him, and miss him more than I can really put into words. I named the diner in this fic after him as a small memento. Suffice it to say that when I spun the wheel we used to choose our Barbie Bucky careers and I got veterinarian, my first instinct was to channel the grief of losing an animal and having Veterinarian Bucky be there to make it better. I sincerely hope everyone enjoyed this story way more than whatever grief fest I almost dragged y'all into lmao. A massive, giant thank you to @miraclediviner again for putting this together. Another thank you to Stantastic for welcoming me in with open arms when they asked me to join. I really don't know where I'd be without any of y'all, and I'm so grateful to have all of you in my life.

Everything Taglist: @overwintering-soldier @stanmarvelous @wint3rbarnes @barnes-babydoll @defn0tonyourleft @herejustforbuckybarnes @stesha02 @sheriff-bodecker @wherewinterblooms @/miraclediviner @tw1sters @bucksbby @daddysbitchybaby @metal-armed-muse @avgdestitute @imtoooldforthis82 @daydreamgoddess14 @hailmary-yramliah @nachtigall127 @heavenchana @ornateglass @steelandvibranium @stkmaprang @yourmomoclockit @misswhiddless @mariamorales1998 @mistressmkay @ladymiseryy @my-drvidess @alli0-0 @buckyscaptain

Bucky Only: @thegirlwhowaited5everok @phantom-wolf-girl @optimisticchildtyrant @sassandscribbles @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @procrastination20 @mathcat345 @highhopes1008 @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @scarletkanami

Stan Characters Only: @iamthatonefangirl @cassity357 @erina00 @buckytakethewheel @buckysdecaflove

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