Eleven years ago

"I hate him. Everytime he pops up in a scene I just hope Harry or Hermione punches him again."

In a little house mostly forgotten about in the woods outside of Falls Church, Virginia, two young siblings sat together on a couch in the living room, smushed together so that they could read a book at the same time. The younger sister glanced up at her brother in disbelief.

"You hate him?"

"Yeah, he's a Death Eater now. He's gone to the dark side," Paul said, feigning an English accent for the last two words. "So duh."

"He was forced into it!" Summer argued. "He hates what he's doing. He's only doing it because they'll kill him if he doesn't. And he's not doing it very well, either. It's like he's hoping he screws up."

"This is Draco Malfoy!" Paul laughed. "He's the biggest douche in the whole story!"

"Because that's how his father raised him. His father, who is actually evil. I don't think Draco's evil. If he was, Dumbledore would already be dead by now and Draco would be the new hot shot Death Eater, not all pale and sickly and withering away and basically hiding from all of Hogwarts."

Paul snorted dismissively. "You know, Squirt, as a girl, you're supposed to have a crush on, like, Harry or Ron or Cedric -"

"Cedric's been dead for the last two books." She wrinkled her nose and added, "And Ron's a ginger like you. Ew."

"Yeah, but I'm just saying, why do you always pick the weirdest characters to have a crush on?"

"I don't have a crush," she refuted dubiously. "I don't like guys with blonde hair, and Draco's super blonde."

"You like this one."

She rolled her eyes. "Just because I see the horrible situation he's in? He's basically been brainwashed his whole life to be on the wrong side of everything and now he's seeing firsthand what it all really means, and it's horrifying! And now he knows it."

"Maybe, but we'll never find out which of us is right because you keep interrupting and going off on these tangents," Paul said. "At this rate, we'll be lucky to finish this book sometime next year."

"You interrupted first!" she laughed. "I just happened to disagree with you."

"Yeah, well, just so you know, I'm still convinced that Snape is gonna turn out evil."

"And I'm still convinced that you're completely wrong about that," she replied. "Is our bet still on?"

"Heck yeah," Paul grinned. "And since I'm right, it's totally gonna be you doing all the chores for a week."

"Dream on," she smiled. "Now be quiet and let's keep reading."

As they settled back in to restart the somewhat tricky process of two people reading the same book at the same time (because both were too impatient to take turns), their grandmother emerged from the nearby hallway and gave them both a sideways look as she stepped into the kitchen. "Reading more of that garbage witchcraft, I see."

"Always," Paul replied without looking up from the book. Summer snickered next to him.

"Well, one of you kids get your noses out of that book and come chop me an onion." When both grandchildren immediately startled wailing in protest, she rolled her aged brown eyes and pulled out a pair of safety goggles from a drawer and waved it around. "It won't hurt if you wear these!"

"I did it last time," Paul whispered to Summer.

"I did it two times before then," she whispered back.

"Do it or I'll tell her you have a crush on an evil wizard bad guy from our evil book," Paul grinned.

"He's not even evil!" she protested.

"So you do have a crush on him?"

She groaned and slapped her palm over her face. "Paul..."

He laughed and snapped the book shut. "I'll chop the stupid onion. But seriously - I'm starting to get the feeling that one day, when you're all grown up, you're gonna bring home an ax murderer or something and give Grandma a heart attack."

"Oh please," she rolled her eyes. "This town is so boring. I'll probably just end up marrying some boring Army guy like everybody else does."

"Everybody? Summer, you're not even fourteen yet. You don't know everybody in Fall's Church. And I didn't say marry. That's creepy. I'm not letting anyone marry you. Where did you ever get the idea that I would?"

She rolled her eyes and smacked his arm with the book, and then they heard a call from the kitchen. "Onion, before I keel over!"

"Onion, before poor Grandma keels over, Paul," Summer said dramatically, though smiling.

He raised a finger and waved it at her slightly, squinting one of his eyes. "You're a brat, you know that? Talking about getting married and Army guys and Draco Malfoy. I'm gonna go tell."

"What, are you five?" Summer asked, though she looked genuinely nervous now.

Paul grinned. "Ooh, somebody's getting twitchy."

Then he took off, and she tossed the book off of her lap in her rush to chase after him, both of them laughing and yelling names at one another, all while their grandmother rolled her eyes as she heated up a skillet. She'd yell at them for it, but more than anything, she would always be glad that after she was gone, though they wouldn't have much else, they'd always have each other.

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then opened her eyes and surveyed the clothes that were spread out on the bed before her.

This was easy. This was simple. Just pick out an outfit and be done with it. Just pick out an outfit and then move on to hair and makeup, then leave, and then... go on a date for the first time in over five years. With the technically 96 year old ex-war hero ex-POW ex-brainwashed assassin that had fallen into her life when he fell face-first into her front lawn just over four months ago.

All right, panic.

She sat down on the bed, trying not to completely lose it, desperately wanting to pick up her phone and scream to somebody, anybody, what was happening, just so she could get it out of her system.

But she couldn't tell Paul, and her list of other people that she could trust was depressingly short, if not nonexistent. She just had to hold it in, get it together, and get ready for her date like a functional adult woman.

But first, she picked up a pillow and screamed into it. It felt oddly pleasant. Then, after dropping it, she looked up at David, her sweet, nonverbal five year old son, who was sitting on the other bed, staring at her like she was completely nuts.

"Thanks for the judgment," she nodded to him. "You get to spend a whole day and night with Captain America and this is how you thank me."

He merely turned his head back to the television he'd been watching, and she blew out a puff of air. Technically, David should be thanking Bucky, since he was the reason why Steve Rogers would be playing babysitter to him tonight. Which brought her back to why she was panicking in the first place.

Of all the ways that she imagined their first meeting would go, after not seeing him for three months following his four week stay at her home in Virginia, being asked out on a date by him was the absolute last thing that she would have expected. And that's why she was so nervous.

It was a date. A real date. It wasn't sharing a home with someone she was initially terrified of before she learned his story and before he saved her and David's life. It wasn't gawking at his occasional shirtless walks from the bathroom to the bedroom, or impulsively kissing him while she was still in shock from watching two HYDRA agents nearly kill her son, or inadvertently distracting him from watching a movie and ending up on his lap with a metal hand up the back of her shirt.

No, this was a date, which is what normal people did when they liked each other. This was sitting down in a public place and eating and talking and whatever else.

What would they talk about? Would they have anything to talk about? Would she end up saying the worst possible things and make him regret even bothering to ask her out?

How would she ever find out if she didn't stop angsting about the date and actually got dressed for it?

Standing resolutely - as much as was possible - she turned and surveyed her choices again. Then, to avoid the trap of trying everything on first and ending up only stressing out more, she grabbed an emerald green wrap dress from the pile of newly bought clothes imported from California and headed off to the bathroom to put it on before she could second guess herself.

Once the dress was on, she looked in the mirror and grimaced. Her makeup from earlier that day was already messed up, and her hair was a bit limp for some reason - lack of humidity? Who knew - and then the dress came off as she decided to hurl herself in the shower. Yes, she decided, showering is good.

She washed her hair twice, possibly to make it smell like her shampoo as much as possible, because she recalled not minding at all when Bucky would bury his nose in it and inhale the scent like it was the best thing he'd ever smelled. Maybe he'd do that again tonight.

Unless he decided that he didn't like her anymore because she turned into a rambling freakshow at dinner. She stared at the bland hotel shower tiles, holding her shampoo bottle, eyes blank as she thought over every possible horrible outcome of the date. And there were plenty to think over.

This was a lot easier when he was just a super dangerous fugitive hiding out in her house who occasionally liked to let her kiss him. Or did she let him kiss her? Either way, that was somehow easier. Now everything was even more surreal, and he looked different, and there was that shorter hair and the fact that he apparently didn't realize that he was potentially ruining lives with his leather jacket.

She groaned and forced herself to snap out of it, turning off the shower and grabbing a towel. Once she was back in front of the mirror and had cleared out a portion of the fog to see herself, she took a determined breath and then eyed the hair dryer that was sitting innocently on top of the bathroom sink. She picked it up similarly to the way one would awkwardly pick up a baby for the first time in their lives, and she decided that if she was going to wear a dress and appear legitimately like a girl tonight, she had to to do girl things, and this was one of them. She thought.

She pushed a button, and then when nothing happened, pushed several buttons. When nothing continued to happen, she kept pushing buttons and then peered into the thing, which was when it snapped to life, sending a blast of hot air into her face. She squeaked and dropped it, then grabbed it before it could fall into the wet sink, and finally, half-growled and turned it towards her hair.

It wasn't the most likely still-quite-unstable former HYDRA killer that she was worried about wrecking the date. No, if she knew anything at all, it was that if the night ended badly, it would be because she had no idea how to do any of this, and she would make that abundantly clear.

On the bright side, she knew that he had no clue either, so at least the playing field was even.

Unless he had remembered more of his older days, and she could imagine that those days had treated him well in terms of female attention. Maybe he did know what he was doing now. Maybe she would be the only idiot there.

Gulping, she did her best to dry her hair, hoping the date would be worth the epic meltdown that she was in the midst of.

"So... do you remember... dating?"

Bucky looked across the small table to Steve, who had suffered a mild heart attack upon finding out that Bucky had asked Summer out on a date within the first five minutes of seeing her again. To his credit, though, Steve wasn't trying to talk him out of it.

"Not really." Then he thought for a moment, and added, "I do remember dancing. A little bit."

"Then you do remember dating," Steve grinned. "Dancing's changed since then, though. A lot." His grin faded a bit and he furrowed his brows. "It's less like dancing and more like..."

"More like what?"

Steve raised his brows and asked, "Is dancing all you remember? Because I sure had to hear a lot about what you did after you took girls dancing and it kind of got old after awhile."

Bucky's confused expression deepened. He could only vaguely grasp Steve's meaning. "What's that have to with dancing?"

Steve paused for a minute, then smiled. "You know what, never mind. Don't worry about it. Why don't we focus on figuring out where you're gonna take her instead."

Bucky nodded, then watched Steve pull out his phone and start typing into it. "There's one place I've been to," Steve said, "and I think you'd both like it. There's never that many people there, and since this is a Monday, it'll probably be basically empty, so you'll have the place to yourselves. And it's just a couple blocks away."

Steve held up his phone, and Bucky read the name and address of the place in question, then nodded. "Okay."

"And after that," Steve shrugged, "I would just ask her what she likes to do and go from there."

Bucky nodded again, a little but still in shock that this was happening - and that he had made it happen. He didn't know what was more bewildering, the fact that he had asked or the fact that she had said yes.

"And by the way," Steve said, "I cannot believe that I am sitting here giving you dating advice. I'm pretty sure pigs are flying over the building right now."

"Pigs?"

Steve shook his head. "Never mind."

Bucky furrowed his brows and said, "I only remember a couple of girls. Barely."

"Well, there was more than a couple," Steve replied. "Only one though that you ever really liked. The rest you just took out, but there was a girl in the eleventh grade. Her name was Judy."

Judy. He couldn't remember a Judy. Or could he?

"Dark hair, kind of short. Well, taller than I was, but still. You offered to help her with her French class."

"I speak French?" He'd already discovered that he apparently spoke five languages, with no memories of having learned them. This was the sixth. It was unnerving, especially when he'd start writing or speaking in them without fully meaning to.

"Yep. Got her an A. But her dad broke you guys up, because you told him you were going to enlist once you turned 18 and he didn't want his daughter with a soldier who'd leave her."

Something prickled at his mind, and what Steve was saying felt more and more familiar as he spoke. It was hazy, but he could remember a face now, a pretty one, and maybe a soft laugh too? And the color purple... a very light, pastel purple, and a flowery dress, and maybe a bed? The bed was the source of the purple, he realized as he thought more deeply, and the flowery dress on the floor next to it, because he'd put it there.

Oh. "I remember now."

Steve nodded. "I'm sure you do. You spent a lot of time 'teaching her French'," he said, using air quotes.

"And I told you about it?"

"Bucky, you made sure I knew more than I ever wanted to," Steve sighed. "I embarrassed pretty easily back then. And sometimes I wondered if you were making some of it up, because some of it was really..."

"Really what?" a distinctive, low feminine voice inquired, as both men looked up to find a head full of vibrant red hair appear around the corner of the kitchen they were currently seated in. "No, really, go on - I want to hear the end of this story."

Bucky rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat, crossing his arms as Steve gave Natasha a smile that was still mildly shy two months after Bucky watched her sashay back into Steve's life. She came and went as she pleased, and though Steve was hesitant to call her his "girlfriend", even Bucky knew that was crap. And that was saying something.

Since there was only two chairs, she turned Steve's lap into her seat and then looked at Bucky expectantly. "So. Let's hear about these escapades that were so scandalous that poor little Steve thought they couldn't possibly be true."

She also grated on Bucky's nerves more than anything else within the apartment. Possibly the city.

"Uh... well, we got on the subject because Bucky has a date tonight," Steve said cheerfully, and Bucky watched the playfulness fall from the woman's face as turned her gaze to Steve's.

"A date? With a woman?"

"No, a moose," Bucky irritably answered in Russian.

She shot him a glare and answered back in her native tongue, "Unlucky moose." Then she looked back to Steve, and he gave her a look that told her to let it go. Bucky rolled his eyes and stood up from the table, heading for his room.

Where Steve had an implicit, possibly to the point of being stupid, trust in him, Natasha had an inherent distrust of him that he knew he deserved but still didn't care to see. The worst part of it was the fact that he couldn't write her off as simply a foolish woman who didn't understand anything about him, because she understood everything about him perfectly, had the experience and the background to prove just how well she did, and she was right not to trust him. It didn't help that she bore two bizarrely symmetrical scars on her body that told the stories of his past sins.

He walked to his bedroom door, then opened it and closed it while remaining in the hallway. Then he leaned against the wall and listened to Steve and Natasha's resulting hushed conversation.

"This is a bad idea, Steve. It's one thing to have him in here or out when he's with you, but -"

"Relax. He's fine. She's good for him. And they aren't going far. He'll be fine."

"And if he isn't? It's New York, Steve. What if someone tries to mug them? What do you think he'll do if he sees or hears something that triggers him? The consequences aren't worth it."

"I've thought of all that, trust me. But... I hate keeping him here all the time. He has no sense of independence, no self-reliance, and I hate that. I hate that, because it's what they did to him. They controlled him and kept him 'stable'. I don't want him to just be stable. I want him to live his life. He deserves to live his life. I owe him that much."

"That sounds great, Steve, but you have to be realistic. At the very least, you need to watch him."

"I can't. I'm watching her son."

He heard a pause. "You're babysitting his date's kid?"

"Yeah. He's a good kid. Big fan, too."

"Wait. Is this the same woman you picked him up from in Virginia?"

"Yep."

"Why is she here?"

"I flew her here."

"Steve..."

"Natasha."

"I highly doubt that Dr. Connor would consider him ready to start dating. He's barely ready to go walk down the street and buy a soda by himself."

"I think that's a little bit of an exaggeration."

"And I think you have a problem facing the truth about your friend and what he's capable of."

"I think I know better than anyone what he's capable of, Natasha." Bucky could hear the irritation in Steve's voice.

"Do you?"

"Yes."

Then there was silence for a moment, and eventually he heard the woman sigh. "Well, if you can't watch him, I will. Just this once, though. I have better things to do than babysit grown men."

Bucky clenched his jaw and thought for one fleeting moment about aborting the whole thing. He didn't need Natasha of all people to come and spy on him while he was on a date, and Summer deserved better than that. And now he wasn't sure that he would be able to focus on anything but determining Natasha's position and fuming over her presence throughout the night.

But then, a defiant spark from within told him hell no, go on the date and don't let her have the satisfaction of getting to him. He didn't want Steve defending him any more than he wanted to hear Natasha's suspicious whispers. He was sick of both, and for once, he would like to just have one little tiny bit of confidence in himself that he could walk three blocks with another human being who wasn't Steve and not be provoked into the murderous rampage that Natasha seemed to think was imminent.

He heard movement, but he stayed where he was at. Then he glanced up and saw Steve appear at the end of the hallway, stopping short when he saw Bucky leaning against the wall. Instantly his face became apologetic, realizing that he had heard the conversation. "Bucky -"

"It's fine," Bucky shrugged, walking back to his door and throwing it open before closing himself inside. After all, Steve hadn't done anything wrong. He never did. It was almost annoying sometimes.

He looked around his room blankly for a moment. It was minimally furnished, which was his choice. Just a bed, a small table next to it, and a dresser across the room. Steve had provided a wall mounted flat screen TV that he watched only on occasion. On the left side of his bed, filling the gap between it and the wall, were stacks of books. He'd taken Summer's suggestion and tended to read as much fiction as nonfiction now. Reading helped him think and not think at the same time, in that it kept his thoughts focused on the words on a page and not the voices and images that haunted his mind tirelessly. Staying busy was key. It was just hard to stay busy when he rarely left Steve's apartment.

But, he had better things to think about today. Changing clothes seemed like a good idea, so he did that, only partially though, because he ended up only swapping his shirt for a black button down one, unsure of what else to do. He was unsure about a lot of things, but it was slowly getting better. When he had first let Steve badger him into getting his hair cut, he'd felt even more like an imposter whenever he looked in the mirror. Having only the crudest sense of identity to begin with, suddenly looking identical to the man Steve kept telling him that he was had taken weeks to get used to. But over time, certain things were starting to feel almost right.

This date thing, though - he still didn't understand why he'd done it. It was such an odd concept, and he had no level of comfort for it, regardless of the slowly returning memories.

If he had to guess, though, he'd blame the moment on the lock of hair she had left in his possession and the memories - those few blessed good ones that he had - of her that refused to budge from his mind. He had thought that he would forget her - despite his assurances to the contrary when she'd asked him not to - but he never came close. And he missed her.

But now he had her for a week. He might as well make the most of it.

By the time Summer was back at Steve's doorstep, she was already exhausted. The effort of dressing, fully fixing her hair, and doing a decent job with makeup (which wasn't as easy as some girls made it look) was more than she'd bargained for, but she was somewhat all right with the outcome. Her hair was down and lightly curled, makeup light for her own comfort, and she had paired a deep burgundy peacoat with her green dress, finishing the outfit with the boots that her feet absolutely hated her for. She even had jewelry on, a silver bracelet and some small diamond earrings that had been a gift years ago. It was the most womanly she had looked since... ever? So it couldn't be too bad.

She knocked on the door, holding David's hand, and when a very familiar redheaded woman opened the door, her mouth opened and she instantly felt like a twelve year old kid under the woman's appraising gaze.

Summer recognized her from the Congressional hearings on the news following all the SHIELD leaks. David immediately leapt behind her, and she didn't blame him for hiding from the Black freakin' Widow.

"And who are you?"

Trying to gather her wits, Summer eventually managed one word, "Summer." It seemed redundant to say anything else, because she wasn't stupid, and she knew that this woman would already know who she was. The only point of her question was to intimidate her. But why?

"Right. So is Barnes the first assassin you've dated or does HYDRA run a dating website I'm not aware of?"

"Uh..."

Natasha rolled her eyes and opened the door fully. "Come in. Steve's helping him fix his hair or something."

Blinking, Summer tried to step inside, but David refused to follow her in. She turned and furrowed her brows. "Sweetie, come on. We talked about this. What's wrong?"

David looked at her, then Natasha, and then covered his eyes with his hands. Summer stifled a laugh, then glanced at Natasha, who looked both bored and confused. "He's scared of you, I think."

Natasha raised an eyebrow and then turned to saunter off. "Smart kid."

It took some convincing, but Summer eventually got David to come inside, even with the scary woman still inside of it. She took him to the leather couch in the living room, and when she sat down, he went back to hiding behind her, smashing his face between the couch and her back. She sighed, hoping Natasha wouldn't be staying, because apparently that would make Steve's job nearly impossible to do tonight.

She tried not to be mildly frightened herself when Natasha walked over from the kitchen, eyeing her curiously. She couldn't help it - the woman was as mesmerizing as she was terrifying.

"How old are you?" Natasha asked, perching causally on the arm of a chair opposite the couch.

"Twenty five," Summer replied, feeling David try to burrow even deeper between her and the couch.

"You must not have parents."

"Nope," Summer confirmed, a little confused by why that mattered. Then she could feel Natasha analyzing her appearance, and she wanted to crawl and hide in a ditch.

"Were you gonna wear your hair like that?"

"Um..." she faltered, definitely feeling like a kid now if she didn't before. But she had worked too long on her hair to have it criticized, even by someone flawless. "Yeah. He likes it down, so." She cringed a little bit. She didn't owe her that explanation.

"Rookie mistake. That's why you put it up. Give him something to take down later."

Well, dang it. Now slightly embarrassed and frustrated, she glanced at the oversized "mom" purse in her hands, knowing she had nothing besides a few hair ties in there. Then she heard Natasha snicker and reach into her jean pocket.

"Here," she said, tossing her a thin, long clip. Summer caught it, then thanked her quietly before gathering her hair and twisting it up the back of her head. She fastened the clip, leaving a few front pieces loose to frame her face, hoping that the ones in the back were curled well enough to look okay. Natasha gave a nod of approval, but Summer found the whole exchange rather odd.

Before things could get anymore awkward, she heard footsteps, and in the hallway, Steve appeared, wearing his usual smile. "Hi. Sorry about that, we were talking and I didn't realize what time it was."

Before Summer could reply, Natasha leaned back and smiled. "I kept her company, don't worry."

Steve gave her a look that was suspicious and amused at the same time. "Great. So, Summer, if you want to give me some guidelines..."

"Right," she said, getting up and digging into her purse as David hung on to her coat from behind and dared to peek once at Natasha. She smiled at him somewhat neutrally, and he quickly hid his face. She chuckled.

"So," Summer began, taking a small bag out of her purse and putting it on Steve's table,as he watched, "this is his tablet. He's addicted to it, and it helps him focus and calm down if something freaks him out. The charger's in there too. I also packed some snacks he likes. He's allergic to peanuts and bananas, and there's an epi-pen in here in case he accidentally gets his hands on either one of those. Oh, and here is..."

As she went on, making obsessively sure that she covered every possible base while Steve listened intently, Bucky emerged from the hallway, his view of his date blocked by Steve's large frame. He glanced at Natasha, who was still perched on the armchair. She gave him a smile and spoke in Russian, "Have fun."

"Stop speaking," he muttered back, and the sound made Summer fall silent for a moment mid sentence and glance over Steve's shoulder. That was when their eyes met, and Summer was pretty sure that if her heart was going to stop every time he walked into the room or said a word, she was really in for it.

"Um... so anyway," she said, smiling a little and shaking her head, "I think I have everything here for you, and -"

"Hey," Steve smiled reassuringly, "take a breath. I've got this. And if anything happens, I'll call you right away."

She sighed and nodded. "Okay. Thank you. Thank you for everything. I owe you way too much."

He shrugged and shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Have a good night."

She smiled, suddenly nervous all over again, especially now that Bucky was standing next to Steve and she could feel his eyes on her. She almost forgot about the little boy who still refused to budge from behind her legs.

"Catch you later, Steve," Natasha called from the door. "And nice meeting you, Summer."

Summer nodded, though she doubted the truth of that statement. She also noticed the loathing in Bucky's eyes as he watched the woman leave. Once the door was shut behind her, David finally let go of her coat and looked around, apparently now feeling safe again.

"I've never seen him so instantly terrified of someone before," she said, and Steve smiled.

"It's... understandable," he admitted. "All right, well, I'm ready if the two of you are."

With that, Summer nodded and knelt down to hug and kiss her son goodbye, remind him to be good and do everything Steve said even though she had no doubt that he would, and then before she knew it, David was back to bouncing happily and rushing to Steve's side. That left her and Bucky standing in front of the table, and her stomach fluttered as their eyes met again. He looked every bit as good as he had earlier, only darker, and maybe a little bit angry. She was all right with that, but the jacket still deserved a ritual burning.

She smiled and asked softly, "Ready?"

The fact that the sight of her made him almost entirely forget how angry he was at having Natasha for an invisible babysitter for the night was astonishing. And he knew that whatever was underneath the dark red coat would probably be even better, but the boots were as appealing as they were earlier. He had to drag his eyes away and meet her eyes when she asked her one-word question.

"Yeah," he answered quietly. Something in his head screamed to compliment her, to say something quickly, but he didn't do it. He could all but feel Steve pretending not to watch them, probably smiling stupidly, and he wanted nothing more than to be alone with her. So, he took her left hand in his right one, and walked her to the door.

When she glanced back to tell her son goodbye one more time, Bucky caught the stupid grin on Steve's faced that he'd suspected was there, and he shook his head at him as they walked out the door.

His hand left hers once they were in the building's hallway and the apartment door was closed behind them. He looked at her as she then nervously fiddled with a piece of her hair before seeming to make herself stop, and he decided that he quite liked the fact that she couldn't do a thing to hide her anxiety.

He also felt like now he could pay her the compliment he'd wanted to a moment ago. It still didn't go as planned.

"You... you look..."

She leaned forward slightly, as if he was speaking too quietly for her to hear, and then she let out a surprised yelp as she suddenly stumbled off of her feet. He caught her, with one hand on her shoulder while his other arm caught her around the waist, and her hands clutched at his jacket as she righted herself and laughed.

"Sorry," she said breathlessly, a blush coloring her cheeks as he reluctantly let her go. "It's the shoes. They're like four inches high and I've almost killed myself in them about five times today."

He glanced down at the boots in question, then back up at her face, and his hand slipped into hers again. The metal one, looking to all the world like any other flesh and blood hand, hung at his side as he got them walking again. "I guess you should hang on to me, then."

He guided her down the staircase, down two flights to the floor, and once they were back on flat ground, she asked quietly, "So, do you like it here?"

They stepped out into the chilly night air, and he took a deep breath without realizing. This was the first time he'd been out at night in a long time. "Yeah," he replied as they turned down the sidewalk. He considered keeping his next thought to himself, but spoke it aloud anyway. "I do miss your food."

She laughed. "Really? I mean, I like my food, but I don't get a lot of feedback, so I can never tell if it's actually good or if I'm just used to it."

"No, it's good," he replied.

"Well... that's nice to hear," she said, her hand ending up on his upper arm as they walked. "If you wanted, I could cook for you and Steve sometime this week. Or try to. Knowing my luck it would be the one time I'd screw up and burn something."

He almost told her that she worried too much, but then he caught a glimpse of a woman walking down the other side of the street, and he wondered if it was Natasha in whatever disguise she'd opted for.

"David misses you," Summer said, diverting his attention. "He still draws you all the time. And still makes me create fake metal arms for him every once in awhile. I don't think he recognizes you with the short hair. And your hand like that."

He looked down at his left hand. The cover was the one thing Natasha had been good for so far. "It's one less reminder. Until I take it off, at least."

"I understand," she replied, falling silent for a moment. "It's so weird how it looks completely normal."

"Until you touch it," he said, holding out his left hand to her. She looked up at him before reaching out with her free hand and gently touching the back of his hand. The hologram flickered, then stabilized, pixelated, and returned back to its set image.

"Wow," she marveled. "Can you make it show anything?"

He nodded, returning the hand to his side. The cover only reached to his wrist, barely, so long sleeves were a necessity.

"That's almost creepy. What about faces?" When he nodded, she went on, "Wow, so someone could put that on and wear my face? Not that anyone would want to wear my face. But could they?"

"Yeah," he replied, amused by her reaction to what he thought was a rather routine thing. "But they would have to get one first."

"Right. I guess those are rare?"

"That's what she told me."

"You mean... her, right?"

"Natasha," he nodded. "She's watching us."

"What?"

He cringed a little, but she deserved to know. Summer came to a halt on the sidewalk, when they were just a few doors down from their destination, and he turned towards her with a slight grimace. "She's watching me," he amended, somewhat bitterly. "I don't know where she is yet, but she'll be watching all night to make sure I don't snap and kill someone."

She frowned, then thought for a moment. "Did Steve -"

He shook his head. "No, it's not him. It's her." He then looked around, noting all the pedestrians and cabs within his sight, barely having to concentrate at all to fall into the familiar task of scoping out a perimeter, but then he reminded himself that he didn't need to do that tonight. "But she's right to do it."

She watched him for a moment, then linked their arms once more as she replied, "For what it's worth, you seem a lot better to me."

He almost refuted her, almost pointed out that her point of reference would make almost anything seem better, but he kept his mouth shut and then furrowed his brows when they reached the door of the place that Steve had recommended.

"What's this place?" she asked. He had no idea. From the outside, the place looked almost abandoned, what with the sloppy artwork scrawled on the door and rest of the building, and the odd lack of windows. He reached out and opened the door anyway, then made a mental note to roll his eyes at Steve later.

Inside, the odd place revealed itself to be a rather quirky and romantic restaurant, with soft and slightly dim lighting thanks to strings of overhead lights that stretched from one end to another and candlelights on the empty tables. Italian music wafted out from within and he glanced at Summer to find a smile on her face as she looked in, and for that reason, he'd endure the place.

A squat little Italian-speaking man came and greeted them jovially, and when Bucky answered the man in the same tongue as they were hustled to a table, he glanced at Summer out of the corner of his eye and saw her doing a very poor job of hiding her flustered smile.

They were the only patrons in the entire dining room, and their host and server appeared to also be the cook. He left to fetch them menus, and it took Bucky a moment of watching Summer start unbuttoning her coat to suddenly remember that he should help her out of it. He stepped up behind her and hesitated briefly before gently placing his hands at her shoulders as she began to take the thing off. He started to pull it from her, and she looked over her shoulder in surprise, only to blush and smile before letting him take it from her. "Thank you."

He was going to reply, but then he saw her dress, and he decided to look rather than speak. He'd never seen her in any dress before, and this one illuminated the shape and form that the causal attire he remembered hid far too well. It was sleeveless and gathered at the left side of her waist, fitting everywhere perfectly and ending just at her knees, where it gave way to black tights and those cursed boots. The coat had also been hiding silver bracelets on her left wrist, and when it suddenly dawned on him that a girl who lived in t-shirts and jeans did all of his for a night with him, his mouth went dry and the air suddenly felt scarce.

She turned and looked at him with slight concern. "You all right?"

He stood there, her coat over his arm, brows furrowed as one voice told him to tell her that she should dress like this all the time, and then there was another slightly less respectful voice with an even better suggestion, but before he could even register the words and accompanying image in his head, the little Italian man reappeared and went about arranging their chairs next to one another, muttering something about being romantic. Bucky didn't think twice about it, not noticing Summer's not-so-inner brief turmoil before taking her seat, which was only inches away from his, in front of a candlelit table. At the moment, he was more concerned with keeping his filter intact and not horrifying her with verbalizing his thoughts that were seemingly coming out of nowhere.

"Uh," she said quietly as he started half-reading the menu in an attempt to distract himself, "you know I can't read this."

He glanced at her, then the menu, and then he blinked and realized that none of it was in English. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't really notice. Well, Steve said to get the pizza, I think this one here," he said, pointing to a picture, "but if you want I can read the rest to you."

"No, that looks fine," she shrugged. "I'll take his word for it." He nodded, and then she was silent for a moment until she made an observation. "So you speak Italian too."

He nodded. "I'm up to six languages that I know of."

"And you don't remember learning any of them?" He shook his head, and she wondered, "How is that even possible?"

He shook his head slightly, then continued to stare at the menu without seeing it as he answered. "Natasha thinks it's like a computer. You can wipe the hard drive and erase all the data but it still keeps its basic functions."

He glanced at her, afraid of seeing her face become sad or sympathetic at this, but to his relief, she merely considered those words and raised an eyebrow. "Well that's one way of looking at it. Kind of dark, though. And here all I know is bad American English and how to say 'my name is Dora' in Spanish."

Her reference went over his head, but he didn't pay it much mind. "I found out I also speak French today."

She was taking a drink of water when he said this, and he heard her choke slightly before coughing and putting her glass down. "Don't speak French," she said, hiding a smile,

Unconsciously, he angled more towards her and looked at her curiously. "Why?"

"Just don't. I mean it."

She was smiling too much to really mean what she was saying, and he thought that was interesting. There was even the start of a blush on her cheeks. "Why?" he asked again.

"Just... because," she said, still smiling and avoiding looking at him. "Forget I said anything."

He could only conclude that she actually wanted to hear him speak the language, because nothing else could possibly make sense.

He didn't take his eyes off of her as she pretended to be interested in her water glass, the silly smile lingering on her face the longer he watched her try to fight it off. He was slipping back into his old staring habits, despite the fact that he had made a lot of progress in that area since living with Steve. Probably because he didn't have anything worth staring at until now.

Suddenly, he remembered that he still had yet to complement her. But just as he opened his mouth, the Italian man reappeared to take their orders at the very same moment. By the time he left, Bucky realized he still had no idea how to accurately convey how positively perfect she looked to him without sounding like an idiot. And it wasn't helping that growing parts of his mind kept throwing things out at him that he was fairly sure he could not repeat out loud, regardless of what decade he was living in.

And anyway, it was not the most opportune time to have that sort of awakening, as refreshingly human as it was.

"You look like you're doing some intense thinking," she noted. When he turned his gaze to hers, he found her smiling lightly. He merely gave a slight shake of his head, leaning back in his seat a few inches and getting a better view of her seated figure. He didn't know why his eyes kept flying to her legs like magnets were pulling them there.

"And I see you're still as subtle as an elephant," she chided gently, smiling from the corner of her eye. "I'm actually glad for that. Gives me less stuff to overthink."

He eyed her for a moment, thinking that if she already thought he lacked all subtlety, then he could get away with what he was about to do with no fear of repercussion. Besides, she wouldn't understand the words anyway.

Throwing caution to the wind, he slowly leaned forward towards her, watching her stiffen slightly as he did, stopping just before his lips could touch her ear. Then he spoke in a low, hopefully seductive tone, "Tu es magnifique, ce soir, mais j'aimerais autant te voir porter ces chaussures et rien d'autre."

He may as well have gleefully dumped a bucket full of hot, burning coals down her dress, and she was absolutely positive now that she officially hated him.

Having no idea what in the world he had just said to her and unsure if it even mattered, she closed her eyes for a moment and then blinked, the term "flutter" not doing justice to what was happening inside as she slowly looked up at him after he drew away. He was wearing the same almost-smile that she had seen on him earlier, and he looked way too satisfied with himself.

"I told you not to - to... what did you say?"

He shook his head and met her gaze, and she saw a playful glint there. Playful. What was she supposed to do with that? She was used to seeing pain and misery and ghosts in those eyes, not playfulness. It did not compute. Much like the seductive French in her ear had roughly the same effect on her brain that an atom bomb had over an unsuspecting city.

"What did you say?"

"I'm not telling you,"

"Then why did you say it?"

"Because I wanted to."

She almost groaned in frustration. "Just tell me! Please?"

He glanced at her, then gestured to the purse at her feet. "I'm sure you can use your phone to translate. Steve does."

"Yeah, if I had a clue how to write what you said," she replied. "Are you really not going to tell me?"

He shook his head, and she wanted to rip her hair out. But before she could consider such a display, their dinner arrived, and she realized that she was probably going to be languishing in ignorance for a very long time. And frustration. A lot of that. Maybe more of that than anything.

How utterly diabolical. She couldn't dismiss his actions as being innocent or oblivious anymore after that - no, there was no questioning that he knew exactly what he was doing now, and that changed everything.

The food was good, even better because she was absolutely starving after possibly forgetting to eat anything else that day, but the longer that there was silence between them, the more time she had to overthink. Were other girls like this when they went on dates, or was it only her and was it Steve's fault for telling Bucky to take her to a place like this? The occasionally flickering candlelight on the table and dreamy overhead lights only served to make his hair look almost black and his eyes like the calm before a storm, and it was so not helping anything.

She didn't realize that she was staring, because she was vaguely contemplating using his image as inspiration for a character in a story - if she ever managed to actually write one, of course. If she ever wrote such a thing, she would make his character a cocky jerk who liked to torture women by speaking mysterious things to them in languages they didn't understand. He'd be dangerous and unpredictable, but in the end, he would end up on the right side of it all. Mostly. Maybe he'd blow up a few buildings along the way, so she could write an entire paragraph describing the way in which he would confidently swagger away from the explosions. Then, just when her imaginary readers would be on the cusp of utterly hating him, she would let a glimpse of his vulnerability and haunted eyes win them all back, and then she would delete it all and start over because she would hate every word she typed. In other words, the usual process.

She snapped out of it when the little Italian man came to ask them more questions that she didn't understand. She tried to smile and express her liking of the food that way, and then she watched with amusement as the man began asking Bucky questions and talking very animatedly with him. The man gestured to her a few times, and Bucky seemed to be getting a bit flustered or frustrated, one of the two, and finally the man merely gave a hearty laugh and left their bill on the table.

"What was all that?" she asked, and Bucky shrugged.

"He was curious. Asked a lot of questions."

"Like what?"

He shrugged and fished for a wallet that he produced a moment later, and she was pretty sure that whatever was in there belonged to Steve. She had no idea how much money the man had and she really despised how much he was continuing to spend for her benefit, but since he acted like it was all inconsequential, maybe it was. She still didn't like it.

"How long we've been dating," he replied without looking her way. "Things like that."

"Oh. Well, I think that if I'm gonna have any hope of keeping up with you, you're going to have to teach me some of your languages."

"I think I like it better like this."

She tried not to roll her eyes at him. Of course he did. But she already felt like she was at a distinct disadvantage here, and the language barriers weren't helping. On top of that, her anxiety over leaving David with someone else for the first time in years was starting to get to her, and she didn't even notice how often she kept checking her phone to make sure there were no messages from Steve.

They left before the Italian man could come back and ramble some more, and she failed miserably at trying not to smile when Bucky helped her back into her coat. It was similar to the way that he opened doors for her and had already managed to treat her better than she had ever been before, and though that wasn't a difficult standard to beat, it was still incredibly nice.

Once they were back outside, the ache in her feet began protesting being forced to walk again, but she held his arm for support again as they paused outside of the restaurant.

"So, what now?" she asked with a smile.

He gave a light shrug and replied honestly, "I have no idea."

She laughed at his answer, then looked around the streets. There was only a moderate amount of folks out, but they were not the only couple. Most were headed away from the direction in which they came, so she turned back to him and said, "Let's just walk and see what we find."

He gave her a look and she simply smiled, pulling him with her as she started to walk. After a moment or two, she asked quietly, "So, is she watching us right now?"

"She's the blonde walking her dog," Bucky replied. "Don't look. Don't give her the satisfaction."

She did as he said, wondering where the dog came from and if the surveillance really was necessary. Bucky seemed good, a lot better than she thought three months could do, but she also knew it wasn't as simple as that.

"So... her and Steve?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"You don't sound like you like her much," she observed. He didn't reply, and she decided it best to change the subject, not wanting to discuss terrifying spies that he seemed to loathe.

Before she could think of a better topic of discussion, the sound of what had to be a gunshot crackled through the air, and before she could register the sound, she was tossed against a wall and pinned there by her date's left arm.

His sudden throwing of her startled her far more than the gunshot, and as her heart pounded in her ears, she looked around him and saw a group of teenagers laughing and cursing as they ran off down the street, yelling "boom!" and trying to get away as fast as they could.

"It was just some stupid kids, Bucky, we're all right," she said, hiding the shake in her voice well. When he didn't answer, she tried to pry his arm away to no avail, then settled on reaching her hand to his face and pulling him towards her.

It took a few tries and she said his name many more times, but eventually he finally looked at her. She looked him in his suddenly confused, distant eyes as she held his face and said calmly, "Bucky, it was kids. Nothing happened. Nothing happened."

It took him a bit, and she had to repeat her assurances a few more times, but eventfully, he nodded, and she breathed as he finally dropped his arm off of her. She watched him blink once-more present eyes and look around, and unmistakeable disappointment flashed across his face. As he started staring across the street, she took his hand in hers and tugged him back to her. "Hey. It's all right. Really."

"Did I hurt you?" he asked quietly, and she quickly shook her head.

"No. Thank you for doing what you did. If it had actually been something bad, I would have been safe, so... thank you."

He looked unconvinced, and he gently eased his hand out of hers. "I'll... take you back if you want."

"What? No," she protested a little too quickly, too eagerly, making him furrow his brows and her cringe a little bit. "No, I don't want to go back yet. I mean, unless you want to. I can only imagine what went through your head when you heard that, so..."

After she trailed off, they stood there in indecision, and she knew that for as different and more... human that he seemed to be now, every day still had to be a struggle for him. Looking in his eyes now was like looking into them back at home, in Virginia, when he would stare off and she would try to bring him back to reality before he spent the whole day like that.

"Do you want to go back?" she asked softly, and he took his gaze off of the street and looked across it, to the woman with her dog, who was pretending to browse on her phone as she sat on a bench.

She watched his jaw tighten and his eyes clear up some, and he turned back to her and shook his head. "No."

Then he took her hand again, and she gave him an encouraging smile as they began walking again. She could deal with moments like those, expected them even. She might not be able to comprehend his level of trauma and haunting, painful memories, or really know much about them at all aside from what she had read because he had never shared much with her, but she knew what flashbacks could do to a mind. She just had no idea what sort his last one had been, and she wasn't going to ask, either. She'd rather take his mind away from it.

But what to talk about? She started wracking her brain to come up with something to distract him with, but as usual, all she got was a giant blank. Her brain had a habit of being good for nothing when she actually needed it.

Then they walked past a slightly shady-looking building, and the door opened and two drunken girls in too-small, too-short dresses spilled out of it, giggling to themselves as they started half-stumbling down the sidewalk. Out of curiosity, Summer glanced inside the still-open door, and Bucky did too, and after the door slammed shut, they stood there for a moment, staring at it.

"So that's what Steve meant when he said dancing is different now."

Summer glanced at him and then said, "I'm not sure that everybody dances like that." She paused. "I hope."

Shaking off the image of glitter-covered bodies writhing to bad dubstep, they kept walking, and Summer asked, "Was dancing as big in the 40s as the movies say it was?"

"I think so," he replied. "I remember it."

"Were you good?" she asked with a smile.

"I don't remember any complaints," he answered, making her smile grow.

She could picture him all those years ago, in an Army uniform and free of the ghosts of his future, smiling freely and dancing giggling girls around some smoky room full of other couples. It would have been nice to know him back then, before all the light turned to dark.

"What about you?"

She looked up, having not expected his question, and she stifled a laugh. "Uh, no. No, I don't dance. Like ever."

"Don't like it?"

"Honestly, I've never had the chance to do it, aside from a couple dances in high school," she shrugged. "And those weren't all that fun."

"Well, if I ever remember enough of it," he said, "maybe I could teach you."

"So you'll teach me how to dance," she smiled, "but you won't translate your French for me."

"Nope."

"I'm not gonna stop bugging you about that," she said, just as they approached a set of open doors with music pouring out softly into the streets. It was real, live music, not the purely electric sounds they'd heard earlier, and Summer stopped for a moment to peer inside the place.

It was a small club with a jazzy retro feel, free for the night according to the sign outside, and host to a small band of older folks playing and a moderate number of patrons, who came from all ages and backgrounds, mostly couples. The air was smoky and a little dark, similar to her movie-like image from a moment ago, and she turned to Bucky and raised her eyebrows in question. "Wanna try jogging those dancing memories?"

"Uh..."

She gave his hand a light pull and smiled. "You can't possibly look worse than me."

"I really don't remember how..."

She shrugged. "Maybe it's like riding a bike, you know? And think about how easy it was to remember how to kiss. Dancing could be the same way."

She made herself blush saying that, and she was pretty sure that was pathetic. But, she must have been convincing, because Bucky finally caved, with just a hint of a grin on his lips. "All right, fine."

She smiled as they walked inside, and then she quickly found a corner for them to stand in for the moment. The song being played was a bit slow, heavy on horns and rich to her ears, and the couples were all in their own separate little worlds as they danced around. She didn't think it was really the kind of music that Bucky would have been familiar with, but it was probably the closest thing she could manage tonight. What was the worst that could happen?

Bucky stood to her side and slightly behind her as she watched, considering whether or not to take the initiative and drag him out and dance very badly with him and at least try to make him laugh. In the midst of debating this, she felt a slight tickle at her temple, and turned slightly to find him brushing a piece of her hair aside. She looked in his eyes and saw the same intensity that she used to see there, the single-focused potency that had forever altered her perception of what constituted "eye contact". She stopped breathing when he glanced down at her lips, then started again when he brought both of his hands to her shoulders to pull her coat off again. He draped it on the back of a chair at a nearby table, then took her hand.

"I hope your expectations are low," he said as he led them towards the other couples, and she felt a short thrill of anxiety and excitement.

The song changed, but the moderately slow tempo remained, and then they were face to face and awkwardly still for a moment. She could tell that he was trying to remember as he took one of her hands in his and then stared at his left hand, which would flicker if it touched anything too much, and she knew better than most how quickly too much thinking could ruin something. So, trying to shake him out of his own head, she slipped her hand away and put her arms around his neck instead.

His eyes snapped to hers, and being brave, she stepped closer to him, having no idea what she was doing. Her ears suddenly felt hot and her pulse was chugging right along, and the way that he stared at her was making it exponentially worse. Then she stepped to the side, turning him slightly, and then burst out laughing at herself.

"I'm sorry, I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm just trying to help," she said, trying to contain her giggles. She took to watching her feet, which were not happy considering how much they hurt, and then shivered when she felt his hands run down the tops of her arms and gently ease them down. She glanced to his left one and saw it flickering, but in the slightly dim lighting, it was hard to see. The false image didn't make the metal any less cool to the touch, but she thought it was the pleasant kind of cold.

His right hand took her left, and slowly, he spun her in a small circle. It would have looked oddly slow to anyone watching, but she smiled at him as she tried not to trip over her own feet, willing to go along with anything that would get him feeling comfortable with his own steps. It was all fine until he pulled her closer, then took her wrist and draped her arm around his neck, bringing her close enough to kiss if either of them barely leaned in.

Her lips were slightly parted as she stared at his, barely aware of how he was leading her in small steps, and completely unaware of how she was grasping at the leather jacket he'd never shed. It was impossible to think when she was this close to him, sharing the same breaths with him, daring to glance up and meet his eyes, almost instantly regretting it for how her heart nearly stopped again.

Then she let out a small shriek of surprise when he spun her again, more quickly this time and further out, and she almost tripped more times than she could count by the time he pulled her back. She laughed and put her arms around his neck again, warming at the sight of his small smile returning to his face. She ached to see a full, real smile from him.

"Is it all coming back to you?" she asked quietly, taking a chance and letting her fingers just graze the short hairs at the back of his head. It was a small touch and far from what she'd been wanting to do to his hair all day.

"Maybe," he said, before grasping her hand and spinning her a few more times, helping her get used to it and learn how to avoid tripping herself up.

Just when she thought she was halfway used to dancing, at Ieast somewhat, he swept her off her feet, literally, by surprising her with a low dip. She laughed again, maybe even giggled - giggled? - and almost couldn't resist the urge to kiss him after he pulled her back upright. She came close, staring down at his lips and not even trying to wipe the grin off of her face, feeling oddly gutsy for one short moment, but just as she came close to taking the plunge, he spun her out again, this time with far different results.

She was fine on the way out, but on the way in, she misjudged a step and her left ankle twisted slightly, making her gasp at the fleeting pain and then lose her footing entirely. She attributed what happened next to her impressive ability to take something embarrassing and make it much worse than it needed it to be, but all things considered, falling in such a way that Bucky's attempt to catch her sent them both hurtling to the ground with her on top of him really wasn't so bad.

He landed half-sitting, and she was sprawled over him, face against his chest, and though she was laughing, she lifted up the left side of his jacket and hid her face with it. She knew the other folks were laughing at her, not in a mean spirited way, but still, it was her natural reaction to hide. But, with her ear pressed to Bucky's chest through his black shirt, she heard a rhythmic rumbling that she first thought she was imagining. But then she felt it too, and when she stopped hiding and raised her head to look at him, what she saw was shocking.

He was not only smiling in the way she had only dreamed about previously, but he was laughing. Genuinely laughing, and the sound pierced through the music and the noise effortlessly, and all at once, she simply felt too much. The smile was every bit as perfect as she knew it would be, and the laugh was as welcome as it was unexpected.

And then, once again, she burst out laughing at herself, at it all, and the moment couldn't have been better.

He helped her get up soon thereafter, and their exit was not far behind. She couldn't keep the smile off her face, at least until they made their way back outside and her feet told her that they were absolutely done. It burned to walk, and she made a mental vow to never wear the boots again regardless of how good they looked.

She tried not to let it show, but her slower steps caught Bucky's attention within moments. "Did you get hurt when you fell?"

She shook her head. "No, not at all. It's the boots. My feet are killing me. But I'll be all right. Just ignore me."

She put on a brave face and kept walking, but he stopped her and looked at her as if he was not impressed in the least. Then he glanced down at her feet, then her face, and then started to kneel down. Her eyes widened. "What - what are you - no, no, put me down!"

Scooping her up like she weighed little more than a leaf blowing in the wind, he set off down the sidewalk with one word to the protesting woman in his arms. "Hush."

She groaned, half loving it and half dying, pressing her face into his jacket and muttering, "I can walk, really, you don't have to carry me down the street... Bucky..."

But regardless of how she whined or pled, he pretended not hear her, and she realized how slowly he'd been walking all night for her sake. She also popped up her head and realized that he was not walking in the direction she'd expected. "Where are you going?"

"Back to your hotel."

"But - David -"

"Steve can bring him over," Bucky said dismissively, and Summer instantly quieted down, because she was trying to remember the state that she left the room in when she left, and she needed to figure out if she was going to be humiliated by him seeing it.

Her purse was dangling oddly from her elbow, and she started trying to maneuver it open to dig her phone out of it, but then she thought about it, and maybe it would be better to wait to tell Steve about the change of plans. It would be a very short trip from his apartment to her hotel, and the longer she waited, the more time alone she would have with Bucky. But, worry quickly overtook the thought, and she resumed her search for the phone and ended up texting Steve anyway.

Afterwards, while resting her head against Bucky's shoulder, she asked quietly, "Are people staring?"

"I don't know."

Of course he didn't. She wondered if Natasha was watching them still, but she didn't ask about that. Instead, her thoughts drifted to something that she had almost forgotten about from her days with David's father.

"I broke my arm when I was eighteen," she said quietly, feeling oddly soothed by the walk. "I was with David's father back then, and I was at his house and we were goofing off in the basement. The stairs were really old and he was chasing me up them and one broke when I stepped on it, so I fell and that's when my arm broke. At first he told me I was being a baby and didn't believe me that I'd actually hurt myself. He wouldn't take me to the hospital because he said he had to get up early the next day for work and wouldn't get any sleep if he took me, and besides, I was just exaggerating. So I had to call a friend to come and pick me up from his house and take me." When Bucky looked at her with slight confusion, she explained, "I'm telling you this so you understand why I'm acting weird. I'm not used to things like this."

He frowned, but stayed silent. She didn't need him to say anything. She just wanted him to understand at least partially why she was the way that she was.

The walk to the hotel was exceedingly quick, and once there, he carried her up the stairs, ignoring the looks they got from hotel staff, and when they reached her door, he still wouldn't put her down, so she had to fumble with her purse through the abyss within it to find her keycard. Once that task was finally over and her door opened, she expected him to set her on her feet at last. He did not. He flipped the light on with his shoulder, closed the door behind him with his foot, and carried her to the bed that was not covered in every piece of clothing that she had brought with her. He set her down carefully on the side of it, then silently sat next to her, too close for her own comfort.

Their eyes met, and when she opened her mouth to thank him, he unexpectedly leaned forward and grabbed the calf of her leg that was closest to him, then pulled it into his lap. She kept her jaw from dropping by chewing on her lip while he found the zipper on the outer part of the boot, then pulled it down and lifted the torturous thing away from her at last.

He repeated the process with her other boot, and she found herself remaining at a loss for words with her feet in his lap. She noticed his hand cover flickering annoyingly with everything he did, and to her surprise, he poked at something near his wrist and then peeled the thing off before stuffing it in his jacket. She felt oddly relieved at the change, but it was short lived, because while she'd been distracted with the sight of his metal hand, his other had gone on to start rubbing one of her feet.

It took her by surprise, and between that and the sheer relief of his touch on her poor foot, a sound escaped out of her mouth that she realized, with horror, sounded a lot like a moan. She froze and then looked at him, knowing that her face was probably the color of a strawberry, given the amused look in his eye.

But it felt good. He only used his flesh and blood hand, and he didn't watch what he was doing, opting instead to look over the rest of her, all while no words were spoken.

He had yet to even kiss her, and she already felt on the verge of hyperventilating.

When his hand ran over her ankle, she met his gaze and held her breath as she watched him gently ease her feet from his lap and lean forward. Her mind went blank, then sputtered back to life when he only started undoing the belt and buttons of her coat, which she had forgotten she was still wearing. The thing was, he stared in her eyes as he did this, and she wondered if he was simply trying to make her scream from the tension before his lips so much as touched hers.

She shrugged off the coat and let it sit in a pile behind her on the bed, and then she watched his eyes drop as he appeared to start searching for words. A few seconds went by before he said quietly, "I tried to tell you earlier, but..." He paused, then met her gaze and said sincerely, "You're beautiful."

"I... I tried," she said dumbly, having difficulty speaking through the lump in her throat. He was too close and she would explode and possibly weep if he didn't kiss her before there was a knock at her door. "Is that what you said in French?"

The corner of his lips curved slightly, and he shook his head. "Not exactly."

"Will you tell me now?"

He shook his head again, and when she opened her mouth to protest, that was when he finally kissed her.

Lightning struck her chest and her hands took refuge in his hair as his lips became the whole of her existence for a moment. She almost missed an odd whimpering sound that floated past her ears, and some vague part of her brain registered with slight horror that she had made the sound, but she could not bring herself to care. He kissed her like it was all that he had wanted to do these last four months, and she kissed back with equal fervor, unaware that her hands had moved to his shoulders until she noticed they were pushing his jacket off of his arms. He broke away, let the thing fall on the floor, and then trailed his eyes to her hair. His hand soon followed, and as he took her hair down, she found that she had one thing to be grateful to Natasha for. He tossed the clip aside as if it had personally wronged him and then resumed his ravaging kiss, now able to thoroughly wreck her hair in the process.

It was, at once, just like their time in Virginia and nothing like it at all, because it was amplified beyond what she could remember, and he kissed her with a sense of confidence that he had lacked before. It was only a subtle spark of confidence, but the difference that it made was intoxicating.

His kisses eventually made their way to her neck, and as she clawed mindlessly in his hair, which felt softer now than it had when it was long, she gave no thought to what would happen in a week when she had to go home and resume normal life. Thinking could come later.

Both of them breathing heavily, he left her neck and raised his head, then leaned his forehead against hers, all while his fingers never left her hair. She didn't want him to stop, so she took his face within her hands and pulled him back, matching the heat of his kisses with one of her own, and this time it was he who whose voice escaped his throat in a fleeting but deep groan against her lips.

Within moments, she found herself on her back, having been gently eased there by two cautious but driven hands, and it was as she lay there beneath him savoring and shivering under his kiss and his hands that were flirting with the hem of her dress, that a knock on the door brought an abrupt halt to it all.

They both froze, she with one hand in his hair and the other fumbling poorly with the buttons of his shirt, and he with his left hand planted on the bed beside her head and his other sliding up the back of her thigh. Then there was another knock, and Summer shot up so quickly that she almost bashed their heads together in the process.

She sat up straight, looked at Bucky and tried not to groan a little at his flushed, heavy lidded-look, then began trying to subdue her hair with her hands to make it less obvious what they had been doing. When she realized that was impossible, she smoothed down her dress and stood, hurrying to the door.

She opened it and was instantly mauled by her son, who had apparently missed her a great deal. Laughing, she picked him up and hugged him tight, stepping aside for a somewhat sheepish-looking Steve Rogers to enter.

"Thank you again," she said as he walked inside, setting David down on his feet and asking, "Was he good? No freakouts? Did he listen to you?"

"He was a champ," Steve assured her with a smile. "We had fun. We watched all my old Captain America films from the war and ordered pizza."

She smiled and mussed her boy's hair, then asked, "Did he eat? He barely eats when his routine's thrown off."

"He ate two whole pieces," Steve replied, to her shock. "I told you had nothing to worry about."

She smiled. "Thank you, again."

He nodded, then looked from her to Bucky, who was standing nearby with his hands in his pockets, giving absolutely nothing away. "So, you guys have a good time?"

Summer nodded. "Yeah, we had a great time. Thank you for making it happen," she said, mentally screaming at herself to stop thanking the poor man. She glanced over at Bucky, then down at her own barefoot, slightly disheveled image, and cringed a little.

"No problem. Any plans for the rest of the week?"

As they chatted, Bucky took his left hand from his pocket and used it to pick up his jacket from the floor, which did not escape Steve's notice. David started paying attention too, and when he saw the gleam of the metal hand, his eyes lit up with recognition.

He ran over to Bucky, who didn't notice him until he reached up and tugged at his shirt to get his attention. Bucky looked down, and David beamed up at him before launching himself forward in a big five year old hug.

From the corner of her eye, Summer saw this, and lost her train of thought as she turned her full attention on her son and the man that he had missed. Bucky's return hug was every bit as awkward as the one he'd given David the day that he left her home, but it brought a smile to her face. She glanced at Steve, who watched himself curiously before glancing at her.

"He's missed the guy with the cool arm," she explained while David finally ended the hug and wandered off towards his toys. Then she smiled at Bucky, who seemed unsure of what had just happened, and then Steve brought the night to a close.

"All right, well, we'll leave you two alone now, I'm sure you're both ready to catch up on your sleep. You're welcome to come over whenever you want."

She nodded, then watched Steve bid her son goodbye while Bucky had thrown his jacket on and was fiddling with the holographic cover that was back on his hand.

Steve was the first to make for the door after saying his goodbyes, and Summer smiled as Bucky crossed the room to follow him. He stopped in front of her, and before she could wonder what he was about to do, he leaned in and left a small kiss on her cheek before muttering near her ear, "Bonsoir."

She narrowed her eyes at him after he pulled away, that maddening playful look back in his eye, and she shook her head as he walked to the door. "Jerk."

"You're not the first to say so," Steve assured her with a smile. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she called after both men, just before Bucky closed the door with one last glance to her. She sighed, then walked to the nearest of the double beds and collapsed on it face first.

I'm not going to survive this week.

A/N: Aaaaaaand the sequel! And as you can see, I was not kidding when I said that the first chapter was gigantic. All the chapters I've got so far for this average around 10,000 words, which makes them obviously take longer to write but are much better, in my opinion. I'll try to stick to once-weekly updates, and I hope you guys will like this story as much as the first :) there will definitely be more characters involved and, you know, actual personality from Bucky, which hopefully I won't screw up too badly. My thanks to you wonderful readers, and to midnightwings96 for being an invaluable help as always, being my sounding board and always helping out with ideas and generally being awesome. I'll see you guys next week, and let me know what you all think! :D

Oh, and as for the French-to-English translation Bucky won't provide, here it is, UPDATED from its previous Google translation thanks to PicoBogue, who was kind enough to leave a lovely review and a revision of what I had before.

Tu es magnifique, ce soir, mais j'aimerais autant te voir porter ces chaussures et rien d'autre:

You look beautiful tonight, but I'd rather see you in the shoes and nothing else.