AN: 'A priori' is knowledge that is not from experience while 'a posteriori' is knowledge that is dependent upon, or gained from, experience. Which then becomes an ass pun with posterior. A Sisyphean task references Sisyphus and his punishment of pushing a boulder up a hill for all eternity. You should know the reference in the final line of dialogue.

And If I Call For You

Part Eight

By: Wynn

Head bent over an endless pile of paperwork, Bucky doesn't notice her until she drops down into the chair beside his desk and, by then, it's too late. The steady gaze of Sharon Carter, big sister extraordinaire, pins him in place, and all Bucky can do is lower his pen, lean back in his chair, and wait.

He'd lost track of Darcy three hours ago when the action shifted from the mall to the precinct. Under the inquisitive stares of the nosy bastards he called friends and colleagues, Bucky had kept it cool, he'd kept it professional, turning Darcy over to Trip and Skye for a follow-up talk to the previous fight she'd had with Chesterson the day before. After that, Darcy had left for the court to collect her bond. He'd already been at his desk beginning the Sisyphean task before him when he'd heard the snap of gum, glanced up from his desk, and saw her before the door, backlit and gorgeous in the late afternoon sun, her red heart frames in place and a cheeky little grin directed his way. He watched as she lifted her hand to give him a puckish salute, and though Bucky tried, greedy eyes hungry for drama everywhere, he'd been unable to restrain his smile.

At least until Sharon had slid into view next to Darcy, her keys in hand and eyes narrowed and fixed on Bucky.

That had been an hour ago. Now Sharon sits, her head tilted back as she peers down her nose at Bucky. Twelve years vanish as she does, Bucky sixteen again and at the Carters to pick up Darcy for their first date, the Colonel, Peggy, and Sharon all arrayed before him as he sat on the couch. He had thought that the Colonel, naturally, would be the most intimidating, but Sharon snatched that crown with a fierce glare that strove its hardest to set Bucky on fire. Of course, Sharon had also been direct witness to his break-up with Connie six months before, Sharon in her grade and friendly with Connie and thus one of the select few granted access to Connie's soon-to-be-epic bathroom meltdown in which she'd simultaneously cursed Bucky for being cold and heartless while berating him for his sexual prowess, despite the fact that, the one time they slept together, had been the first time for the both of them.

Twelve years, one war, and two promotions later, Sharon still intimidates.

The stare persists, and Bucky has to fight hard against the urge to squirm. He didn't when he was sixteen; he wouldn't now.

He would, of course, stammer like an idiot.

"Did, uh, did everything go, um, okay at the courthouse?"

Sharon nods but says nothing else.

Bucky clears his throat and forces himself to keep meeting her gaze. "Did you and Darcy, uh… talk?"

Sharon nods again. She tilts her head to the side to regard him from a newer and even more intimidating angle, and Bucky feels himself start to sweat.

"Did you two… talk? About us? Not you and I," he says quickly. "She— Darcy, you know, and, um, me."

Sharon nods a third time. She crosses her legs and tilts her head to the other side, slowly raising a brow as she does. All the while, her gaze doesn't deviate. She stares at Bucky with the intensity that routinely makes perps break down and cry in interrogations. Bucky has to remind himself that he's a decorated veteran and a newly-made Sergeant and that he just saved Darcy's life and who knows how many others by taking down Chesterson and that he shouldn't, no matter how much the impulse prods at him, turn tail and run.

"Sharon—"

"I like you, Bucky. I really do. You're one of the best cops that I know, and that includes Steve and Peg. But you're kind of shit when it comes to women. Especially when that woman is my sister."

Bucky closes his mouth. The truth of the statement lowers his gaze to his desk.

"Now I know some of that is Dee's fault," Sharon continues. "The stupidest thing that she's ever done is staying married to Ian for as long as she did. But she has a hard time admitting when she's wrong, and an even harder time asking someone for help when she needs it, so the fact that apparently she just did both with you says something."

His eyes fly back up to Sharon. She sits, as composed as ever, perhaps with a dash of fondness in her eyes, heavily shaded by exasperation.

"Now, because you're kind of shit when it comes to women, especially when that woman is my sister, and because she's kind of shit with communicating, especially when she feels vulnerable, I'm going to tell you what you probably won't let yourself see because you have as many guilt issues as Steve is tall and what Dee probably won't say because she's got as many commitment issues as her dad is rich."

Sharon leans in then, propping both elbows on the corner of his desk to close the distance to two feet. Bucky finds himself breathless as he stares at her, caught as the proverbial deer in the blinding headlights, potentially facing his doom.

"She loves you. She's been in love with you since she was fourteen, and I know this because I'm the one that she told when she was fourteen, and when she was twenty and when she was twenty-three. Now, whatever happened between you two the past day has made her the happiest I've seen her in about six years." She pauses, inches forward a bit more, waits until a brave patrolman passes by, lowers her voice a notch, and says with her characteristic intensity and also her characteristic capacity for murder, "You cannot, under any circumstances, fuck that up."

Bucky blinks at her, too shocked to speak.

"Now I know you won't intend to," she says, easing back now. "You're as nuts over her as she is over you. But you let her walk away. Twice."

"I didn't let her," he says, his shock beginning to give way to anger. "Darcy made her decision. Twice. I respected it."

"And look where it's gotten you. Six years of separation."

Bucky can only glare in response, the truth in her words impossible to deny.

Sharon reclines in the chair in full. She regards him a few moments, her eyes cool and assessing. Then, suddenly, "You know why she did it, don't you? Why she left?"

"Yes. Now I do."

Sharon raises her brows. "And?"

"And what?"

"And what did you do about it? Did you let her go on believing that she wasn't good enough for you because of a goddamn mistake she made when she was nineteen? Because you left her and her dad left her so she must be unlovable?"

His gaze hardens and his hands clench into fists. "No."

Sharon closes her mouth. She subjects Bucky to another slit-eyed inspection, her foot jiggling in time to the beat of his heart. Then the stone wall breaks and a small smile curves her lips. "Good. There's hope for you yet, young Jedi."

Bucky sits, frozen, lagging behind her hairpin turn for acceptance, then everything processes, and he lifts a hand, closes his eyes, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "She told you about that?"

"Yep."

Sharon does nothing to conceal the amusement in her voice. Looking at her again, Bucky says, "If you tell anyone—"

"Relax. Your nerdery is safe with me. Although," she continues, narrowing her eyes once more in perusal, "I'm surprised Dee went with Leia for you. If anyone, I would've pegged Steve as the Princess."

Bucky blinks at that. "What?"

"Come on, Bucky. You know this to be true. The noble, self-righteous diva savior of the galaxy? That's Rogers through and through."

The corners of his mouth tick up into a grin. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

Sharon cocks a brow. "You mean beside the fact that I covered for you and Dee about a hundred times when you snuck into her room at night?"

"Yes. Besides that."

She smiles now. "No. You're not the Princess. You're not Han either," she adds as he moves to voice that very thought.

Bucky narrows his eyes at her. "If you say Jar Jar or Jabba or someone equally vile—"

"Yes, because if you were one of them, I'd be sitting here trying to help you and Dee overcome yourselves so you can finally be happy and spare all of us the tragic torment of watching you live with your heads up your butts."

"Well," he says after a moment, "when you put it like that…"

"I do."

"So who am I then if not Han or the Princess?"

"I take it back. There's no hope for you yet."

He stares blankly a few seconds before realization hits and his jaw drops. "Luke?"

Sharon nods. "The angsty knight himself. Small-town golden boy who goes through hell, fights, literally, the darkest parts of himself, and overcomes, a bit darker than before, but with his heart still intact. A heart big enough to save. Because he does save. Not like Leia. Leia's big picture. Luke… he's personal. The greater good demands he stay with Yoda, but he goes to save Han and Leia because he cares about them. The same at the end of the third movie. Killing the Emperor's the smarter choice, but not the moral one. He's good. Which is why he saves Vader. Plus," she says, softening the serious scrutiny with a smile, "Marlowe is undoubtedly R2D2."

The final quip elicits a hint of a smile, but Bucky still finds himself rocked by her assessment. He pulls in a breath, tries to cover with one of his own, "You do realize Han and Luke were never like that, you know."

"Of course they were."

Bucky arches a brow at her.

Sharon leans forward again. "I'm serious. It's Luke who inspires Han to come back in the first movie. And who goes to find Luke when he's lost on the snow planet? Han. And when Luke has his handstand vision, what's the first name he says?" Sharon pauses for dramatic effect, though Bucky already knows the answer. "Han. I don't know what movies you were watching, but Han and Leia weren't the true love story. That was Han and Luke."

She stands then, but doesn't move away. Instead, Sharon peers down at him, waiting for Bucky to meet her eyes. "The Force is with you, young Barnes. Use it. Don't let Dee talk herself out of this again. Because if you don't," she says as she bends over until they're eye to eye, until the cold steel of her gaze rests inches from his, "I'll do more than chop off one of your hands."

Her eyes flit down to his crotch then. Bucky feels a dart of fear rush through him. Sharon catches the fear and her mouth curls into a cat-ate-the-canary grin, and this Bucky cannot stand. Tossing an arm over the back of his chair, he sends Sharon his own shit-eating grin as he says, "Will do, Darth Carter."

"Bucky, if I were Darth Carter, your balls would have been mine six years ago when you broke up with Dee."

The grin vanishes from his face. "Fair enough. So who are you?"

Sharon straightens and starts to move away, sending him one last pointed look over her shoulder as she goes. "I'm Yoda, dumbass. I'm the only one with any goddamn sense."

There were worse ideas. Probably. Bucky just couldn't think of them right now, which is why he was Luke and not Yoda. He's the dumbass who got tricked by R2 and captured by Ewoks and who thought it would be a good idea to go fight Darth Vader while only one-third a Jedi.

He's the dumbass who was about to climb three stories to Darcy's bedroom window so he could declare his enduring love.

Bucky peers up at said window right now and tries not to grimace. Darcy lived on the third floor of her ancient apartment building, one sans balconies or fire escapes or any other easy way to climb as he had climbed to her room in their youth. There was a drainpipe between her window and the building's edge that would likely rip free as soon as he was ten feet off the ground. There was the portico, which would boost him to the second floor, but only to the second. After that, Bucky would have to use the bricks themselves, the wall old and the mortar worn free in places, which would, theoretically, give him something to hold.

Theoretically.

Bucky sighs at the thought. Wall climbing had been part of his basic training, but only a small part, and it had occurred nine years ago and hadn't, of course, been for dilapidated monstrosities that should be condemned at the earliest convenience. He could just pull out his phone and call Darcy, walk up the goddamn stairs like a sane person and ask her out on a second first date. If Becca were here, that's what she would tell him to do. But she's not, and twelve years demanded more than just walking up stairs. They demanded grandeur, they demanded insanity, they demanded death-defying heights and epic declarations, they demanded small objects bouncing off his ass and tinkling to the ground between his feet.

Frowning, Bucky glances down and spots the quarter between his boots, gleaming in the parking lot light. Before he can process further, he hears from behind him, "As a priori so a posteriori. And quite a posteriori it is."

He smiles at the sound of her voice, at the teasing tone, at the hint of affection softening the words. Crouching down, Bucky grabs the quarter then turns toward Darcy, cocking a brow as he does. "Latin ass puns? Pretty sophisticated for a scruffy looking bounty hunting."

Darcy grins at him. "Blame Jane. Endless hours of her rattling off Latin-y science to me, some of it sinks in even my brain." She lifts her hand then and takes a pull from the Tasty Shake cup she holds, chocolate from the color of the straw. Her eyes shine, bright with happiness as she adds, "Q.E.D., your worship."

"Not 'your worship.' The Barracuda says I'm Luke, not Leia."

Darcy's eyes widen. "She talked to you? Today?"

Bucky nods.

Darcy stares at him a few moments, frozen, then her hand tightens around the cup and her eyes narrow. "That… traitor. She said— Ugh. I am going to kill her so very hard." She fishes with her other hand for her phone in her jacket pocket, pulling it out a second later.

"Wait," Bucky says, striding forward. "She didn't say anything bad."

Her eyes fly back up to his. "She didn't?"

Bucky shakes his head. Then he stops, a small smile appearing on his face. "Well, she did say she'd chop off my dick. But for a good reason, not a bad one."

Darcy raises her brows, but she doesn't lower her phone. "A good reason?"

Bucky nods. Heart pounding, he closes the distance between them. Her eyes widen again, just a fraction. They search his face, lingering a fraction longer on his lips, but he stays the course, the warning in mind. "She said she would if I fucked this up again. It's why I came."

"To fuck it up?" Darcy asks, mischief in her eyes.

"Maybe. I was about two seconds away from climbing the wall to your window when you threw the quarter at my ass."

Shock slackens her face. Darcy looks from him to her widow and back again. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah." He looks away as a flush begins to heat the back of his neck. Climbing to her window would have been much cooler in practice. Not so much in theory. In theory, it just sounds nuts. "I probably would have fallen and broken my neck."

"Yeah," Darcy says, and the amusement in her voice brings his gaze back up to her. "Especially since my stupid window only opens, like, three inches."

His flush deepens. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." The smile returns to her face, warm and soft, as she slides the phone back into her pocket. "So what would you have done?" she asks, taking another sip of her Tasty Shake. "After successfully Romeo-ing, I mean."

"You mean if I didn't fall and if you didn't taze me upon entry?"

She grins at him again. "Yep."

"Well," Bucky says, pulling in a deep breath. "If I didn't die and if I wasn't tazed, I would have said…" He pauses again and draws in a second breath, not from nerves because they said what they needed to say, both their apologies and their affirmations of feelings, but from confirmation, from possibility, from hope, from faith, becoming a reality. "I would have said," he begins again, reaching for her hand, "that I have loved you for twelve years and that I love you now and that I don't want to lose this, us, not again. People don't get second chances, much less a third, but that's what we've been given, so we should take it. Even if we're afraid or if other people disapprove, we should take it because we deserve it. Both of us." He pauses then and a wry smile appears on his face. "I may or may not have kissed you then. Depending on the distance between you and your taser."

Darcy laughs at that, a little gasping sob of a laugh that nudges possibility another step closer to reality. "See," she says, squeezing his hand, "this is why you're not Han. Because I was just gonna call you to see if you wanted to get that beer and pizza and maybe, you know, make out some after." She looks at him and smiles. "I like yours better."

He glides his thumb across the back of her hand, brilliant inside, prism bright. "I don't know," he murmurs. "Yours certainly has its appeal."

Her smile turns cheeky. "It does, doesn't it? So why don't we compromise? We do mine first and then we do yours. Sans the window climbing," she adds, a dash of sobriety shading her buoyant gaze. "Because I kind of like unbroken us. I'd like to keep that for as long as possible."

Bucky nods, his throat thickening with emotion. "Me, too."

Darcy nods too. Tears appear in her eyes, and she draws in a shaking breath. Bucky reaches out with his free hand and cups the side of her face; he smoothes his thumb across her cheekbone and threads his fingertips through a few strands of her hair. Darcy turns her head into his hand. Her chest hitches, and the breath catches in her chest as she swallows hard. Bucky leans in then and kisses her temple, the soft swell of her cheek by his hand, breathing her in, reveling in the feel of her before him, in the reality of her and him and of them together again. The milkshake drops as Darcy grabs hold of his jacket; she turns her head away from his hand and into his kiss. He shivers at the feel of her mouth upon his, the kiss lush yet chaste, desperate and searing, a promise that he tries his best to affirm. Darcy moves, branding first his cheek and then the edge of his jaw with kisses of equal intensity before she buries her face in the crook of his neck. She winds her arms around his shoulders; Bucky mirrors the gesture, drawing her in as close as he can, rubbing his palm in a slow circle over her back when he feels her start to tremble.

"I love you," she whispers into his ear. "I do. I do. I always have. Bucky, I—"

He nods, understanding what she cannot say, the immensity of this, this third time, this promise they've exchanged, their charm, not their downfall, their hope and their future, clear and present to him too. He kisses her shoulder, the side of her head, the shell of her ear, lingering there to avow, "I know."

AN: Thank you so very much to everyone who has commented on this story. I love this little verse so much, and your comments, reactions, and overall support has meant the world to me. I hope you liked the final installment (and forgive me for the delay). The door is definitely open for a return to this verse, but now I must finish the last two chapters of "And The Wounded Sing." Thank you again for the love and encouragement! :D