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Four days.
They’d been gone for four days.
It had taken two just to hear from them - Yelena managing a crackly call to say they were alive, still mid-mission. You’d barely left the tower since. Bob missed them too much, and the idea of him sitting in the empty penthouse by himself broke your heart.
So you stayed.
If you were honest, you needed the company as much as he did.
Four days of chess. Card games. Movies you half-watched.
Four days of stress cooking. And stress cleaning.
The penthouse gleamed. The laundry room was empty. The floors practically shone.
It had been a few weeks since girls’ night. Since the tangle of karaoke and cocktails and waking up in Bucky’s shirt. Since something began to shift, quietly but undeniably.
With all of them.
John still teased you, but gently now, with an offhand affection. Ava let you see more than just bravado and cutting sarcasm. Yelena drifted in and out of the kitchen like she’d found somewhere she belonged. Bob didn’t flinch when you touched his arm, or when you told him he was doing great. He was more bitingly funny than you'd first realised, his sarcasm easily matching Ava now, but never cruelly. And his good days far outweighed his bad ones.
Alexei swaggered through the kitchen everyday like he’d just saved the world single-handedly, tossing you a wink and declaring you the true hero for having food ready. He fake-flirted shamelessly, calling you his “angel in an apron,” and you rolled your eyes, laughing when Yelena threatened to knock him out with a spoon.
But then there was Bucky.
Quieter. Observing more than speaking. His usual stillness was edged with something unfamiliar, something unsettled.
When your eyes met, the sound in the room seemed to dip, just slightly and each time you were never quite sure who looked away first.
You hadn’t expected to find a place here. But somewhere between the shared meals and small kindnesses, you had.
And now they were late coming home, and something in your chest wouldn’t unclench.
You and Bob were marathon baking.
Muffins, tarts, cinnamon buns dripping with gooey, shiny icing. The radio was on and you were doing your best to distract each other from the waiting.
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open noiselessly. Bob was on the move before you, making his way towards Yelena, scowling and limping. Alexei dumped his duffle bag in the middle of the room with a heavy sigh. You were drawn to Ava, being supported between John and Bucky.
You reached for her first, a gentle hand on her cheek, then John, wordlessly scanning him for visible blood and wounds. While you looked at him, your hands moved from Ava to Bucky, your fingertips instinctively lingering on a tear in his tactical suit. Your eyes eventually caught up to your hand. You both froze, feeling his sharp intake of breath that didn't come from pain. He didn’t pull away. If anything he leaned in just the tiniest amount.
Ava threw a wink in your direction. “We’re fine, babe.”
“Nothing permanent, anyway,” Yelena added, pulling your attention away from Bucky and into a warm hug. She smelled like gasoline and gunpowder.
You held her tighter than you meant to. She didn’t let go first.
John, hovering nearby, gave you a once-over, then opened his arms. “C’mere, chef. It's good to be back.”
You laughed, stepping into his hug. It was solid, familiar, and brief.
And when you pulled back, Bucky was still watching you. He hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken.
His expression was unreadable, hiding his relief at being home.
"Ugh I need to shower," Yelena sighed. "You smell like sugar and cinnamon, and I smell like shit!"
"You all get cleaned up, I'll start dinner."
"What's cooking tonight?" John asked immediately, "if I see one more protein bar I'm gonna dropkick something or someone."
"A welcome home surprise," you smiled. "And until then I've been stress baking so… you're welcome."
You gestured to the counter packed with treats.
Bucky brushed past you on the way to drop his gear, the faintest touch at your back as he passed.
John was already making a beeline for the muffins.
“God, I missed real food.”
Behind him, Bucky’s voice was quieter.
“You’ve been busy,” he muttered, as you put a still warm cinnamon bun on a plate for him and licked the icing from your fingers. His eyes followed the swipe of your finger, something darker there than you’d seen before. It made heat pool between your thighs.
“Had to keep me and Bob distracted somehow,” you laughed. It sounded false.
Bucky hummed, but it sounded a little strained. When you looked up, he was already looking away.
With snacks in hand, they all disappeared again to clean up and unpack. You persuaded Ava to sit down long enough for you to check her over.
It wasn’t long before they trickled back, hair still damp, faces scrubbed clean. The kitchen buzzed with the hum of homecoming.
John was mid-story before he’d even finished cracking open a beer.
“I swear to God, if I hadn’t grabbed the intel when I did -”
Alexei barked a laugh. “You mean after I save your star-spangled ass?”
“You were unconscious!”
“Was a short moment!”
Yelena groaned, flopping onto a stool next to Bob. “Please, not this again.”
“I’m just saying,” John insisted, gesturing wildly with his bottle, “someone had to show a little initiative.”
“You set off two alarms,” Ava pointed out dryly. “That’s not initiative, John, that’s chaos.”
They laughed and it rippled through the kitchen, tired but warm. You caught yourself smiling, your heart full and soft as the weight of worry and uncertainty finally started to lift.
Alexei threw an arm around John’s shoulders and pointed dramatically. “Next mission, I work solo. No more babysitting, only the mighty Red Guardian!”
John just grinned and raised his bottle. “You’d miss me.”
“I'm not sure he would,” you teased, slapping his hand away as he tried to lift the lid on a mystery pan.
“C'mon, Chef! Just a hint, I smell hot sauce?”
“No hints!” You dodged him as he tried to flick the kitchen towel at the back of your knees. “Ow!”
The noise was chaotic and homely.
“Wait, where’s Barnes?” Ava asked, glancing around like Bucky might be hiding under the counter. “We can’t relive our glorious victory without Captain Broody.”
Alexei threw his arms up. “I need him. He is the only one appreciating my stories.”
“He’s probably hiding from you more like,” Yelena smirked, stealing one of the last muffins.
You smiled, but your eyes flicked toward the hallway. You hadn’t seen him since he’d taken his bun and disappeared.
Just as John went to holler for him again, footsteps sounded down the hall.
“I’m right here, idiots.” Heads turned as he stepped into the kitchen. Bucky’s eyes met yours just for a second. He smiled gently, then looked away.
“Now here is the daddy!” Alexei whooped.
You felt heat flood your cheeks.
The Russian was impossible to ignore - and worse, Bucky had definitely noticed your reaction, both to him and to Alexei’s outburst.
Your breath caught hard in your throat.
He looked unfair like this. Comfortable. Clean. Quietly lethal.
His steps slowed slightly as he passed behind you on the way to the fridge, close enough that you felt the warmth of him at your back. His voice brushed your ear, low and amused.
“Easy,” he murmured, not quite teasing. “You’ll burn the sauce.”
You hadn’t realized your hand was still hovering over the pot.
You dropped the spoon with a clatter.
The rest of the room carried on. No one noticed.
But he did.
And when you glanced back over your shoulder, he was already sipping from a bottle of beer and shaking his head at something Bob had said.
You reached for your own, your mouth suddenly dry.
John and Alexei were still recounting the mission, each claim getting bolder and more outrageous.
Bucky laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, incredulous at their bravado.
It was a good sound. A warm one. It settled in your chest like sunlight.
Ava leaned over and tapped the neck of her beer bottle against yours.
“Missed you,” she said quietly.
It was so unlike her that it caught you completely off guard. You blinked fast, breath catching.
“Me too,” you managed, your voice thin.
“It's good to be home,” she nodded firmly.
You could feel tears pricking in your eyes and tried to swallow down the thick tide of emotion that had hit you so suddenly.
“I just need something from the pantry, be right back.”
It was all too much.
They’re here. They’re alive.
You'd been holding it together for four days, and now you could feel yourself beginning to unravel.
In the pantry, you pressed your palms to your eyes, trying to stop the tears before they started.
A choked sob escaped. You bit down on your knuckle, hard, hoping the music and laughter outside would be enough to cover it.
You couldn’t catch your breath. Your chest was rising and falling too fast, shallow and shaky. You pressed your back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, trying not to make a sound.
The door opened softly behind you.
You didn’t hear footsteps, just the gentle hush of movement, and then arms wrapped around you.
Strong. Warm. Steady.
You didn’t have to look to know who it was.
He said nothing. He didn’t need to.
Your hands fisted in his shirt, and you pressed your face into his chest. He held you like he’d been waiting to. His cool, vibranium palm moved slowly up and down your back, anchoring you, grounding you.
You sobbed silent, helpless shudders that wracked through your body like aftershocks. And he didn’t flinch or shift, just held on.
One big hand settled at the nape of your neck, his thumb brushing gently behind your ear.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart” he murmured eventually, so low it barely registered as sound. “You don’t have to hold it all together.”
You heard the boisterous laughter beyond the door and knew it wouldn't be long before they noticed that you had disappeared. That you and Bucky had disappeared.
“I just - Bob and I were so worried,” you said quietly once you'd gotten your breath back.
You felt him nod against your temple, the fabric of his shirt warm against your cheek. He didn’t offer hollow reassurances.
“I know,” he said softly. “Lena said you stayed here?”
You let out a tiny, watery laugh against his chest, “couldn't leave Bob on his own, he was the only one keeping me sane.”
“And here I thought it was the other way around.”
His hand slid from your back to your arm, and when he pulled away just enough to see your face, his eyes searched yours like he was making sure you were really ok.
“I should… go back in,” you whispered, already missing the weight of his arms.
He didn’t let go right away. “Take a second.”
Your breath hitched again at the care in his voice.
“We’re all here,” he said, so gently it almost undid you again. “You don’t have to rush back.”
But still, he didn’t stop you when you straightened, smoothing your hands down your shirt. You caught sight of your reflection in one of the stainless steel shelves. Your cheeks were flushed, you felt like a mess of emotion.
He stepped back just enough to let you breathe, but stayed close, a steadying presence.
“Thanks,” you said, voice small.
Bucky gave a little nod, his eyes soft but unreadable.
Then, as you turned to reach for the door handle, his hand brushed lightly against yours. Not stopping you. Just… a touch. A reminder.
You didn’t pull your hand away right away.
Neither did he.
For a second, the only sound was the thrum of voices and music beyond the door, and the hush of your breath finally settling.
When you looked up, he was already looking at you.
There was something new in his eyes. Something quiet. You opened your mouth - to say what, you weren’t sure - but then someone laughed loudly just outside and the spell broke.
You both stepped back at the same time.
You offered him a shy smile. “Thanks… for not letting me fall apart.”
He held your gaze for a second longer, then gave a faint shrug. “Pretty sure you're stuck with us now.”
Then, softly, with the faintest hint of amusement, “Besides, if you fall apart, who’s gonna yell at Alexei for not giving up on the Daddy thing?”
You let out a breath of laughter, the moment easing just enough to breathe again.
“Someone has to keep him in line,” you giggled, opening the pantry door and blinking into the golden light of the kitchen.
By the time you returned from the pantry, the noise had only grown. Alexei was recounting something wildly exaggerated, John shouting over him with corrections no one believed, and Ava howling with laughter on the stool like it didn’t still hurt to move.
You slipped back into the space like you’d never left, like you belonged here.
Yelena squinted at you, then smirked when Bucky followed a few seconds later.
“Dinner's nearly done,” you told them all.
Bob laid the table. John grabbed another round of beers while Alexei loudly restocked the fridge. Then they all dropped into chairs and watched you work your magic.
You noticed Bucky hadn’t taken his eyes off you. It made your hands tremble, threw off your rhythm.
He wasn't remotely subtle about it.
John noticed. “Mom’s fussing again,” he teased.
“She’s not your mom,” Bucky replied shortly.
The sounds of the hot plate sizzling filled the air and you brought over the first tray of food.
“She made buffalo wings, pal, my favourite!” John bit back at Bucky.
With the tray safely on the table, you swiped your hand across the back of his head.
“Call me Mom one more time, Walker and you'll be wearing the wings.” You warned with a smile.
“You're making cheeseburgers?” Alexei asked, halfway out of his seat. “I love American cheeseburger! With the little pickles and the plastic cheeses.”
You flipped the burgers and came over with another side dish.
“Looks like I'm the favourite, Walker. Mac and cheese!” Yelena called up the table victoriously.
The mac and cheese was followed quickly by another tray.
“Chips?” Ava marveled. “Not stupid skinny fries?”
“What's wrong with fries?”
“What's right with fries, Bob? This is how you cook a fucking potato.” Golden, chunky cut, triple fried chips. Ava pinched one and took a bite. “Oh, fuck me that's good! Have you got any -”
Before she could finish, you sent a bottle of vinegar through the air which Yelena caught with ease.
“Ugh, really?” She grimaced.
“Don't knock it till you've tried it! Besides, don’t you heathens pickle everything anyway?”
You brought over the tray of burgers last, cheese melting, pickles stacked, toasted buns still warm from the oven. Alexei groaned like he’d seen God.
“You cooked for each of us,” John said when he looked around the table, almost surprised.
“She's been planning it for days,” Bob said proudly. He gave you a small, crooked smile. “Kind of your thing, huh?”
You just smiled, brushing your hands on a tea towel, watching them all dig in.
But Bucky didn’t move.
You caught the furrow in his brow, the faint crease between his eyes as he looked at the table and saw what you'd done.
It wasn’t just dinner.
It was belonging and love, served in courses.
A place for each of them - a plate, a chair, a part to play.
You could have bottled the blissful sighs as everyone tucked in. Sharing their favourites with each other.
Sharing the love.
He didn't say much during dinner, but afterwards, when you placed desert on the table, Bucky stopped in his tracks.
He didn’t reach for it right away. Just stared for a second, spoon in hand.
“Is that banana pudding? Shit, I haven't had that for years,” John stared.
“We found a recipe from 1937,” Bob said with a smile, “as the taste tester, it was… not great.”
“Poor Bob never wants to see banana pudding again,” you laughed. “It took some perfecting to get it up to scratch, and I was not about to go for some god awful steamed carrot pudding option!”
Bucky's gaze lifted to yours. Quiet and steady. Grateful. And that was enough to make your heart swell with pride.
After dinner, they all drifted toward the couches, the lull of full stomachs and quiet contentment settling over the room.
You stood to start clearing up, but before you could even lift a plate, Bucky was there. His shoulder brushed yours as he reached for a tray.
“You don’t have to,” you murmured. “You’re beat. I can -”
“You cooked,” he said simply, stacking dishes. “Least I can do.”
The silence between you was gentle, companionable. But you felt the current under the surface. The heat of his nearness.
“You ok?” he asked after a beat, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.
“I’m fine,” you lied, cheeks flushed.
His voice dropped, soft and knowing.
“You sure? You’re warm.”
A pause. His eyes flicked to your lips, just briefly. “...You running a fever, doll?”
You froze.
You’d had your suspicions, of course - your pulse rate, every catch of your breath, every hot flush. Did he know?
You busied yourself with a dish, needing something to anchor you. The quiet stretched between you again, but not in a bad way. It was full of all the things you weren’t saying.
You didn’t ask about the mission. You weren’t sure you wanted to know whether he’d felt the absence.
But after a moment, his voice came quiet and rough.
“I missed this.”
You felt him take a slow breath.
“This -” he gestured to the dishes, the kitchen, the fading sounds of laughter behind you, “- was what I thought about out there.”
And then, like he didn’t even realise what it would do to you, he said, “It helped. Knowing you were here.”