Chapter Text
Sarah Wilson gave her soup base a good stir and reduced the heat. She took a deep inhalation of the aromatic broth. She wasn't sure yet if she was going to make a gumbo or chowder. She'd traded some of her shrimp for a nice snapper at the docks. Probably a chowder, she mused. It was an unusually chilly day for November. A nice, creamy chowder with some tarragon and dill would be like a warm hug for the boys after the bus dropped them off. She'd fretted about them all day, wondering if they'd been warm enough. The temperature had dipped to 45 on the scale outside her window and she'd almost driven to their school just to deliver them each an extra hoodie. The only reason she'd refrained was because she'd shown up there in a panic more than once in the last few weeks due to the death threats she'd received. The boys had begged her not to do so again.
"Mama, I'd rather die from being shot by some crazy guy than die from embarrassment."
She felt her face heat recalling the judgemental stares from their teachers and principle after her last episode. She'd stood there shaking and trying to gulp back panic and fear. She knew her behaviour had been a little unhinged, her voice tremulous and her words nearly incoherent. It wasn't until she locked eyes with Cass' teacher and she saw an expression of condescending pity that she pulled herself together. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment and pushed the images away. She had a meal to make.
"Yep, definitely a chowder. Got to use those potatoes anyway," she mumbled to herself. "Before they grow legs and hitchhike to Nevada."
A crack of thunder tensed Sarah's shoulders. She wrinkled her nose and glanced up. Rain hammered down on her metal roof like gravel pouring from a dump truck. She switched the knob on her range hood to crank the fan speed up. Every window in the house had fogged up. It didn't help that it was about 1000% humidity and dumping rain like the second coming of Noah's Ark. She whispered a little prayer. Besides a few near miss storms, they hadn't had the scare of a big hurricane yet that year. A few more weeks, they'd be out of danger, and she could stop worrying about finding her boat sunk at its moorings or worse, upside down in a lane somewhere.
She headed towards her pantry to retrieve the potatoes. The rain pummeled her house like waves crashing ashore. She jerked to a stop just at the pocket door to her pantry when she thought she heard a rapping. She tilted her head and paused. Just when she figured she'd imagined the sound, she heard knocking again. She sighed and glanced at her watch. It had to be the boys.
"Dammit, Cass," she called as she hurried to the front door, "did you forget your keys again?"
She threw open the door prepared to scold her eldest son, but her throat caught at the sight of Bucky Barnes standing on her porch. She blinked a couple times as she took him in. Her heart thumped wildly. She always forgot how large the man was until she found herself in his shadow.
"Hi, Sarah," he greeted her as he rubbed water from his hair.
He had a hint of a beard on his jaw. His hair was a bit on the long-side since she'd seen him last. Still, he was formidably handsome as always.
She cleared her throat. "Hi, Bucky.'
She frowned and looked past him for her brother. All she saw was a mid-sized travel trailer attached to a big, black pickup truck. When she looked back at her unexpected visitor, his grin had spread. She pressed her lips together. She hated the flutters his impish smile elicited. She wasn't supposed to feel like some awestruck fan girl. She was a mother and a serious woman with serious responsibilities . . . her mind blanked for a second when he rotated his shoulder and his metal arm made some faint clicks.
"What are you doing here?" she asked at last, a bit too breathlessly.
He looked casually back at his trailer then to her again. "I took a leave of absence, decided to go on the road and try to find myself. Turns out, I don't really like travelling."
Sarah laughed nervously. "Um, that seems like an expensive misjudgement."
Bucky chuckled and shifted on his feet. "I like the trailer, though. Nice to have a space that's my own."
Another crack and rumble of thunder reverberated around them. She swung open the door.
"Lord, my manners," she murmured, "come in for a spell."
She moved to one side. He beamed again and stepped past her into the house. Again, she had to purse her lips to prevent a fawning smile in return, especially when his eyes glinted mischievously. He removed his shoes and carefully arranged them out of the way. The floorboards creaked under his weight. She turned to lead him through the house. She felt stiff as she walked, her thoughts preoccupied with how terrible her rear end must look in her baggy sweats. If only she'd put on her cute jeans. Then he might have something to appreciate-
She coughed as she nearly choked on her own vanity. Bucky Barnes would no more look at her than her Aunty Kay.
"Want some coffee?" she asked as he followed her to the kitchen. "Or tea? Beer? I think I still have some of those Heineken you like."
Truth was, she'd developed a fondness for that particular brand and keeping a couple of bottles in her fridge was like a talisman beckoning her two favorite men home.
"It's a bit early for a beer," he said with amusement, "but a coffee sounds good. Kind of a cold day, hmm?"
"Truth," she agreed as she set about making a fresh pot of coffee, "hasn't been this chilly for awhile."
When she peaked over at Bucky, her lips twitched into a grin. He'd flipped the chair around at the table and sat on it backwards, his metal arm draped over its back. A balloon of giddiness inflated in her chest. When she'd first met him, he'd been friendly, but sometimes too painfully polite and ill at ease. His dark eyes had glimmered with a wariness and at times, he had stared with a penetrating, laser-like stare. Their eyes met then and she dumped half her grounds on the counter. Her face heated instantly.
"Shit," she mumbled as she brushed the spilled grounds into the sink.
Yep, he still had that stare, it was just a lot less analytical and a lot more knowing. She wondered if he was aware of his affect on her constitution. She shakily closed the filter basket and flipped on the coffee maker. It made a loud sucking sound and sputtered to life. She used the cover of the noise to haul in a fortifying breath.
"So, what brings you to my door, Bucky Barnes?" she asked as she reached for a towel to wipe up the remaining grounds.
He sat up a bit. "Ah, well, I have a couple months leave left but no where to go. Like I said, I travelled for a week and hated it. I kinda just want to chill somewhere for a bit and I thought of you."
Sarah's stomach flip-flopped. She squeezed the towel.
"I mean, I thought of this place," Bucky rushed out, "your home. This past summer was the first time I've felt happy in a long time. I was hoping . . ."
She turned quickly and leaned back against the counter. "You're more than welcome to stay here, Bucky. You can have Sam's room."
He shook his head. "No, no, I don't want to impose. I was just hoping that I could park my trailer here and bum around your yard for a bit. I -um- noticed an old mobile home pad near on the east side of your property last time I was here. I think there was even an electrical hook up I could use."
"I have no idea if that works, honestly," she replied, "last time it was used was by my uncle Robert over ten years ago. Staying in the house would be no imposition-"
He cast his eyes down for a tick. Sarah clapped her mouth shut. She suddenly realized he didn't want to stay in the house. She swore internally. He'd said so, hadn't he? He liked having his own space.
"B-But you are welcome to the pad too, of course," she stammered, "I bet you want to get your use out of that trailer."
He bobbed his head slowly. "Yeah, definitely. Look, I'll even pay a bit of rent and keep to myself, okay?"
"Nuh, uh!" she scoffed. "Nope, and you can try to keep to yourself, but you know my boys are going to be bugging your ass every day."
He laughed and opened his mouth to reply but she held out her hand. "You are not paying me rent, Bucky. I won't have it."
He shook his head with a smile. Then he angled his head slightly and narrowed his eyes lazily.
"Then you'll have to let me work it off in trade," his voice rumbled.
"Good Lord," she thought. "What a wicked man."
Unsurprisingly, her tongue refused to work for a few seconds. She swallowed and nodded.
"I am sure I can find something for you to do," she croaked out.
Bucky's smile dropped off his face as he dashed for his truck. He didn't feel good about lying to Sarah Wilson, but Sam had insisted on it.
"She's a proud woman," Sam had warned, "and she'll only let you stay if she think she's doing you a favor."
He fired up his truck and put it into gear. The story about him wanting to travel was a total fabrication, and he didn't want to stay in her house because he wanted to be able to patrol her property in the middle of the night without disturbing anyone. There would be no way to sneak out of her historic old house with its noisy floors. Plus, he had a bunch of covert security tech to install which would necessitate some late night installations. Hopefully, he could protect Sarah and her kids and they would never be the wiser. He felt a quiver in his chest as he rounded the house towards the old concrete pad. Sarah had wiped away some fog from a window and waved at him as he drove by. Her smile was so open and genuine. She made him feel good about himself in a way he hadn't in half a century.
Yet, in protecting her, he took a risk. If she ever found out, she might never trust him again and he'd lose someone he had come to care about. The thought made his heart ache. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to her or her kids, though. So, even if she came to hate him, at least she'd be safe.
"Come on soldier, get it together," he mumbled. "You've got a job to do."