Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bucky leaves the clinic around five.

He’s usually out by half-past four, but a patient had to be squeezed in after lunch and delayed everyone else’s appointments. Not so terrible, really, just a wound that needed cleaning and stitching.

His practice isn’t an emergency clinic and there is one about four miles away but he’s been seeing Joey since he was a puppy and didn’t mind. Bucky’s wondering if being half an hour later getting home means he can pretend it’s three hours later and order pizza instead of cooking.

The clinic is close to home, and Bucky turns down his quiet street. His phone starts buzzing, and when the BlueTooth in his truck picks it up, he sees Mom.

“Hey, Ma,” Bucky answers as he pulls into his driveway.

“We can’t take that one, George. It’ll get in at three.”

“If we take this one, it’ll get in at seven, and we’ll have to—”

Bucky sighs as he pulls into the driveway and puts his truck in park. “Ma, I told you only to call me if you’re actually ready to talk to me,” he says. He sighs louder when his parents argue more and thumps his head back against the headrest. “Ma! I’m going to hang up.”

“Oh, sorry, honey,” Mom sighs, closer to the phone. “Your father still doesn't know how to use his iPad.”

“Yeah, well, neither do you,” Bucky says. “Are you trying to book a flight?”

“Unfortunately,” Mom says. “Uncle Roy died.”

Bucky squints a little. “Uncle Roy,” he repeats. “Is he on Dad’s side?”

“James,” Mom says though she’s trying not to laugh. “Roy Stevenson. You called him Uncle Roy when you were little. They live in Indiana and your father was close to the family. It was rather sudden.”

“That’s too bad,” Bucky says and narrows his eyes as he looks at the time. “Sorry you have to go to a funeral. When is it?”

“They can’t decide between Friday or Saturday, I suppose, so we were going to get there Friday, first thing in the morning. We’ve been left in a bit of a bind.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Don’t even fuckin’ ask me.”

“James,” Dad’s voice says in the background. “Don’t curse at your mother.”

“Tell her to stop cursin’ at me first,” Bucky says. “Don’t ask me.”

“I’m sorry, honey. We can’t control when people drop dead,” Mom says. “It’s only for a week—”

“A week?!” Bucky interrupts and groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “Call Rikki. Don’t ask me.”

Mom sighs. “You’re the veterinarian, sweetheart, not your sister.”

“Just ‘cause I treat animals for a living doesn’t mean I want to be responsible for ten more! Call someone else. You guys have a thousand breeder connections. I’m busy, Ma. I can’t take a whole week off.”

“It’s your practice, Bucky. You can take a week off if you want.”

“Ma,” Bucky groans. “I have appointments lined up. I’m not gonna cancel all of them or put them on Terry. Don’t ask me to. I have an obligation to respect my patients’ time just like you’ve got an obligation to respect mine.”

“Oh, honey, I know. And I’m sorry to ask you, I know you’re very busy. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. But they’re five weeks tomorrow and you know what that means.”

Bucky holds his hands against his face. “Mom,” he says sternly. “I’m not taking eight puppies and two more dogs into my twelve-hundred square foot house. I can’t have fourteen dogs and two cats in my house. I can’t miss work. Ask somebody else.”

“If you want us to pay you for your time, James, we will,” Dad says, taking the phone from Mom. “You’re the most qualified to look after them.”

“I really am not,” Bucky says. “Considering I have a full-time career and a mortgage of my own.”

“We’ll pay you for your time—”

“Dad, I’m not looking for money. I’m looking for not this responsibility,” Bucky says sourly. “I can’t. Sorry. Call Rikki.”

“Come stay at the house,” Mom yells from somewhere in the background. Probably the kitchen with the way her voice echoes.

“You’d have a lot more room,” Dad says. “Full run of the place for a week. Bring the dogs. They love it up here.”

Bucky groans again and scrubs his hands over his face. “I can’t just… it’s six full days I’d have to rearrange and probably piss a lot of people off. It’s not worth losing patients.”

Dad chuckles. “You have a waitlist. You can’t get rid of them,” he says. “Even the ones you want to. Terry will pick up patients where he can and if there are emergencies, the clinic’s only a few more miles away from you. Come up to the house. Your mother and I will sleep better in Indiana knowing you’re with them.”

“Christ,” Bucky mutters and grabs his phone. He sends a text to his sister to ask if she knows what’s going on. “You’re asking me to come to the house and try to wrangle sixteen animals by myself. Eight of them are five-week-old puppies. And because I know what that fucking means, you want me to keep your appointments to try and sell them.”

“Wouldn’t trust your sister to, honestly, she’s got her hands more full than any of us.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and looks at his phone when Rikki texts him back.

Yeah, they told me they knew they couldn’t ask me because I’ve got kids, a husband, and six animals already. What’s that you always say? You didn’t choose the bachelor life, the bachelor life chose you?

Bucky scowls down at the text.

You’re a traitor and a fiend.

Love ya too. Good luck.

“I can’t,” Bucky says, though he feels his resolve slipping quickly through his fingers. “It’s too last minute. If you guys ever go to London like you’ve been talking about for ten years, sure, I’ll watch Max and Sunny, but no puppies. I am not prepared for this, and I’ve got my job to worry about.”

“Well,” Dad sighs, “I guess we don’t have much choice then. We have to book this flight and order flowers, and your mother wants to go to the department store because our funeral clothes are outdated. We’ll be on the phone all night long trying to find someone to take care of them. I don’t necessarily trust breeders with these puppies—”

“Oh my God,” Bucky says loudly. “Christ, I’ll do it. I’ll drop everything and come up and take care of sixteen goddamn animals. If I come out of this with my sanity intact, you’re lucky.”

“Don’t be so damn dramatic,” Mom says from far away. “We’ll pay you for your time.”

“I don’t need the money!” Bucky says and sighs, long and slow. “This is the only time. Are you going to ask me to get there at midnight or something?”

“Come tomorrow night,” Dad says. “After work. We’ll stock up the fridge, and you can have dinner with us before we head out. It’ll be easier because we have a handful of appointments over the weekend and through the week to catch you up on.”

Bucky digs his fingers into his eyes. “Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll be there at seven.”

“Bring the whole unit.”

“Yeah, Dad, I will,” Bucky says. “Gotta go make my own phone calls now. Text me, don’t call me.”

“We love you, honey!” Mom yells.

“Love you too,” Bucky says and hangs up before they can con him into doing anything else. “I don’t even remember Uncle Roy,” he mutters to himself as he grabs his phone and turns off the truck.

The dogs are thrilled to see him, as usual, and the cats have learned to wait in the kitchen for him so they aren’t stampeded upon. Bucky calls his receptionist as he walks down the hall and explains what’s going on and asks her to pass the phone to Terry if he’s still in.

Neither of them mind, not the phone calls Jess has to make, not the extra patients Terry has to take on. They seem more amused by his annoyance about it all, but he’s grateful for them anyway. Even when Terry assures him that their patients aren’t going anywhere because they’ve got a waitlist for a reason.

Bucky hangs up when that’s all sorted and leans against the kitchen island with a sigh. Duchess, his snow-white cat, climbs onto his shoulders, slinky and thin, and drapes herself over them, purring away when he scratches her chin. Their usual routine, and Bucky doesn’t mind so much, even if she flicks her tail in his face if he doesn’t give her some bit of dinner that he makes.

Tomorrow is going to be shit, but hopefully the day will go by quickly.

His parents live just over an hour upstate on a few acres of land. They’ve got a ranch-style house with a big field in the back surrounded by forest, and it’s all picturesque, especially in the spring. Perfect for a bunch of dogs and Bucky’s glad that his four get along with his parents’ two.

They breed golden retrievers and have for a long time, and Bucky’s only glad they stick with a veterinarian closer to them instead of bringing the litters to his clinic. He went to visit one weekend about two years ago and left with Duke, who was eight weeks at the time and has avoided going to his parent’s house when there’s a litter nowadays because Mom’s always trying to pawn one off on him like he doesn’t have enough dogs already.

Bucky isn’t worried about his ability to take care of them, though it’ll be an all-day job every single day, but he definitely isn’t looking forward to selling them. His parents have strict policies for who gets to buy and typically weed people out instead of giving a puppy to the first person to flash some money at them. Which is fine and all, but Bucky doesn’t sell dogs.

He’d go to the shelter any day of the week and never consider buying from a breeder, but as long as people keep buying, people will keep selling. His parents do it right, as right as it can be done, and were doing it right before he even joined the Army, so it’s not his place to try and talk them out of it.

Though Bucky has sworn never to be responsible for a litter again, he supposes a death in the not-family is a rare exception.

He complains to the animals all evening long, and he complains to a friend via text and tells his sister he’s never babysitting again until she throws her kids on FaceTime with him and that threat is dashed away.

Bucky adores his niece and nephews, about the only kids in the world he does, and they soothe his annoyance without knowing they’re doing it.

Still, by the time Bucky is at work in the morning, he’s irritable. He spent a few hours getting everything ready and packed in the truck, only his duffel bag and the animals left for tonight.

Jess teases him for it being a bandana day, but she knows Bucky tends to make his hair a mess when he’s irritated because he can’t keep his hands out of it and wears bandanas these days to stop it.

The day speeds by, which Bucky supposes is better than it creeping by, but he’s reluctant to leave at five. Jess and Terry wish him luck and Bucky leaves to go home.

He has to have a few pep talks with himself so he’s not in a mood later because he doesn’t want to hear it from his parents.

Getting the cats in their carriers, the dogs in their collars, and all into the truck takes a while. The bed is filled with everything, a tarp secured over it so he doesn’t lose anything on the highway, and it looks like he’s moving house with how much stuff there is.

Once he’s checked the house is locked down for the sixth time, Bucky drives out of town and onto the highway and only rants for twenty minutes or so.

The dogs are used to being in the truck, even if it’s a bit cramped between Duff, Duke and Lanie in the back. Lulu’s tiny enough to make room in front of the seats. Duchess and O’Malley are used to being in the truck too, their carriers on the seat next to him, strapped in as securely as he could make them. They only meow when he talks to them because he got them in the truck when they were kittens, so they never think they’re going to their doom.

It’s dark by the time he gets off the highway and drives ten miles or so through the forest and onto his parent’s property.

They had a brownstone in Brooklyn for the longest time, that’s where Bucky grew up, but at some point, they’d decided they wanted out of the city and had the money to do it. The large house is pretty, painted white with blue and red accents, a wraparound porch with cozy seating areas. There’s a long drive up to it, and the field behind it is expansive, probably lively with green grass and wildflowers for the time of the year.

Golden filters out of the windows on the house, and Bucky sighs as he parks in front of it and decides he likes it less now than he’s going to be spending a week here.

Bucky gets out of the truck, opens the back door, grabs Lulu, and lets the other dogs jump out. They run up to the porch, barking in excitement because they really do love it up here, and Bucky sets Lulu down so she can join them.

“Bucky is here!” Mom yells when she opens the door. “Oh, look at you four! And Duke, what a good boy, big like your papa!”

Bucky shakes his head and grabs the cat carriers before walking up the porch. He lets Mom hug him and tug at his hair until he smiles, unable to help it.

“I’ve got dinner going. You and your dad unpack what you need to and then I’ll show you the litter. Oh, it’ll be alright, honey. Look how happy they are,” Mom says when he grimaces and gestures around the dogs who are making a wide sweep of the home.

Max and Sunny are out, and sometimes Max is pretty short with the dogs when there’s a litter until she remembers she likes them, but the puppies are locked in the den, Bucky knows, so she’s in good spirits.

It’s a lot of dogs but the place is big enough.

Dad shakes his hand solemnly, and Bucky tells him he’s sorry for Uncle Roy, whoever Uncle Roy is, which gets Dad laughing for a while.

It takes an age to unload the truck and get everything settled inside for the animals and himself in the guest bedroom downstairs. Mom’s in between the kitchen and the den and tells Bucky all about this litter, as if she hasn’t a hundred times in the last five weeks, along with showing him most of the same pictures she’s already sent him.

Par for the course, Bucky thinks with some amusement. He’s not so irritable now; it’s hard to be when he’s around his parents, who are good people. He used to have dinner with them every week before they moved up here and doesn’t see them as often as he should. They’re very thankful that he’s doing this for them, but he thinks he probably shouldn’t have complained so much about it.

He owes them a lot. Not just from what they gave him as his parents, but the way they were there for him when he got out, when he decided to take the leap and apply to veterinary school. They understood why he didn’t want anything else to do with the armed forces. Wasn’t going to become a cop like half the guys he knew with PTSD who didn’t understand what the word therapy meant.

Bucky got a few years of it and it’s been a while since then. A while of good things. He graduated with honors, opened his own clinic with a guy he met in school with the nice fat check the military gave him and earned a pretty damn fine reputation across town.

He’s a talented vet, he knows that, and he’s proud of his work. A lot more proud than anything else he’s done, though he mostly keeps that to himself because Dad’s still an Army man, and they’ve gotten into too many arguments about the state of the military these days.

Bucky lives a lot more content of a life now.

There’s the whole superhero thing that runs rampant across New York City and sometimes the world, but Bucky likes to pretend they don’t exist most days. Not until his phone blares an alarm telling him aliens have appeared again and to find safety, which is always fun, but Bucky firmly turns off the news when he sees them otherwise.

He’s sick of them too and has gotten into even more arguments about them with his parents and sister than the damn military.

Sure, Bucky is glad they’re here to deal with the threats they experience, but he doesn’t remember experiencing these kinds of threats until superheroes came along to begin with.

So, really, it’s all their fault.

Mom’s made a roast with many sides so he can have a few of days’ worth of leftovers. She’s also stocked up the fridge and pantry to feed an entire army, probably, and bought him his favorite salted caramel ice cream. And his favorite beer and whiskey.

When dinner is finished, she shows him into the den with Max, who is very proud to show off her puppies to Bucky.

They’re fat rollie pollies, what they should be right now. They’ve got some newborn rolls and are clumsy when they run around, but their longer coats are coming in, and by the end of next week, they’re going to be terrors.

He’s glad he’s gone after that, but still, these are puppies that need attention and playtime and lots of food. Max will need to be given breaks too, as she’s just weaned them, but not all of them are in agreement with her.

Those teeth are getting sharper and Bucky doesn’t blame her.

It’s going to take hours every day to feed them, and Bucky can only hope they keep him busy enough that the week flies by. Of course, he’s reminded of multiple appointments set up over the next week, but thankfully there are only four. Three have been on a waitlist and his parents assure him they’re likely to choose one or more of the puppies when they come.

She gives him a list of questions to ask and a list of rules and schedules for the dogs, their little collars for when they’ve been bought, and Bucky regrets saying yes, just a bit, and thinks he’s going to need a solid glass of whiskey tonight.

They don’t have much time to talk after because Mom and Dad have to load up their own car with luggage and head to the airport.

They leave at eleven and Bucky tells them to be safe and walks back into the house with a long sigh.

He lets the dogs out back to do their business and burn off some energy from all the excitement of the evening. Once everyone is back inside, the puppies have their turn in a gated area for them. Bucky checks water bowls once everyone is back inside, a thousand water bowls, and lets Max in the den with her litter. He firmly says good night and closes the door, already exhausted, and it’s not even day one.

The puppies are used to a sleep schedule, thank the lord, so when Bucky has a glass of whiskey and goes straight to bed afterward, surrounded by his own dogs and eventually the cats too, he doesn’t have to worry about being woken up by whining or yapping anytime soon.

——

It doesn’t mean that six-thirty doesn’t come too soon for Bucky’s liking anyway.

He usually likes to sleep in on days off, but this isn’t a day off. It’s dog duty and Bucky groans as he gets out of bed and gets dressed. He pulls on a sweater because it’s just barely the first week of April and still cold.

After letting the dogs outside and standing on the porch watching them for about twenty minutes, frolicking in the field and playing with each other, Bucky calls them back in. It is a pretty sight, wildflowers of purples and whites and reds dotted throughout the tall grass, brightened by the end of the sunrise.

Coffee would make it better.

Bucky gets a pot going and takes the puppies - all fucking eight of them - outside into their gated area the other dogs can’t get to. None of them have trouble going potty but they want to play and if they’re not yapping at him and falling over backward as they do, they’re pouncing on each other.

They’re cute, like puppies are, and if Bucky picks each of them up for a closer look, well, Mom and Dad aren’t around to see.

Healthy as can be and due for their first shots in a week or two.

It takes a few trips to get them back inside the den and Bucky drinks coffee in between filling another thousand bowls of food for all the adults, plus his cats.

He takes a video of what the kitchen looks like as he’s doing it, six dogs and two cats acting like they’ve never been fed once in their life. Bucky has to spread the bowls throughout the dining room and into the living room so no one thinks of getting into any spats.

By the time he’s getting breakfast for himself, it’s eight-thirty, and he has to make another pot of coffee.

The first potential buyer is due at eleven and the second one comes tomorrow at one. The next one after that is Tuesday and the final one is Wednesday.

Bucky reads their profiles that his parents have them fill out to get familiar with names and who has kids and other animals. All appointments but one are with couples and kids; the appointment on Tuesday is with one woman named Natalie.

Her information is more ambiguous and just from reading it, Bucky’s fairly certain she’s lied about a few things. She was probably the one that wasn’t on a waitlist but will do whatever it takes to get a puppy.

It’s not that he thinks she has ill intentions, but everyone else marked their home and yard’s square footage, and Natalie just put large for both.

Mom has a note to ask her more later since it was all done by email and then Uncle Roy had to die suddenly, so she wasn’t able to follow up yet.

Bucky spends some time in the den with Max and the puppies, lying on the ground and letting them stomp all over him, lick his face and fingers, and eat his hair. It’s not such a bad time, and if he takes a whole lot of pictures, that’s his business.

They have small collars, all different colors, for whenever they’re officially bought, and Bucky sets them out before taking a shower so he’s somewhat presentable.

You’re Doctor Barnes? is what they ask him when eleven rolls around.

Mom told everyone he’d be there and that he’s a veterinarian because it’ll make them trust him more or something, but that’s what Saturday's couple and Sunday's couple ask him like it’s a big surprise.

It’s not a great time for Bucky when he’s got a young couple and at least two kids in the house because everyone wants to see all the dogs, and what should be an hour-long appointment tends to turn into two and a half. This is on top of how many times he has to feed everyone, play with them, take them out for potty breaks, and find somewhere in between to eat a few meals himself.

Three puppies are sold, at least, and earn themselves collars, which they fall over trying to get off for two days.

Monday is a day of recovery and a lot of time spent lying on the couch in the den and watching TV for a few hours, exchanging whichever puppy wants to sit on his chest the most.

Rikki keeps texting him and asking for pictures and he keeps not sending her any because she’s a traitor.

She’ll see them when he finally uploads everything on Instagram.

Tuesday’s appointment with Natalie is at noon, just enough time for Bucky to get everything done and take the dogs out past the field and into the forest for a long walk. They’re all excellent at sticking close by and Max seems to enjoy the freedom away from her children. She and Sunny’s coats gleam bright gold when sunlight hits them, Duke’s the same way. Bucky’s always loved golden retrievers thanks to constantly being surrounded by them, and it’s a comforting sight.

He takes more pictures. Lanie is a mutt, a lanky, dark brindle, and Duff is a pit bull-rottweiler mix with mostly rottweiler colors and an especially large chest, while Lulu is a small Bolognese. She’s tiny in between everyone else and Bucky knows his patients and family will get a kick out of it since so many follow him on Instagram.

They get back to the house and Bucky puts everyone in the garage except Max. He checks on the puppies and rereads Natalie’s profile. He’s got most of the windows open with the temperature being as perfect as it is once the sun comes up and hears a car pull into the drive a couple of minutes after noon.

Bucky walks across the house and opens the front door, stepping out onto the porch.

He raises his eyebrows.

The car is black and sleek, a brand new Stingray, and when Natalie gets out, she is not what he expected, being that she’s not Natalie at all. He recognizes her immediately, red hair and dark clothes, from when she had to sit in front of a bunch of lawmakers and justify superheroes’ existence and why the world needed them.

It’s not that Bucky disagrees with that, but it still annoys him because nothing bad ever happened before they came around. Not alien-bad, anyway.

“Doctor Barnes?” Natasha Romanoff asks as she walks around the car and up to the porch.

“Miss Romanoff?” Bucky asks.

Her lips twist in a wry smile. “Natasha’s fine,” she says and walks up the porch when he gestures for her to, shaking his hand. “You might understand the need for some privacy.”

“Sure,” Bucky says. She’s much shorter in person and as beautiful as she was during that broadcast. “The Avengers in the market for a golden retriever or just you?”

Natasha huffs a laugh. “Just me,” she says. “Don’t worry. I’ve got room for one of them.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you do,” Bucky says and smiles when she quirks an eyebrow. “Keeping their dad with all the other dogs but you can see him if you want. And don’t mind a lot of dogs. In addition to the puppies,” he adds. “Had to bring my own up.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Natasha says and doesn’t sound much like she means it, but that’s probably because Mom wasn’t too shaken up when she told her. “I’m a fan of a lot of dogs. How many are there?”

“Fourteen,” Bucky says and smiles dryly when she laughs. He opens the door for her and Max is there to greet her. “Three of the puppies have been sold. They’ve got collars on.”

“Hi, Mama,” Natasha says as she scratches Max behind the ears and across her back. “She’s beautiful. Your mom said your family has been breeding them for a long time?”

Bucky nods and leads her across the house toward the den. “Since I was a kid,” he says. “I’ve got one of ‘em from two litters ago myself. They’re good dogs, Max and Sunny. Like any goldie, really, but their temperaments are especially sweet. I’ve got all their pedigree information for you.”

“Sounds good,” Natasha says. “I’ve mostly got experience with purebred German Shepherds. Excellent dogs but probably too smart.”

“Too smart for their own good,” Bucky agrees and slides open the den doors, gesturing her inside. “These guys are smart but they’re kinder with it.”

Natasha laughs and nods. She walks inside and makes that crooning noise everyone makes when they see puppies. They’re behind a large gated area so they don’t try to get out when the door opens, but Bucky closes it and lets them out.

Max is always glad to show off her puppies, and once she’s done that, she gets onto the couch to escape them.

“Someone’s tired of dealing with kids all day,” Natasha says as she sits on the ground and picks one of the puppies up. He barks and licks her face when she lets him. “Ohh, these guys are trouble.”

“The worst kind,” Bucky says and sits at the desk. He grabs the packet marked Natalie with a shake of his head and sets it on the table against the wall. “My mom wanted me to ask about your home since you didn’t put a lot of information. I get it now,” he adds with some dryness and can’t wait to tell Rikki he’s got an Avenger in the house. “But you put large for the house and yard. How large is large?”

“I don’t know, honestly,” Natasha says with a laugh as the puppies swarm her lap. “It’s not the place in the city,” she assures him. “We’re Upstate too and that’s where they’ll be kept. A lot of room to roam, like out here. A lot of room inside too. Enough to get lost in, but they’ll always be close.”

Bucky squints at her. “Does it have the potential to be blown up by aliens any time soon?”

“Probably not. I never say never, though,” Natasha says with a smile. “But if any threats have ever been near any HQ, they’ve all been neutralized.”

“That’s not that reassuring,” Bucky says and smirks when she laughs. “I don’t know how my parents would feel about one of these dogs becoming an Avengers mascot.”

“Not an Avengers mascot,” Natasha says mildly. “Only mine. I’m good with dogs and I’ve wanted one for a long time.”

Bucky eyes her for a while as she picks up the puppies and plays with them. He doesn’t think his parents would be keen on letting her buy one because of her occupation, even if they’re fans of superheroes, but Bucky suspects she can afford the best in doggy daycare if she ever needs it.

Still, he’s more reluctant himself because he’s not a fan of them at all.

“Military family?” Natasha asks.

Bucky looks at all of the various military paraphernalia on the walls and shelves above the desk that Dad likes to keep out much more than he does.

“That’s what we Barneses are,” Bucky says and looks at Natasha. “All the way back to the Revolutionary War.”

“You too?”

“Army,” Bucky says. “Ten years in First Infantry. Got out and went to veterinary school. I like this more.”

Natasha smiles, just a bit. “Iraq?”

“Two tours,” Bucky sighs. “I was a medic. Would’ve been a doctor if I wasn’t expected to join, but I didn’t realize that was an option until my sister didn’t. Not that I didn’t want to at the beginning. Just didn’t expect to join a war two years in.”

“It’s been a messy one, especially at the beginning,” Natasha says. “Where big government had too many interests in it.” She smiles wryly when Bucky points at her in agreement. “I know a little about that. Of course, my circumstances aren’t very similar otherwise.”

Bucky chuckles. “At least you’ve got the firepower to match whatever comes out of wormholes.”

Natasha laughs. “That’s true. Mostly,” she says and winks. “See, having a puppy around will be good for morale.”

“Thought they weren’t going to be an Avengers mascot?”

“They won’t,” Natasha says as she holds one of the girls in her lap. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t be popular either way. We don’t get to see puppies very often.”

“Yeah, I bet not,” Bucky says with a sigh. “How do you like the look of them?”

“...as advertised,” Natasha says slowly and with a slight smirk. “Have they been around the other dogs?”

“Been keeping them separated and everyone’s caught up on vaccines,” Bucky says. “They go out now fifteen times a day, but they’re fenced in where the other dogs can’t get to. First round of shots next week and the next couple rounds are on us.”

Natasha nods. “Sounds good,” she says. “And they’re going for three?”

“Six, I’ve decided.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows and laughs. “Is that an Avengers fee?”

“Figured you could afford it,” Bucky says with a smile.

“You’d be surprised how little my salary is,” Natasha says with a grin as she tickles the belly of one of the puppies. “So, somewhere around three to six. And this is for me.”

She takes the packet with pedigree information on Max and Sunny, costs of the puppies, vaccine information and all that. The way she’s reading it, with a concentrated squint and confused frown, tells Bucky she’s never bought purebred before.

“Anyone catch your eye?”

“I’d take them all if I could,” Natasha says with a smile as she looks at them. “But I think I might need another day or two.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?” he asks. “Got an appointment tomorrow, but I don’t expect them to take all five.”

“How long are you going to be here?”

“I’ll head back down on Friday,” Bucky says with a bit of suspicion. “I’d suggest no later than Saturday because my parents will be making more appointments as soon as they’re home.”

Natasha nods. “Then I’ll come back by Saturday,” she says. “I can text you a time for me to come back up and see if it works for you or your parents.”

“Sure,” Bucky says and writes down his number on a post-it on the desk. He’s tempted to tell her to lose it as soon as she’s bought one of the dogs because he doesn’t like an Avenger having his number.

But that might be considered rude.

He’s more surprised she isn’t buying today than anything because most people want to pick who they think is the prime dog as soon as possible. But she’s clearly never bought purebred and Bucky thinks she’s done plenty of research, but it still surprises him.

“Thanks,” Natasha says and stuffs the post-it in her pocket. “Can I take this with me?” she asks and waves the packet.

“All yours,” Bucky says with a smile. “If you have an idea of who you might want before you come back up, just text me, and I’ll hold ‘em with a deposit.”

“I think I’m going to want to spend a bit more time with them again,” Natasha says. “I do plan on coming back,” she adds with a small smile because she must see Bucky’s thinking she definitely won’t. “Getting a dog is a big decision.”

Bucky laughs. “Not for a lot of people,” he says. “Even if it should be.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you see the worst of the worst,” Natasha says and stands. “This puppy will be pampered, though. Promise. I’ll be back up soon.”

“Sounds good,” Bucky says, though he still thinks it’s bullshit.

He corrals the puppies behind the gate and walks out with Natasha. Max follows them to the door and Natasha pets her before shaking Bucky’s hand.

“Thanks for your time, Doctor Barnes,” she says. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Bucky’s fine,” Bucky says. “Drive safe.”

Natasha smiles. “Always,” she says before walking down to her car. She looks at him after opening the door. “Bucky’s a cute name.”

Bucky laughs and leans against the post at the top of the stairs. “Thanks. I like it better than James.”

“Bucky Barnes does have a nice ring to it. What’s it short for?”

“Are you going to run a background check on me?” Bucky asks with a smile. “Middle name is Buchanan.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Natasha says. “That’s a hell of a name.”

“Thank you, Natasha Romanoff.”

Natasha laughs. “My friends call me Nat. Natasha’s still fine,” she says with a grin. “See you soon, Bucky.”

“Ouch,” Bucky laughs. “Yeah, see you soon.”

He waits until Natasha has disappeared down the drive and onto the road beyond it before going back inside.

Bucky’s not entirely sure his privacy won’t be invaded, but there’s no escaping that anymore. Government has his DNA, anyway, so what harm can yet another look into him do?

He lets the dogs out and takes them out back. Bucky texts his mom as he sits on the top step of the porch.

Natalie didn’t buy today. She wants to come back in the next couple of days after thinking about it.

She probably won’t be back then. Too bad. She seemed very interested and asked so many questions.

Maybe she didn’t believe you were serious at three thousand.

She should try a mall!

Bucky shakes his head and looks out at the dogs running around the field. Duff comes to sit next to him, too old for a lot of exercise anymore, and Bucky scratches him behind the ears.

“Only a few more days, pal,” Bucky sighs. “Then we get to sleep in our own bed.”

Duff sighs like he thinks that sounds pretty good too.

——

On Wednesday, Bucky sells another puppy to a sweet family with a young son. They’ve just moved to New York, and school’s almost out, so their kid hasn’t made any friends quite yet and what better way to cheer him up than get him man’s best friend?

He’s thrilled with the puppy he picks out and his parents reassure Bucky that they live near a dog park and will be able to meet neighbors and other children soon enough.

It feels better selling to that kind of family, but Bucky’s glad the appointments are done. His parents will be home by Friday afternoon, that’s official, and Mom says it’s been good for Dad to be in Indiana anyway. He spent a lot of his adolescence there and joined there when he was eighteen. Mom says he hasn’t seen many of those people in twenty or thirty years, and despite it being for a funeral, Dad’s in good spirits.

Bucky only has two more nights here and he’s settling into that good news himself with a beer and large sandwich in front of the TV in the den.

The puppies stare at him while he eats, but that’s alright because their attention spans are short right now, and he sneaks Max a few of pieces of turkey when no one else is looking. His phone buzzes when he’s halfway through and he pulls it out, looking at a number that’s only a bunch of zeroes.

He raises his eyebrows.

It’s not that he’s forgotten Natasha Romanoff, member of the Avengers, being here yesterday, but he’d already written off the idea of her coming back altogether. The text is the last thing he expects and he knows it’s her immediately because of the zeroes.

Did they buy all five?

Just one. You’re in luck if you want the other four.

Going to try and stick with one. Is it too last minute to come up in an hour?

“An hour?” Bucky barks and sighs as he looks mournfully at his beer. He’s already in his sweatpants and everything.

No, but it’ll cost you seven.

I had a feeling you’d say that. I’ve been thinking about the one that takes a while to make noise when he barks. Point him out to me.

Bucky glances at who he’s nicknamed Chompers because he tends to chomp at the air for a while before he really gets going on barking and doesn’t blame her for being interested in him. And he’s still available. He sends back a thumbs-up emoji and finishes his sandwich and beer.

He leaves the den and ties his hair back before putting on a bandana because he doesn’t want to make it a mess with this last-minute appointment stress. But Bucky thinks he’ll be done after this and maybe spending a couple of quiet days and nights up here with the animals in the forest isn’t so bad, after all.

Bucky swishes some mouthwash because he feels weird about drinking on the job, technically, and gets the dogs in the garage after. They’re not too thrilled with it anymore despite the comforts they have in there, and Bucky promises to take them out for an hour or so after Natasha leaves.

By the time he’s walking into the living room, he hears a vehicle pulling into the drive, and it’s definitely not the Stingray.

He walks to the front door, glancing out of the window alongside it and sees a sleek, black vehicle, but it’s a truck. Bucky opens the door and steps outside, and wonders how many cars these guys have lying around to take their pick from.

Of course, it isn’t Natasha Romanoff that gets out.

Bucky raises his eyebrows.

He’s just as recognizable; tall, blond hair and a specific broad frame that’s easy to pick out even though he’s wearing a dark jacket. No red, white and blue or a gleaming shield, but it’s him alright, and Bucky doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or curse.

“I thought it was only the aliens that could shapeshift,” Bucky says as Captain fucking America walks around the truck and toward him.

“Uhh,” Captain America says and raises his eyebrows. “As far as I know, that’s true. I guess she didn’t… I told her to let you know I was coming.”

“Guess she didn’t think I was trustworthy enough,” Bucky says dryly, though he’s a little suspicious that’s not it at all. And Captain Rogers seems a lot confused, so he must have his own thoughts about it. “Is Iron Man going to fly in soon?”

“I hope not,” Captain America says with an apologetic grimace. “Sorry about that. You’re Doctor Barnes?”

There’s that surprise again, the one Bucky’s never going to understand.

“Yeah,” he says. “I prefer Bucky. You’re Captain America?”

“Well. Steve, please,” Steve says as he walks up the porch and offers his hand. “I’m sorry, but you might—”

“Understand the need for privacy?” Bucky asks as he shakes his hand and sighs when Steve coughs and nods. “I guess a lot of people would recognize you first. She does more stealth than you do, right? Is the dog for you or are you coming for the god of thunder?”

Steve laughs like he can’t help it, though he looks like he’s trying not to. It’s a genuine laugh and a good look, and Bucky feels his stomach swoop, which is definitely alarming and not at all what he needs right now.

“I promise the dog is for me,” Steve says with a smile that could kill lesser men. “I’ve been doing some research over the last few years, but work’s been hectic. I have the time now.”

“Do you?” Bucky asks. “Seems to me like I see you on the news every other day.”

“Old footage,” Steve says with good humor and smiles when Bucky does. “I’ve put a lot of thought into this. I had a golden retriever when I was a kid, and after looking around for a while, it seems you’re the most reputable breeder and seller. Well, your parents. But you too, I’m sure, by… by proxy.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows, and he does try not to laugh. He really does. But he can’t help it either, and he does laugh, for a while, until Steve is sighing and grimacing.

“Alright, this is bad. If you don’t mind, I’d very much like to see and buy one of the dogs. Nat’s assured me they’re everything I’ve been looking for,” Steve says, hands on his hips. “I’ll even pay the Avenger fee.”

Bucky laughs again. “Maybe I won’t tack that one on,” he says with a grin. “Come on, come check ‘em out. I’m sure you’ll like ‘em. I realize now I’ve been told to point one of the boys out to you.” He gestures for Steve to follow him and walks inside. “This is Max.”

Max is holding her favorite squeaker toy and wagging her tail, those big brown eyes of hers happy and without any wariness, which is always an encouraging sign. Steve looks about as excited to see her as she is to see him, like they’re old friends, and he pets her.

“She’s beautiful,” Steve says. “This seems like a great place for them. Nat told me you have one of hers too?”

“I do,” Bucky says as he watches Steve. Tries not to stare at him, really, his smile or his very blue eyes, or the way his shirt fits him so snugly under his jacket, and the fit of his jeans. Bucky’s not wearing sweatpants anymore but he does feel slightly lesser. A side effect of being around Captain America, probably. “His name’s Duke. He’s in the garage with Sunny, his dad. You can see them too if you want.”

“Sure,” Steve says and sounds like he’d be eager to see any dog anywhere at any time. “Please. You have a clinic outside of the city, Nat said.”

Bucky nods. “I do, yeah. In Westbury,” he says. “Had to drop everything and come up here with my own crew, but you’re right that it’s a good place for all of them. Especially goldies. I’m sure you know they need more exercise than a lot of people think.”

“Can’t be a calm, sweet house dog when you’re stir crazy,” Steve says with a smile. “That must go for most of them.”

“A lot of them. My Bolognese lets me know that thirty minutes a day out here is too damn much, and she’s only two,” Bucky says with a smile. “Natasha said you have enough room, though, either way.”

“A fair bit of it,” Steve says and follows Bucky through the house, Max trotting at his side. “And they’ll be with me inside and when I travel, if it’s safe to.”

Bucky nods and slides open the doors into the den. “I don’t doubt you’ll keep them safe,” he says and gestures for Steve to go in. “My parents don’t usually sell to people who travel often. They prefer families, but they make exceptions now and then.” He smiles as he closes the den up and sees Steve looking at him rather than the eight eager puppies. “I don’t doubt you’ll try to keep them close either. Here,” he adds and walks to the gate. “This is the one I’m supposed to show you.”

He picks up the puppy and hands him to Steve. The puppy tosses his head and chomps at the air, as he usually does, before his barks get going, and Bucky smiles as he watches Steve laugh. He lets the other puppies out, which is Max’s cue to jump on the couch.

“The ones without collars are the ones still available,” Bucky says and sits on the couch with her. “Two males and two females.”

“That doesn’t make it much easier,” Steve says as he holds the puppy close, which makes the little guy look even more like a potato than he already does. A potato that’s chewing Steve’s finger, anyway. “I can’t even remember the last time I held a puppy.”

Bucky chuckles. “How old were you when you had the goldie?”

Steve narrows his eyes. “Nine, I think, when she died. I was allergic to dogs, so we never got another one. My mom got her a year before I was born,” he says. “Didn’t expect me to be allergic to just about everything, but I’m glad she kept her around. It’s good to grow up with a dog.”

“It is,” Bucky says. “I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Even if I was on puppy duty until the day I turned eighteen. Told my parents I wasn’t ever going to do it again until I got out and became a vet.”

“Now you’re obligated to,” Steve says with a chuckle. He sits down on the ground just like Natasha did and grins when he’s swarmed with whining and yapping puppies, letting Chompers down to join them. “This can’t be such a bad thing.”

Bucky laughs and rubs Max’s chest when she lays her head on his lap. “You try getting all of them out every couple of hours and getting them back in. Let alone feeding all of them a handful of times a day,” he says. “I’ve been working harder here than I do at the clinic. Except for the occasional nap, anyway.”

“See, now you’re making me rethink my own career. If puppy duty comes with naps, it really can’t be all that bad,” Steve says as he scratches their backs and lets them chew on his fingers and shoelaces. “You’re not going to take one yourself?”

“Hell no,” Bucky says with a smile. “I’ve got four already and a couple of cats too. If I start bringing any more home, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Steve chuckles. “It’s not just you, is it?”

“Just me,” Bucky says wryly. “Me and my tiny house with too many pets.”

“Kind of sounds like a dream to me,” Steve says with a smile. He picks up Chompers and gives him a look over. “I never had any cats, though. Just heard them fighting every other night outside.”

“Allergic to them too?” Bucky asks. He laughs when Steve nods. “Guess all that was fixed a while ago?”

Steve nods. “Antihistamines were invented not long before the war, you know. Didn’t do shit for me,” he says and sets Chompers down. “I didn’t know all of it would fix all of that, really, but I’m glad it did.”

“You’d be a shit super-soldier if you couldn’t breathe,” Bucky agrees. “At least you can have a dog now. Even a cat, if you like them.”

“I do. I think I like most of them,” Steve says with a faint smile as he watches the dogs. “Maybe when I get my own place.”

Bucky watches Steve as he pets and plays with the puppies and isn’t sure if he’s serious or not. He thinks he is because Steve says it with a sort of melancholy like so many people do before they’ve left home. But Steve’s house is monitored by big government, maybe even run by it, and Bucky wonders if getting his own place is even in the cards.

If they made Captain America and own him now.

He’s aware of the whole rogue superhero thing that happened a while ago, but it’s all kept behind closed doors now, and Bucky understands plenty about what comes from behind closed doors in the government. Especially about the military and soldiers, which Captain Steve Rogers is, even if he probably never meant for it all to go this way.

Still, he keeps fighting and saving the world, so he’s not walking away from it. Whether that’s because he feels obligated to or wants to, Bucky couldn’t guess. But he doesn’t have his own place, which must feel like he’s always on call, and Bucky thinks that’d drive him crazy.

He’s not a super-soldier molded by mad scientists, though.

“How do you feel about these guys?” Bucky asks because it’s not his business to ask anything else, even if he’s curious. Steve probably gets way too many prying questions, and Bucky wonders how much of the wholesome, good old American boy persona is for show.

“Pretty satisfied,” Steve says with a smile as he looks over the litter. “I think Nat was onto something suggesting him. She gave me the packet you gave her and I read it all last night. Everything sounds great and I’m sure I can manage just fine on my own.”

“I’m sure you can,” Bucky says. “Natasha said everyone will like having a dog around but that he won’t be the Avengers mascot.”

Steve huffs. “Got one too many of those already,” he says. “Everyone will like having a dog around, but we’ve got living quarters plus everywhere else. They’ll mostly be in living quarters. Well,” he adds as he scratches Chompers’ chin, “he will.”

Bucky smiles. “Chompers is the one?”

“Chompers,” Steve laughs. “That’s an apt name. Yeah. Yeah, he’s the one.” He sighs like it’s a burden, but he’s smiling too genuinely and too fondly to mean it. “Where do I sign?”

“Here,” Bucky says and stands, walking to the desk. He flips through the pages before he finds Chompers’ certificate that’s all filled out except for one signature. “I’ll make a copy and give you a receipt. I’ve got a card reader if that’s how you want to pay.”

“Sounds good,” Steve says and takes the paper and pen from Bucky. He signs it against the wall he’s closest to and hands it back to Bucky. He’s got Chompers in one arm as he fishes out his wallet and seems reluctant to put him down.

Bucky’s heart is trying to get away from him and he firmly tells it to stay where it belongs. He takes Steve’s card when he gives it and isn’t entirely surprised it’s just a black credit card with numbers and no other identifying information.

He only charges three because Ma might kill him otherwise, and he kind of likes Steve, anyway. It doesn’t take long to make a copy of the certificate and to print a receipt.

“This is for him,” Bucky says as he grabs a light blue collar and hands it to Steve. “He’ll wear it until you come to pick him up.”

“Thanks,” Steve says with a smile as he takes the collar. He puts it on the puppy, who appreciates it as much as any of the others. “Uh oh.”

Bucky looks at where Steve points and sighs as he watches one of the girls use the hardwood for a potty break. “That’s just rude, little lady,” he says. “Should probably get them all out. They start doing it like dominoes when one gets it going.”

Steve laughs. “I guess this is a full-time job,” he says and smiles when Bucky points at him in affirmation. “Can I help bring them out?”

“Yes. Please. Then I don’t have to make a few trips,” Bucky says. He grabs the roll of paper towels and tosses a few over the mess. “Here,” he says when Steve stands and hands him two more puppies. He squints before giving him another one. “That’s a good look.”

It really is, Steve Rogers with four puppies in his arms, looking about as thrilled as a kid at Disneyland. Bucky wants to laugh, but he’s starting to think that Steve doesn’t experience normal very often, and it’s a bit sad. Still, he’s holding a bunch of puppies, and that can’t be anything but cute.

“Kind of makes me want to take the other three,” Steve chuckles and smiles when Chompers licks his chin. “I guess I better stick with him for now. When can I pick him up?”

“April 28th, about,” Bucky says. “My parents like to make appointments for pick-up too, so we’ll do that before you leave. Otherwise, my mom will send you pictures and videos every week and updates on vaccines. I think she gets as much of a kick out of it as buyers do.”

“No one’s ever in a bad mood when it comes to puppies,” Steve says. “That sounds great. It’s going to be a long few weeks for me, though.”

Bucky chuckles and grabs the other puppies. Steve opens the door, holding four of them easier for him, and Max follows them out.

“After those few weeks, it’s going to speed by. He’ll be grown up before you know it, so take a lot of pictures and videos,” Bucky says as they cross the living room to the back door. “I’ve only had the practice for five years, but some of the first puppies I saw are coming in with some greys popping up.”

“Kinda makes you want to slow down time,” Steve says and opens the back door. “Which we can’t do, as far as I know.”

“Stark hasn’t invented a time machine yet?”

“If he has, he hasn’t told me,” Steve says. “Let’s hope not.” He looks around as they step outside onto the deck. “This is one hell of a place.”

Bucky smiles and walks down the steps and to the large, round gated area for the puppies. “Yeah, my parents love it up here. So do these guys,” he says and carefully puts the four in his arms down. “Max and Sunny stay healthy and happy with all this room. They’ve got a few acres. Dad takes them out every morning to a creek a couple of miles away. They lived in a brownstone in Brooklyn for a long time, so I think the novelty hasn’t worn off yet.”

Steve laughs. “You know, I think I might understand that,” he says as he places Chompers with the others. “If I ever retire, I’d probably choose a place like this too.” He smiles at Bucky. “You mind if I take a picture?”

“Go ahead,” Bucky says and gestures at the puppies. “Maybe give them some dignity first.”

He’s got a nice laugh, Bucky thinks, as he watches Steve pull his phone out. He does wait until the puppies are done doing business before taking some pictures and a few videos. Like a proud dad already, and Bucky sighs because some men are just too good to be true.

Steve seems like a good guy with a big heart, and there’s a certain familiarity about him that comes between veterans. Maybe they fought in different wars, but military guys are military guys, and Bucky feels an ease with Steve like there’s an ease with most veterans.

But it does feel like more, though Bucky’s sure that’s on his side because everyone who meets Captain Rogers probably gets stars in their eyes, even if they don’t want to.

Bucky takes off his bandana and ties it around his wrist. “I’ll bring out the others once we get these guys inside,” he says. “So you can take a look at Sunny and Duke. Then I have to feed them.”

“Are they completely weaned?”

“Yep,” Bucky says and runs his fingers through his hair. “Just barely, though, which is why Max is always getting on the couch when she’s in the den with them. They started soaked kibble only a handful of days ago, which is just my luck. Takes a while to get it ready, feed them and then clean up after them. It won’t be long before they’re on dry kibble, though.”

Steve smiles as he looks at Bucky, shielding his eyes from the sun. “The more you sound like it’s a chore, the more I like the idea of it all,” he says, which makes Bucky laugh. “That sounds like a fun time to me.”

“You’re welcome to do it yourself,” Bucky says, still laughing. “While I take one of those naps.”

“I might just have to take you up on that,” Steve says. “Why is the clinic easier?”

Bucky smiles and shrugs because Steve’s asking it genuinely and with interest. “I get a different one every half hour or so and mostly for different reasons. Get to put all the years of school into practice,” he says. “I’m also only responsible for one at a time and usually just when they’re in one of my rooms. I like helping them and solving medical problems. Taking puppies out eight times a day and they eventually lose their charm.”

“You like them,” Steve teases. “You smile every time you look at them.”

“Damn,” Bucky laughs. “Guess I better watch it from now on.”

“It is at odds with how annoyed you sound,” Steve says. “But I can see why it might be tiring. And the clinic might be more interesting. After fighting in a few wars, it seems like a far better career.”

“It is,” Bucky says. “Better than being a physician, which I thought about before I joined. I know a lot of guys back then were pretty eager to join the fight. When did you sign up to be a super-soldier?”

“Around the twentieth time they denied letting me join for asthma and allergies to just about everything,” Steve says with a smile. “I wanted to do what was right. Help take down the bad guy. It was easy to sign up for more when they offered it.”

“Must’ve been like something out of a science fiction novel,” Bucky says. “Is that what you’re always going to do? Help take down the bad guy?”

Steve sighs and shrugs, his hands on his hips. “That’s what I’m made for, anyway. One day I’ll get old. Supposedly,” he says dryly. “Maybe then I can figure out what I might want to do after retirement.”

“What were you doing before you joined?” Bucky asks. He’s not entirely sure he should, but he’s curious, and Steve seems pretty open, which is somewhat surprising.

“I was an artist,” Steve says, scratching the back of his neck. “I know, I know,” he adds when Bucky raises his eyebrows, “I don’t look like the type. I promise the underfed version of me did, though.”

Bucky laughs. “The starving artist?”

“Oh, it didn’t matter how much I ate. Couldn’t have put any meat on no matter how hard I tried.”

“Looks like you grew three sizes eventually,” Bucky says with a smirk. “Do you do that anymore? Art?”

“Oh,” Steve sighs, “not really. Well, sometimes, but only when I’m alone. I’d get too much shit otherwise.”

Bucky smiles and thinks that’s only half the truth. “Start selling your work when you retire and you’ll be golden. You could do whatever you wanted.”

“That does sound like a solid idea,” Steve chuckles. “Maybe that’s what I’ll do. Travel the world as a tourist. See all the sights that never look too pretty when I’m there these days.”

“Hopefully that’s not another eighty years from now,” Bucky says and gestures at the puppies. “Let’s get them inside. Where would you want to go most?”

“Now that’s one hell of a question,” Steve says as he helps Bucky round up the puppies. “I’m not really sure. Somewhere warm. A lot of places I go are cold and grey.”

“You mean bad guys hide their lairs in frozen mountainsides, just like the movies?” Bucky asks. “Sounds like you need to hit the Bahamas.”

“The Bahamas,” Steve sighs. “The Caribbean does sound nice. I’d like to spend a week there, probably, and I don’t usually get entire weeks off. Now, a place like this,” he says and gestures with his free hand, “I’d love to stay in a place like this for a weekend.”

Bucky smiles as he grabs the last puppy. “Plenty of cabins Upstate,” he says. “Chompers would love it when he gets a bit older. You could pretend you don’t have cell reception there.”

Steve laughs and walks with Bucky back to the house. “I wish I could,” he says. “I could throw my phone in the Hudson and they’d still find me,” he mutters. “But that’s alright. I can take a weekend off here and there.”

“You should do that,” Bucky says. “Before you start getting stir-crazy.”

“I think I’m already there. But this guy will help,” Steve says and smiles at Chompers tucked in his arm. “I bet he’s easier to train.”

“You mean new Avengers don’t have goldie dispositions?”

“...you know, they actually might. For the first day or two.”

“Then the hard stuff starts?” Bucky asks as they step onto the deck. Steve opens the door and they walk inside. “What are the requirements for being an Avenger? Do you apply online?”

Steve laughs as he walks into the den, Max at his side. “We all seem to run into each other by happenstance, actually, but maybe if we’re ever low on recruitment,” he says. “We’ve got one or two military guys on the team. Not super-soldiers,” he adds when Bucky raises his eyebrows. “But they worked in special forces.”

“Ah,” Bucky says and carefully puts the puppies, one at a time, in the gated area. “They’d be the ones. Dad probably would’ve tried to join if you all came around any earlier.”

“Ranger,” Steve says as he looks at Bucky’s father’s various military paraphernalia. “Didn’t interest you?”

Bucky huffs a laugh. “Maybe at first. I’d just barely reached two years in and we went to war. If you had your eyes open when you hit the ground over there, you saw it for what it was,” he says. “Continued being a medic, and when it still wasn’t over eight years later, I got out.”

“Wars aren’t fought for the reasons they used to be,” Steve sighs. He’s still holding Chompers, scratching his chin, and sets him down after one more scratch. “I like to think my current role is closer to what it used to be, though.”

“It is,” Bucky says with a smile and gestures for Steve to follow him. “An essential role, even if it’s for fighting off aliens. But they barely get the city pieced back together before you’re all at it again. I guess I can’t complain too much, though. Saved my ex’s life a year before we met, when the whole alien thing first happened.”

Steve grimaces. “I’m glad for that. We’d ask these assholes to choose different locations if we thought they’d listen.”

“Can’t be an evil maniac if you aren’t trying to kill a bunch of innocent people,” Bucky says dryly. “Having a dog to come home to might be nice, though.”

“Very nice,” Steve chuckles. “You said you have four, right? And two cats.”

“Mhmm,” Bucky hums as he walks past the stairs and to the garage door. “Coming home to six animals that I can call my own is always a good feeling. Especially since my cats don’t usually try to take my eyes out.”

Bucky opens the garage door and steps inside, smiling when Steve laughs. It really is a great laugh, infectious even, but Bucky’s trying not to pay attention to that. The dogs are distracting, anyway, all six of them.

He names them for Steve and points out Sunny and Duke. Everyone’s thrilled for new company, as usual, and Lulu jumps against Bucky’s legs until he picks her up.

Steve looks as happy to see them as he was to see the puppies, and Bucky tells him about Sunny, their and Duke’s dad, but also about his others. How he got them and some of their quirks because it seems like Steve enjoys hearing about them.

They take them outside to let them burn off some steam, along with Max, and walk around the field. It’s easy to talk with Steve, more so than it is with any veteran, and Bucky wonders if Steve feels like an outsider anymore, the way he does. That maybe they get along because they’re outsiders, but maybe not.

Steve’s part of a big thing, surrounded by people and fellow Avengers all day long, off on secret missions or leveling a block in the Lower East Side. He belongs to a team and a bigger picture too, but Bucky knows an average guy isn’t going to look at a handful of puppies like they’re the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Or talk about getting his own place one day without any hint that he was joking.

Bucky thinks Steve is an outsider in some ways. Probably comes with being from a different era to begin with. Bucky’s an outsider because his entire family is military and most of his old friends are too. He doesn’t see them much because he can’t relate to their experiences anymore without feeling bitter about it.

And it’s not easy for him to make friends these days. He could’ve fit in with just about anybody when he was in high school, outgoing and social, and he was tight-knit with the guys in his unit even if he disagreed with why they were overseas. But when Bucky got out, he was left on his own to deal with things, and some of those things were fucked. Therapy helped, but he never got the knack for making friends without effort back, let alone wanting to be social.

Bucky sometimes goes to the bar with Terry and sees his sister pretty often, just the two of them for lunch or dinner at her place with her own brood. But he only has a couple of friends beyond that and his animals, and Bucky isn’t sure if that’s sad or not.

Doesn’t know if he looks as excited as a kid going to Disneyland at the idea of bonding with someone, canine or human.

It’s helped him soften toward Steve, anyway, so maybe it’s not such a bad thing. Or maybe it is a terrible thing because Bucky finds himself laughing more than he has in a long time.

They take a walk through the woods, and Bucky lets Steve take a picture of him holding Lulu when she’s decided she’s had enough of walking for one day.

The dogs seem genuinely joyful to have Steve in their company, and Bucky tries not to look at that any more deeply than them wholly trusting Steve.

That’s bad enough.

After they get back to the house, Bucky doesn’t realize the potential danger of asking Steve if he wants to help feed the puppies until after he’s asked it. But Steve says yes with that smile of his and he’s not looking at his watch or phone like he’s worried about being anyplace else.

It doesn’t cut much of the time preparing softened kibble because they keep making each other laugh in the kitchen, and Steve keeps asking question after question about Bucky’s own dogs. It’s close to their next meal too, and the cats are out, which distracts Steve even more.

Bucky’s heart can barely handle watching him pet the cats. O’Malley takes to him right away, which he doesn’t usually do, and Bucky has a mind to think they’re all traitors.

They get the puppies fed and watch them fall asleep shortly after.

It seems only natural for Steve to help feed the others later.

He doesn’t ask to stick around, and Bucky doesn’t offer, but neither of them are fighting that, it seems.

They’re talking like they’re old friends and have known each other for years. They might have lived in Brooklyn a few decades or so apart, but it’s easy to joke about the same things because not a whole lot changes and what has, Steve’s already gotten used to.

The eclectic-artsy scene starting to boom there is new to them, but they’re both getting used to that too.

Steve stays for an early dinner. He’s so damn polite and sweet, but dry and sarcastic, too, without being mean about it. There’s something now and then about him that makes Bucky think he’s probably a devious little shit when he wants to be, probably always deserves to be, and Bucky likes him more for it.

The way Steve keeps looking at him, with that grin or those soft blue eyes, tells Bucky that maybe he’s not the only one seeing things and liking someone for them.

They sit out on the deck’s stairs with a couple of beers when the sun starts to set. The dogs run in the field, flowers of purple and red and white gleaming brightly in orange and violet blazes of light. The dogs get bugs flying as they run through the grass, tiny but bright specks of gold that they sometimes try to eat, but it’s a pretty sight.

All of this place is a pretty sight, and Bucky never did blame his parents for wanting it, but he thinks he should probably come up more often and not complain about it.

Steve looks good here. He’d look good anywhere, but there's something special about him sitting next to Bucky with a bottle of beer in his hand and watching the dogs and the sunset with a smile.

“HQ doesn’t have anything on this view,” Steve says. “Thanks for letting me stick around to see it.”

Bucky smiles and looks out at the dogs. “No problem. It was nice to have company,” he says. “I’ve got half a day more of this and then I’m back to the clinic.”

“In Westbury, right?”

“Yep,” Bucky says. “I like the neighborhood. It’s quiet. People generally have good sense with their pets too.”

“Doesn’t that make the ones with no good sense worse?”

“It does,” Bucky agrees, “but if I mention the waitlist to get seen at our clinic a few times, it tends to straighten them out.”

Steve laughs and nods. “I’m sure that’d do it,” he says. “You’re a fantastic veterinarian. You got any recommendations for one closer to home?”

“Sure. Sunshine, the north location, is closer to you, I think. In the city, Rivergate is my favorite. Chompers will be well taken care of at either of ‘em. Rivergate probably won’t think much of you walking through their door.”

“I do like when people don’t think much of me,” Steve says with good humor. “Thanks, Buck. I’ll keep them in mind. I better head out, though. I’ve got a curfew.”

“Fuck, I hope not,” Bucky laughs. He takes a drink of his beer and sets it aside before he stands. “My mom will send all those updates to the email Miss Romanoff gave unless you wanted to leave a different one.”

“Nat’s given me access to that one, so that should be fine,” Steve says as he stands. “I’m looking forward to seeing those. I’ll have to find you on Instagram too.”

“I’ve got a lot of pictures and videos to overwhelm everyone with,” Bucky says and leads Steve back into the house. “If you’ve got any questions, don’t be afraid to ask. My mom loves talking about goldies.”

Steve smiles. “Well, I can’t really blame her,” he says. “Can I, uhh…?”

Bucky laughs and gestures at the den. “Go say bye,” he says. “And tell him you’ll see him in a few weeks. He’s got plenty of company until then.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, his cheeks pink. “I know he’s in excellent hands.”

Max follows Steve inside the den, and he’s not in there for too long, but she doesn’t come back out with him. She might try to get away from her kids now and then, but she still likes to be around them.

Bucky walks Steve out, the last bit of red light fading behind the house. Steve shakes his hand, and if it lingers a while, well, Bucky tries to tell himself he just imagines it. It’s a lot easier than thinking Steve Rogers is looking at him the way Bucky’s looking at him, as much as he wants to convince himself he doesn’t want to.

“Thanks again, Bucky,” Steve says as he opens the door to his truck. “I had a great time.”

“Me too,” Bucky says because he can’t pretend he didn’t. “Take care of yourself, Steve.”

“I’ll do my best,” Steve says with a salute.

He’s in the truck and gone not long after that. Bucky leans against the post on the stairs and watches the sky darken for a while. His dogs start whining at the screen door, and Bucky goes inside to do his evening dog duties before he can relax on the couch with a glass of whiskey.

If he lets Chompers sleep on his chest for a few hours while he watches TV in the den, well, no one has to know.

If he smiles when he gets a text from another number made of a bunch of zeroes that says thank you for today, can’t wait to pick him up, well… only the dogs know.

——

Bucky spends the last morning at his parents’ appreciating the house and the property and the puppies a bit more.

He takes more pictures and videos and takes a few hours out organizing them into folders to send to his mom so she can send them to each eager owner.

They get home around mid-afternoon. Bucky knew they’d want to tell him about Indiana and had already planned to stay until the evening before heading back home so he might sleep in his own bed. After six or seven oh, but you better get home before it gets lates, Bucky stays another night in the downstairs guest room.

Ma makes them breakfast bright and early, and once Bucky’s told them all about Natalie and the puppy she picked, he’s able to convince her he really does need to get home.

It takes another hour, of course, getting everything packed up and the dogs and cats into the truck. But Bucky makes it back down to Westbury and his tiny house a few miles away from the clinic.

He’ll go in tomorrow and get some things done, but after he unpacks, he spends the rest of his Saturday on the couch uploading pictures and videos to Instagram. He arranges them by each puppy and gets about thirty new followers over a few hours and a lot of oohing and awwing from his current clients and friends.

Rikki texts him and accuses Bucky of being petty for not sending them to her, but she’s a traitor too, and he tells her so.

After FaceTiming with his niece and nephews for a while, Bucky eats dinner and gets ready for the next six days.

It feels amazing to get back to seeing patients on Monday. The familiar rooms of the clinic and his partner, Terry, their two receptionists, Jess and Holly, and their vet techs Laura and David. They’re a little family when they’re all together, and the clinic works like a well-oiled machine. Bucky’s a skilled veterinarian, he knows that, but the proof is in the pudding, he thinks.

Most clients who see him throughout the week bring up the puppies on Instagram and his own dogs because they follow him. He gets asked about a thousand times if any are still available and never gets to tell anyone about Captain America.

Steve didn’t ask him not to, but it’d probably threaten national security or something, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Only captions one picture of Chompers with blond and brave enough to rival Captain America.

Things speed by for the next couple of weeks. The clinic is busy, especially now that spring is here, blooming with bright flowers and warm, sunny days. That means a lot of allergies and minor injuries and ingesting things we shouldn’t, as Bucky reminds his four-legged patients, but it also means even more puppies and kittens than usual.

Ma sends him pictures of the dogs, all sold, throughout the weeks, until the end of April and the beginning of May comes and they’re picked up. Ma always puts little pink or blue bowties on them for their leaving the nest days. Bucky would be lying if he said he wasn’t eager to hear what she had to say about Steve and Natalie.

She doesn’t recognize them, not even a little, and Bucky could cry or laugh or both for the rest of the year, but she does mention he’s a charming man and she’s a beautiful lady.

He gets a text later that day from a number that’s a bunch of zeroes, along with a picture.

It’s in Bucky’s parents’ house and Ma must’ve had the phone because it’s a picture of Steve and Natasha holding Chompers, already double the size he was when Bucky was there. They’re both smiling, but Steve’s got that proud dad grin again that makes Bucky laugh and sigh for a while.

He’s home. Peed on the bathroom mat already. He’s got a potty-training mat of his own but I don’t think he trusts it.

Bucky smiles and if his heart is racing, well, who the fuck wouldn’t feel the same when they’ve got Steve Rogers texting them?

His entire little life just changed in a couple of hours, he’ll get there. I hope you don’t have to go down fifty floors every morning to take him out.

I don’t. We have a few grassy areas throughout the building, the nicest one on living quarters. It might be a run to it for the first few days.

If you aren’t holding a pissing puppy and running at full speed for the backyard in the first couple of days, you’re doing something wrong.

That’s what I thought. He’s very polite otherwise. Still takes a while to bark, but he’s getting there.

Did you name him?

I was waiting until I got him home. We went through a list of names together and he seemed to like Oliver but he might have also been telling me to stop yapping.

Bucky laughs and leans back on the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table. It’s Sunday, a beautiful one for a lot of reasons, and Bucky scratches Lanie’s ears when she puts her chin on his thigh.

Oliver’s a good name. I don’t see many Olivers or Ollies. Mostly Max and Charlie and Kylo Ren lately.

I saw that was a popular name this year. I don’t think it fits a goldie.

Me neither. It’s far more fitting for one of the chihuahuas I see.

They’re pretty short-tempered. I think Oliver is the way to go. Ollie fits him.

It does. Ma sent me all the same things she sent you, I’m sure. Take some time out while he’s young. He’ll be seventy pounds before you know it.

Will do. Veterinarian-prescribed personal puppy days. That should get us out of everything.

Bucky smiles and looks at his dogs. Lanie’s still enjoying scratches, and Duff’s got his head on Bucky’s lap, like usual. Lulu’s asleep in her bed and Duke’s licking his paw. Not so out of the ordinary, and Bucky usually remembers to stop and take it all in because they come and go so quickly.

Duff was a puppy and Bucky blinked, and now he’s ten with arthritis.

He tells all of his clients to take lots of pictures and videos of their new kids, which most do anyway, because he had many pets in his life that he’s only got a handful of pictures of and Bucky still regrets it.

Being up at his parents’ seemed to do Duff some good, though, as he’s been more energetic and is only just starting to slow down again. The great outdoors does everyone right, but Bucky thinks he’ll take them back up again in a week or two.

Maybe tell his parents the couple that got Chompers were Avengers. Maybe not tell them Captain Steve Rogers texted him.

If you ever feel like sending me a picture of him on those personal puppy days, don’t hesitate. I kind of took a liking to him.

I know what you mean.

Steve sends him a picture and Bucky sighs as he looks at it.

“That’s just not fucking fair,” he mutters.

Steve’s in bed, thankfully with a shirt on, and only half of his face is showing, but Ollie’s snuggled up and asleep against his arm, his little head in between two pillows. It’s enough to do Bucky in, probably, and he scrubs his hand over his eyes.

You guys are going to break hearts together.

Hopefully not too many. I’ve been informed puppies make someone look more appealing though.

A handsome man with a puppy has to have a soft heart or something like that. If that’s true, it’ll be double for you.

Double the traffic or double the amount of handsome, soft-heartedness?

Bucky huffs a laugh and pats Lanie’s head.

I’m gonna go with both.

They should see you with an armful of puppies.

Anyone who has was behind a screen besides you. But I’m definitely not Captain America.

I prefer being Steve Rogers most of the time. Not many people see that guy when they look at Captain America on their screens.

I bet not. I liked that guy though. He looked good with an armful of puppies. Lying in bed with one too. Gonna break hearts I told you.

Well, if it’s over puppy cuteness, I suppose that’s alright. But you’re the only one I’m sending that picture to.

Bucky smiles as he looks at his phone for a while before he looks at the television. He’s not sure if flirting with Steve is a smart idea - probably the worst idea - especially because he doubts he’ll ever see him again.

Still, everyone’s prone to broken hearts, and Bucky’s already got a sensitive one, so he’d rather not get his hopes up.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good, though.

Guess I’m lucky then. Keep them coming, if you want.

Will do.

Bucky doesn’t get another text until he’s lying down in bed later. He gets two pictures, one of Ollie looking small in Steve’s bed, in the middle of a yawn. He’s chewing on Steve’s finger in the second one.

It does make his heart hurt, just a bit, but it gets Bucky laughing too.

Steve sends him a picture of Ollie at least once a day for the next few days. They talk a little more, flirt a little more, and Bucky sends pictures of his own dogs and cats. The ones Steve seems to like the most, Bucky doesn’t post online.

On Wednesday, Bucky’s morning starts out hectic. He’s in his first appointment when someone comes in with a dog they found stuck in a barbed-wire fence, and she’s in acute pain, so Bucky doesn’t send them off to the emergency clinic.

He finishes with his patient and tends to the mutt once she’s sedated. Nothing will cause any permanent damage, not unless she gets an infection. Bucky cleans the wounds and gets her started on IV antibiotics before stitching her up where he needs to.

When he’s done, two patients are waiting for him, but Jess tells him via their internal messaging system that no one seems angry about the wait.

Bucky’s got a waitlist, sure, but the clinic has an excellent reputation, too, and a couple of disgruntled people can hurt that for a while.

He glances over the information for his next patient, someone new to the clinic here for an exam and vaccinations. His tech, Laura, says he’s a cute puppy when she comes out of the room, looking flustered for whatever reason, but she tells him his vitals are normal.

Bucky eyes her suspiciously when she goes to get vaccines ready for him and walks to the exam room, pushing the door open.

His heart skips a beat.

He’s wearing a ball cap and a dark jacket and jeans, sitting in the chair in the corner, but Bucky would recognize him anywhere. Ollie’s wrapped around his leg, clearly still getting used to the whole collar and leash thing, and he barks at Bucky.

“I hate to inform you,” Bucky says as he holds up the paper with Ollie’s information on it, “but your dog is a golden retriever and not a yellow lab. His name’s also Ollie and not Kylo.”

Steve laughs and stands up, untangling Ollie from his leg. “Well,” he says as he walks to the other side of the table, “figured the truth would give me away too easily. And there’s always a need for privacy.”

Bucky grins and shakes his head, leaning against the table. “Yeah, I guess there is,” he says. He’s trying not to sound breathless, but it’s been a lot of pictures, nothing else, and seeing Steve up close and personal again is different. “Didn’t you say you’d be out of town for a couple of nights?”

“I will be. Leaving tonight,” Steve says and picks up Ollie, putting him on the table. “Should be about a day and a half, and I wanted to say bye before I’m off-grid. And I know you aren’t exactly fond of puppy duty or want any more dogs in your house, but I thought it might be worth asking if you wanted to babysit. Or doggysit, I suppose.”

Bucky laughs and scratches Ollie’s back. If it’s a bit of a helpless laugh, well, surely no one could blame him. “I don’t know,” he says and lets Ollie chew on his finger. “Is this going to become a regular thing?”

Steve shrugs, smiling. “I’ll find someone closer to home who I’ll trust him with one day, I’m sure,” he says. “But I trust you most with him now.”

“I don’t know if he remembers me. But the dogs would enjoy having him around for a day or two,” Bucky says with a warm smile. “You gonna pick him up on Friday morning?”

“I could. Or maybe the evening,” Steve says. “There are a few dog-friendly restaurants around here if you’d want to get dinner?”

He asks it rather than says it, and Steve looks nervous. Bucky’s pretty nervous too and suddenly enough to make his hands sweat, but it’s got his heart racing with something that feels good.

That feels like excitement.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he is breathless. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’d love to.”

“Oh,” Steve sighs with relief and grins. “Great. I’m glad. Looking forward to seeing you rather than my bed already feels better.”

Bucky laughs. “I think I know what you mean,” he says and looks at Ollie. Steve’s too damn cute and too damn much. “I’ll keep him here during the day. You can come to the house and see him before we go out.”

He grabs the notebook in his pocket and scribbles his address down, handing it to Steve.

“Thanks,” Steve says as he takes it. His eyes are dazzling, and he looks so genuinely happy, so genuinely eager, that he does break Bucky’s heart.

In a good way, he thinks, even if it might drive him mad first.

“I was a little worried you might not like me coming here,” Steve continues sheepishly.

Bucky grins. “Steve,” he says, “I’d be alright if you wanted to kiss me right now.”

Steve’s cheeks are pink and he laughs. “Well. I’m sure I can manage that,” he says. “Been thinkin’ about it for a while, honestly.”

Bucky smiles and gently grasps the front of Steve’s shirt, pulling him closer and kisses him across the table.

Ollie has a few words to say about it, but he won’t tell anyone.

——

Dinner, out on the patio of a small Italian restaurant with Ollie wrapping himself around their legs and the table every few minutes, is fantastic.

Strange, maybe, looking at Steve Rogers across the table from him. But Bucky stops thinking of him like that.

He’s just Steve, the way they both want him to be.

One dinner turns into two and eventually countless others. Steve’s busy most of the time, but so is Bucky, and the time they do spend together feels more special. Feels more intimate and passionate too, which helps when other things move along at precisely the right pace.

They watch Ollie grow way too damn fast, but the joy he gives Steve is one Bucky is very familiar with. He gives Bucky comfort too because Steve takes him everywhere, and Ollie becomes another dog in his tiny house. Steve’s over often, getting away from it all and enjoying everyday life where he can sit on the couch and sketch to his hearts’ content. It’s one of Bucky’s favorite things to watch, with Lulu or Duff lying on him and his arm around Steve’s shoulders, looking between whatever is on TV and what Steve’s drawing.

Bucky likes to ask Steve to draw random things that make Steve laugh and sigh, but eventually Bucky will find a sketch taped to his fridge or shower wall or hiding under his pillow.

He keeps those close to his heart.

Getting to know Steve’s friends takes a while longer.

They go to lunch with Nat often enough because while she might be a little intimidating, she’s got just the kind of humor Bucky appreciates, and he’s already met her.

Still, being introduced as Steve’s boyfriend, like Steve couldn’t be any prouder to say it, to Tony Stark or Thor is surreal at best, but Bucky rolls with it. He has to roll with it, and even though, a year down the road, it’s still an odd thing to sit back and look at them all, Bucky starts seeing them as Tony and Sam and Bruce.

They seem to like him, something Bucky used to be able to tell pretty quickly, but Steve assures him they do without Bucky even asking.

It’s a thing of theirs, Bucky realized not too long after Steve started staying the night. They anticipate each other in all sorts of ways; their moods, their wants, their various anxieties, and those moments when it’s just a bit too overwhelming.

Steve’s an old man, as Bucky likes to remind him, but Steve likes to say Bucky’s an old man at heart, too, because sitting on the porch watching the dogs zoom around the yard with coffee mugs in their hands is a favorite pastime.

When it’s been just over a year, and they’re dogsitting Eleanor, regularly called Ellie, the stray dog that came in after a run-in with a barbed-wire fence, Bucky spends a while reflecting on it all.

Steve standing in the exam room with Ollie, making Bucky’s heart do all kinds of flips and skips that it probably should’ve worried him. Taking him to the back to let Ollie get used to the place. He saw Ellie in a kennel recovering from sedation, and it only took a few pictures for him to convince Sam she needed a home, and it was with him.

After they looked for an owner properly and everything first, anyway. But she’s Sam’s now, and if Bucky isn’t dogsitting Ollie or Ellie, he’s dogsitting them both.

Sometimes Steve and Bucky get away from the city and the hubbub of life. Whether that’s staying in a cabin further Upstate or a bed and breakfast in Vermont, it doesn’t really matter. It’s time together in the peace and quiet of the great outdoors, which does everyone right.

Bucky’s family loves Steve, they were bound to from the moment Bucky had to suck it up and introduce them, but he can see what it means to Steve to be part of a family that’s only Ma, Dad and Rikki.

It’s one of those peaceful nights in, watching TV and Steve sketch, Duff’s head in Bucky’s lap, and he finds that he’s content.

Content in life, in love, in all things.

He has Steve to thank for a good bit of it.

“Hey, I’ve been there,” Bucky says when Steve’s sketch starts taking shape.

“Yeah? I’d seen a lot of paintings and pictures of it once it was built, but I didn’t get around to seeing it in person until… fairly recently,” Steve says as he eyes his sketch critically.

Bucky smiles as he looks at the familiar lines of the Golden Gate Bridge. “I like it more than the Brooklyn Bridge.”

Steve chuckles. “It’s got a bit more life to it, doesn’t it? Though I’m pretty fond of that bridge too,” he says and smiles at Bucky. “When were you there?”

“When I was a kid,” Bucky says. “Family vacation. I was twelve, I think, and thought it was the coolest thing in the world for about an hour.” He smiles when Steve looks at him with that mischievous and amused eye he loves too much before turning back to his sketch. “The cable cars were my favorite thing about the city.”

“Something out of a different era. Gave me whiplash, though,” Steve mutters. “They were never that shiny and fun in Brooklyn.”

Bucky smiles, resting his elbow on the back of the couch, watching Steve. His phone rings and Bucky sighs, pulling it out of his pocket and sees Mom.

“Hey, Ma,” Bucky answers.

“It’s a month and a half away, George, for Christ’s sake—”

“Ma,” Bucky groans and pinches Steve’s earlobe when he laughs. “I’m gonna hang up.”

“Oh, sorry, honey,” Mom sighs, closer to the phone. “We’ve been trying to pick the best weekend to book a flight, but your father can’t decide if early May or mid-May would be better weather.”

“Why? Where are you going?”

“We’re going to London,” Mom says in an excitable sing-song. “Since we didn’t have a litter this year, we thought, why not?”

Bucky’s relieved they didn’t have another goddamn litter this year. “Yeah? That’s great. You guys have always wanted to go,” he says. “They’re trying to figure out if early May or mid-May is better weather in London,” he adds to Steve when Steve raises his eyebrows.

“Early May,” Steve says, just loud enough for Mom to hear. “It’s beautiful, but tourists start picking up pretty heavily toward the end of the month.”

“Early May it is then. Did you hear Steve, George?” Mom asks. “He said early May. Thank you, honey. Once we’ve got the flights sorted out, we’ve got everything else to get sorted out. We’ll be there for about a week and a half. One stay in the city and one just outside of it in this little antique inn that looks wonderful.”

“Mhmm,” Bucky hums. “That sounds nice. Get lots of pictures and get to asking me what you want to.”

Mom laughs. “Well, I do remember you saying you’d be glad to watch Max and Sunny if we ever went to London…”

Bucky digs his fingers against his eyes and shakes his head. “Yep, I did say that,” he says. “We shouldn’t have Ellie then. Fuck, I don’t even know that for sure.”

“Come up to the house,” Dad shouts from somewhere in the background.

“You and Steve and the dogs all love it up here,” Mom says. “Bring everyone up that you want and enjoy it. We’ll stock the fridge. And no puppies this time.”

“Just seven animals this time, yeah,” Bucky says dryly and looks at Steve. He’s grinning in that way of his that Bucky caves to, no matter what it’s for. “Yeah, alright, we’ll do that. Sounds good.”

“Thank you, boys. That’s a weight off our shoulders,” Mom says. “We’ll text you all the flight information once we’ve got it.”

Bucky sighs. “Okay, Ma,” he says. “You just made Steve’s whole summer.” He smirks when Steve pokes him with his pencil.

“It’s a wonderful place!” Mom says. “We'll let you two get back to your evening. Love you both!”

“Love you too, Ma,” they say, and Bucky hangs up.

He looks at Steve and shakes his head. “You better be able to get a week off. I won’t forgive you if you leave halfway through.”

“Hey, it’s advanced notice. Not a year in advance like they prefer, but advanced,” Steve jokes. “Should be just fine. I dare anyone to try and get me out of that house when we get to spend a week there.”

“We can eat lunch by the creek every day,” Bucky says. “Watch the goldies soak Lulu again.”

Steve laughs. “My favorite kinda day,” he says. “Well, something to look forward to, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says as he watches Steve turn back to the sketch and smiles. “Something to look forward to.”

Every day is something to look forward to, especially when Bucky’s got Steve by his side. He’s never looked forward to what life will look like in a week, a year, a decade as much as he does these days.

He’ll thank Steve for that later and many times over, but tonight Bucky watches the Golden Gate Bridge come to life under Steve’s hand and thinks about love founded by pure chance.

Or maybe, just maybe, the universe aligned itself at exactly the right moment so they could be brought together.

Probably just chance and a bit of luck, but Bucky will take it all the same.