For the Love of the Game // Bucky Barnes

Oneshot - In Seven Years

"Oh man, your Ma's gonna rip me a new one when she sees what you're eating, buddy," Bucky sighed with a helpless smile.

"Rip you a new one!" Grant exclaimed, chocolate covering his face.

Bucky groaned. "C'mon, don't say that. Now she's gonna be even more mad at me." He tightened his grip on the three year old buzzing with sugar in his lap, leaning down to whisper in his ear, "How about we hide this from mommy, yeah? Don't tell her I fed you an entire bag of m&m's before my game and I'll... I'll let you name your sister."

"Really, Bucky?" Your tone was accusing, but after years of marriage, Bucky could hear the smile on your face without even turning around.

And after all those years of marriage, the warmth that spread across his chest when his name fell from your lips was as present as ever. He hugged Grant tighter at the sound of it, your son a reminder of just how much Bucky Barnes was in love with you, and would be in love with you, even as you pretended to glare at him in the spectator's box at Dodgers Stadium.

"Ah, would you look at that, Grant? My best girl showin' up to my game—gotta love her. Doesn't she look pretty, buddy?"

Through a mouthful of chocolate, Grant mumbled, "Mommy always looks pretty."

You raised a brow, arms crossed. "You teach him that one?

Bucky slid his son from his lap and plopped him in the overly-cushioned chair looking out at the field. Your hidden smile grew the closer he got to you, his blue and white uniform accentuating the hues of his eyes as it always did. He pulled you closer by your waist, nose brushing yours, lips pressing to your cheeks until you finally granted him with the small laugh he sought out.

"I didn't teach him anything. Kid just speaks the truth." Bucky placed a gentle hand on your barely-there bump, thumb rubbing circles on your stomach. "How're my girls?"

You fluttered your gaze up to his, the remnants of a few nerves still causing you to lose your breath at the charming baseball player giving you that famous half-smile. You bit your lip to conceal an even bigger grin than you were already letting on; you were supposed to be mad at him for filling your son up with chocolate before he left to play his game. But you had never been impervious to Bucky's charm.

"We're fine. Almost lost my breakfast when I smelled the popcorn downstairs, but I guess it had to be something. With Grant it was those weird pretzel things. With her—" You rested your hand over Bucky's. He immediately interlocked your fingers. "—I guess it's popcorn."

With a feigned seriousness, Bucky promised, "I'll ban all the popcorn in the stadium. Won't play until they get rid of it."

Your facade crumbled as a full laugh escaped you, and Bucky looked as if he won the lottery, shining eyes trained on your joy, hands still caressing you as you shook in his grip. Steve always told him that he still looked at you as if you weren't his yet—with that devastating longing that was obvious for so long to everyone but you.

The first time he teased him about it was right after the move to LA. You were unpacking in the kitchen and Steve and Bucky were finally done putting together the very complicated dining room table you found at some antique store back in New York.

~~

"Alright, pal," Steve began, a strong hand placed on Bucky's shoulder. "I know it's tough to believe, but she's not goin' anywhere. You can stop staring at her like she's gonna disappear."

Bucky was only half listening, too focused on the confused look you were giving a set of plates that definitely came from his Ma. He'd explain it to you later; your messy hair and the way you were chewing at your bottom lip were too cute to interrupt.