Recipe for Romance: A Bucky Barnes Story

28: Home Sweet Home

           

Home's changed a lot for me during my life. Growing up it was someplace to be feared: somewhere where I knew my dad was always near. Then it was small apartments in the shady parts of town where I'd lock the windows at night to keep the bad guys from coming in while my mom worked the graveyard shifts. Then it was Portland with Jeremy, New York with Laurie, and finally the Avenger's tower. Now when I go back home to see my mom, home is the end of the street where I used to visit my grandpop for Christmas in the countryside. As I drive us from the airport to the house, I point out all the places I knew growing up.

"That's where I went to high school," I say with a gesture at the green and white painted high school. Bucky looks out the window where the rain is coming down hard and mean. There's muddy slosh all over the roads. Far out of the "big town" is the small city of a few thousand where I grew up. Bucky watches the greenery and white picket fences roll by before suddenly we're someplace where the air smells of Christmas trees.

Our rental car tuts us down the long gravel drive of "Schatz Tree Farms".

Bucky looks to me with a raised eyebrow. "You lived on a Christmas tree farm?"

My head sways left and right. "My grandparents did. Since they passed they gave it to my mom." I eventually reach the end of the road and park. The radio, which had been playing warm voiced country music, silences.

"Huh." Bucky stares up at the green painted house ahead of us with a bit of a frown on his face.

I hold onto his knee. "Bucky, honey, it's going to be alright." I offer him a sweet smile. He's been like this since we got off the plane. He's acting so different than he was this morning... whoa; thinking back to then makes me blush.

Bucky runs his hands, both of them, up and down his thighs. "I know, I know," he chants yet he doesn't sound so sure. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair and then curses—frantically trying to fix it. He had me trim it after our shower this morning. It's the shortest I've ever seen it, but it's still thick and rather long. He's got it styled up: which is saying a lot, because he NEVER bothers to do his hair.

I pull Bucky's hands away by the wrists. I do him the favor of fixing the locks myself, smiling softly as I do. "They'll love you," I whisper. The rain is nearly louder than my voice. "And I love you." My touch lingers on his cheek.

Bucky manages a smile. "I love you more, angel." He grabs my hand to kiss each of my fingers. He sighs, saying, "That's why I want this to be perfect." He looks back at the house. The porch lights are on, which means they're waiting for us. It's ten at night and we're exhausted, but I imagine my mom and sister are anxious and wide-awake.

"It will be," I assure Bucky. I kiss his lips once more. "Come on now, darling. I'm getting hungry, and knowing my mother, she'll have a four course meal ready for us."

I'm the first to brave the rainstorm. I grew up playing in the Oregon puddles, so I hardly flinch as I'm completely drenched. Bucky's pulled up his hood and appears next to me at the trunk of the car. I struggle to lift my suitcase, but Bucky grabs it for me. In fact, he grabs all the luggage. He totes two on each arm and then gestures for me to lead.

I don't hesitate in throwing open the front door. Just as I've predicted, the house is flooded with the smell of hot food: rosemary and baked bread being the strongest of all the scents. Bucky lingers slightly behind me in the doorway but I pull him in behind me before kicking the door shut.

"Ma! I'm home!"

No sooner than I've shouted this am I met with the cavalry. First it's the dogs—the tiny fluffy white one and the big golden retriever. They bark and whimper with excitement when they see me. I laugh and try to keep them from licking me, but they're almost forgotten when I see my little sister running towards me from the end of the hall.