I continued my work with King T'Challa. Bucky focused on his own healing, finding his peace. We were also able to move to another house, just slightly bigger. It was a one-bedroom instead of a studio, which was nice to have. Who knew that one wall difference could make such a difference.
Steve came to visit him soon after, which I could tell thrilled Bucky beyond words. They drank and talked about old times.
Steve told him about what he found helpful in this day and age. He's a huge fan of Google, although despite my best efforts, trying to teach either of them how to use a computer was a losing battle. When Steve showed me his, there were nine open windows and like six tabs in each.
"Why is all this open?"
"Well, they disappear sometimes, so I just open a new one."
I proceeded to explain the concept of minimizing tabs to him. Bucky was still trying to figure out what a tab even was and who Google is.
As frustrating as it was, it was hilarious. These two great and mighty super soldiers were just trying to find their way in a futuristic world they couldn't understand for the life of them.
Bucky smiled a whole lot more while Steve was there. They didn't talk about the bad stuff, just the good times.
Steve ended up telling Bucky about how he can't get drunk because of the serum. I came home from work to find them testing that theory. I don't even know how they got most of this stuff in Wakanda.
Three bottles of tequila, four of vodka, I counted about twenty-seven beer bottles (not sure who drank how many), and lastly, one very large bottle of whiskey later—they determined they could get moderately buzzed if enough was consumed fast enough. They both admitted they almost threw up trying to down it that quickly.
Although, it did seem to help them both sleep. They passed out like death had taken them, sprawled on the floor. Interestingly enough, Steve snores. I guess the serum can't fix a deviated septum.
I giggled to myself, grabbing two blankets and covering these jumbo children asleep on my floor. Then I went to bed.
The next morning, Steve headed out. He's been careful not to stir up trouble in Wakanda with his presence, but he still has to keep moving before anyone realizes where he is.
When we got back to the house, I started making dinner, just some simple, good old burgers.
Click, click, click.
"Damn it," Bucky muttered.
"What are you doing?" I yelled from the kitchen.
"I'm not sure. I think I broke it."
"Broke what?" I walked into the bedroom to see him trying to do something on my laptop. He had files open and was searching dancing music.
I was a little impressed he got it on and knew which bar was the search bar, even if it was the wrong app. It's still an improvement.
"You want dancing music?" I asked, wiping my hands with a towel.
"Yeah… I wanted to dance with you," he said, looking bashful. "It, um, might be a little hard because… you know." He glanced at his missing left arm.
"Okay, do you remember what song you used to dance to?" I asked, opening YouTube and searching for 1940s music.
"No, sorry. It was a… dumb idea." He stood up from the chair, ready to walkout of the bedroom.
"Freeze!" I yelled.
He turned to face me.
"It is not a dumb idea, and I want to dance. Would you deny a lady a dance?" I extended my hand out to him.
A grin formed on his face. "Never." He took my hand and kissed the back of it.
I hit the keyboard, starting a 1940s top dance music playlist. The music began to play, a slow, steady jazzy rhythm.
Bucky pulled me close in. "Looks like it's a slow one to start."
"I've never danced before, so I think that's a good thing." I chuckled, wrapping my arms around his neck and leaning into him as we gently swayed. His arm slid around my back, and he rested his cheek against my forehead.
We danced for quite a while. Every so often, we'd get some upbeat music and he'd spin me around like a ballerina, then swing me back into him.
It was nice. I had never danced with someone before. This felt as though it was more though it wasn't just movement, but something deeper. A quiet conversation held in the sway of our bodies.
We kept it simple. He was a little off his game, hadn't danced like this since before the war, and I was, well, embarrassingly bad. I kept apologizing, but the words started to lose meaning after I stepped on his foot for the fourth time in a row.
Poor man. God knows how many times I landed right on those boots, even though we were going slow, barely more than a gentle rock from side to side. But he never flinched, never pulled away.
"Didn't feel it. Step harder next time," he teased, that low chuckle vibrating in his chest, sending warmth up my spine.
He made it easy to laugh at myself. To feel okay about being clumsy. That wasn't something I was used to.
We danced like that for a long time, shifting between silence and soft giggles, the kind of closeness where words just weren't needed. His cheek brushed against my forehead, his breath warm as it ghosted along my temple. We let our eyes fall closed and just… existed there, held together in the quiet rhythm together.
He smelled clean, comforting, real. His arm around me was steady, protective, yet firm, like he needed to remind himself I was here, real and warm and not going anywhere.
"I love you, Bucky," I whispered, the words slipping out without hesitation. No buildup, no fear. Just truth. Simple and certain.
His eyes met mine, those stormy blues softening, shining like they'd finally found a safe harbor.
"I love you too, Liz."
He pulled me in like I was something precious, something he couldn't quite believe he got to hold, and kissed me.
That sweet taste was back, like plums and honey, saying all the quiet things he never said out loud. Our tongues moved slowly, folding together like we were trying to create something with our mouths, delicate, precise, intimate. Like folding a paper crane between us, breathless and careful.
We just held each other.
And kept dancing.