Your Mom's Name Is Sarah

There was always a question Bucky had, constantly burning on the end of his tongue, eager to slip. Never had he had the courage to ask it out loud, but the endless craving for the answer tore up his stomach, especially when he was around Steve. Steve was quiet, reserved, but also passionate and gentle, and most of all, sensitive. Bucky was well aware of his friend's personality, and loved all of his quirks and flaws. Except one.

Steve didn't like talking about home. At all. He never brought it up, so Bucky never wanted to ask. He didn't want to strike a nerve, or dig up memories. He had no clue what kind of household Steve went home to every day after school. When they went over to the library to study, or to the diner to eat, Bucky could never find the perfect moment to ask.

So one day, while they were eating at the diner, Bucky did something he truly thought he would never have the balls to do.

"So, when am I meeting your mom?"

The words flew out of him before he was even able to comprehend the trillion possible outcomes of this question.

Steve looked up from his strawberry shake. The expression on his face was difficult to process, but his eyes were fixed on Bucky's, deep in thought.

"I don't know," he said after a while. "When do you want to meet her?"

Bucky shrugged casually, but his heart squealed gleefully. "Are you guys free tomorrow night?"

Steve nodded, "Yeah, do you want to come over for dinner?"

Bucky's mouth watered at the mention of food, despite his cheeseburger laid untouched on the countertop. "What do I need to know about her before we meet?" Bucky asked, at last sinking his teeth into his meal.

The question looked like it meant something much more than intended, based off of Steve's reaction. His eyes became sad. "Oh...well her name is Sarah, you know that. She's tiny, like me...a-and fragile, also like me. The reason I get sick all the time is because she passed her crummy immune system onto me, so a lot of times she can't work because she's ill." Steve made strong eye contact with Bucky, so he knew he was serious.

"Don't treat her like she's gonna break. Mom's tough, and she can beat just about anything. So don't – don't pity her."

Bucky clapped his hand on Steve's shoulder in reassurance, "No need to get defensive, pal. I'll treat her like she was my own mum. What's yours is mine, I won't go easy on her."

Even though he tried to fake it, Steve did not look convinced.

It was a Friday night, and the sun was just setting. Bucky left his house in a hurried walk, methodically fiddling with his tie. His stomach fluttered with anxiety. He truly wanted to make a good impression. But not too good, Bucky thought to himself, continuing his brisk walk down the street.

He checked his watch. 6:49 PM, and he was supposed to be there by 7. By the time Bucky arrived at the Rogers household, it was five minutes till. Early, he thought, perfect.

Steve answered the door. He was wearing the same outfit he had worn to school that day, only looking a little less disheveled. Bucky's face changed from flushed to burning; now feeling a bit silly in his suit.

Steve looked slightly ticked as he scanned Bucky's outfit.

"I know, I know. I overshot it." He said, grinning and scratching the back of his neck.