I forgot I wrote this. I have the worst memory, I feel like a right mug.
Disclaimer: don't own marvel. Duh.
It was supposed to be a normal day, a day off from all the mess that had come with SHIELD going under, and the winter soldier wreaking havoc.
They were going to go to the carnival, have lunch, and chill in front of his new TV.
Instead, they're under attack.
Steve is pinned down, enemy fire clipping the crumpled, ruined car he is crouched behind. Natasha is unconscious next to him, blood from the blow to her head congealing in her hair, nearly indistinguishable next to the colour. She's breathing shallowly, and he's twitchy about it, desperately wanting to get her to the hospital. Clint nearly abandoned his post when he heard her fall, concerned partner almost overtaking cool headed archer. Steve had babbled something about keeping her safe by taking out the enemy, and thankfully Clint had stayed put. He's now methodically putting arrows in the guns-for-hire that caught them by surprise on their day off. So much for a nice day out, and they didn't even manage to make it to their lunch reservation.
Tony is all the way in Pennsylvania, checking over the production of some project he invests in. Thor is off world again, tackling an uprising of fire giants in Muspelheim, and they have no way to contact him, anyway. Bruce is, of all things, on a yoga retreat, and has threatened them with no stir fry if he has to come back before he is ready.
His stir fry is legendary.
So, they're on their own, the three of them, and doesn't Steve know it, crouching over a rapidly deteriorating assassin, relying on a sarcastic archer to neutralise the threat. He doesn't even have his shield, and despite being proficient with the gun he took from Natasha, he's out of his comfort zone, and very nearly out of bullets. He's on her last spare clip, and there are still enough bad guys that he'll be out of ammo before he can take them all out. Even with Clint's arrows, they don't have enough weaponry.
They're in a bit of a pickle.
Which is why he is so very surprised when a spray of bullets takes out a swathe of them to his left, coming from a building over his head. He can't see who is firing, but they appear to be helping, so he sits tight, and watches Natasha carefully, nestling her head in his lap so she isn't lying on the concrete. He briefly manages to be annoyed at the enemy for the loss of her beautiful dress, which she has bled on profusely, and is covered in grime. She's going to be pissed when she wakes up. It's taken over by worry when she coughs weakly, but doesn't wake up. There is blood on her lips, and he gently prods her ribs. A groan lets him know that she's probably got broken ribs, a punctured lung, maybe a torn muscle too.
She really needs a hospital.
"Clint, I think Nat has a punctured lung, she's coughing up blood."
The archer swears.
"Sounds like. We gotta get her to a hospital."
"On it."
Steve scoops Natasha up, lines up a sight to the corner, mentally maps where the thugs are, and bolts. He makes it to the corner, just missing a bullet in the shoulder, and lays Natasha down, stealing her cellphone and dialing Sam.
"Sam, Nat's hurt. Got a doctor you can trust?"
"How bad?"
"Suspected punctured lung, broken rib. She hit her head, too."
"I got a guy, I'll come and get her, where are you?"
"Corner of fifth and twentieth. I gotta help Clint, keep her safe, Sam."
"Got it."
Steve tucks her hair behind her ears, and props her against the wall neatly.
"Bye Nat." Then he sneaks back around the corner, breaking three necks before a bullet clips his thigh.
"Clint, a little help!" The thugs around him fall, but they don't have arrows sticking out of them, but neat holes in their heads.
"That wasn't me."
"Find out who."
"Right."
Steve scans the street for enemies, and, finding none, books it up to the roof where Clint had been.
"Clint?"
"Yo, Steve, there is a one armed sniper dude who says he 'came to give you back some of the stupid'. Does that...mean anything to you?"
Steve's breath leaves him, and his knees go weak.
"Where are you?" He asks frantically.
"There's a ladder down the east side of the building you're on, you can jump over to the next building. We're on the west side."
Steve scampers down the ladder as fast as possible, launches himself over to the next building, and hauls himself over the side. Rounding the small utility building on the roof, he staggers slightly from his momentum and skids to a stop, wobbling as he tries to catch his balance.
Clint is standing conversing with a man who has a metal arm, and is packing his sniper rifle away.
"Bucky?" They both turn.
Steve had given up. All those months ago, when Bucky had come back into his life, albeit not as Bucky, he had been so overjoyed, because it meant that the man he had loved for his whole life wasn't dead, his best friend wasn't dead. Even though he didn't remember who he was, or who Steve was, or anything actually, he was alive. And that was what Steve had wanted for seventy years, despite being frozen for most of it.
And then he had left, he had saved Steve and then left, and although Steve and Sam had tried to find him, and had travelled for a year looking for him, they hadn't.
And now he's back.
"Hey, punk." Bucky looks unsure of his reception, he's biting his lip, and clenching and unclenching his left hand.
"Hey, jerk." Steve chokes out, and hurls himself at Bucky, wrapping him in a bear hug and clinging. Both of Bucky's arms come up and lock around his back, and Bucky buries his face in Steve's broad shoulder, turning his face into his neck and pressing a tentative kiss to his collarbone.
"You ass, you left, why'd you leave me, Bucky?" Steve breathes out, not quite managing to hold back a sob. Part of him registers Clint leaving, letting them reunite, and he's so grateful; makes a note to thank the archer later. Bucky pulls him closer, blinks wet onto his skin.
"I'm sorry Steve, I'm so sorry, I didn't remember, and I was halfway to Indonesia before I did." Bucky fists his fingers in Steve's shirt. "I saved you on a whim, didn't have a clue why I was doing it."
"Goddamn it, Buck. Missed you." Steve drops a kiss on the top of Bucky's head, wraps him impossibly close.
"Missed you too." He whispers back.
Steve pulls away, twines their hands together, and yanks Bucky in for a kiss.
Seventy years without kissing the man he loves. It might have felt like a few years for him, since he has been doing an icicle impression for the most part, but it's enough to make the taste of Bucky more potent, stronger, and more intense.
He tastes like mint, just like he always has. Steve weaves his fingers through Bucky's newly shorn hair, grips and tugs a little, tipping the other man's head back and coaxing his mouth open with Steve's own.
In that instance, Steve knows that despite all they have been through, and will go through, Bucky isn't going anywhere now.
'Til the end of the line.