Sam opens the door with a sad smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"Come on," he says, leading Steve to his living room.
Steve looks around. He's always found Sam's home comfortable. It's neat and clean, with books and photos of Sam's family littering shelves here and there. Sitting on the couch, he smiles at the framed photo of Sam and Riley that sits on the side table. Riley has his mouth pressed to Sam's cheek, and Sam's head is thrown back, mouth a wide grin as he holds one hand out as if to block the camera.
Steve wonders what it's like, to be that joyful.
His relationship with Bucky has always been turbulent, intense. Bucky was a grade ahead of Steve in school, an inimitably cooler "older kid." Steve had spent the first few years of their friendship hero-worshipping Bucky. He'd been terrified when his adoration grew into a crush, and by the time he was fifteen, he was lost in love for his best friend, with no hope of it ever being reciprocated. Bucky was the neighborhood lothario, and while he might never kiss and tell, Steve knew him well enough to know what that smirk meant when Bucky stopped to say hello to any of the girls he used to date.
Still, Steve wouldn't be Steve if he knew how to back down from a fight, so at nineteen, fresh off yet another disastrous double date, he found himself confronting the situation when Bucky asked him just what exactly he was looking for in a date.
"You don't want to know, Buck. Leave it alone." Steve turned away, heart hammering in his chest.
"C'mon, Stevie," Bucky says, his hand on Steve's shoulder, turning him around. "You ain't liked a dame I've picked out for you yet. What gives?"
"Just not my type," Steve said, looking at the floor.
"Then what is? What am I looking for, Stevie, 'cause if she exists, you know I'm gonna find her for you."
It's now or never , he thought, and straightened up, squaring off his shoulders and making himself meet Bucky's eyes. He hoped he was right about the tension he sometimes thought he felt between the two of them - something that made his skin spark, made him want to reach out and touch because sometimes, lately, it seemed like Bucky might be feeling it too.
"Dark brown hair," Steve said, thinking of the blonde Bucky'd chosen for him that night. "About –" he paused and pulled together the rest of his courage. "About this tall," he said, holding his hand up to the top of Bucky's head.
Bucky's eyes widened, but he stood steady.
Swallowing hard, Steve said, "Prettiest blue eyes you've ever seen." His voice had dropped to a whisper, and he was sure his bum heart was going to beat so hard that it gave up altogether.
Bucky'd gaped at him a moment, before sliding his hand around and pulling Steve flush.
"Stevie," Bucky said, his voice a whisper against the roaring in Steve's ears. Bucky pressed a soft kiss against Steve's lips, and Steve - Steve thought he was dying for moment. That he had died, and that all of the good that he'd ever tried for in the world had been rewarded with a single kiss from his best friend, his hero, his love.
"Still miss him," Sam says, indicating the photo in Steve's hand and breaking him out of his reverie.
"You looked great together," Steve says.
Sam ducks his head with a smile. "Got the Dodgers on in ten."
Smiling, Steve lets the warmth of Sam's friendship wash over him.
A short while later, they're eating bowls of pasta with chicken, vegetables, and a rich cream sauce. It's one of Steve's favorites, and from the look on Sam's face, from the nervous energy that Steve can't keep at bay, Sam know that Steve can use a little favoring right now.
When Sam's phone rings, Steve tries not to listen too hard. He hears the "yeah, I got him," and the "I know, I know," and then the "Not dumb enough to get in the middle, here, Barnes. You plead your case to him."
Returning to the table, Sam tucks his phone into his pocket. "Your boy says hi," is all Sam says, before they go back to eating.
The food's done and Steve joins Sam on his patio for a beer. Steve won't get drunk, not even a little buzz, but he says he likes the taste, the memories it brings back. Far be it for Sam to deprive the man.
They watch the sun set low, and listen to the night come alive around them. There's a soft peace to the air, a chill on the breeze but it's warm all around them. Soon, summer will be on them in earnest, but now, it's a perfect late spring night and the only thing Sam needs to do is help out a friend.
"Rogers," Sam says, after letting them sit in peace for a while. Steve knows his turn to talk, and it doesn't matter if he doesn't want to.
"Sam, I can't ask you – you've done enough. More than."
"Still not your therapist, but that doesn't mean I can't be your friend. Your very wise, very insightful friend."
Steve quirks a half smile, looks down at his knees.
"I just don't get it, Sam. I thought all the work he did, the therapy, I thought all of it was so that he wouldn't have to fight anymore. I thought we were – god, I sound ridiculous."
Sam gives him a side-eyed look, one eyebrow raised.
"I thought we were making a life together. And then he does this. And it wasn't – it wasn't even Hydra, Sam. It was – it was just politics."
"How's it go? 'I never thought a difference of opinion in politics was a reason to end a friendship?'"
"You're misquoting Jefferson."
"And you're missing the point."
Steve sighs, leans back in his chair.
"I just wanted us to have – you know, before the war, I was sick all the time, and we were always kind of scraping by. And then there was the war and now, now we have the chance to just be. And we don't even have to hide it – it's okay to just be who we are. No one's going to put us in jail, or even give us a beating for it. I thought we could just…"
"Okay," Sam says, leaning forward. "I'm gonna stop you there. There's folks taking a beating every day in this country over being gay. Hell, you know how hard it was for me and Riley being military? Wasn't even legal until halfway through our second deployment. This ain't the land of milk and honey, okay? We still got problems."
"It's a hell of a lot better than it was." Steve gives him a meaningful look, and Sam nods.
"Okay. But it's still not perfect."
"Is it ever going to be, though?"
"Maybe not." Sam shrugs. "'Til it is, though…."
Steve sighs, studies his hands again.
"Let me ask you this," Sam starts. "I made my peace with Tony Stark, and he made me a new set of wings. You mad at me for any of that?"
Steve looks up, startled. "What? No! God, no Sam. I don't – I don't begrudge you any of this."
Sam's look in return says everything.
"This is different. It's different for him, it's –"
"Steve. Come on."
"No, it is! It's –"
Sam cocks his head, his whole face saying 'are you fucking kidding me?'
"What? Oh – oh fuck you, Sam Wilson."
Sam gasps. "What in the – Steven Grant Rogers made a swear? Well I never!"
Steve flushes crimson. "Oh, just – shut up!"
Sam cracks up, and after a moment, Steve does too.
"You're all wet, Sam Wilson," Steve says, chuckling.
Sam laughs harder, fluttering his lashes at Steve. "Tell me another one, Daddy-O."
"What does that even mean?"
But Sam's too busy laughing to answer, and Steve, after a moment, joins him.
.
The next morning, Steve and Sam meet each other at the front door, heading out for a run. In the months they'd spent looking for Bucky, they came to know one another's rhythms and quirks. Steve would keep pace with Sam, but he'd be a cranky fuck after, so Sam usually encouraged him to take as many laps as he needed, and to run as fast as he could. In exchange, Sam got the first shower. (It was a double win, in Sam's book, since Steve usually put on a second pot of coffee while Sam showered.)
It's sometimes hard, when Sam thinks about what might have been. They'd been halfway through a meal at a really nice restaurant before Sam realized he was on a date. Their romance had been tentative and sweet – and short lived. They'd managed to spend all of a dozen nights together before Steve's day job came calling, and once Steve saw Bucky again that first time? That was all she wrote.
Sam couldn't even be mad about it. Steve was a wreck after seeing Bucky, fighting Bucky. Sam tried talking to him about it after, but he could tell by the look on his face – Steve was gone and there wasn't anything to be done about it. Best Sam could do was have the man's back, which he'd done, because Steve Rogers might not have been the right man, but he was a good man, and in Sam's world, you don't leave a good man to fight alone, and you really don't walk away from Captain America when he needs you. And hell, after spending some time with Bucky and getting to know the man, Sam can see it. Bucky Barnes would be easy - so easy - to fall for. If Sam was a fool. Which he is not, thank you very much.
Still, during their Up all Night to get Bucky Road Trip (as Sam had called it in his head – thank you, Top 40 radio), Steve and Sam came close a time or two to falling back into one another. But Steve wasn't ever going to look at Sam the way he'd looked at Bucky, and Sam might not be the smartest cookie, but he knew when he was beat. When everything washed out, Sam was left with a new job that let him do what he did best, some new folks to worry after, and one really good friend.
Who was usually just this side of a horse's ass, but still. A really good friend.
They spend the next two days like that, working out together, eating huge meals (Sam burns some serious calories of his own – that wingpack isn't light, and building the core strength it takes to balance it leaves him sore for days.) It's not until the end of the second afternoon that Sam's about had enough. He might not be Steve's therapist. Doesn't mean he can't be the man's friend.
"I just don't see why he has to be the one to fight," Steve says. "And he just – he just left, Sam. He planned to leave like that. He didn't even leave a note."
Sam looks at him and Steve opens his mouth, then closes it. "What?" he finally asks.
"Man, you know I love you, right? God help us both, but you're my best friend. You know that, right?"
Steve processes for a moment, trying to see where Sam is going before Sam gets there. "What? Yeah, yeah I know that, Sam."
"I am going to give you a gift, because in two days of talking and talking and talking about the same goddamned thing, you still haven't figured it out, and if I have to hear about how 'he just left, Sam,' and 'he didn't even leave a note, Sam' one more time, our friendship may not survive."
Steve pauses and has the good grace to at least look abashed. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head and looking contrite as anything Sam's ever seen.
Sam holds his hand up to Steve. "Are you ready?"
Steve looks at him with questions in his eyes.
"You are not mad at him for fighting. You might even be a little bit jealous. You are mad at him for leaving you. Again."
Steve's eyes widen with surprise as his cheeks flush. "I don't – no, Sam – it's not –"
Sam holds his hand up. "I did not say this would be logical, Rogers. I did not say this would make sense. But the sooner you come to terms with your feelings, the sooner you and Barnes can move on from this little tantrum you're throwing and get back to being disgustingly in love."
"Sam –"
Sam's face softens. He knows that Steve still gets twinges of guilt over their aborted affair, and most of the time, it's nothing that Sam wants from him. Today is not an exception.
"I've got a date tonight, Steve." His voice is soft, his posture easy. There's something about the way that Steve looks at him sometimes that makes him think that Steve still wonders 'what if' as well.
Steve looks down at the floor a minute, hiding his face. When he looks back up, Sam can see the bittersweet he's feeling, but mostly he just sees that Steve is happy for him.
"You kicking me out?"
Sam smiles, nods. "Yeah, man. I'm kicking you out."
Steve puts a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You're too good for me, you know."
"Oh, believe me Rogers, I know."
Steve tries to coax a smile to his face, but it doesn't come. Instead, the question that he's terrified of asking pops out instead. "Do you think he's ashamed of me, Sam? That I stopped?"
Wait, what? Oh, hell no.
Steve's got about an inch and a half on Sam, so it doesn't take much for Sam to take Steve's jaw in his hand and force him to meet Sam's eyes. "You know I wasn't his biggest fan. And that was some jealousy but also just some good old fashioned 'be wary of the brainwashed assassin.' But there is no one - no one - who sees the two of you together that doesn't see how much he loves you. He loves you, Steve. You've got to find a way to be happy, and I think you're on your way there, but man, you've also got to let yourself be happy. And I think that's gonna take you some practice."
Steve sighs. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, Sam."
"I mean it, Steve. Anyone ever treated one of your friends the way you treat yourself? We'd be cleaning them up off the sidewalk. There's nothing shameful about self-care. You've gotta know that."
Steve shrugs and Sam knows Steve won't take the help, but he'll keep trying because Steve Rogers is one hell of a decent human being in a world where those are in short supply.
"I'm gonna give you Doc Hollings card again. I know you're not going to use it, but Steve? You really should. It could be good for both of you."
Steve presses his lips to a thin line, then nods. "I know you're right, Sam."
Rolling his eyes, Sam chuckles. "But you're still not gonna call. Rogers, you're a hot mess of your own making."
Shrugging, Steve pulls Sam into a tight hug. "Love you, man."
Sam pats him on the back. "I love you, too, my emotionally constipated, super-dork. Call me tomorrow."
"I will."
"Uh huh. You leaving or what, Rogers? I still have to shower!" Sam lets the smile back into his voice.
It only takes Steve a few minutes to tidy up Sam's guest room and get out of Sam's hair. Standing with his hand on the door, he turns to Sam.
"Out of curiosity, what's his name?"
Sam laughs. "Excuse you, her name."
Steve's mouth drops and Sam barks a laugh. "And I'm not telling. Don't need you jinxing it."
"Sam!"
"Out, Rogers. O-U-T out!"
Steve laughs. "I'm going, I'm going. Just make sure I'm invited to the wedding."
Sam rolls his eyes. "Love you, man."
"You too, Sam."