Summary.
Sam is just being hospitable, a good co-worker. A friend. Yes, a friend; and that shrinkage he feels in his guts is just hunger, because Bucky prefers and loves chicken. It's hunger and warmth to have some time without worrying about the end of the world. Just that.
"You'll have to pay for it," he replied simply, as if his throat didn't feel slightly tight, were the windows closed? Was the air conditioning on?
Sam showed him one of his forced smiles before snorting: "As if I wasn't already paying for this".
Or the 5 steps Bucky follows to realize that Sam makes him happy.
(Note: I don't feel like these characters are mine, I've never touched a comic book and everything you're about to read is more of a whim to understand and feel good about to be able to manipulate them. You should know that this is all based on what I want to see (and a lot of analytical texts on Tumblr) within the MCU).
The 5 steps to (un)happiness.
Negation.
Bucky is not into Sam, by any means. He admires him and can assure you that he is an amazing, noble and brave person. But he is not into him, he doesn't even like him. Sam bothers him in ways unimaginable to the rest of humanity.
"You're doing it again" Sam scoffed, without looking up of a piece that Bucky is sure shouldn't be so loose but won't tell him anything about it. "The staring thing, Bucky, you're doing it again".
Anyway. How does he expect him to look away if he's doing things wrong? Moving his fingers desperately slowly as tries to get the nuts inbox where they don't go, Bucky is just watching to laugh later with Sarah.
"I'll stop staring when I'm sure you won't ruin that," he replied with a mocking smile.
"I'm fixing it," Sam said, finally looking up at the blue-eyed.
Bucky is slow to respond because he can see Sarah across the street with an inquisitive look, in no way has he been half mute by Sam's eyes on him. God! They've been much closer than this, there's no way Bucky is nervous about a pair of eyes, of course not, it's just Sarah, ready to throw fish at them if they've made any mess.
"She's not going to believe you" Bucky mumbled, looking away to pick up his beer bottle from the ground. He's not avoiding Sam's gaze, is avoiding Sarah's frown.
"I remember being told to get into your affairs, Sam, the engine is fine, don't have to do any of this" she sighed. "Really, you don't have to check every piece you see".
Bucky loves to see Sarah teasing Sam, not because Sam looks slightly cautious and suddenly grimaces in the shortest time Bucky has ever seen, no, it's that Sarah has that maternal tone that twists Bucky's guts, makes him think he's done something wrong and that he's got a smile anyway.
"I was just taking a look", he excused himself amused. Sarah denied and growled a childish imitation of Sam's excuse. "Well, I was already leaving anyway".
"Really? Where?" Bucky found himself asking.
No, that which was heard in his own voice wasn't surprise, Bucky knew, much to his chagrin, that being in Louisiana he'd follow Sam wherever he went, because he's still not good with the crowds and in no way is he getting to know the city for himself. Simple hospitality, companionship, whatever.
"Yeah, man, I told you I'd show you Ally's place," Sam reminded, with his head slightly tilted, smiling amused and waiting for an answer. What is he supposed to answer? Why is Sam smiling that way?
"Oh, yeah, of course," he said awkwardly, looking back at the bottle in his hand of meat, not quite sure what else to add.
That's no surprise, it's just novel, he's getting used to it. Anyway, when did he tell you anything about Ally's place? Bucky doesn't remember it, and, as they walk to Sam's van, wonders if it's any key to running away from Sarah's irritated gaze.
He soon discovers that it doesn't. Ally's place is a restaurant with a longer menu than he would've expected, Bucky doesn't know even half of what's on offer, but judging by how crowded the place is, he assumes it's good.
"Need help?" laughed Sam. Bucky took the time to look up from the big primer and fulminate him with his look. "Oh, c'mon, we had already overcome the killer look. I'm just offering you my help to choose something, but y'know, you can always go back to sandwiches".
No, Bucky isn't trying to hide a smile behind the menu, he's just turning down Sam's help because if anyone is going to help inflate his ego it definitely won't be him.
"I prefer the chicken," he snorted, giving up. He really has no idea what half of the things on that menu are, is it anything unique to Louisiana?
"Of course you do," Sam continued to laugh.
Bucky left the menu on the table and this time he doesn't try to avoid the smile on his lips. He still needs help understanding how the world works –they both know it, but Sam never presses, just leaves his hand outstretched and a mocking smile, you know, to keep the balance–.
Bucky has stopped bothering that Sam smiles that way: squinting his eyes, with the corner sunken, possibly enduring a laugh because "God, you really are an old man" and somehow Sam has managed to forget about it. Or maybe he just does a good job of keeping the balance between them.
These thoughts in no way invade him as he tries to sleep in the early morning, not even in the day, God, not even when Sam does this kind of thing, treat him like a person. A friend. Nope. He never thinks about this, it's not even a thought.
"You can try more than just chicken, you know? Here are other wonders you should try. Can't leave without even trying." Sam added, looking distractedly at the dessert part.
In no way is he getting carried away by the implicitness of that message. "Here", "You can't leave". Sam is just being hospitable, a good co-worker. A friend. Yes, a friend; and that shrinkage he feels in the guts is only hunger, because Bucky prefers and loves chicken. It's hunger and warmth to have some time without worrying about the end of the world. Just that.
"You'll have to pay for it," he replied simply, as if his throat felt slightly tight, were the windows closed? Was the air conditioning on?
Sam showed one of his forced smiles before snorting: "As if I wasn't already paying for this".
But Bucky in no way knew Sam's smiles, could that even qualify? And he wasn't hiding a smile behind the menu he has already read, no, he's just taking a second look, you know, to know what to order the next time he comes with Sam. Or alone. Whatever, it's just curiosity.
Pure and simple curiosity for Louisiana.
Wrath.
Bucky had a problem controlling his anger. His therapist had affirmed it, Steve had suggested it and a lot of people had taken advantage of it to their own purposes; but Sam will-hear-only-whatever-want Wilson had simply unleashed it.
All started with something simple, something they were used to: missions. You know that shit of saving a city because some little smartass thought it was okay to put together a couple of drones and just attack people. Bucky was fine with destroying those razors instead of people, was fine covering Cap's back while he put people to safety between stunts. Everything was fine until it wasn't anymore.
A couple of drones opened, as if they literally split in half and dropped little silver balls. Bucky wasn't so innocent as to believe they were marbles or a couple of bullets. He knew and felt the danger even before those things touched the ground and exploded like little grenades.
So, the plan had shifted to identifying those drones with grenades and destroying them before they let anything escape; except that the plan didn't change at all for Bucky because the damn Sam Wilson was taking every ball that came out of the drones, as if it were a game and the one who recovered the most balls would be the winner.
Those shits exploded! And Sam had them in his hands!
"What the hell are you doing?" he managed to scream in his direction, completely forgetting that he's wearing a headset and Sam can hear him perfectly, but that doesn't seem enough to him, what the hell is that moron doing?
Bucky wants to run in his direction, snatch the damn balls and let them explode far, far away from Sam. But he can't do any of that because Sam is suddenly walking away from the scene, flying higher and higher until Bucky just stops seeing him. The only thing that keeps him there are the drones, determined to attack him first, they almost seemed to want to prevent Bucky from finding Sam.
"Sam!" he shouted, to the drones, to the earpiece, to the sky, to no one and to everyone. Bucky get no response other than the sound of the wind in his headset. "Where the shit did you get in?" insisted, throwing the drones at each other.
And somehow the silence on the other side of the line increases his desire to end every flying shit that runs through his vision in a more violent way. He shatters them one by one while mumbling swear words waiting for Sam to answer something.
Then Bucky recognizes the hollow sound of the shield, as it falls and then the muted, contained and vibrant noise of an explosion, one after the other, all equally hollow –all under the shield. Bucky hears every one of the grenades explode, and if he weren't busy with the drones maybe he could see the scene clearly behind his flies.
"I'm coming back," Sam announced, as if it hadn't been fucking minutes since Bucky asked to know what the fuck he was doing.
Now it is Bucky who doesn't respond, takes the drones in his hands and undoes them as much as possible, he is no longer even looking to distract them so that they don't go after the civilians, Bucky just wants to be able to shatter something that is not Sam.
Sam appears the same speed with which he disappeared, and everything becomes relatively simpler, a bunch of shattered drones, grateful people, captured madman, a half-triumphant exit of Captain America and Bucky's escape. He really sneaks away from Sam and all those people as soon as he gets the chance.
He gets lost in the streets of New York until reaches the offices that usually contact Sam to fix shit. Bucky doesn't care what name they have, he's not interested in being recognized as a sergeant, he doesn't care about the paperwork they're supposed to do, he doesn't care about the medical check-up protocol, and he doesn't care where the hell is Sam. He doesn't care about anything at all. He'll pick up his damn stuff and go back to Brooklyn, that's all he cares about.
"Hey, Joaquin said you were here".
Of course he did, because Joaquin is something like the number one fan of Sam. Bucky isn't surprised and doesn't respond, he's very busy wearing his t-shirts and looking for the most convenient transportation back to Brooklyn.
"What are you doing?" Sam continued. Bucky's definitely going to take the time to fulminate him with his eyes before continuing his search. "Talk to me, Bucky, I can't know what's wrong if you don't tell me".
"Ah, we're talking now?" he asked abruptly, throwing a t-shirt into his backpack with force. Sam watches the movement before sighing and reloading against the door.
"Sorry, okay? I had to get out of there and... "
"All the time you're talking while you're doing shit, what was different, uh? Couldn't you just respond? Didn't you think it was important to tell me where you were going with those things? You understand you could lose your damn hands? You could explode, Sam! You could...!"
"Hey, hey, hey! I know what I'm doing. I had to hurry, you understand? I wasn't thinking of answering... "
"You weren't thinking at all!" Bucky stood furiously, his hands clenched on each side of his body.
Worst of all, Sam isn't upset, instead, he lets go of comments almost for the purpose of Bucky yelling at him even more. Sam doesn't come close, doesn't excuse himself, doesn't scream, doesn't get angry, he just stays there listening to every angry claim Bucky has to let go, Sam takes each of them, makes origami and speaks calmly. Bucky wants to hit him.
Maybe he has to. Sam even understands what could have happened to him? Understand that he could have died, and Bucky wouldn't have been able to do anything because he was far away, because he wasn't responding? No, he doesn't! Or he does and doesn't care!
"Did you finish?" sighed Sam once Bucky stopped yelling and turned his back on him.
If he saw Sam's face it was very likely that he would continue yelling, he still wanted to yell at him.
He was furious, he wanted to destroy something, and the closest thing was Sam. Yeap, it wasn't a good idea. So, Bucky doesn't say anything, doesn't even move.
He observes the disaster of t-shirts inside his backpack and vaguely wonders when he became so messy, or if it always has been and never had noticed. He breathes short, as if he wanted to pass for dead. And then let the rest of the emotions take their place.
His therapist suggested that emotions are like a puzzle that you need to spread them, separate them and start forming something. Bucky hates puzzles, but the analogy is good and, damn, it makes a lot of sense right now.
He can feel anger above all else, annoyance, vestiges of adrenaline, worrying anguish and selfishness. Yep, Bucky lets the pieces fall and take a place; however, that doesn't mean he knows where they came from. Is this at the bottom of his stomach even selfishness? Why?
"I'm sorry, Bucky, I'm really sorry," Sam interrupted, abruptly cutting with his thread of thoughts and letting the anger slip through every edge. "You're right, I wasn't thinking clearly, should've answered you right away. I am sorry".
But that's not enough.
Bucky still feels a couple of claws behind his chest, clamoring to come to the surface and keep screaming, but he doesn't want to yell at Sam anymore. In fact, now he feels a little shit for yelling at the man without giving him space to defend himself or whatever, just a little bit.
He's angry, yes. But not with Sam.
It seems like it's never with Sam.
Bucky does a kind of affirmative growl before nodding, too forced, stiff and confused. Mostly confused.
"I'm not going to do the report," he said. Still not looking at Sam back. Can hear his snort, but didn't bother to classify it, those things don't classify.
"Will you leave?" asked Sam tentatively. Bucky hasn't seen him face in the last few minutes, but he's sure Sam is sweeping the room with his eyes. He doesn't know what Sam's looking for and doesn't want to know right now.
The sigh coming out of his lips really escapes him, the claws are still very firm, he still can't look at Sam with the certainty that he won't yell again.
"I'll just go for the last of my stuff to Brooklyn," he mumbled, not really sure it's a lie at all. "It will be a couple of days".
"And then?"
He has no idea. He doesn't want to think about that, but he still let's go of the most obvious answer.
"I'll look for you in DC, or wherever there's shit, you know," he replied. And yes, this time even he can't overlook the weakness in his voice, but Sam doesn't mention it or insist, he just says "Okay" with a voice as strangled as his.
Is Sam also angry? He also feels a pair of claws pierce his chest, a monster struggling to get out? No, Sam is not that kind of man. Bucky is, and that thought gets him sick, annoyed and a little angrier, because it's never Sam and it's always Bucky.
Negotiation.
Right. Then, maybe, he likes Sam. Maybe he's not upset with him all the time, but with himself. Maybe.
If he puts it in perspective, it makes a lot of sense. Sam has done nothing but support him, guide him, help him and, fuck it up, even accept him. So, the problem with this mess maybe isn't Sam, maybe it's Bucky himself.
Fucking shit.
Bucky wouldn't have all these thoughts if he had stayed in Brooklyn if he had stopped listening to Sam and stayed away but ready to help with the shit of the world. But Bucky never does what he should, no, Bucky packed his stuff and settled in DC, because most of the big stuff passed near DC and Bucky was very tired of taking flights wherever Sam called.
And Sam did, he called his phone and asked to know the address of his new residence to know where to find him, then knocked on his door and smiled as he mockingly questioned. "You already unpacking? Did you buy a bed, or will you go back to the floor?".
Then Bucky's house became Sam and Bucky's house because the big stuff was happening in or around DC and Sam, like Bucky, was tired of plane flights.
"They're good when you go back home, not when you go to see the asshole who is making a mess" he had said naturally, as if he had done this all his life, hit the bad guys and then get to sleep on his couch.
It was there, just after Bucky suggested taking his bed or buying a new one for Sam, that all the trouble started.
The first of these was to discover that Sam is human. No, he's not being an idiot, he knew Sam was a human from the beginning, the radical thing was to notice him, to be a true witness to such an event. That is, seeing Sam get up early to make a run, see him drink coffee, take a shower, change clothes, eat, strike up a conversation, cook and absolutely everything else slapped Bucky. Sam was a fucking human, he also had trouble sleeping, he also bothered to get up early, he also had nightmares, he also had problems. He's a human!
It's idiocy, yes, maybe, but it was a complete revelation in the first few weeks they shared under the same roof.
"You want a little bit, or we have the staring trouble again?" Sam asked, between funny and curious, leaving the door open to joke or talk for real, simply being Sam.
But that's where the second problem began. It seemed that, along with Bucky's finding, Sam had decided that they would now serve as an "us" in any sense. It was no longer just about missions, "We'll be there," or conversations with others, "We do it right, Sara, we're not leaving dirty dishes before going to sleep. We slept, yeah, we rested, sometimes, but we are fine", no, the "we" had moved to their conversations, those that they had every day and in which they intervened in actions as common as looking.
We have the staring trouble? We have? What? It's more than evident that it's Bucky who is doing it, so why does he say "we have".
Bucky has a serious conflict with it, one so great that he even wondered if the grammatical laws changed in that regard in recent years and is barely finding out. But no. It's just Sam being Sam.
"I thought you were in your run," he replied, looking away at the slice of cake Sam asked about. It looks as appetizing as he's sure it'll be sweet as hell.
"Finished earlier, I went through a bakery, and they had this little one in the bar, do you want a little bit?" Sam repeated with his eyebrows raised. Bucky walked the look between Sam and the cake. "C'mon, man, it's chocolate".
And so, without warning, Sam cut a portion the slice of the plastic spoon and spread it over the table until he left the chocolate in front of Buck and his lips.
"C'mon, try it," he incited with a small, lazy and anxious smile. Why anxious?
Bucky worked instinctively: he opened his lips, let the spoon slide inside and then let its lip between his pressed lips, the glaze melted in his mouth as he felt the deliciously soft bread crush between his tongue and palate. All while he was unable to look away from Sam and his growing smile.
"You see? It's delicious. And we like it" he clamored proudly, taking a new portion and taking it to his own mouth. "If you manage to lift your ass before ten o'clock on Friday, we'll go try the vanilla cake, you like vanilla, right? We can try the one you want.
Thus exploded the second problem, Bucky was hyper aware of Sam and his powers unrelated to being Captain America, rather his powers related to being Sam.
A Sam who watched and didn't ask, who offered and didn't press, who talked and listened, who helped and came back to help again. The Sam who had accepted Bucky, who shared his time and who now made plans with him.
"Work for you? On Friday?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and bringing a second bite of cake to Bucky's lips.
Bucky took the bite with premeditated slowness as he nodded.
"Yes, that works".
Except it wasn't. Bucky. He wasn't right.
A damn slice of chocolate had put everything, absolutely everything in a terrifying prospect, in more than one reality, and none seemed to lead anywhere good.
There was one where Sam would just get tired of dealing with Bucky's silences, or all his noise and just leave because Bucky is downright too much. There was another one where Sam gave up and they lived their lives together, but without any "us" in Sam's prayers. There was more than one where Bucky ran out because Sam is a lot, it's everything and he's more than he deserves, as a roommate, as a partner and as a friend.
But there were also some more intense than those, ones where he would retest the chocolate flavor of that cake on Sam's lips, another where he would just drop his head on the man's lap while they watched a stupid show and Sam was fine with it, he would even caress his hair and maybe even his face. He had a particularly overwhelming one where Sam would end his morning run and, instead of mentioning Bucky's look on his sweaty t-shirt, he would come over to take it off and let Bucky look a little better, then he could look everywhere, touch where he wanted, listen how much he wanted and –Jesus!
Bucky couldn't let that car start because then he couldn't stop it anymore.
That's the last and biggest of his problems: he fucking like Sam. He likes him so much! He likes him so bad that he can only think of him, he can only look at him and now he just wants something more from Sam.
So yes, Bucky is perhaps considering that his sullen, clumsy, and grumpy answers are not due to Sam, but to himself, he and his need for something else, a piece that doesn't fit anywhere in the puzzle but certainly belongs to it.
Maybe it's being a pain in the ass for Sam because he doesn't know what else to do, because Bucky doesn't know how to explain to Sam all the problems that has caused him and that don't really seem to be a problem.
What seems to be more feelings. Affection and those stuff, the ones your therapist once mentioned, stuff like affection, longing, desire and that.
"You really must have liked that chocolate cake," Sam scoffed Friday morning. It's 6:13 a.m. and Bucky is awake –wearing sportswear and wallet– ready for a run and a well-deserved vanilla cake to finish.
"It was fine" he growled, because the sun hasn't even come out, it's 6:14 in the fucked-up morning and he's sure he needs more than three hours of sleep to be a functional civilian, but shit, he wants to share that vanilla cake with Sam.
"C'mon then, let's win that cake" Sam cheered with a bright smile, too bright for this hour of the morning, too much for this Bucky who doesn't know what to answer to that anticipation smile.
The run is definitely worth it when they can finally try the vanilla cake next to a tasteless coffee. It's fluffy, moist, sweet, not cloying and his own, because Sam seems to go out of his way to destroy Bucky and asks for a marbled cake which he then insists on giving him to try just like the chocolate one.
"It's both, see? Chocolate and vanilla, but they don't taste the same," Sam explained with a satisfied smile and the spoon in front of Bucky's lips. "Try it yourself. I know you don't like sweetness. You're going to love this one".
Bucky does it, tries the cake and loves it, both. The cake and Sam.
Because this is the strangest scenario he can imagine and it's really happening: Sam meets him, makes plans together, gives him to taste his cake with his spoon and stays after it, he doesn't leave and he's still smiling at him.
"Yeah, it's delicious," he acknowledged delighted, with his head floating, really lost in everything he walks to and feels that he doesn't even understand what is saying. "We definitely like it"
So, the problem is really Bucky's.
He likes Sam, more than that, fuck. He's into him. He wants him. He longs for him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Depression.
It's over. Bucky's done. As simple as that, it's over for him.
He has to leave Sam.
"You'll fall asleep soon, right?" asked Sam, with his eyes still on the ridiculous pastry program.
Bucky has been sinking into his couch part with every shot of cakes which appears on the screen, because each of those images reminds him that Sam gave him his cake in his mouth and continued to talk, as if that were something normal between them, as if it were... well, something. And that's precisely why he's sunk in the couch: because it isn't. It's nothing. It's just Sam being Sam, and Bucky wants it to be more, wants it to be everything.
He has a strange feeling of emptiness and pressure in his chest at the same time. It's for Sam, because his sights are set on the blue team's disastrous peach mix, and still manages to ask Bucky if he'll go to bed soon.
Bucky couldn't do that, actually, he can't do it right now, he couldn't look at Sam and think of an answer, he can't even watch the show because Sam is there next to him and, God, Bucky just wants to look at him until his eyes close to sleep.
"I don't know, there are interesting shows after midnight," he said gracefully, forcing himself to look away from the TV and keep it there when Sam watches his profile with his frown.
"We have nightmares again?" Sam muttered cautiously. Bucky is sure he's skipped a beat. He has, Bucky is the one who has nightmares usually, not them, not we, not together.
"No, I'm –it's okay, I just have a shit schedule," he excused himself quickly, tripping over the lyrics and denying. If he wanted to let go of Sam's look it had to sound convincing, it had to sound good. "You know, years asleep and that".
Sam still has the gall to laugh by raising his head, leaving his entire neck shiny before the bluish light of the TV. Jesus, Bucky has to walk away.
"Sure, of course" Sam mumbled. "Well, if you don't get it, you can always look for me. I like to talk in the early morning".
Yes, of course he likes it. Bucky doesn't say he'd love to, doesn't really say anything, he doesn't even respond to Sam's "goodnight". He remains as a statue until Sam is in his room and lets out all the air his lungs held back.
Now that he knows he likes Sam, that he wants to have him like this forever and be more than this, a couple of friends and roommates, doesn't mean it's no longer a problem. On the contrary, it's an even bigger problem, because now he has to pretend that everything remains the same as always.
He pretends he doesn't look at Sam's back as he cooks, that he doesn't watch his walk when they go out shopping, that he doesn't wait for the touch of his hands when they fight for the remote, that his attempts to have a shower before Sam aren't serious, that he doesn't imagine those lips everywhere, that he doesn't actually use hot water when he showers, and that those little marks on his hand are self-infringed so as not to make any noise that despises him. It's a problem. It's chaos.
It's quite a situation.
And there's no choice but to leave. Get away from Sam until this mess goes away and they can become partners again and nothing more.
"Hey, Buck. You okay?"
Sam's voice stars him in the present, in front of the TV where there's a documentary about sharks, the whole room in the dark and a Sam with nothing but pants in front of him. The clock on the coffee table indicates that it's 4 a.m. Bucky must blink to make sure he's not looking bad.
"Yeah" Bucky said in a hoarse voice, shaking his head to clear ideas or maybe not to have to look at Sam. But not seeing it's insignificant when he can still hear him.
Sam sighs and gives him a slight blow to the shoulder.
"Right, make me a place," Sam asked gently.
There's a lot of space for Sam to literally sit anywhere, less where Bucky has planted himself since the cake show started, and still decides that's the perfect place.
Bucky is about to move to the other end of the couch when Sam's hands hold his shoulders, dangerously close to his neck, above the scars that separate him from his metal arm. Sam's grip is soft but firm and is barely a little strong to push Bucky's head over his lap. Bucky is as stiff as a marble statue.
"When I was little and my parents didn't come home early to take me to bed, Sara used to leave me like that, with her head on her legs as she talked to me about something to distract me" he said quietly, lightly, peacefully, meant to reassure. But Bucky can't calm down because Sam's hands distractedly run through his arm and superficially brush his hair, it's just there, in his arm and his hair, but he feels it all over the damn body. "When I was nine, asked her to tell me a story so I could sleep. Remember I had a very important class and had to sleep early to get there on time, so I asked her for a story. And Sarah told me about Boats and Vikings, then it became a habit, she always told me stories, even if there was no class.
Bucky has to swallow the knot that forms in his throat, this feels very personal, like a secret, and Bucky isn't sure he wants to know anything more about it. Not because he's going to tell it, quite the contrary, because he's going to keep it until he dies and it's not fair, he wants to answer Sam and he can't. Sam doesn't deserve something like that, Bucky can't do something like that to him.
Then, his answer is to relax. Let his muscles release tension one by one while Sam's hands are in his hair and make strange patterns.
"You want me to tell you a bedtime story?" offered Sam, with his gentle, soft, cautious gaze over Bucky's eyes.
And Bucky knows he's wrong, that he can't do this to himself but that it'd be worse to do something wrong to Sam, so he nods and settles into Sam's thigh as he repeats 'it's Sam being Sam' as a mantra not to let go something stupid.
Bucky wants to get away from Sam because this can't end well.
He knows that one way or another he will end up saying the word with l and that will lead him to lose Sam, it will lead him to lose the only thing he has in the whole world.
And Bucky, besides being a friend to Sam, is a co-worker, his partner, and Sam counts on him to go on the next mission, what if he tells he likes him, and Sam can't handle it? Will he go alone to the next mission? Could he even look at Bucky?
Being a bit selfish, Bucky allows himself to think about what would happen, would Sam be kind enough to reject him? He should, shouldn't he? Sam being Sam, kind and funny even for a rejection. Would he get angry? Would he be able to look at Bucky again? Could he address him again? Would he give him a speech about feelings and the value of the friendship? Would he leave the apartment? Would he yell at him? Would he go crazy? Could he...?
"Talk to me, Bucky," Sam interrupted again, sinking his fingers with greater fervor into the older man's hair. "What do we think that won't let us sleep on, uh?"
And it's that, that tone of worry and true curiosity is what causes a hole in his stomach. Bucky wants this, wants to be able to tell him everything that goes through his head and then be able to just kiss him, assure him that he's okay and that if he hugs him properly maybe he could sleep. He loves him and wants him so much that it hurts to breathe knowing that he can never have him.
This, Sam's genuine friendly concern, is the only thing he will ever have. And as much as it hurts, he'll have to learn to live with it, he'll have to do enough.
"Boats and Vikings sound good," he replied in a strangled voice, perhaps because he wouldn't speak for a long time or because he's strangling a couple of words before they can leave his mouth.
Sam sighs and nods, but doesn't speak for some minutes, he just looks, as if looking at him could get to understand the mess in his head. That which doesn't let them sleep.
"Okay, I'll tell you about the Red Vikings. They were called that because their clothes were always stained with the blood of the people they killed in every city they came to," he said. He talked and talked until Bucky closed his eyes and his breathing became calm and slow.
All he felt was Sam, and at the same time, Sam was all he lacked.
This wasn't going to end well –by any means, but if Bucky could choose, he would choose Sam. He deserved a good ending and Bucky definitely wasn't. Bucky was this: sleepless nights, nightmares, silences, emptiness, sullen answers, confusion and puzzles. Sam shouldn't have to deal with that.
And Sam wouldn't, Bucky would make sure of it.
He could handle it, could live with it.
He would make this enough. And that's it.
Acceptance.
Bucky is going crazy, that is, more than he already was.
He often gets lost, confuses certain things and revives many others either awake or asleep, that makes him a crazy person, but Bucky knows it wasn't his fault; they've juggled his brain for decades, he doesn't really expect to be well –he doesn't even live at this point. But here he is, with distorted memories and now fucking hallucinations.
Because he has to be hallucinating. There's no other explanation.
"Oh, you're awake," Sam observed, smiling, sweaty, and with his hands occupied.
Of course he's awake, Sam woke him up, he's sure it wasn't on purpose, but he did anyway. He stumbled upon some clothes that Bucky left strategically near the laundry room, right in the middle of the hallway, so as not to forget that they had clothes to wash; Bucky had heard Sam's missteps and palms against the wall in his attempt not to crash to the floor.
Anyway, and in his defense, what was his need to go for a run when it was still dark outside? This wouldn't have happened if Sam was a bit lazy.
However, the stumble wasn't what left Bucky awake until now, no, it was Sam's voice, first hissing and mumbling curses, "What the hell...? Where the fuck...? ", then heard the damper, followed by a funny sigh and more words: "Ah, sweetheart, you're a mess".
Bucky must have been asleep. He must have been dreaming, he must have been thinking about the last movie he saw, he must have misunderstood, he must have imagined it! Sam in no way could have told him, Bucky, that nickname. Sweetheart. What the hell.
Bucky has been very awake ever since, in a complicated debate and concern about his mental stability, even his hearing ability. Does that serum work even after so many years? He is beginning to seriously doubt it. Because it must be failing, right?
"It's fine. I brought us some mosaic cake, the one we liked, remember?" Sam waved the paper bag with a smile and headed to the kitchen. "I'll take a shower before eat anything, this is too uncomfortable to leave," he continued to talk on his walk, Bucky listened perfectly, could even count his steps from the kitchen to the rooms and the shower. Bucky listened perfectly! There didn't seem to be any problem there, just that he was hallucinating. "It's okay if you get ahead of eating, I have no problem, unless you want to join the shower".
He's really going crazy. Very crazy.
"I'll make coffee" he replied in some way. His voice had been strangled, but in a very high volume, as if in a hurry to get the words out of his mouth.
Sam's intention wasn't an invitation, he was referring to having a problem with the shower, obviously. Damn, he wasn't really offering to share a shower with him.
The point is that hallucinations don't stop there. They go on and on, falling like drops of water into a glass that is about to overflow.
There are these situations where Sam just misses the nicknames, they must be running away, like when Sarah says "grumpy", "beautiful" and "miss", or the boys say "beasts", "little monsters" and "babies". He doesn't call Bucky the same way, he doesn't say "man", "gentleman" or "annoyance", no. He says "sweetheart", "babe", "handsome" and "pretty boy" and there's no mockery or insecurity in his voice when he does.
But Bucky is sure it's a mistake, it's just Sam being Sam. As Bucky is now part of his daily life and nicknames are clearly a part of Sam's life, well... it was inevitable, wasn't it?
Also, this happens particularly when Bucky isn't supposed to be listening or when Sam is entertained enough to barely notice Bucky.
It's just a habit, isn't it?
"So?" asked Sam, dragging him into reality with a funny smile. "Will you come with me to Louisiana, handsome?"
If he just stopped looking at him like that, as the whole world promised, and stopped talking to him that way, with those nicknames that confuse him more than the buttons on the washing machine, if he just let him breathe for five minutes, maybe Bucky would have better answers for him.
"Sure" he whispers, rushing to fill his mouth with cereal.
Sam smiled at him for another couple of seconds before looking back at his phone.
"Seems somewhat disturbing, don't you think so? That everything is so quiet, I get the feeling that a bomb is going to explode at any moment" he commented with grace, a grace that oscillated between joke and truth.
"All the time it's disturbing, everything seems suspicious," Bucky said with a snuff.
Sam let out a lazy laugh and nodded.
"Well, I'm counting on you so that nothing explodes," he declared easily. As if he was just giving the damn hour!
What the fuck?
Bucky knew that, that he would follow and cover Sam so that nothing would go to shit, they both knew it, it was implied from the first second that Bucky followed Sam. But to say it, God! Saying it out loud was quite a statement Bucky didn't know he didn't want to hear.
Not because it was something bad or a lie, on the contrary, it is so real and true that it is overwhelming.
Bucky would really follow Sam wherever he goes.
"Of course, Sam". Because Captain or not, he's always going to follow Sam.
"Fine."
"Fine."
It occurs to him that he is completely losing his mind when he surrenders to the nicknames and he himself begins to answer them. At first, he did it to bother.
"I'll just go for what's missing for breakfast, okay?" Sm repeated. "Don't spoil the pancake mix or burn anything at all, you get it, hon?'
"Get it from the first time, honey," he imitated in a mocking tone.
Sam anyway smiled and winked at him before leaving. Bucky didn't mess up or anything, he was too busy rambling on that smile and that wink to move out of place.
Then repeated the nicknames Sam gave him to joke with each other.
In any scenario, of course, they were jokes after all.
"I'm an idiot now?" Bucky snorted to the headset. "What about this morning's "babe, uh? It was adorable and reached my heart, baby"
"Yeah? You weren't being an idiot this morning, honey, that's what happened" Sam replied, his voice distant and distorted by the wind around him.
"Sorry, hon, we don't all fly and kick asses at the same time. My sincere apologies."
And then Bucky thinks he got used to hearing them and saying them so much that he just used them to talk to Sam all the time. "Did you buy coffee, dollface?", "It's your turn to wash the clothes, handsome", "Baby, I know what I do", "By no means are your plans better than mine, sweetheart", "Oh, dear, that's not going to happen in any way".
If he hasn't lost his mind by then, he thinks he's very close.
Seriously! Bucky can't be hallucinating all this.
Or can he?
He doesn't have so much imagination and energy as to invent the looks Sam throws at him on the other side of the table, those that Bucky discovers when he gets tired of observing his cereal intentionally to avoid Sam; he can't imagine those touches that Sam gives him that stay longer than necessary, that feel eternal and ephemeral at the same time; he can't be inventing the tones of voice that Sam uses to talk to him at night, even when there are no nicknames involved.
He can't be imagining all that time together, all those words spoken and especially the unspoken ones. It's simply impossible for it's all a Bucky invention.
"Being some kind of robot, I'm sure if you keep thinking you're going to explode, Buck." Sam whispered, with his eyes on Bucky's eyes. "Is the episode very bad or is something else that doesn't let us pay attention?"
Bucky snorted a laugh and denied.
"It's okay, just missed the last episode, that's it," he lied. Sam slowly nodded before smiling and moving to sit on his side, always looking for Bucky's gaze.
"I'll pretend I believe you until the episode ends, babe, but then I'll bother you until you talk or learn to lie better," Sam warned with a wink. Bucky snorted and shrugged, pretending that Sam's leg so close to his wasn't burning him at all.
The conflict is as big as at the beginning, Bucky is afraid and just that. Fear, that's it.
He's afraid he's right and not imagining this, that Sam is somehow closer than before and does it on purpose, fully conscious. He's also afraid of not being right and losing his mind, of being so close to Sam that now everything seems to have an intention that it clearly doesn't have.
And if he's right and Sam knows what he's doing, Bucky is terrified of spoiling this, of losing it, of losing Sam forever. And if he's not right and Sam ignores how he feels, Bucky is horrified to just imagine that he explodes and spits out everything he feels, and again everything is ruined and lost to Sam forever.
Yes, it's fear and that's it.
"Sweetheart, talk to me,'' Sam asked, with his voice so low that he might have been lost with the voices on the tv if Bucky wasn't a super soldier. Bucky will have to watch the entire season from the beginning if he wants to continue with this show.
"I'm fine" he continued to lie, because it was the only option left, because telling the truth would cost him everything.
"No, you're not," Sam insisted, sketching a new smile on his lips, a smaller and not brighter than he usually shows, on the contrary, this one look sad. "You know I wouldn't pressure you to know, really not, but... I'm worried about you."
And when Sam reaches out his hand to touch his face and clean it up, Bucky understands why he's worried about. He hadn't even noticed he was crying, he hadn't even been aware of the knot in his throat or the shaking of his right hand.
"Just tell me what happens so I can fix it, baby, I promise you it has a solution."
Except that it will not have.
Bucky contemplates his options as fast as he can, he really does. He doesn't want to worry Sam, doesn't want to lose him, doesn't want to lie anymore and doesn't want to spoil anything either. All he can do is try to buy time to escape the interrogation, or maybe he can ask. He will pretend that it's just curiosity and he's not looking for something else.
"Why do you call me 'sweetheart'? Where did you get it from?" he asked gently, as calmly, relaxed and seemingly amused as possible.
Sam looks confused by the question, but still changes the smile on his face to a more genuine, brighter one.
"I was playing with you, I guess," Sam answered, shrugging his shoulders and staring through each of Bucky's eyes.
He really hopes that his disappointment will not be reflected so much in his gaze, or this will be a disaster very soon. Either way it'll be a disaster, it'll be because now that Sam has responded, Bucky won't stop asking, looking for something else.
"Playing with me?" he repeated, trying to swallow the knot of his throat and failing miserably.
"Yeah, I…" Sam shrugged his shoulders again and looked away. "I dunno, Buck, the first time it just escaped me and you... you never said anything, so I assumed it didn't bother you and I just continued. Is that what has bothered you like this? It bothers you?"
God, no!
"No. It's not that" he immediately denied.
"Then, what is it?"
Sam was expecting an answer with very open eyes, completely attentive to whatever Bucky was going to say. Ready to repair the damage, even if he wasn't to blame.
Bucky was so bad.
"Why did it escape you?" he rambled again. "The nickname, why did you escape to tell me sweetheart the first time?
They both have their eyes wide open, both waiting for answers, Bucky can almost imagine them running in circles, one after the other, running as fast as possible to catch each other's answers. He forgets that Sam can fly and he's braver, more valuable than himself.
Sam's lips waver into a smile before sighing, it sounds like a defeated sigh, as if he were giving up.
"All right, I'll say, but…" he raised a finger in front of Bucky, there was no longer any smile or funny in his gaze, no, he had that serious look, the same one he used to talk to reporters and politicians, "you have to know that if there's any problem, whatever it is, Bucky, I will leave, okay? This is your home and if..."
"Sam." Bucky interrupted abruptly. He's not quite sure when the roles were reversed, but Bucky doesn't like to hear Sam ramble, much less when he hints that he'll be leaving, that he's going to leave him after talking. No, Bucky can't allow that in any way. "Don't do it. If you're going to leave once you say... just, don't. Don't say it."
The thing about Sam is that he doesn't listen to what he doesn't want to hear. So, he keeps his finger between them and denies.
"No, I... I want to tell you." He assured. "I just needed you to know that everything is fine if I leave here."
"Sam." Bucky growled as a warning.
Bucky understands he will not be able to stop Sam, his last hope is to delay the moment, avoid it. But Sam is Sam.
"I told you sweetheart because that's how it feels," he let go quietly, his eyes set on Bucky and every expression his face reflects, Bucky bets he's broken down in confusion. "All... all this feels like that," Sam made a gesture with his hands, trying to cover them and the room. "It's so domestic, so quiet, so good and so... our –and God. It really escaped me, Buck. I just... I couldn't stop thinking about you here, sitting next to me and how easy it'd be to just reach out to take your hand and tell you like that, to be able to tell you how good you look even in your pants while I tell you sweetheart. That –that's why it escaped me, I guess. I just couldn't help it.
He took a deep breath, as if he was holding back a sigh before continuing to speak: "And You didn't seem upset so –I continued... I guess I got lost at some point along the way because you started responding and I thought we were fine like that, maybe it wouldn't be that hard just, y'know, to tell you how I felt. But it didn't feel right, you would show up around here with your head down and you didn't look at me, I thought maybe I had overstepped my mind by calling you those ways –because you didn't really know what it means to me. And it's not fair for you to do this to yourself, let go of all this information and hope that everything stays the same. Actually, I don't know what to expect, but I thought... I wanted you to... I want you to know."
That's all. Bucky finally catches up with Sam in his race for answers and is now out of breath. What? Definitely he listened well. Bucky hasn't been hallucinating anything, Sam actually sees him, he really talks to him in that loving way, he really thinks about him as much as Bucky. He's not going crazy, not for the reasons he thought, because he's definitely going crazy for Sam.
"You have to answer, remember? That's how it works." Sam spoke again, his voice didn't sound as firm as Bucky is used to hearing. He can hear and feel a nervous note disguised as fun. "Tell me what bothers you, Buck, tell me if I can fix it."
Somehow, listening to Sam doesn't alleviate the concerns inside. Bucky still doesn't want to ruin this, he doesn't want to lose Sam, he doesn't want to risk saying something stupid like 'I can't stop thinking about you for a few weeks' and spoil whatever they do afterwards with another stupidity. Because that's what Bucky does, he messes up whatever he has.
And even if he didn't, Bucky isn't sure he wants to do this. He himself is spoiled, and Sam doesn't deserve something like that. He doesn't deserve Bucky, he deserves something else.
Bucky forgets that time is still running even when he remains submerged in his thoughts, the only thing that manages to bring him back is Sam, it has always been Sam, who is removed in the couch and this time he does it to put distance between them. His legs no longer rub, and Bucky wants to scream to not pull away, but he can't do it.
"You want me to leave you alone?"
There it is. A trap.
Sam doesn't mean a bad night where Bucky just can't and doesn't want to see anyone and Sam understands it, no, this question is all-encompassing. 'Do you want me to leave?' That's what it means.
And Bucky knows what he wants to answer, but his throat is dry, and he can only ask 'Why?'
Finally, he decides, the only one he can think about.
"No." I don't want you to leave, I don't want you to leave me. "I'm just thinking," he muttered awkwardly. Sam blinked and frowned on his lips in a smile, Bucky might as well stop breathing if Sam didn't stop staring at him that way. Looking.
"It doesn't have to be any different, y'know?" Sam spoke with his usual relaxed voice and that easy smile on his lips, but Bucky hasn't been looking at him in vain, that smile is fake, it doesn't even reach his eyes, it's not even that soft. "I'll stay close and if you manage to wake up early, we'll go for a slice of cake, what do you say, uh? Don't have to run with me, we can find ourselves there, y'know, I won't be far away, the route won't change much for...
"I don't want you to leave here," he quickly cut as soon as he understood what he meant by staying close and not being far away. Sam was leaving, he wouldn't live with him. "You... you want to leave?"
Sam frowned and let out another of his defeated sighs.
"I don't want to make it weird for you, Bucky," he replied in return, looking away from the TV. The series no longer made sense and Bucky couldn't even remember the name of the show anymore, the truth is he couldn't be less interested at this point. "I think I should leave and evolve your space."
Except this isn't Bucky's space, this is Sam and Bucky's space, it was from the beginning, even before he knew it was some kind of beginning.
He knows, long before he opens his mouth, that this is a disaster, but he doesn't want to ruin it, doesn't want to misunderstand him, doesn't want to lose him.
"Why are you telling me all this?" he questioned more abruptly than he planned.
Sam looks into Bucky's eyes, one by one before going through the rest of his face and smiling.
"Because you need to know, I wanted you to know. I thought you could feel the same for me," he admitted, keeping the smile on his lips, but sounding absolutely despondent, and that's something Bucky promised not to allow above all else.
He wouldn't make Sam suffer ever, and if the only way to avoid him was to risk everything... so be it, but Bucky isn't willing to hear that broken voice anymore.
"I do" he promised. Sam's smile was transformed into a straight line that matched his frown, Bucky shouldn't see it's as attractive lines, seriously not. "But this –it's just this... God, Sam, I'm totally scared."
"Scared?"
"Terrified," he nodded. "You are not?"
Bucky stopped his gaze in Sam's eyes, looked for something, the slightest flash of fear or anything that would give him a hint that he wasn't being paranoid, because he wasn't, his hand was shaking terribly and he's sure his heart is going to leak down his throat at any moment.
"Don't you realize it?" Bucky continued to receive no answer than an expectant look from the other. "Sam, you're the only thing I have, I can't lose you, I can't stay and ruin you –I can't do that to you, you understand? What if something goes wrong, uh? How about you don't want to see me anymore? You wouldn't have a co-worker, you'd go on missions alone and you could die. Sam, I can't do that to you, I can't stay and mess you up when you...
"Hey, hey, hey, breathe, Buck, calm down."
Sam gets rid of the distance between them again, getting so close that Bucky can feel the warmth of his legs, chest and arms without a single touch; Sam is just there, with his hands in front of Bucky, his hands and that intense look on him.
Bucky is dying, it's all he knows: he's dying because Sam is so close but also because he's so far from where he wants him.
"Breathe, baby" Sam asked again, dropping his hands on the shoulders of the soldier to begin with a journey to his neck and the base of his jaw. Bucky obeys and breathes tremblingly. Sam nods and doesn't stop looking at him, he should stop looking at him if he wants Bucky to breathe normally.
However, he may well have stayed that way for the rest of his life, with Sam's closeness, touch and attention on top of him, of course, Bucky could die there, and he'd be fine with it, except, perhaps, for the part where he's dying to try those lips that smile at him slightly. Would he have noticed it if they weren't so close? Yes, Bucky definitely would have.
As much as Bucky is happy to die there, it's not the time, and Sam seems to be the only one aware of the whole situation, Bucky obviously can only think about how close Sam is and how easy it'd be to stretch his neck a little more and just catch his lips in an amazing kiss.
"Tell me, Buck, is that why you didn't say anything?" Bucky doesn't know if Sam's referring to his zero talk tonight or the abrupt confession of feelings, but at this point it doesn't seem to matter too much anymore. "Is it because you're afraid of ruining it?"
"Yeah" he answered immediately, it seems that once the key to honesty is opened it is impossible to stop the stream of truths. "But also, for everything else. Didn't you listen? Don't you see me? I can't be... I'm not good for you, Sam" he stated flatly. Sam raised both eyebrows with feigned surprise before pursing his lips in a thoughtful grimace.
"You keep a secret from me?" Sam asked for a short, raising his hands until his thumbs could touch his cheekbones and the rest of his fingers reached the hair behind his ear. Sam didn't wait for an answer to keep talking. "Even when we recovered the shield I didn't know if I was going to take it. You know what made me change my mind?" Bucky managed to deny before Sam got even closer, until his lips grazed Bucky's ear and he could hear the whisper perfectly revealing "You." As if it were the most important secret of the world, as if it were everything. "I didn't know if I could do it, be a Captain America, but then you showed up, with all that faith, honesty and a damn suit, Bucky," he laughed. "Actually, you just showed up with a Captain America suit for me assuming I would take it. You trusted me to be more so than anyone else, Buck, in what world aren't you good for me if you brought me right here, huh?
And when Sam's thumbs move over his cheekbones leaving a wet trail with them, he knows it's too late. He has lost it. But perhaps he has also won it.
"I know you're not going to believe me if I tell you, baby, but you deserve to be happy". Sam said. "And if you're not going to listen to me then let me show you, sweetheart."
Sam moved far enough away from Bucky to show him all a range of emotions in his brown eyes, every one of them displayed without any shame or fear, all there, exposed with the fullest sincerity only to Bucky.
"Give us a chance. Yeah?"
Bucky realizes that this time there's no need for any correction, this time he's fine with the 'us'. this time it's an opportunity for both. This time it's a 'we'.
"I'm not getting up to run to get on the cake at the end," he warned as slowly nodded, refusing to lose Sam's touch on his face.
Sam watched each of his eyes as a smile formed on his lips, the brightest of the smiles Bucky ever saw on his face.
"Okay, yeah, we don't have to do it," Sam agreed, letting out suspiciously relieved giggles.
Bucky allowed himself to close his eyes for a couple of seconds and feel.
Emotions fell like puzzle pieces, just as messy, but clearer than before, and most importantly, Sam was there. Sam isn't an emotion, but he's the main cause of all of them, and Bucky was fine with that, hates puzzles, but he has Sam inches away, so it doesn't matter so much. It doesn't matter at all, he just wants to feel him.
"Sam?" he murmured, sure that if he raises his voice some octave could awaken from this dream.
"Bucky?" he replied, imitating the volume of his voice as quickly as Bucky imitates his silly smile.
"Kiss me." Because if Sam doesn't, he'll start to believe he's really dreaming, because a part of him is sure that it's one of those dreams where everything goes well, because if it's a dream he wants to at least enjoy it.
It could've been a petition, a whining, a plea or an order, however, Sam does it. He takes the distance between them and does it nothing.
He finds Bucky's lips, and everything is very childish, just a touch, a pressure and that's enough for the butterflies to explode all over the body. Then they're both aware of their hands and all the time they've waited for this, that's the last thing they think about before any coherent idea is drained. The hands find their own way, as if they were magnets destined for the body of the other, the lips open and make a swing of tongues; they take, deliver, snatch and offer until the body burns, and the hands have reached under the shirts, and they look for more.
Then they break, from the inside to the outside, and depart only as necessary to breathe, they still share the same breath, the same smile and the same bright eyes.
"We're gonna do it good," Sam offered, looking at Bucky's face as if he hadn't done it before, as if it were the first time he does, and there's something suspiciously like longing on the edges that Bucky might have noticed if he wasn't having a couple of havoc on his head.
"Yeah, sweetheart, so good."
And he doesn't say it that easy because he's more focused on getting back to Sam's lips than in their conversation, he says it that easy because Sam has said it and Sam doesn't lie, he stays by his side even after the shit, he includes it in his plans, and they are a team for more than just the battlefield. Bucky says it that easy because he believes Sam and because he has to kiss him as soon as possible or he will lose his mind.
The lips meet again, there's a lot to talk about, a whole season to repeat and endless steps to follow, yes, but for now they let the pieces group together and turn and turn until they can make some sense.
Bucky isn't very interested, not when he has Sam and he wants him back, not with his lips on his and every time more and more down, not with his hands everywhere and certainly not with this heady happiness all over his body.
They will do well.