The sun continued to rise and set, but that was the only remotely normal pattern for the next two days. Hermione practically lived in the library. No one knew what she was researching; Steve wasn't sure she knew. Ron alternated between nagging Hermione into eating and joining Bucky and Steve in the gym.
Ron didn't use the equipment, but the training dummies took a beating. Steve and Bucky got a firsthand demonstration of the damage magic could do to a human body. After the sun went down, and they'd pushed dinner around their plates, Ron would return to the library and press Hermione into going home.
Steve guessed half of Bucky's blood supply consisted of coffee. He doubted his own fared much better. Neither slept well. Without each other to cling to, Steve didn't think they would have managed the little they did.
The third night, Bucky was too restless to even attempt to sleep. Steve bundled them both up and they walked down to the loch. They sat in silence on the dock for the better part of an hour. The moon rose high in the sky hidden behind clouds and midnight approached when they started back towards the house.
Steve caught movement in the corner of his eye and turned his head towards the lane to see someone stumble unsteadily up the path. It only took Steve a second to recognize Harry. He immediately turned and headed for him, Bucky right beside him. When Harry bent over and heaved, Steve broke into a run.
When Steve reached him, Harry was straightening up and wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. The moon broke through the clouds and Steve got a clear look at him. His hair hung lank, tangled with what Steve couldn't guess. He still wore the same clothes, but they were singed and filthy. The bloodstains were a bigger concern.
"What the fuck did you do, Harry?" Bucky asked in a growl as they reached Harry.
Harry's head came up slowly, and it seemed to take him a minute to focus. "I blew them all straight to hell," Harry said, his voice hollow.
Steve didn't like the dazed, shuttered look in Harry's eyes. It reminded him of looking into a chasm, dark and lifeless.
"Who?" Bucky asked, voice softer. With a gentleness Steve rarely saw, Bucky slipped an arm around Harry's waist and began leading him towards the house.
"The others," Harry said with a wave of his hand.
He stumbled, and only Bucky's hold kept him on his feet. Steve rushed to Harry's other side and slid his arm around Harry's waist, his arm resting against Bucky's.
"What others?" Bucky prodded gently.
Harry stopped dead, nearly overbalancing himself before he turned to Bucky. "There's no more Winter Soldiers. I killed them all, couldn't take a chance they'd survive the explosion. There's nothing left of that facility. Nothing, I even banished the ashes."
Harry slipped out of their arms and turned away from them, gagging, trying to throw up again. With a blank face, Bucky stared at Harry a moment before sighing and pulling Harry back upright.
"There's nothing left in your stomach, Harry. You'll only hurt yourself trying to puke now." Bucky's voice sounded odd, warm but annoyed. He wrapped his arm around Harry again and kept steering Harry towards the house.
"That wasn't your job to do," Bucky said, a hint of anger entering his tone.
"I saw what they did to you," Harry whispered. He seemed to lean into Bucky for a moment before jerking back upright. "They were monsters."
The words reminded Steve of what Harry had said in the bathroom at Grimmauld Place, the first time he ventured into Bucky's mind. At the time, he'd thought Harry meant the people in charge but maybe not, or at least not exclusively. Bucky told him about the other soldiers and why Hydra stored them away. It seemed Bucky could stop trying to remember the base's location.
"Yeah, I know," Bucky said dryly. "That was my job, you stubborn, selfish prick. I had to train them; I should have ended them."
Harry nearly tripped over his feet when he turned to look at Bucky. "You're angry?"
Again, Steve added his support to Bucky's. He couldn't smell anything resembling alcohol, but Harry acted intoxicated.
"Pretty much," Bucky said, his voice little more than a growl. "That was a three-man job, minimum. What if there'd been booby-traps? Or troops?"
Looking completely confused, Harry shook his head and muttered, "They won't hurt you again."
"Not fair, Green-Eyes," Bucky said with a sigh.
"Is any of the blood yours?" Steve asked after a long moment.
"Blood?" Harry looked down at his shirt and the heavy bloodstains before looking at Steve with horror in his eyes. "No, I stabbed them in the heart. Why is there blood?"
Steve couldn't speak past the sudden lump in his throat; whatever the Unspeakables had made Harry do hadn't included that type of close combat. Steve would guess Harry's only experience with death was by magic. Steve was grateful when Bucky spoke, drawing Harry's attention.
"Chest wounds can bleed out into the chest cavity," Bucky said in a soft voice. "But only if the blade stays in place until the heart stops beating."
"Fucking hell," Harry whispered.
He tried to pull away again, gagging, but Bucky tightened his grip and kept them moving. Steve and Bucky shared a pained look over Harry's head.
"I thought it was instant." Harry was almost crying.
"They felt nothing," Bucky said in a soothing tone, hugging Harry to him. "They were asleep."
When they pulled open the front door, Kreacher appeared in the hall. "Master Harry!" the elf gasped as he roughly tugged one long ear.
Not letting go of Harry, Steve spoke to the elf. "Let Ron and Hermione know he's home. Tell them we'll take care of him tonight, please."
Kreacher nodded and watched forlornly as they headed for the stairs.
They were halfway up the stairs when Harry caught a glimpse of himself in the full indoor lights. He gagged again and almost sent them all tumbling down the stairs as he clawed at his clothes.
Bucky shook him lightly. "Knock it off. We'll get you cleaned up in a minute."
Harry subsided, but Steve and Bucky had to all but carry him up the remaining stairs. Instead of turning into Harry's room, Bucky steered them into the suite. Steve wasn't sure why, but he wanted them in his room. Bucky didn't protest; he kept going until they were all in the bathroom.
Bucky let Harry go and knelt down. After tugging the boots and socks off Harry's feet, Bucky stood and started on Harry's shirt, gently pulling it up and over Harry's head. Harry was silent but compliant. Part of Steve was telling him to look away, but he couldn't.
"Turn the water on, Stevie," Bucky said. "Just this side of scalding." He gave Steve a tired, twisted smile. "Cold water won't wash the blood away."
Steve turned and started the shower. Cold water would wash blood away, Steve knew from experience. But Bucky wasn't speaking literally; hot water made you feel cleaner. With any hope, it would help wash out the stain of the memories in Harry's head. He wasn't quite ready to think about what Harry had done.
When he turned around, Bucky was easing the jeans and underwear down Harry's hips. When Harry was nude, Bucky started on his own clothes.
He looked at Steve and raised an eyebrow. "I can't do this alone," Bucky said, voice soft and weary.
Again, Steve understood Bucky's unspoken message. With a sigh, Steve toed his shoes off. He breathed easier when he saw Bucky leaving his boxer briefs on, because it meant Steve could, too. By the time Steve finished stripping down, Bucky was guiding Harry into the steaming shower.
Harry whimpered a moment at the heat, but made no effort to pull away from either Bucky or the water. When Steve stepped in behind them, he was glad the showers here were enormous. None of them were small. Harry might have been smaller than either Steve or Bucky, but not by much.
"Lean on Stevie here, Harry," Bucky said gently, maneuvering Harry until his chest rested against Steve's.
With no thought on his part, Steve wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, keeping him upright. Bucky used the detachable head to wet Harry's hair before grabbing the shampoo. Steve's hand automatically went to the base of Harry's neck and tilted his head back.
Bucky quickly but thoroughly washed and rinsed the long, dark hair. Steve felt the tension in Harry's body, but he didn't fight them. Bucky repeated the process with the conditioner, but instead of rinsing, Bucky began carefully smoothing the snarled mess.
When Harry felt Bucky gently removing the tangles from his hair, his head dropped forward onto Steve's chest and he wept. Steve met Bucky's eyes over Harry's head and the tears in Bucky's eyes didn't surprise him, his eyes were stinging as well.
Harry's tears were silent, but Steve could feel the slight shudders. He stroked Harry's back, careful to keep his hands above the waist, hoping to show Harry he wasn't alone. Harry's arms crept around Steve's waist, tentative enough to make Steve's heart ache. He tightened his arms around Harry and tucked Harry's head under his chin. After a moment, Harry's grip firmed.
It relieved Steve to know he wasn't alone; he knew he struggled with offering comfort and he was grateful for Bucky's help. Grateful to know Bucky cared about Harry, too.
And while it hurt him to see Harry in pain, it relieved Steve to know Harry didn't find taking a life easy. Steve had already begun working on a plan for something similar. No hope of rehabilitation for those men existed. They were brutal, sadistic killers before the serum, and it was kinder to kill them than to leave them in stasis forever. There would always be the worry they would wake, and Steve didn't want to imagine the devastation they'd cause.
Bucky rinsed Harry's hair before lathering up a cloth and tenderly washing his back. When Bucky finished the back of Harry's body, he handed Steve the cloth and pulled Harry against his own chest. Harry went easily, leaning into Bucky's hold. Bucky wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and, after a brief hesitation, Harry rested his arms over Bucky's.
Steve lathered up the cloth again, and starting at Harry's shoulders, carefully washed him. Bucky laced his fingers with Harry's and used the hold to give Steve the room he needed. Steve was so focused on cleaning and soothing Harry, he barely noticed when he washed Harry's genitals. When Steve finished, Bucky turned Harry into the spray, rinsed him, and turned off the water.
Bucky guided Harry out of the shower and grabbed two towels, tossing one to Steve. "Get his hair," he said. Steve didn't want to undo all Bucky's work, so he carefully dried Harry's long hair while Bucky dried the rest of Harry.
"That elf of yours is something else, Harry," Bucky said with a smile.
Steve looked around and realized all their dirty clothes had vanished. Three sets of sleep pants and underwear sat, neatly folded, on the counter, and two of the sets had toothbrushes on top. Bucky leaned Harry against the counter and put him to work, brushing his teeth.
Steve and Bucky dried themselves, changed into dry clothes, and brushed their teeth. This time, Steve knelt and helped Harry dress. Harry remained silent and docile, following Steve's direction, eyes downcast.
When they were clean and dry, Bucky steered Harry to the bed. A glass of milk waited on the bedside table; Bucky handed it to Harry and Steve sent a silent, grateful thanks for Kreacher's silent support.
"You need something on your stomach," Bucky said as he guided Harry to sit on the bed and drink the milk. He turned to Steve. "Where's your comb?"
He ducked back into the bathroom and grabbed the comb. As he handed the comb to Bucky, the other man looked pointedly at the space next to Harry. Steve sat and, though he felt unsure, he remembered the comfort Harry had given him in the tent by simply holding his hand. He slipped his hand into Harry's, lacing their fingers together, Harry returned the hold with no sign of his earlier tentativeness.
After a moment, Bucky knelt behind Harry and, with slow, gentle strokes, combed out his hair. Harry leaned into Steve and sipped the milk, his eyes never leaving the floor. When Harry finished the milk and banished the glass, Bucky tossed the comb on the table and climbed off the bed. Bucky began pulling the blankets down and Steve pulled Harry to his feet.
For the first time, Harry protested, backing away. "I can't." Harry nearly whimpered with dismay. "I don't want to see them again."
Without hesitation, Steve stepped forward and pulled Harry into his arms. A moment later, Bucky was behind Harry. There wasn't room for him to wrap his arms around Harry, so he leaned in and rested his hands on Harry's hips.
Bucky didn't offer him any false hope. "You don't look like you've slept since you left," Bucky said, voice gentle but unyielding. "If you wait until you collapse, the dreams will be worse. Here with us, you won't be alone when the dreams come."
Harry's body was so tense it hurt Steve. He pulled Harry in closer and rested his head on Harry's. "Come lay down with us, Harry," Steve said in a soft, coaxing voice. "I want to hold you tonight. Bucky wants to hold you."
"Damn right, I want to hold you," Bucky said lowly. "Steve makes a good pillow, and he knows the best stories."
Harry didn't speak, but Steve took the shaky sigh and the sagging body as an answer. Bucky felt it too and quickly organized them. Steve laying on his back with Harry tucked up against him, Harry's head resting on his chest and Bucky draped over Harry's back. Bucky had his free arm underneath his pillow and he startled Steve when his hand slid around the back of Steve's neck to rest on his shoulder, but only for a moment until he realized how right it felt to have both Bucky and Harry with him.
By the time they'd settled, tension creeped back into Harry's body and Bucky ran his metal hand soothingly along Harry's side. "Tell us a story, Stevie," Bucky ordered.
Steve laid his hand over the one Harry had resting on his chest and quietly began. "Many years ago in Ireland, there lived a King of the Sea named Lir, who had four beautiful children." (1)
Halfway through the story, the tension left Harry's body and his breathing evened out in sleep. By the time Steve finished, Bucky was asleep as well. Despite the circumstances, Steve felt more content than he ever had; like he'd finally found his place in the world. It took Steve a long time to fall asleep, reluctant to lose this feeling for unfulfilling dreams.
The sun was only beginning to peek over the horizon when Steve woke. They'd shifted positions in the night. Harry now laid on his side with Bucky still cuddled up to his back, his vibranium hand resting on Harry's flat stomach. Steve had turned to face them, an arm over Harry, and his hand resting on Bucky's hip.
The sight of Harry in Bucky's arms, tucked under Bucky's chin, touched something in Steve he didn't understand. He couldn't explain it, but the sight was even more extraordinary than the unicorns. Careful not to jostle the bed, Steve shifted away until he could turn and reach his sketchpad on the bedside table.
Though it wasn't the easiest position to work from, Steve stayed on his side, head propped on his arm, sketchpad on the bed, and began drawing. The image grew quickly, both faces soft in repose, peaceful, and as he drew, Steve realized neither man had woken in the night.
Something in the tender way Bucky's metal arm held Harry against him fascinated Steve, and his pencil hurried to capture the image. He faithfully depicted the hints of the scars visible from Harry's position, the thin lines curling around his hips and chest.
"They're from a whip." Bucky's soft voice startling Steve into looking up.
Indigo eyes, still hazed with sleep, met his.
"A whip?" Steve asked, horrified.
"A long, thin one," Bucky said with a sad nod. "With enough force to break the skin."
Steve closed his eyes and dug for control. He didn't want to wake Harry, and the twin urges of punching something or cursing he wrestled with would wake him.
"Come lay back down, Stevie," Bucky said softly. "Curling up with Harry will help."
A couple of deep breaths steadied Steve enough to put the sketchbook away and slide closer. A strand of Harry's hair had fallen in his face, and Steve gently smoothed it back, tucking it behind his ear. Harry's dark hair was thicker than Steve would have guessed, but silky soft. And though his hair wasn't in his face, Steve still gave in to the impulse to reach up and ease Bucky's hair off his temple and behind his ear. Steve's hand lingered as he noticed Bucky's hair was finer, but felt just as soft.
Bucky leaned into Steve's hand and sighed. "Think it's time we had that conversation," Bucky said in a shaky voice. "When we get a chance."
Steve nodded. He knew part of it, but something unknown still hovered just out of his reach, keeping him from fully grasping the situation.
Harry started shifting, stretching his legs. When he tried to turn onto his back, Bucky's body stopped him. He froze and muttered, "Fuck."
"Good morning to you too," Bucky said. There was a grin on his face, but his eyes were dark with mixed emotions.
With a small wince, Harry quickly muffled a groan. "Steve?"
"Good morning," Steve said, keeping his tone soft and even. He mentally shifted gears; from the talk with Bucky later to the more pressing concern of Harry's activities.
Though he kept his eyes closed, Harry tried to sit up. "I should go," he said.
"I like you right where you're at," Bucky said in a growl, tightening his grip on Harry. "This isn't going to be easy on either of us. Might as well be comfortable."
Harry subsided with a resigned sigh. "You're still angry," he said unhappily.
Steve propped his head on his hand and laid the other on Harry's hip. Harry's eyes flew open. He seemed puzzled, and Steve realized, while Bucky's hold might come across as confining, Steve's could not. It tore at Steve's heart, the way Harry never seemed to expect affection from anyone.
"I think confused is more accurate," Steve said, trying to keep the conversation as calm as possible. Though hurt Harry chose not to come to them, Steve didn't have the same investment in the situation as Harry and Bucky.
"Why wouldn't you tell us?" Bucky asked bluntly.
With a quickly suppressed flinch, Harry's eyes drifted closed. "You shouldn't have to deal with it," Harry whispered.
"I deal with it most nights," Bucky said with a bitter huff. "I was strong enough to survive it. I'm strong enough to have dealt with it."
Though he knew Bucky hurt now, his words pleased Steve. The acceptance and pride in them heartened Steve.
Harry twisted and this time Bucky loosened his grip enough for Harry to move. Harry turned and faced Bucky, laying a shy hand on Bucky's chest. Steve shifted until his chest pressed against Harry's back and put his arm around both of them, wishing he could do something, anything, to ease the tension in both men.
"It wasn't that," Harry said honestly. He seemed to be absentmindedly petting Bucky's chest. "If you'd asked, I would have let you go with me." Harry held Bucky's eyes. "And it's too soon. If you go back too soon, it makes everything worse." His voice so soft at the end that only Harry being in their arms allowed them to hear it.
Arm tightening around Harry, Bucky huffed. "Do you always have to be such a noble little shit? Makes it hard to chew you out."
The way Harry's blush covered the back of his neck and the tips of his ears amused Steve. They lay in silence for several moments before Bucky sighed.
"If I agree to follow Steve's judgement on any direct involvement, will you agree to keep us informed?" Bucky asked tiredly.
"Yeah, I can do that," Harry said after a long moment.
"What do you need to agree not to run off again?" Steve asked.
Harry sighed. "I'd say keeping Hermione from shouting at me, but since that's impossible." He shrugged.
"Yeah, not touching that one," Steve said with a smile. "She terrifies me."
"Hermione terrifies anyone with half a brain," Harry said wryly.
Bucky grinned, hand moving from behind Harry to rest on his waist. "Her threats are awfully creative."
"Who did she threaten?" Harry asked as his tension slowly eased again.
"That reporter," Steve said with a faint shudder.
"Said she'd strangle her till her eyes pop out, then make her choke on her own eyes," Bucky said with a fond grin.
Harry settled back against Steve's chest. "Well, she's already held her in a jar for a week. Guess she needed something new."
"A jar?" Steve asked incredulously.
Harry turned his head until he could meet Steve's eyes. "You read about animagi?" Steve nodded. "Rita Skeeter can transform into a water beetle; it's how she gets all the gossip. Hermione caught her spying the night Voldemort came back. So she captured her, held her for a week, and blackmailed her into leaving us alone for a year."
"Terrified is not a strong enough word," Steve said as he shook his head. Though it explained Kreacher's comments on insecticide.
"That was Hermione at fifteen. She's moved on since then," Harry said as he turned his head back.
Harry's hand was still on Bucky's chest and Bucky began tracing the tattoo on Harry's wrist. "What's she moved on to?" Bucky asked absently.
Steve felt Harry shiver and automatically pulled him closer.
"She's," Harry stuttered and Bucky watched him closely, eyes glittering.
Harry shifted in his arms, and parts of Steve's anatomy tried to take notice. Steve ruthlessly squashed the reaction; now was not the time.
Harry took a deep breath, and his voice was level when he tried again. "Plotting to take over the world with Kingsley."
Bucky arched an eyebrow.
"They're determined to drag the European magical community into the twenty-first century," Harry said with a shrug. "Equal rights for sentient species, adapting technology, giving house-elves the choice of breaking their bonds, and preparing for the eventual discovery of the magical world. To start with, anyway."
"Ambitious," Steve said, impressed. "Why just the European countries?"
"The other major magical communities are more progressive on the whole," Harry said. "America, for example, has laws protecting sentient species and they've always tried to work with modern technology. The laws on associating with non-magical people are still extremely strict, but there's a push to change that."
Steve wondered what that would do to the chances of Harry joining the Avengers.
"You involved in their world domination, Green-Eyes?" Bucky asked. He was still tracing Harry's tattoo, but watching Harry through his lashes.
"Behind the scenes, the odd interview," Harry said. A smirk snuck into his voice when he continued. "The Potters and the Blacks both have seats on the Wizengamot. I made Hermione my proxy."
"Gives them hell, does she?" Bucky asked with a grin.
Harry nodded with enthusiasm. "And she's always prepared and so logical they have a hard time refuting her proposals."
A sudden, harsh knock on the door interrupted them. "Harry James Potter, I know you're in there. You have five minutes, then I'll be back to drag you out by your tongue." Hermione didn't yell, but it was clear she wasn't taking no for an answer. A few moments later, the outer door shut with a firm thud.
Bucky winced. "Not very logical now, is she?"
"No," Harry said miserably. "She's proper brassed off now."
"Better not keep her waiting, Green-Eyes," Bucky said as he moved away with obvious reluctance.
Steve couldn't help hugging Harry to him. "Can we talk about Hydra later?"
"Provided Hermione doesn't kill me," Harry said with a shrug.
He finally lifted his arm and let Harry slip away.
Harry paused at the foot of the bed; he glanced at the door before taking a deep breath and turning to face them. "Thank you for last night."
Steve smiled gently.
"You're welcome anytime," Bucky said in a low rumble, holding Harry's eyes.
There was a hint of a flush, and Harry nervously bit at his lower lip. It took all of Steve's control not to pull Harry back into bed. With a last uncertain glance, Harry sighed and turned to leave. When the door closed behind him, Steve fell back on the bed.
Bucky huffed a laugh and rolled to stare at the ceiling. "Do you think Kreacher would bring me coffee up here?"
"If you ask, probably," Steve muttered.
With a shrug, Bucky sat up. "I'll get dressed and we can find a place to have that talk."
"The dock?" Steve suggested. Bucky seemed to enjoy watching the water.
"Good a place as any," Bucky said as he stood and headed for the door. His hand on the doorknob, Bucky turned. "Steve, we'll get it sorted," he said, promise clear in his voice.
Steve nodded. He hoped Bucky was right; he was tired of being so unsettled. With a fond smile, Bucky left the room, too. Steve laid there a long moment, trying to compose his mind before he sighed and got to his feet.
"Kreacher," Steve called.
The elf popped in near the door.
"Can you take Bucky a cup of coffee, please? And make sure Harry eats something that won't be rough on his stomach?" Steve asked politely.
After a long assessing look, Kreacher nodded. "Kreacher will."
Before Steve could say thanks, the elf disappeared. Shaking his head, Steve headed for the bathroom. When he came out a few minutes later, a steaming cup of coffee and a huge cinnamon roll sat on his dresser. Steve smiled. "Maybe he's not that demented," he murmured.
As he dressed and got ready for the day, Steve ate his delicious cinnamon roll and drank his coffee. When he stepped into the sitting room, Bucky was sitting on the couch, an empty plate and coffee cup on the table. He got to his feet, and they headed out.
Steve had a momentary urge to check on Harry, but didn't give in. Harry needed to face the consequences of his actions. Steve knew Hermione was angry; he also knew she loved Harry and while she might read Harry the riot act, she'd never hurt him.
They walked in silence to the dock, the thin morning fog adding to the stillness. Bucky's tense shoulders and tight jaw told Steve that Bucky shared his nerves. He hoped Bucky had the missing pieces. There was something between the three of them and Steve couldn't quite put it together. His instincts said it was as life changing as the super-soldier serum; certainly, it proved equally nerve-wracking.
When they reached the dock, they walked to the end and sat side by side, feet dangling over the water. They watched the fog roll off the water, the sound of the water lapping at the dock a soothing counterpoint.
Slowly, Bucky began to talk. "We'd moved eight times before we ended up in Brooklyn. I'd pretty much given up trying to make friends," Bucky said, his voice pitched just above the noise of the loch lapping at the dock.
Steve knew they'd moved a lot, but not that often.
"My life's ambition was to do well enough in school to get a steady job and never have to move again."
Steve barked a laugh; he'd spent hours listening to Bucky's ambitions and that hadn't been one of them.
Bucky gave him a crooked smile. "I was ten and moody, cut me some slack." Bucky leaned back and supported himself with his hands.
"Never really felt I belonged anywhere, never fit anywhere, always on the outside." He glanced at Steve out of the corner of his eye slyly. "Then one day, there was this skinny little brat getting his ass kicked."
Steve bumped their shoulders hard enough to have Bucky scramble for balance. He got a dirty look in return, but Bucky didn't retaliate immediately.
"Mom and my Pops got into another argument about money and when Mom started crying, I had to get out of there. Didn't have any goal, just wandering when I found you." Bucky stared out over the water, his face pensive.
"Considered ignoring the fight until I saw you," Bucky said, voice soft and fond.
He turned his head to look at Steve. "There was something there though, and I couldn't walk away. And after I saved your puny ass, we just fit. You were my belonging."
Instead of bumping him, this time Steve leaned against Bucky's shoulder. Despite Bucky's mangling of the English language, Steve understood completely.
"Home," Steve said with a quiet sigh.
"Mine," Bucky whispered, his eyes dark with emotion. "And Harry is the same. Mine." He turned back to the water. "He's mine, you're mine, and we're his."
Steve frowned. It felt right, but not complete. There was still something missing.
Bucky saw his frown and sighed heavily. "Christ, Steven, it's not that complicated. Stop trying to think about it." He sat up and laid his hand on Steve's chest. "Feel it."
"I don't…" Steve couldn't get any further, not with Bucky's lips pressed against his. It took Steve an embarrassingly long time to realize he was being kissed.
Bucky's lips were soft and warm on his, and so tender Steve nearly sobbed. A warm hand cupped his cheek, tilting his head as Bucky pulled away a moment before brushing his lips over Steve's again. Slowly, afraid he'd somehow make Bucky stop, Steve returned the kiss, leaned in, and let Bucky support them both.
It felt like a lifetime lived in a minute when Bucky pulled back, pressing their foreheads together. "Mine," he whispered again.
"Oh," Steve said dumbly.
With a huff of laughter, Bucky's hand moved back to his chest, patting it softly. "Yeah, Stevie, oh." Bucky turned to look at the water again, giving Steve time to think.
"When I was thirteen," Steve said, almost hesitantly. "I tried then. Tried to hold your hand, and you pushed me away."
Bucky turned back to him. "We were walking down Broadway in broad daylight," he said archly before turning away again. "And you never tried again."
"I thought you didn't want me," Steve said. "And I couldn't lose you, so I buried it. You didn't try either."
Shaking his head, Bucky's smile was soft and a bit sad. "No, I was fourteen and terrified. What I felt was too big."
"You? Terrified?" Steve said disbelievingly. "You never hesitate to jump into a fight."
"Different kind of courage," Bucky said with a shrug. "You always had the courage to go after what you wanted."
"You're not a coward," Steve said in warning. He wouldn't let Bucky put himself down, not after everything he'd been through.
"I know," Bucky said with a reassuring pat to Steve's chest. "But it's different. I can take physical punishment. But losing control, giving someone control over me, that's scary shit."
Steve suddenly understood exactly how far Bucky had come from that day on the helicarrier and his anger towards Steve that day made more sense, too. Bucky had realized he'd been controlled. But he fought back by agreeing to accept help. He hadn't stopped fighting either. Every session with Hermione and Luna, he was fighting. Until he could reach today.
"Buck," Steve said, voice husky even to his ears. Bucky turned back to him. "I think I need you to explain it to me again. More thoroughly."
The slow smile that lit up Bucky's face was one Steve would always remember. "Yeah, Stevie," Bucky said as he pulled Steve into his arms. He brushed his lips over Steve's teasingly. "I'll explain it." He flicked his tongue along the seam of Steve's lips. "Anytime you want."
His hand was warm against the back of Steve's neck as he held him, and there was no teasing this time. When Bucky's tongue reached the seam of Steve's lips, Steve welcomed him in. Welcomed him home.
(1) roots/irish-myth-children-lir-swan-lake
